“It is but a small advantage gained, your Highness,” remarked the officer; “they will be speedily repulsed.”
“Small as it is, sir,” rejoined the Queen, “I would rather have lost the richest jewel from my crown than they had gained so much. Look! they are gathering together before the Lions’ Gate. They are thundering against it with sledgehammers, battering-rams, and other engines. I can hear the din of their blows above all this tumult. And see! other troops are advancing to their aid. By their banners and white coats, I know they are the London trained-bands, headed by Bret, Heaven confound the traitor! He who will bring him to me dead or alive shall have whatever he asks. Ah, God’s death! they have forced the Lions’ Gate — they drive all before them. Recreants! why do you not dispute it inch by inch, and you may regain what you have lost? Confusion! Wyat and his rebel band press onward, and the others fly. They pass through the Middle Tower. Ah! that shout, those fearful cries! They put my faithful subjects to the sword. They are in possession of the Middle Tower, and direct its guns on the By-ward Tower. Wyat and his band are on the bridge. They press forward, the others retreat. Retreat! ah, caitiffs, cowards that you are, you must fight now, if you have a spark of loyalty left. They fly. They have neither loyalty nor valor. Where is Bedingfeld? — where is my lieutenant? why does he not sally forth upon them? If I were there, I would myself lead the attack.”
“Your Majesty’s desires are fulfilled,” remarked the officer; “a sally is made by the party from the gate — the rebels are checked.”
“I see it!” exclaimed the Queen joyfully; “but what valiant men are they who thus turn the tide? Ah! I know them now, they are my famous giants — my loyal warders. Look how the rebel ranks are cleared by the sweep of their mighty arms. Brave yeomen! you have fought as no belted knights have hithterto fought, and have proved the truth of your royal descent. Ah! Wyat is down. Slay him! spare him not, brave giant! his lands, his title are yours. Heaven’s curse upon him, the traitor has escaped! I can bear this no longer,” she added, turning to her conductor. “Lead on; I would see what they are doing elsewhere.”
The command was obeyed, but the officer had not proceeded many yards when a shot struck him, and he fell mortally wounded at the Queen’s feet.
“I fear you are hurt, sir,” said Mary anxiously.
“To death, madam,” gasped the officer. “I should not care to die, had I lived to see you victorious. When all others were clamoring for the usurper Jane, my voice was raised for you, my rightful Queen; and now my last shout shall be for you.”
“Your name?” demanded Mary, bending over him.
“Gilbert,” replied the officer; “I am the grandson of Gunnora Braose.”
“Live, Gilbert,” rejoined Mary—” live for my sake!” Raising himself upon one arm, with a dying effort Gilbert waved his sword over his head, and cried, “God save Queen Mary, and confusion to her enemies?” And with these words he fell backwards, and instantly expired. The Queen gazed for a moment wistfully at the body.
“How is it,” she mused, as she suffered herself to be led onward by Renard, “that, when hundreds of my subjects are perishing around me, this man’s death should affect me so strongly? — I know not. Yet, so it is.”
Her attention, however, was speedily attracted to other matters. Passing through the Beauchamp Tower, she proceeded to the next fortification.
The main attacks of the besiegers, as has been previously stated, were directed against the Brass Mount, St. Thomas’s Tower, and the By-ward Tower; — the western and north-western ramparts, including the Leg Mount, a large bastion corresponding with the Brass Mount, being comparatively unmolested. Taking up a position on the roof of the Devilin Tower, which flanked the north-west angle of the ballium wall, Mary commanded two sides of the fortress, and the view on either hand was terrific and sublime. On the left, the blazing habitations, which being of highly combustible material were now in a great measure consumed, cast a red and lurid glare on the moat, lighting up the ramparts, the fortifications behind them, and those on the bridge — two of which, she was aware, were in the possession of the besiegers. In this quarter the firing had ceased, and it seemed that both parties had by mutual consent suspended hostilities, to renew them in a short time with greater animosity than ever. On the right, however, the assault continued with unabated fury. A constant fire was kept up from the temporary batteries placed before the postern gate; clouds of arrows whizzed through the air, shot by the archers stationed on the banks of the moat; and another ladder having been placed against the ramparts, several of the scaling party had obtained a footing, and were engaged hand to hand with the besieged. Ever and anon, amid this tumultuous roar was heard a loud splash, proclaiming that some miserable wretch had been hurled into the moat.
