This was the explosion that reached the ears of Dudley and his band. Rushing to the assistance of their friends, the new-comers seemed determined to carry all before them, and such was the effect of their sudden appearance, that the besieged for a moment gave way, and a small body of the insurgents gained a footing on the roof of Traitor’s Tower. But the next moment the royalists rallied, drove off their assailants, and the fight continued as obstinately as before.
It was a sublime but terrific spectacle, and one not easily effaced from the remembrance of those who beheld it. The ruddy light cast upon the water by the burning houses, and serving to reveal the tall vessels; the armed boats; the sinking craft and struggling figures with which it was covered; the towers and battlements of the fortress pouring forth fire and smoke; the massive pile of the ancient citadel, which added its thunder to the general din; the throng of warlike figures engaged in active strife on the wharf, or against Traitor’s Tower, constituted a scene of intense, though fearful interest; nor did the roar of the cannon, the clash of arms, the shouts and cheers of the combatants, and the groans of the wounded, detract from its effect.
There was yet another scene which, though unwitnessed except by those actually concerned in it, equalled, if not surpassed, it in gloomy power. This was a conflict under St. Thomas’s Tower. It has been already mentioned that a party, manning a gunboat, had penetrated beneath the arch leading to Traitor’s Tower, where they endeavored, with such weapons as they possessed, to effect an entrance. While they were thus employed, the portcullis was suddenly raised, and the water-gate opened; and the men, supposing their own party had gained possession of the fortification above them, dashed forward.
They were speedily undeceived. Before they reached the steps, a number of armed figures, some of whom bore torches, appeared, while a thundering splash behind told that the portcullis had been let down, so as to cut off their retreat. Nothing remained but to sell their lives as dearly as they could. Quarter was neither asked nor granted. Some leaped overboard, and tried, sword in hand, to force a way up the steps; others prepared to follow them; and the gunner discharged a falconet planted at the prow of the boat, occasioning fearful havoc among their opponents.
But this availed nothing. They were driven back, and their assailants pursuing them into the recesses of the arch, put them to death. The light of the few torches that illumined the scene, fell upon figures fearfully struggling, while the arches rang with the reports of musketry, groans, and curses. In a short time all was still and dark as heretofore. But when the water-gate was afterwards opened, fourteen mangled corpses floated out to the Thames.
While the siege was thus vigorously carried on, on the north and south, the western side of the fortress was not neglected. Remaining at Cornhill for some hours, Wyat divided his forces into two detachments, and committed one to Captain Bret, whom he directed to proceed to the upper part of Tower Hill, along Lombard Street, Fenchurch Street, and Tower Street, and to place his men within the church-yard of All-Hallows Barking, and at the rear of the scaffold on Tower Hill; while with the other he himself marched down Gracechurch Street, along Thames Street, taking up a position before the Bulwark Gate.
As soon as he had reached this point, and arranged his men, he rode off to Bret, and ordered a party, commanded by Captain Cobham, to attack the postern-gate, as before related. Bret was to hold himself in readiness to march down to the Bulwark Gate, or to attack the Leg Mount, a bastion at the north-west angle of the fortress, corresponding (though of somewhat smaller size) with the Brass Mount, as he should receive instructions.
Having issued these directions, Wyat rode back to his troops — he was now mounted, as were several of his officers, on the steeds captured in the recent skirmish with the Earl of Pembroke — and commanded them to remain perfectly quiet till Admiral Winter’s squadron should arrive off the Tower. His injunctions were strictly obeyed, and such perfect silence was observed, that though his men were drawn up within a few yards of the fortress, they were not discovered by the sentinels.
On the arrival of the squadron, Wyat immediately commenced an attack upon the Bulwark Gate — one of the weakest outworks of the fortress — and while directing his engines against it, some half-dozen wooden houses adjoining it on the side of the moat were fired by his men; and the flames quickly extending to the buildings immediately contiguous to the Bulwark Gate, that defence was at once surrendered.
