Finding London Bridge an obstacle not | to be surmounted, Wyatt marched his man up Kent Street, and so by St. George's Church, entered Southwark without encountering any resistance. Here he was joined by several of the volunteers of Lord William Howard, who deserting the royal cause went over to the side of the Kentish men. After three days spent in considering how to effect his entrance into London, Wyatt resolved to march towards Kingston Bridge, there cross the river, then retrace his steps and make his attack upon the capital. Before quitting Southwark he paid his soldiers their wages and issued a proclamation that if any of his men owed anything to any person in the borough he would see that it was paid. "But," we are told, "there was none complained; the inhabitants said that there was never men behaved themselves so honestly as his company did there for the time of their abode."*

By nightfall Kingston Bridge was reached. The bridge had been broken by the queen's party, and the timbers were blocking up the river. Several soldiers plunged into the stream, and by the aid of the floating rafters swam to the opposite side, loosened the boats that were moored there, and before morning Wyatt and his troops had been safely rowed across. Lacking victuals the rebel leader pressed forward the same day and reached Knightsbridge, where he halted for the night. His arrival was anticipated and defensive measures had at once been adopted. The cavalry were drawn up at St. James's, the infantry were under arms at Charing Cross, at Westminster there was a strong guard, whilst St. Paul's Churchyard was stored with armory ready to be despatched, if wanted, either to the Tower or Charing Cross. Upon the first onset success favored the arms of Wyatt. At Charing Cross the royal troops were forced to fall back before the vigor of his charge, and the rebels passed Temple Bar and Fleet Street without opposition, until they were checked by the barriers at Ludgate. Here for the first time matters looked serious. Lord William Howard refused the rebels admittance, the citizens, on whom the Kentish men had so fondly relied, showed no signs of rising, and Wyatt, mortified and disheartened, sat him down at the Belle Sauvage gate to consider his position. He could not advance, yet ih his rear were the royal troops | now galloping along the narrow, uneven

• Ibid.

roadway of the Strand in hot pursuit. What course was he to adopt? He re solved upon beating a retreat and cutting his way through the calvary of Pembroke, in the hope that he might reach the open fields at Knightsbridge. It was a terrible alternative, and before his men had fought their way back to Temple Bar he saw that escape was useless. He was surrounded by cavalry, and behind the troopers were the infantry that had marched up from Charing Cross. William Harvey, the herald at arms, came up to him and said: "Master Wyatt, you were best by my counsel to yield. You see this day has gone against you, and in resisting you can get no good, but be the death of all these your soldiers, to your great peril of soul. Perchance you may find the queen merciful, and the rather if you stint so great a bloodshed as is like here to be." "If I shall needs yield," cried Wyatt, almost cowed by the situation in which he found himself - though his men were ready to fight to the death "I will yield me to a gentleman." But before the remark had well-nigh issued from his lips he was seized by Sir Maurice Berkeley and taken prisoner. The capture of their chief led to a brief resistance by the Kentish men, but the rebels were soon overpowered and their ringleaders fell an easy prey to the captains of the royal forces. "Thus," wrote Renard to his master, "the Lord gave the victory to her Majesty, with only the loss of two men and three wounded, which is evidently a miracle." On the side of the rebels some forty men were killed.

At five o'clock in the evening of the day which had been so fatal to his interests, Wyatt, with several of his companions, was brought by water to the Tower. As he passed under the frowning portals of Traitor's Gate he was greeted by Sir Philip Deny, who helped the prisoners to alight, with the words, " Go, traitor! there was never such a traitor in England!" Wyatt fiercely turned upon his accuser. "I am no traitor," he said; "I would thou should well know thou art more traitor than I; and it is not the part of an honest man to call me so." Then he walked up the steps and was received by Sir John Bridges, the lieutenant of the Tower. His reception foreshadowed the treatment that was to follow. "Oh, thou villain and unhappy traitor!" cried Sir John, shaking his prisoner by the collar, and alluding to the fact that Wyatt had been implicated in the conspiracy to place Jane Grey on the throne but had been