After contemplating the spectacle for some time in silence, Mary proceeded to the Flint Tower, a fortification about ninety feet nearer the scene of strife. Here the alarming intelligence was brought her that Lord Guilford Dudley was in possession of the Brass Mount, and that other advantages had been gained by the insurgents in that quarter. The fight raged so fiercely, it was added, that it would be tempting Providence in her Majesty to proceed further. Yielding, at length, to the solicitations of her attendants, Mary descended from the walls, and shaped her course towards the White Tower; while Renard, by her command, hastened to the Martin Tower (now the Jewel Tower) to ascertain how matters stood. His first step was to ascend the roof of this structure, which, standing immediately behind the Brass Mount, completely overlooked it.
It must be borne in mind that the Tower is surrounded by a double line of defences, and that the ballium wall and its fortifications are much loftier than the outer ramparts. Renard found the roof of the Martin Tower thronged with soldiers, who were bringing their guns to bear upon the present possessors of the Brass Mount. They were assisted in their efforts to dislodge them by the occupants of the Brick Tower and the Constable Tower; and notwithstanding the advantage gained by the insurgents, they sustained severe loss from the constant fire directed against them. Renard’s glance sought out Lord Guilford Dudley; and after a few moments’ search, guided by the shouts, he perceived him with Cholmendeley driving a party of royalists before him down the steps leading to the eastern ramparts. Here he was concealed from view, and protected by the roofs of a range of habitations from the guns on the ballium wall.
A few moments afterwards, intelligence was conveyed by the soldiers on the Broad Arrow Tower to those on the Constable Tower, and thence from fortification to fortification that Dudley, having broken into one of the houses covering the ramparts, was descending with his forces into the eastern ward.
Renard saw that not a moment was to be lost Ordering the soldiers not to relax their fire for an instant, he put himself at the head of a body of men, and hurrying down a spiral stone staircase, which brought him to a subterranean chamber, unlocked a door in it, and traversing with lightning swiftness a long narrow passage, speedily reached another vaulted room. At first no outlet was perceptible; but snatching a torch from one of his band, Renard touched a knob of iron in the wall, and a stone dropping from its place discovered a flight of steps, up which they mounted. These brought them to a wider passage, terminated by a strong door clamped with iron, and forming a small sallyport opening upon the eastern ward, a little lower down than Lord Guilford Dudley and his party had gained admittance to it. Commanding his men to obey his injunctions implicitly, Renard flung open the sallyport, and dashed through it at their head.
Dudley was pressing forward in the direction of the Iron Gate when Renard appeared. Both parties were pretty equally matched in point of number, though neither leader could boast more than twenty followers. Still, multitudes were hastening to them from every quarter. A detachment of royalists were issuing from a portal near the Salt Tower; while a host of insurgents were breaking through the house lately forced by Lord Guilford Dudley, and hurrying to his assistance. In a few seconds, the opposing parties met. By th
e light of the torches, Dudley recognized Renard; and uttering a shout of exultation, advanced to the attack.
As soon as it was known to the insurgents that the abhorred Spanish Ambassador was before them, with one accord they turned their weapons against him, and if their leader had not interposed, would have inevitably slain him.
“Leave him to me,” cried Dudley, “and I will deliver my country from this detested traitor. Fellow-soldiers,” he added, addressing Renard’s companions, “will you fight for Spain, for the Inquisition, for the idolatries of Rome, when swords are drawn for your country — and for the Reformed religion? We are come to free you from the yoke under which you labor. Join us, and fight for your liberties, your laws — for the Gospel, and for Queen Jane.”
“Ay, fight for Jane, and the Gospel!” shouted Cholmondeley. “Down with Renard and the See of Rome. No Spanish match! — no Inquisition!”