The first point gained, Wyat despatched a messenger to Bret ordering him to join him instantly; and while a handful of his men, rushing round the semicircular wall heretofore described as protecting the lesser moat, attacked the embattled gateway fronting the Lion’s Tower, with the intention of joining Suffolk’s party on the wharf, he directed his main force against the Lion’s Gate. This fortification was stoutly defended, and the insurgents were twice repulsed before they could bring their engines to bear against it.
Bret and his party having arrived, such an irresistible attack was made upon the gate, that in a short time it was carried. With loud shouts, the insurgents drove the royalists before them along the narrow bridge facing the Lion’s Tower, and leading to the Middle Tower, putting some to the sword, and throwing others over the walls into the moat.
The movement was so expeditious, and the rout so unexpected, that the portcullis of the Middle Tower, which was kept up to allow the flying men to pass through it, could not be lowered, and hastily directing those around him to prop it up with a piece of timber, Wyat continued the pursuit to the By-ward Tower.
Hitherto, complete success had attended his efforts; and if he had passed the fortification he was approaching, in all probability he would have been master of the Tower. Nothing doubting this, he urged his men onwards. On his left rode Bret, and behind them, at a short distance, came Captain Knevet, and two other leaders, likewise on horseback.
As they arrived within a few paces of the By-ward Tower, three tremendous personages issued from it, and opposed their further progress. They were equipped in corslets of polished steel and morions; and two of them were armed with bucklers and enormous maces, while the third wielded a partizan of equal size. These, it is almost needless to state, were the three giants. The bearer of the partizan was Gog. Behind them came their diminutive attendant, who, it appeared, had been released from his thraldom, particulars of which, and of his adventures subsequent to his meeting with Cicely in the cell beneath the Salt Tower, will be related at a more convenient opportunity.
Like his gigantic companions, Xit was fully armed, in a steel corslet, cuisses, and gauntlets. His head was sheltered by a helmet, shaded by an immense plume of feathers, which, being considerably too large for him, almost eclipsed his features. He was furthermore provided with a sword almost as long as himself, and a buckler.
Taking care to keep under the shelter of the giants, Xit strutted about, and brandishing his sword in a valiant manner, shouted, or rather screamed —
“Upon them, Og: — attack them, Gog! — why do you stand still, Magog? Let me pass, and I will show you how you should demean yourselves in the fight!”
At the sight of the giants, the flying royalists rallied, and a fierce but ineffectual struggle took place. During it Bret was dismounted and thrown into the moat. Urged by their leader, the insurgents pressed furiously forward. But the giants presented an impassable barrier. Og plied his mace with as much zeal as he did the clubs when he enacted the part of the Tower at Courtenay’s masque, and with far more terrible effect. All avoided the sweep of his arm.
Not content with dealing blows, he dashed among the retreating foe, and hurled some dozen of them into the moat. His prowess excited universal terror and astonishment. Nor was Gog much behind him. Wherever his partizan descended, a foe fell beneath its weight; and as he was incessantly whirling it over his head, and bringing it down, a space was speedily cleared before him.
Seeing the havoc occasioned by the gigantic brethren, and finding that they completely checked his further advance, Wyat
struck spurs into his charger, and dashing upon Magog, tried to hew him down. If the married giant had not caught the blow aimed at him upon his shield, Dame Placida had been made a widow for the second time. Again plunging the spurs rowel-deep into his horse’s flanks, Wyat would have ridden over his gigantic antagonist, if the latter, perceiving his intention, had not raised his mace, and with one tremendous blow smashed the skull of the noble animal.
“Yield you, Sir Thomas Wyat,” cried Magog, rushing up to the knight, who was borne to the ground with his slaughtered charger; “you are my prisoner.”
“Back, caitiff!” cried Wyat, disengaging himself and attacking the giant; “I will never yield with life.”
Wyat, however, would have been speedily captured by the giant, if Knevet, seeing his perilous situation, had not pressed forward with several others to his assistance, and rescued him. This accident, however, enabled the retreating party to pass beneath the archway of the By-ward Tower, the portcullis of which was instantly lowered.