pardoned, "how couldst thou find in thy And now, during the next few weeks, heart to work such detestable. treason the axe of the headsman and the ropes of to the Queen's Majesty, who, being thy the gibbets were busy, launching all who most gracious sovereign lady, gave thee were in any way connected with the late thy life and living once already, although rebellion into eternity. "At every corthou didst before this time bear arms inner," said the French ambassador, "the the field against her? And now to make eye meets nothing but the vile sight of such a great and most traitorous stir, giv-hanging men." Wyatt had his execution ing her battle to her marvellous trouble deferred in the hope that certain precious and fright. And if it was not that the law must justly pass upon thee, I would strike thee through with my dagger." To whom Wyatt, looking grimly upon the lieutenant, thus curtly made answer, "It is no mystery now.' He was then conducted to the dungeons below the Tower, and was confined, if report speaks correctly, in the cell called "Little Ease," there to await the masked executioner and the heading-block.

State secrets might be drawn from his lips by the promise of pardon. Renard had throughout the rebellion been doing his utmost to poison the mind of Mary against her sister. He had assured the queen that, so long as the princess Elizabeth was at large, agitation and revolt would ever be making themselves felt. Certain suspicious circumstances had, too, supported his arguments. Elizabeth, during the recent rebellion, had been discovered to be in close communication with France

no friend to the cause of Mary. A letter written by Wyatt to her had also fallen into the hands of the Council; nay,

With the leading rebels safely imprisoned the dangers of the revolt were passed, and Mary was more firmly placed upon her throne than ever. She at once wrote to the father of her future hus-more, the rebel leader himself, unmanned band, the emperor Charles, who had always taken a keen interest in her af fairs, regretting the hasty departure of those envoys who had come purposely to treat of her marriage.

Monseigneur [she wrote],* I am exceedingly displeased that the rebels of my kingdom should have caused the departure of your ambassadors accredited to my court in such haste, and fear that they can give you but little news of what has lately passed. But as it has pleased God that the rebels were compelled to discover their traitorous designs before being ripe, and that now most of them are in prison or have fled the kingdom, I hope my affairs will be placed on a firmer footing, and that the alliance entered into with his Highness the Prince, my cousin, may be concluded. The swift punishment which has attended upon this rebellion will purge the realm of all such foes, as your Majesty will hear from my loyal and well-loved Lord Fitzwater, the bearer of this letter, who will inform you of the victory God has granted me, and why, owing to the hasty departure of your ambassadors, no reply has been returned to the letters they delivered me. He is also instructed to inform your Majesty with what pleasure your correspondence is received by me, and how great is my gratitude for the service and friendship displayed to me by you. To your ambassador resident here I am under deep obligations; his presence and counsel have been a great consolation to me in my late troubles. Praying the Creator to grant your Majesty a long life and perfect health,

Your very humble daughter, sister, and cousin, MARY.

Transcripts. London. Feb. 11, 1554

by the terrors of the scaffold, had sought
to purchase dear life by implicating the
princess in the late conspiracy. He had
revealed nothing very definite, it is true,
in his forced confessions, but still enough
to induce a jealous sovereign to issue or-
ders for the confinement of the suspected
person. Elizabeth was then at Ashbridge,
and Sir Henry Bedingfield was instructed
to bring her to Whitehall. On her arrival
at the palace Mary refused to see her, and
the unhappy girl underwent a rigorous
examination at the hands of the Council.
She admitted having entered into a pri
vate correspondence with France, but ex-
pressed the utmost abhorrence of Wyatt's
proceedings, and vowed she knew nothing
of them. She was ordered to be com-
mitted to the Tower. The day before that
dread sentence was to be carried out
for a cell in the Tower was often the half-
way house to that Tower Green upon
which but three weeks since the lady
Jane Grey had met her doom - Elizabeth
lantly watched apartment, and wrote to
sat down before her guards, in her vigi-
her obdurate sister. The letter lies be-
fore me, penned in a round, bold, boyish
hand, every stroke firm and distinct-a
letter written without hesitation or altera-
tion. However humble and piteous are
its contents, there is no sign of timidity
in the drawing up of this pleading epistle.
If any ever did try this olde saying [she
wrote] that a kinge's worde was more than

