Richard II Part 12

The a.s.sembly seemed so noisy and furious that the n.o.bles in attendance on the king were afraid to allow him to land. They advised him to remain in the barge, at a little distance from the sh.o.r.e, and to address the people from the deck. The king resolved to do so. So the barge lay floating on the river, the oarsmen taking a few strokes from time to time to recover the ground lost by the drift of the current. The king stood upon the deck of the barge, with his officers around him, and asked the men on the sh.o.r.e what they wished for.

"I have come at your request," said he, "to hear what you have to say."[H]

[Footnote H: See Frontispiece.]

Such an arrangement as this for communicating with a ma.s.s of desperate and furious men would not have been safe under circ.u.mstances similar to those of the present day. A man standing in this way on the deck of a boat, within speaking distance of the sh.o.r.e, might, with a rifle, or even with a musket, have been killed in a moment by any one of the thousands on the sh.o.r.e. In those days, however, when the only missiles were spears, javelins, and arrows, a man might stand at his ease within speaking distance of his enemies, entirely out of reach of their weapons.

When the crowd upon the sh.o.r.e saw that the king was waving his hand to them in order to silence them, and that he was trying to speak, they became in some measure calm; and when he asked again what they wished for, the leaders replied by saying that they wished him to come on sh.o.r.e. They desired him to land, they said, so that he could better hear what they had to say.

One of the officers about the king replied that that could not be.

"The king can not land among you," he said. "You are not properly dressed, nor in a fit condition, in any respect, to come into his majesty's presence."

Hereupon the noise and clamor was renewed, and became more violent than ever, the men insisting that the king should land, and filling the air with screams, yells, and vociferations of all sorts, which made the scene truly terrific. The counselors of the king insisted that it was not safe for the king to remain any longer on the river, so the oarsmen were ordered to pull their oars, and the barge immediately began to recede from the sh.o.r.e, and to move back up the river. It happened that the tide was now coming in, and this a.s.sisted them very much in their progress, and the barge was swept back rapidly toward the Tower.

The insurgents were now in a great rage. Those who had come down to the bank of the river to meet the king went back in a throng to the place where the great body of the rebels were encamped on the plain.

The news that the king had refused to come and hear their complaints was soon spread among the whole mult.i.tude, and the cry was raised, To London! To London! So the whole mighty ma.s.s began to put itself in motion, and in a few hours all the roads that led toward the metropolis were thronged with vast crowds of ragged and wretched-looking men, barefooted, bareheaded; some bearing rudely-made flags and banners, some armed with clubs and poles, and such other subst.i.tutes for weapons as they had been able to seize for the occasion, and all in a state of wild and phrensied excitement.

The people of London were greatly alarmed when they heard that they were coming. There was then but one bridge leading into London from the southern side of the river. This bridge was on the site of the present London Bridge, about half a mile above the Tower. There was a gate at the end of the bridge next the town, and a drawbridge outside of it. The Londoners shut the gate and took up the drawbridge, to prevent the insurgents from coming in.

When the rioters reached the bridge, and found that they were shut out, they, of course, became more violent than before, and they began to burn and destroy the houses outside. Now it happened that many of these houses were handsome villas which belonged to the rich citizens of the town. These citizens became alarmed for their property, and they began to say that it would be better, after all, to open the gates and let the people come in.

"If we let them come in," said they, "they will wander about the streets a while, but they will soon get tired and go away; whereas, by opposing and thwarting them, we only make them the more violent and mischievous."

Then, besides, there were a great many of the common people of London that sympathized with the rioters, and wished to join them.

"They are our friends," said they. "They are striving to obtain redress for grievances which we suffer as well as they. Their cause is our cause. So let us open the gates and let them come in."

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE SAVOY.]

In the mean time, the whole population of the city were becoming more and more alarmed every hour, for the rioters were burning and destroying the suburbs, and they declared that if the Londoners did not open the gates, they would, after ravaging every thing without the walls, take the city by storm, and burn and destroy every thing in it. So it was finally concluded to open the gates and let the insurgents in.

They came in in an immense throng, which continued for many hours to pour over the bridge into the city, like a river of men above, flowing athwart the river of water below. As they entered the city, they divided and spread into all the diverging streets. A portion of them stormed a jail, and set all the prisoners free. Others marched through the streets, filling the air with dreadful shouts and outcries, and brandis.h.i.+ng their pikes with great fury. The citizens, in hopes to conciliate them, brought out food for them, and some gave them wine.

On receiving these provisions, the insurgents built fires in the streets, and encamped around them, to partake of the food and refreshments which the citizens had bestowed. They were rendered more good-natured, perhaps, by this kind treatment received from the citizens, but they soon became excited by the wine which they drank, and grew more wild and noisy than ever. At length a large party of them began to move toward the palace of the Duke of Lancaster. This palace was called the Savoy. It stood on the bank of the river, between London and Westminster, and was a grand and imposing mansion.

The Duke of Lancaster was an especial object of their hatred. He was absent at this time, as has been said, being engaged in military operations on the frontiers of Scotland. The mob, however, were determined to destroy his palace, and every thing that belonged to it.