Meanwhile, a body of the insurgents having taken possession of the Middle Tower, had planted themselves at the various loopholes and on the roof, and kept up a constant fire on the soldiers stationed on the summit of the By-ward Tower.
Among those who contrived to distinguish themselves in the action was Xit. Finding his position one of more danger than he had anticipated, he scrambled upon the wall on the right of the By-ward Tower, where, being out of the rush, he could defy at his ease those who were swimming in the moat.
While he was in this situation, Bret, who, it has been mentioned, was thrown into the moat, swam to the wall, and endeavored to ascend it. Xit immediately attacked him, and adopting the language of Magog to Wyat, threatened to throw him back again if he did not yield.
“I do yield,” replied Bret.
“Your name and rank?” demanded the dwarf in an authoritative tone.
“Alexander Bret, captain of the London trained-bands, second in command to Sir Thomas Wyat,” replied the other.
“Here, Magog — Gog — Og — help!” shouted Xit; “I have taken a prisoner. It is Captain Bret, one of the rebel leaders — help him out of the moat, and let us carry him before the Queen!” I am certain to be knighted for my valor. Mind, I have taken him. He has yielded to me. No one else has had a hand in his capture.”
Thus exhorted, Magog pulled Bret out of the moat. As soon as he ascertained who he was, he bore him in his arms towards the By-ward Tower — Xit keeping near them all the time, screaming, “He is my prisoner. You have nothing to do with it. I shall certainly be knighted.”
At Magog’s command, the portcullis was partially raised, and Xit and Bret thrust under it, while the two other giants repelled the assailants,
CHAPTER XXX.
HOW QUEEN MARY COMPORTED HERSELF DURING THE SIEGE; HOW LORD GUILFORD DUDLEY WAS CAPTURED; AND HOW SIR THOMAS WYAT AND THE DUKE OF SUFFOLK WERE ROUTED.
Throughout the whole of the siege, the Queen maintained her accustomed firmness; and to her indomitable courage, and the effect produced by it upon her followers, the successful issue of the conflict to the royalist party is mainly to be attributed. Startled from her slumbers by the roar of the artillery, Mary arose, and hastily arraying herself, quitted the palace with Gardiner, Renard, and a few other attendants, who had flown to her on the first rumor of the attack, and repaired to the lieutenant’s lodgings, where she found Sir Henry Bedingfeld in the entrance-hall, surrounded by armed men, busied in giving them instructions, and despatching messages to the officers in command of the different fortifications.
At the Queen’s appearance, the old knight would have flung himself at her feet, but she motioned him not to heed her, and contented herself with saying, as each messenger departed: “Tell my soldiers that I will share their danger. I will visit every fortification in turn, and I doubt not I shall find its defenders at their posts. No courageous action shall pass unrequited; and as I will severely punish these rebels, so I will reward those who signalize themselves in their defeat. Bid them fight for their Queen — for the daughter of the Eighth Henry, whose august spirit is abroad to watch over and direct them. He who brings me Wyat’s head shall receive knighthood at my hands, together with the traitor’s forfeited estates. Let this be proclaimed. And now fight — and valiantly — for you fight for the truth.”
Charged with animating addresses like these, the soldiers hurried to their various leaders. The consequence may be easily imagined. Aware that they were under the immediate eye of their sovereign, and anticipating her coming each moment, the men, eager to distinguish themselves, fought with the utmost ardor; and such was the loyalty awakened by Mary’s energy and spirit, that even those secretly inclined towards the opposite party, of whom there were not a few, did not dare to avow their real sentiments.
While Mary remained in the lieutenant’s lodgings, word was brought that the fortress was attacked on all sides, and the thunder of the ordnance now resounding from the whole line of ramparts, and answered by the guns of the besiegers, confirmed the statement. As she heard these tidings, and listened to the fearful tumult without, her whole countenance underwent a change; and those who remembered her kingly sire recognized his most terrible expression, and felt the same awe they had formerly experienced in his presence.