State Papers Domestic. Mary. Mar. 16, 1554

another man's othe [oath] I most humbly beseche your Majestie to verefie it in me, and to remember your last promis, and my last demaunde, that I be not condemned without answer and due proof; wiche it semes that now I am. For that without cause provid, I am, by your counsel, from you commanded to go unto the Tower, a place more wonted for a false traitor than a tru subject, wiche thogth [though] I knowe I deserve it not, yet in the face of al this realme aperes that it is provid; wiche I pray God I may dy the shamefullist dethe that ever any died, afore I may mene [mean] any suche thinge. And to this present hower I protest afor God (who shal juge my trueth) whatsoever malice shal devis, that I never practised, conciled [concealed] nor consented to any thinge that migth [might] be prejudicial to your parson [person] any way, or daungerous to the State by any mene. And therefor I humbly beseche your Majestie to let me answer afore your selfe and not suffer me to trust your counselors; yea, and that afore I go to the Tower (if it be possible), if not, afor I be further condemned. Howbeit I trust assuredly your Highness wyl give me leve to do it afore I go; for that thus shamfully I may not be cried out on as now I shal be, yea, and without cause. Let consciens move your Highness to take some bettar way with me than to make me be condemned in all men's sigth [sight] afor my desert knowen. Also I must humbly beseche your Highness to pardon this my boldnes wiche innocencey procures me to do, together with hope of your natural kindnis, wiche I trust wyl not se [see] me cast away without desert, wiche, what it is, I wold desier no more of God but that you truly knewe; wiche thinge I thinke and beleve you shal never by report knowe unles by yourself you hire [hear]. I have harde [heard] in my time of many cast away for want of comminge to the presence of ther Prince; and in late days I harde my lord of Somerset say that if his brother had bin sufferd to speke with him he had never sufferd; but the perswasions wer made to him so gret [great] that he was brogth [brought] in belefe that he coulde not live safely if the Admiral lived, and that made him give his consent to his dethe.* Thoght [though] thes parsons ar not to be compared to your Majestie yet I pray God as ivel [evil] perswasions perswade not one sistar again the other, and al for that she have harde false report and not harkene [hearkened] to the trueth knowen. Therefor ons [once] again kniling [kneeling] with humblenes of my hart, bicause I am not sufferd to bow the knees of my body, I humbly crave to speke with your Highness,

[Indorsed by Lord Coke, "Queen Elizabeth, my dear Sovereign's, letter to Queen Mary in vinculis." The letter is written without any stops, but, to assist the reader, I have punctuated it.


"" My lord of Somerset was protector and lord treasurer in the reign of Edward VI., to whom he was maternal uncle; "the Admiral" was Lord Seymour of Sudleye, his younger brother, who was beheaded for aiming at the protectorate and for aspiring to the hand of Elizabeth.

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wiche I wolde not be so bold to desier if I knewe not my selfe most clere as I knowe my selfe most tru. And as for the traitor Wiat, he migth [might] paraventur [peradventure] writ me a lettar, but on my faithe I never receved any from him; and as for the copie of my lettar sent to the Frenche kinge I pray God confound me eternally if ever I sent him word, message, token, or lettar by any menes, and to this my truith I wil stande in to my dethe.

I humbly crave but only one worde of answer from your selfe.

Your Highness most faithful subject that hath bine from the beginninge and wyl be to my end, ELIZABETH.

To this letter no answer was vouchsafed. The next morning Elizabeth was lodged in the Tower. As the barge rested against the steps of Traitor's Gate for its unhappy passenger to alight, she cried to the soldiers who were on guard at the entrance of the Tower, "Good people, bear me witness! I come in as no traitor, but as true a woman to the queen's majesty as any is now living; and thereon will I take my death." Her imprisonment was but of a few weeks' duration. The evidence proffered by Wyatt against her had been withdrawn by the terrified rebel as soon as his manhood had been restored him, and he fully acquitted her of any participation in the late insurrection. It was in vain that Renard, who was ever assuring Mary that as long as the head of Elizabeth was spared, treason and heresy would be rife within the kingdom, himself visited the dungeons of the Tower and promised the rebel that if he confessed matters sufficiently compromising to the princess his life would be spared. Wyatt surlily replied that he had nothing to reveal, and that the lady Elizabeth was guiltless of all connection with his rising. His life had been spared by the Council so long as it had been hoped that damag ing statements might be wrung from him; now that he had nothing to disclose, or was resolved upon disclosing nothing, there was no reason, ministers said, why the wretch should not be sent to share the same fate as his followers. The lieutenant of the Tower was ordered to have him carried to the Tower Hill, and there to see him beheaded on the ensuing Wednesday, April 11, 1554. Romance has asserted that Wyatt was put to the rack, and when in the Tower was confronted with Elizabeth, before whom, awed by her majestic air of indignation, he withdrew all his damaging charges. History possesses no evidence for either of these assertions.

