CHAPTER XXIII

Wyatt's Insurrection

I heard full particulars afterwards of the insurrection, but at the time, shut up in the Tower, knew little of its course.

Sir Thomas Wyatt, though professedly a Romanist, having seen the horrors of the Inquisition in Spain, had risen in revolt against Mary because of her Spanish marriage. He first raised the standard of revolt in Kent, where many joined him, and amongst them Sir Hubert Blair, who thought he could thus best serve Lady Jane, whilst the Duke of Suffolk, who was openly for his daughter, was making a similar attempt in the Midlands, and Sir Peter Carew in the West; the latter's object being to place the Princess Elizabeth on the throne.

At Rochester, where Sir Thomas Wyatt, accompanied by his aide-de-camp, Sir Hubert Blair, encamped in the ruins of the old castle, and held the bridge with cannon and well-armed Kentish men, there was a great scene. The Duke of Norfolk, with a detachment of Guards from London, was to have forced the bridge, but a certain Captain Brett, who was deputed by him to lead five hundred men against it, turning, addressed his followers thus--

'Masters, we are about to fight against our native countrymen of England and our friends, in a quarrel unrightful and wicked; for they, considering the great miseries that are like to fall upon us if we shall be under the rule of the proud Spaniards, or strangers, are here assembled to make resistance to their coming, for the avoiding of the great mischiefs likely to alight not only upon themselves, but upon every one of us and the whole realm, wherefore I think no English heart ought to say against them. I and others will spend our blood in their quarrel.'

When they heard this, his men shouted, 'A Wyatt! A Wyatt!' and, instead of turning their guns against the bridge, turned them against their own Duke of Norfolk's forces.

The duke and his officers fled, and Brett and his men, crossing the bridge, joined Wyatt's soldiers, followed by three-fourths of the queen's troops and more.

Meantime, the Duke of Norfolk and his officers galloped to London, which by their news was thrown into a state of alarm and consternation. There were meetings of the city and military authorities, and Queen Mary, sceptre in hand, addressed them with great spirit, promising that if her contemplated marriage with Philip of Spain did not meet with the approval of Parliament she would give it up. She also offered a reward of lands, with £100 a year, to any one who would take or kill Sir Thomas Wyatt.

For some reason--could it be that Sir Hubert Blair was persuading him not to go on?--the latter did not push forward with that speed which characterized the commencement of his enterprise. His forces had increased to 15,000 men, but he did not reach London until the words of the queen and the news of the dispersion of the two other bands of rebels, under the Duke of Suffolk and Sir Peter Carew, had restored the courage of the citizens.

Sir Thomas Wyatt entered Southwark, and proceeded to the end of London Bridge, where he found the drawbridge raised, the gates closed, and a strong armed force ready to resist his entrance. This was a painful surprise for him, as he had been led to believe that the Londoners were on his side; and he must have hoped that they would still come over to him, for he waited two days without beginning the attack.

On the third day, however, the garrison of the Tower began to cannonade him, which resulted in such mischief being done to the houses in the vicinity that the people implored Sir Thomas to go away with his troops.

Unwilling to distress them, and hoping to be able to cross the bridge at Kingston and proceed thence to Westminster and London, where it was not so well defended, Sir Thomas and my dear knight began the march to Kingston.

I was told, afterwards, that a London merchant met them on that march, and that Sir Thomas said to the merchant, 'I pray you commend me to your citizens, and say to them from me, that when liberty was offered to them they would not receive it, neither would they admit me within their gates, who, for their freedom and for relieving them from the oppression of foreigners, would frankly spend my blood in this cause and quarrel.'

Sir Thomas Wyatt reached Kingston about four o'clock in the afternoon, where he found part of the bridge broken down and an armed force waiting to oppose his passage. Bringing up his artillery, however, he swept the enemy from the opposite bank, and, having hastily made the bridge passable again with the help of boats and barges, his troops crossed over it. It was eleven o'clock at night by the time this was done--had his aide-de-camp a moment to spare for the thought of that other night, when I waited so long for him by the river there?--and his men were thoroughly exhausted; but he pushed on. They marched all through that cold February night, along muddy roads, and, after being delayed by having to remount a heavy gun that had broken down, reached Hyde Park in broad daylight, where the Earl of Pembroke awaited them with the royal forces. Lord Clinton, at the head of the cavalry, had taken up his position, with a battery of cannon, on the rising ground opposite the Palace of St. James.

The morning was dismal, dark clouds gathered overhead, and it rained more or less heavily. Sir Thomas' men were worn out, and many had deserted. Nothing daunted, however, the brave knight divided them into three companies, and at the head of the largest division, accompanied by his aide-de-camp, charged Clinton's cavalry with such effect that it seemed to give way. This, however, was only a stratagem. Clinton allowed Sir Thomas, his aide-de-camp and four hundred of his followers to pass, then he closed his ranks, cutting off the main body from their commander.

'In all Wyatt's proceedings,' says an historian, 'he displayed great bravery, but little military experience or caution.'

His main forces, now without a leader, wavered, but kept together, and endeavoured to reach the city another way. They said afterwards that Sir Thomas Wyatt did not appear to know that, having left the body of his army behind, his enemies were now between him and it, and he dashed along, past Charing Cross and through the Strand to Ludgate, hoping still to be joined by the citizens.

In the Strand the Earl of Courtenay, with his soldiers, was stationed. He had engaged to join Wyatt, but had not the courage to do either one thing or the other, for at the sight of him he fled. Doubly treacherous, he was a traitor to the queen and also to Wyatt.