“Oh, that I had been born a man,” she cried; “that with my own hand I might punish these traitors! But they shall find, though they have a woman to deal with, they have no feeble and faint-hearted antagonist. I cannot wield a sword, but I will stand by those who can. Sir Henry Bedingfeld, take these orders from me, and they are final. Let the siege go how it may, I will make no terms with the rebels, nor hold further parley with them. Show them no quarter — exterminate them utterly. I no longer regard them as subjects — children; but as aliens — foes. Deal with them as such. And look you yield not this fortress — for, by God’s grace, I never will yield it! Where is your own post, Sir Henry?”
“At the By-ward Tower, your Highness,” replied Bedingfeld. “The traitor Wyat directs the attack in that quarter, and he is most to be feared of all our opponents. I will not quit the fortification with my life. But who shall succeed me, if I fall?”
“The Queen,” replied Mary. “But you will not fall, good Bedingfeld. You are appointed by Heaven to be my preserver. Go to your post, and keep it in my name. Go, and fight for your royal mistress, and for the holy Catholic faith which we both of us profess, and which these rebels — these heretics, would overthrow. Go, and the Virgin prosper you, and strengthen your arm.”
“I obey your Majesty,” replied Bedingfeld; “and yet I cannot but feel that my place is by your side.”
“Ah! do you loiter, sir?” cried Mary fiercely. “You have tarried here too long already. Do you not hear you loud-voiced cannon summon you hence? Are you deaf to those cries? To your post, sir — and quit it not for your head. Stay!” she added, as the knight was about to obey her. “I meant not this. I have been over-hasty. But you will bear with me Go. I have no fears — and have much to do. Success be with you. We meet again as victors, or we meet no more.”
“We shall meet ere daybreak,” replied the knight. And quitting the presence, he hurried to the By-ward Tower.
“In case fate declares itself against your Highness, and the insurgents win the fortress,” observed Renard, “I can convey you beyond their reach. I am acquainted with a subterranean passage communicating with the farther side of the moat, and have stationed a trusty guard at its entrance.”
“In the event your Excellency anticipates,” returned Mary sternly, “but which, I am assured will never occur, I will not fly. While one stone of that citadel stands upon another it shall never be surrendered, and while life remains to her, Mary of England will never desert it. In your next despatch to the Prince your master, tell him his proposed consort proved herself worthy — in resolution, at least — of the alliance.”
“I will report your intrepid conduct to the Prince,” replied Renard. “But I would, f
or his sake, if not for your own, gracious madam, that you would not further expose yourself.”
“To the ramparts!” cried Mary, disregarding him. “Let those follow me who are not afraid to face these traitors.”
Quitting the entrance hall, she mounted a broad staircase of carved oak, and traversing a long gallery, entered a passage leading to the Bell Tower — a fortification already described as standing on the west of the lieutenant’s lodgings, and connected with them. The room to which the passage brought her, situated on the upper story, and now used as part of the domestic offices of the governor, was crowded with soldiers, busily employed in active defensive preparations. Some were discharging their calivers through the loopholes at the besiegers, while others were carrying ammunition to the roof of the building.
Addressing a few words of encouragement to them, and crossing the room, Mary commanded an officer to conduct her to the walls. Seeing from her manner that remonstrance would be useless, the officer obeyed. As she emerged from the low arched doorway opening upon the ballium wall, the range of wooden houses on the opposite side of the moat burst into flames, and the light of the conflagration, while it revealed the number of her enemies and their plan of attack, rendered her situation infinitely more perilous, inasmuch as it betrayed her to general observation. Directed by the shouts, the besiegers speedily discovered the occasion of the clamor; and though Sir Thomas Wyat, who was engaged at the moment in personally directing the assault on the Bulwark Gate, commanded his men to cease firing in that quarter, his injunctions were wholly disregarded, and several shot struck the battlements close to the Queen. Seriously alarmed, Gardiner earnestly entreated her to retire, but she peremptorily refused, and continued her course as slowly as if no danger beset her — ever and anon pausing to watch the movements of the besiegers, or to encourage and direct her own men. Before she reached the Beauchamp Tower, the Bulwark Gate was carried, and the triumphant shouts of the insurgents drew from her an exclamation of bitter anger.
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 159