you I have confessed before the queen's majesty's honorable Council all those that took part with me and were privy of the conspiracy; but as for my lady Eliza beth, here I take it upon my death that she never knew of the conspiracy nor of my first rising; and, as touching any fault that is laid to her charge, I cannot accuse her. God I take in witness, and this is most true."

Then, without more talk he turned him and put off his doublet and untrussed his points. Stripped to his shirt he knelt down on the straw, prayed silently for a brief space, then with his own hands doubled the handkerchief around his eyes and placed his head on the block. He gave the signal by lifting up his hands, and at one stroke his head was severed from his body. "Then," writes chronicler, "was he forthwith quartered upon the scaffold, and the next day his quarters set at divers places, and his head upon a stake upon the gallows beyond St. James's. Which his head, as is reported, remained not there ten days unstolen away."


At the appointed day Wyatt was led up | like. And whereas it is said abroad that. the steps of his dungeon and, for the first I should accuse my lady Elizabeth's time since his capture at Temple Bar, grace, it is not so. Good people, I assure breathed the fresh air of heaven. He was dressed in the same clothes which he wore on his first passing under the spokes of Traitor's Gate-"a shirt with sleeves very fair, and thereon a velvet cassock and a yellow lace, with the windlass of his dag hanging thereon, and a pair of boots on his legs: on his head he had a fair hat of velvet with broad lace about it." In his hands he held a book. At the garden pale, hard by the lieutenant's lodgings, which separated Tower Green from the ominous hill, he took leave of the secretary, one Master Bourne. "I pray you, sir," said the condemned, "pray for me, and be a mean to the queen for my poor wife and children; and if it might have pleased her grace to have granted me my life, I would have trusted to have done her such good service as should have well recompensed mine of fence: but since not, I beseech God have mercy on me." To the which Bourne made no answer. Supported by two attendants, Wyatt then walked towards the hill, which, save the guarded place where stood the heading-block and the upright form of the masked executioner, was thronged with spectators. Not a cheer or a prayer, such is the fickleness of mob popularity, in his behalf rent the air; the only cry that arose was "Long live Queen Mary!" Six weeks ago it was "A Wyatt! a Wyatt!" "Down with the bastard!" "Away with the foreigner!" and the rest of it. But treason to be popular must at least be successful; at the first sign of failure, loyalty, or in other words self-interest, revives. On ascending the scaffold Wyatt faced the crowd and spoke as follows: "Good people, I am come presently here to die, being thereunto lawfully and worthily condemned, for I have sorely offended against God and the queen's majesty, and am sorry therefore. I trust God hath forgiven and taken his mercy upon me. I beseech the queen's majesty also of forgiveness." "She hath forgiven you already," said Weston, the priest appointed to attend upon the prisoner at his last hour. "Glad I am of it," said Wyatt. "And now," he continued, "let every man beware how he taketh anything in hand against the higher powers. Unless God be prosperable to his purpose it will never take good effect or success, and thereof ye may now learn of

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A few weeks after this execution Eliz abeth was released from the Tower, and placed under the surveillance of Sir Henry Bedingfield at Woodstock.

A. C. Ewald.

From Temple Bar.