At Ludgate, Wyatt found the gates were closed, and Lord William Howard appeared above them, crying--

'Avaunt, traitor! Avaunt! You enter not here!'

This was a truly awful reception, instead of the promised welcome. And the brave knight must have felt stunned and bewildered as he turned to assist his troops, only to be met by a crowd of the enemy under Pembroke. In desperation, Sir Thomas, closely followed by Sir Hubert, fought his way back as far as the Temple, where he found that he had only fifty followers remaining. (The other troops, which he had left in Hyde Park, were fighting at Whitehall and Westminster, but of that he knew nothing, having lost touch with them and being without cognisance of their doings, which came to nothing.)

The King-at-arms called upon Sir Thomas to yield and not madly sacrifice his brave companions, yet he continued fighting desperately.

He was beaten back, by overwhelming numbers, down Fleet Street, until he sank exhausted on a fish-stall, opposite La Belle Sauvage. His sword was broken, and, throwing it away, he surrendered himself to Sir Maurice Berkely. At the same moment, Sir Hubert Blair, his aide-de-camp, overpowered by numbers, was taken prisoner.

So much I was told. At the time, Lady Jane and I knew little of all these happenings, and our suspense was terrible. After the first crashing of our cannonade, when Sir Thomas attempted crossing London Bridge, nothing quite so alarming was to be heard in the Tower, only on the next day there were the booming of guns and the roar of battle in London.

And then news came to us that the brave knights were defeated, that they had been forced to surrender, and that the Guards were bringing them to the Tower.

Lady Jane, knowing how my heart was wrung, did all in her power to sustain me. Forgetting or ignoring the far greater issues she herself had at stake, she endeavoured to fortify my mind and calm it by prayer and wise counsel, and now, when it was all over and they were bringing my lover, with Sir Thomas Wyatt, to the Tower, exerted herself to obtain leave for me to mingle with the spectators and see them brought in.

'Though perhaps,' she said, 'it will be a doubtful benefit for you to see your lover in his defeat.'

But my heart craved for one sight of his dear face, and I answered, 'I can bear it all better, if I see him once more.'

'You shall, dear Margery, if I can possibly compass it,' she said. And success crowned her efforts, for our warder, having leave of absence, took me himself to join the crowd hurrying across the Green, towards the entrance by which those guilty of high treason were brought to the Tower.

And, presently, I saw my dear knight, sitting by Sir Thomas in a boat, between their captors, and being rowed towards the Traitors' Gate.

Thus they brought them to the Tower, heroes vanquished, conquerors conquered, true men and noble knights; albeit considered by many renegades and traitors, by Lady Jane mistaken zealots, but by me the noblest and most estimable champions, who sacrificed all that they had, even their earthly loves, for that which they held to be right and duty towards England and fidelity to true religion. They had done their part, they could do no more, and they sat in the boat between their captors, with brave countenances and steadfast bearing, as of men dying at their post.

The grim expression on the faces of the Guards around, and the murmurs of the crowd who looked on affected them not; perhaps they did not observe them, or it might be that their thoughts were far away, Sir Thomas' perhaps with his wife and children and Sir Hubert's perchance in the past with me in the farmer's shed in Sussex, or it might be by the Thames at Isleworth, or riding with me again to Kingston; or, on the other hand, they were possibly with me now, wondering if I were among the lookers-on, longing to see me once again, in order to say 'Farewell' before the last dark crossing, and hoping that in another life we might meet to part no more.

It happened that, just as the defeated knights were stepping out of the boat, a lad's voice in the crowd--it was Saul's, who, I afterwards learnt, had run away from his master to join the opposite side--shrill, insistent, daring, broke out into the old cry, 'A Wyatt! A Wyatt!' Sir Thomas did not stir, but Sir Hubert looked round, with a sudden beautiful smile. Then, as every one was searching for the boy, with murmured comments on his imprudence and audacity, I leaned forward, calling out to the prisoners, in a clear, distinct tone of voice--

'Courage! Defeat may be Victory in disguise. What looks like loss down here may be counted as pure gain on high!' For it seemed to me that, however disastrous the result, the fact remained that heroes had done heroically. Yes, and if success had crowned their efforts, all men would have praised them. Of that I was assured.

But the sound of my voice, and the sight of my face, as he cast one swift glance at it, unmanned Sir Hubert, and he had to shade his eyes with his hand, as they hurried him and Sir Thomas out of the boat and through the gate; whilst angry, scowling faces turned on me, and my escort had much difficulty in getting me away uninjured.

I scarcely know how I got back to Lady Jane. Only one thing I clearly heard as I was borne through the crowd--it was a voice saying, 'They will both be executed, and the younger one first, because he did not surrender but was taken prisoner with his sword drawn.'

Mistaken the two men may have been, yet they had the courage of their convictions and did what seemed to them to be right, and, at least, they were self-sacrificing, laying down their lives and the joy of living with their loved ones at the call of duty to their fellow-countrymen.

Queen Mary would kill them for it. What of that? Mankind has often crucified and killed its noblest friends. And, after all, it would only be their bodies that were slain; their souls, the best part of them, stripped of their human dress, would wend their way to the Realms of the Blest, where no grief, pain, nor fighting could ever disturb them again.

Nevertheless I fell ill with grief and pain, and was unconscious when they carried me into the house of Sir Thomas Brydges, the lieutenant of the Tower, where Lady Jane had now been removed.