“Who are you fighting for? Who is your leader?” continued Dudley;—” a base Spanish traitor. Who are you fighting against? — Englishmen, your friends, your countrymen, your brothers — members of the same faith, of the same family.”
This last appeal proved effectual. Most of the royalists went over to the insurgents, shouting, “No Spanish match! — no Inquisition! Down with Renard!”
“Ay, down with Renard!” cried Dudley. “I will no longer oppose your just vengeance. Slay him, and we will fix his head upon a spear. It will serve to strike terror into our enemies.”
Even in this extremity, Renard’s constitutional bravery did not desert him; and, quickly retreating, he placed his back against the wall. The few faithful followers who stood by him, endeavored to defend him, but they were soon slain, and he could only oppose his single sword against the array of partisans and pikes raised against him. His destruction appeared inevitable, and he had already given himself up for lost, when a rescue arrived.
The detachment of soldiers, headed by Sir Thomas Brydges, already described as issuing from the gate near the Salt Tower, seeing a skirmish taking place, hurried forward, and reached the scene of strife just in time to save the Ambassador, whose assailants were compelled to quit him to wield their weapons in their own defence. Thus set free, Renard sprang like a tiger upon his foes, and, aided by the new-comers, occasioned fearful havoc among them. But his deadliest fury was directed against those who had deserted him, and he spared none of them whom he could reach with his sword.
Lord Guilford Dudley and his esquire performed prodigies of valor. The former made many efforts to reach Renard, but, such was the confusion around him, that he was constantly foiled in his purpose. At length, seeing it was in vain to contend against such superior force, and that his men would be speedily cut in pieces, and himself captured, he gave the word to retreat, and fled towards the north-east angle of the ward. The royalists started after them; but such was the speed at which the fugitives ran, that they could not overtake them. A few stragglers ineffectually attempted to check their progress, and the soldiers on the walls above did not dare to fire upon them, for fear of injuring their own party. In this way they passed the Martin Tower, and were approaching the Brick Tower, when a large detachment of soldiers were seen advancing towards them.
“Long live Queen Jane!” shouted Dudley and his companions, vainly hoping they were friends.
“Long live Queen Mary, and death to the rebels!” responded the others.
At the cry, Dudley and his little band halted. They were hemmed in on all sides, without the possibility of escape; and the royalists on the fortifications above being now able to mark them, opened a devastating fire upon them. By this time, Renard and his party had turned the angle of the wall, and the voice of the Ambassador was heard crying—” Cut them in pieces! Spare no one hut their leader. Take him alive.”
Hearing the shout, Dudley observed to Cholmondeley—” You have ever been my faithful esquire, and I claim one last service from you. If I am in danger of being taken, slay me. I will not survive defeat.”
“Nay, my lord, live,” cried Cholmondeley. “Wyat or the Duke of Suffolk may be victorious, and deliver you.”
“No,” replied Dudley, “I will not run the risk of being placed again in Mary’s power. Obey my last injunctions. Should you escape, fly to Jane. You know where to find her. Bid her embark instantly for France, and say her husband with his last breath blessed her.”
At this moment, he was interrupted by Cholmondeley, who pointed out an open door in the ramparts opposite them. Eagerly availing himself of the chance, Dudley called to his men to follow him, and dashed through it, uncertain whither it led, but determined to sell his life dearly. The doorway admitted them into a low vaulted chamber, in which were two or three soldiers and a stand of arms and ammunition. The men fled at their approach along a dark, narrow passage, and endeavored to fasten an inner door, but the others were too close upon them to permit it. As Dudley and his band advanced, they found themselves at the foot of a short flight of steps, and rushing up them, entered a semicircular passage, about six feet wide, with a vaulted roof, and deep embrasures in the walls, in which cannon were planted.
It was, in fact, the casemate of the Brass Mount. By the side of the cannon stood the gunners, and the passage was filled with smoke. Alarmed by the cries of their companions, and the shouts of Dudley and his band, these men, who were in utter ignorance of what had passed, except that they had been made aware that the summit of the bastion was carried, threw down their arms, and sued for quarter.