THE premature death of the one great soldier produced by France, in 1870-1, induces us briefly to review his exploits. From the moment when he attained command, intelligent observers of the fierce contest which was being waged in the region of the Loire, perceived that Chanzy was no ordinary man; and as the strife deepened, the magnificent stand he made against the huge German hosts, gained the respect, nay, the admiration of Europe. The knowledge acquired since the war ended has elevated him even more in opinion, and it is now acknowledged that this eminent man had many of the gifts of a great commander. It is not only, though that is much, that Chanzy thoroughly understood his profession, and comprehended in its various details the difficult practice of modern war; in these respects he was perhaps equalled by the

Though long known as a soldier of promise, Chanzy was passed over by Napoleon III., and had only a brigade when the war began. When France rose to arms, after the disaster of Sedan, he was given a division of the 16th Corps, one of those improvised bodies with which Gambetta hoped to stem the tide of the German invasion. This promotion, it is said, was due to a letter from Macmahon, then a prisoner of war, who had formed a high estimate of Chanzy's powers; and in this, as in other instances, the Duke of Magenta showed that he had the interests of his country at heart. Within a few weeks Chanzy was placed at the head of the 16th Corps, now north of the Loire; the quality of his troops, and their fitness for the field, may be estimated from the following passage: 66 Discipline scarcely existed; the soldiers had fallen into the habit of doing as they pleased, without minding their orders. . . . Drunkenness, too, had made great progress; obscene songs, and the Marseillaise' resounded in the ranks. Some of the regiments are in a state of extreme want."


skilful Faidherbe, and the well-read Tro- | shall not affirm that his resistance would chu. Nor was it only that he possessed not have worn the invaders out and have the faculty of directing operations in the at least gained better terms for France field ably, nor yet that he made himself than those imposed on her by the Peace conspicuous in organizing and preparing of Frankfort. armies; Macmahon could fight an excellent battle, and D'Aurelle was capable in forming troops; yet neither chief could be compared with him. The qualities that distinguished Chanzy raised him high above generals of these types; and we feel assured that had he had the resources, and the opportunity of more fortunate men, he would have ranked among the masters of war. His strategic conceptions, we see, were equal to combinations on the largest scale, and were brilliant and sound alike; and had he been allowed to carry out his plans, nay, had his advice been even followed, the efforts of France, on two occasions at least, might not improbably have been crowned with success, with ultimate consequences perhaps momentous. How admirable was his conduct in the field, was made evident in his memorable campaign between the Loire, the Sarthe, and the Mayenne, when at the head of a defeated army, composed largely of young levies, and suffering from every kind of privations, he more than once baffled the German legions, fought, and all but won one great pitched battle, and finally drew off in a masterly retreat Under the admirable direction of Gena force still unbroken and even formida- eral D'Aurelle, but with Chanzy in immeble; and it may fairly be said that this diate command, a new spirit was breathed grand resistance, described by Von Moltke | into this mass; and before long, so rehimself as "amazing," and which utterly disconcerted the German chiefs, was the most perfect specimen of tactical skill shown on either side in the war of 1870. Chanzy, too, possessed in no ordinary degree one of the finest qualities of a true warrior- he inspired confidence and won the hearts of his troops; it was observed of him that he could obtain more from his improvised army than any one else; and though he was strict, nay severe, in discipline, his officers and men were devoted to him. Yet we have still to notice the most distinctive and noblest feature of this great character. Alone of all the soldiers of France, Chanzy remained superior to adverse fortune, after the catastrophe of Bourbaki's army, and the calamitous end of the seige of Paris; and alone he declared that it was still possible, were but the nation to be true to itself, to maintain a contest that seemed to others hopeless. Nor was this heroic constancy foolhardiness; the plans of Chanzy were deeply laid, and had he been invested with the supreme command, we

markable are the instincts of the French race for war, it became a far from contemptible force. The 16th joined with the 15th Corps, was now given the name of the Army of the Loire; and by the first week of November, 1870, it held the country to the north of the river, between Beaugency, Blois, and Marchenoir. D'Aurelle now resolved to march on Orleans, which had been captured by a raid from Paris, and if possible, to cut off a Bavarian detachment, which was the only hostile body in his path; and for this purpose he advanced his two_corps, combining his operations with a French division, which was to descend on Orleans from the upper Loire. These movements led to the battle of Coulmiers, the one French victory gained in the war; and though owing to the delay of the distant French wing, the Bavarians contrived to effect their escape, they were rudely handled and badly beaten. Chanzy was in command of the French left, but through the mistake of a cavalry leader his operations were not brilliant. His troops, however,

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