“You shall have it, friends,” cried Dudley, “provided you will fight for Queen Jane,”
“Agreed!” replied the gunners. “Long live Queen Jane.”
“Stand by me,” returned Dudley, “and these stout walls shall either prove our safeguard or our tomb.”
The gunners then saw how matters stood, but they could not retract; and they awaited a favorable opportunity to turn against their new masters.
Perceiving the course taken by Dudley and his companions, Renard felt certain of their capture, and repeated his injunctions to the soldiers to take him alive if possible, but on no account to suffer him to escape.
Dudley, meanwhile, endeavored with Cholmondeley to drag one of the large pieces of ordnance out of the embrasure in which it was placed, with the view of pointing it against their foes. But before this could be accomplished, the attack commenced. Darting to the head of the steps, Dudley valiantly defended the pass for some time; and the royalist soldiers, obedient to the injunctions of Renard, forbore to strike him, and sought only his capture. The arched roof rang with the clash of weapons, with the reports of shot, and with the groans of the wounded and dying. The floor beneath them soon became slippery with blood. Still, Dudley kept his ground. All at once he staggered and fell. A blow had been dealt him from behind by one of the gunners, who had contrived to approach him unawares.
“It is over,” he groaned to his esquire, “finish me, and fly, if you can, to Jane.”
Cholmondeley raised his sword to comply with his lord’s injunctions, but the blow was arrested by the strong arm of Renard, who bestriding his prey, cried in a voice of exultation, “He is mine! Bear him to the Queen before he expires.”
Cholmondeley heard no more, but darting backwards, sprang into the embrasure whence he had endeavored to drag the cannon, and forcing himself through the aperture, dropped from the dizzy height into the moat.
While this was passing, Mary proceeded to St. John’s Chapel in the White Tower. It was brilliantly illuminated, and high mass was being performed by Bonner and the whole of the priesthood assembled within the fortress. The transition from the roar and tumult without to this calm and sacred scene was singularly striking, and calculated to produce a strong effect on the feelings. There, all was strife and clamor; the air filled with smoke was almost stifling; and such places as were not lighted up by the blaze of the conflagration or the flashing of the ordnance and musketry, were buried in profound gloom. Here, all was light, odor, serenity, sanctity. Without, fie
rce bands were engaged in deathly fight — nothing was heard but the clash of arms, the thunder of cannon, the shouts of the victorious, the groans of the dying. Within, holy men were celebrating their religious rites, undisturbed by the terrible struggle around them, and apparently unconscious of it; tapers shone from every pillar; the atmosphere was heavy with incense; and the choral hymn mingled with the scarce-heard roar of cannon. Mary was so affected by the scene, that for the first time she appeared moved. Her bosom heaved, and a tear started to her eye.
“How peaceful is the holy place,” she observed to Gardiner, “and what a contrast it presents to the scene we have just quitted! I could almost wish that Heaven had destined me to the cloister instead of the throne, that I might pass my days in the exercise of my religion.”
“Heaven has destined you to be the restorer and defender of our religion, madam,” replied Gardiner. “Had you not been called to the high station you occupy, the Catholic worship, so long discontinued in these holy walls, would not now be celebrated. To you we owe its restoration; — to you we must owe its continuance.”
As Mary advanced to the altar, the anthem ceased, and silence prevailed throughout the sacred structure. Prostrating herself, she prayed for a few moments fervently, and in an audible voice. She then arose, and observed to Gardiner, “I feel so much comforted, that I am assured Heaven will support me and our holy religion.”
As she spoke, solemn music resounded through the chapel, the anthem was again chanted, and the priests resumed their holy rites. With a heart strengthened and elated, Mary ascended the staircase behind the altar, and passing through the gallery proceeded to the council-chamber, where she was informed that Xit, having captured a prisoner of importance, waited without to ascertain her pleasure concerning him. Mary ordered the dwarf to be brought into her presence with his captive, and in a few moments he was introduced with Bret, who was guarded by a couple of halberdiers.
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 160