So they broke into the house, murdering all who made any resistance, and then proceeded to break and destroy every thing the palace contained. They built fires in the court-yard and in the street, and piled upon them every thing movable that would burn. The plate, and other such valuables as would not burn, they broke up and threw into the Thames. They strictly forbade that any of the property should be taken away. One man hid a silver cup in his bosom, intending to purloin it; but he was detected in the act, and his comrades threw him, cup and all, as some say, upon the fire; others say they threw him into the Thames; at any rate, they destroyed him and his booty together.

"We are here," said they, "in the cause of truth and righteousness, to execute judgment upon a criminal, and not to become thieves and robbers ourselves."

[Ill.u.s.tration: RUINS OF THE SAVOY.]

When they had destroyed every thing that the palace contained, they set fire to the building, and burned it to the ground. A portion of the walls remained standing afterward for a long time, a desolate and melancholy ruin.

The insurgents felt a special animosity against lawyers, whom they considered mercenary instruments in the hands of the n.o.bles for oppressing them. They hung all the lawyers that they could get into their hands, and after burning the Savoy they went to the Temple, which was a s.p.a.cious edifice containing the courts, the chambers of the barristers, and a vast store of ancient legal records. They burned and destroyed the whole.

It is said, too, that there was a certain man in London, a rich citizen, named Richard Lyon, who had formerly been Walter the Tiler's master, and had beaten him and otherwise treated him in a cruel and oppressive manner. At the time that he received these injuries Walter had no redress, but now the opportunity had come, he thought, for revenge. So he led a gang of the most desperate and reckless of the insurgents to Lyon's house, and, seizing their terrified victim, they dragged him out without mercy, and cut off his head. The head they stuck upon the top of a pike, and paraded it through the streets, a warning, as they said, to all cruel and oppressive masters.

A great many other heads, princ.i.p.ally those of men who had made themselves particularly obnoxious to the insurgents, were paraded through the streets in the same manner.

After spending the day in these excesses, keeping all London in a state of dreadful confusion and alarm, the various bands began to move toward night in the direction of the Tower, where the king and his court had shut themselves up in great terror, not knowing what to do to escape from the dreadful inundation of poverty and misery which had so suddenly poured in upon them. The rioters, when they reached the Tower, took possession of a large open square before it, and, kindling up great bonfires, they began to make arrangements for bivouacking there for the night.

CHAPTER X.

THE END OF THE INSURRECTION.

A.D. 1381

Anxiety and embarra.s.sment of the king.--Consultations in the Tower.--Various counsels.--Mile-End.--A meeting appointed with the rioters at Mile-End.--The king meets the insurgents at Mile-End.--Parley with them.--The king accedes to their demands.--Effect of the concessions.--Preparation of the decrees.--Scenes in the night in and around London.--The next morning.--The king meets the insurgents at Smithfield.--Another parley.--Walter advances.--His orders to his men.--Doubt about the fairness of the accounts.--Conversation between Walter and the king.--Walter gets into a quarrel with the king's squire.--Walter is at last a.s.saulted and killed.--Excitement among his men.--Courage and coolness of the king.--Alarm conveyed to London.--Troops brought to the ground.--The insurgents surrender their banners and disperse.--The king's interview with his mother.--Final results of the rebellion.

In the mean time, within the Tower, where the king and his courtiers now found themselves almost in a state of siege, there were continual consultations held, and much perplexity and alarm prevailed. Some of Richard's advisers recommended that the most decisive measures should be adopted at once. The king had in the Tower with him a considerable body of armed men. There were also in other parts of London and vicinity many more, amounting in all to about four thousand. It was recommended by some of the king's counselors that these men should all be ordered to attack the insurgents the next morning, and kill them without mercy. It is true that there were between fifty and one hundred thousand of the insurgents; but they had no arms, and no organization, and it was not to be expected, therefore, that they could stand a moment, numerous as they were, against the king's regular troops. They would be slaughtered, it was said, like sheep, and the insurrection would be at once put down.

Others thought that this would be a very hazardous mode of proceeding, and very uncertain as to its results.

"It is much better," said they, "that your majesty should appease them, if possible, by fair words, and by a show of granting what they ask; for if we once attempt to put them down by force, and should not be able to go through with it, we shall only make matters a great deal worse. The commonalty of London and of all England would then join them, and the n.o.bles and the government will be swept away entirely from the land."

These counsels prevailed. It was decided not to attack the rioters immediately, but to wait a little, and see what turn things would take.

The next morning, as soon as the insurgents were in motion in the great square, they began to be very turbulent and noisy, and to threaten that they would attack the Tower itself if the king did not open the gates to them. It was finally determined to yield in part to their requests.

There was a certain place in the suburbs of London known by the name of Mile-End--so called, perhaps, because it was at the end of a mile from some place or other. At this place was an extended meadow, to which the people of London were accustomed to resort on gala days for parades and public amus.e.m.e.nts. The king sent out a messenger from the Tower to the leaders of the insurgents with directions to say to them that if they would all go to Mile-End, he would come out and meet them there.

They took him at his word, and the whole immense ma.s.s began to set itself in motion toward Mile-End.

They did not all go there, however. Those who really desired to have an interview with the king, with a view to a redress of their grievances, repaired to the appointed place of rendezvous. But of the rest, a large party turned toward London, in hopes of pillage and plunder. Others remained near the Tower. This last party, as soon as the king and his attendants had gone to Mile-End, succeeded in forcing their way in through the gates, which, it seems, had not been left properly guarded, and thus gained possession of the Tower. They ransacked the various apartments, and destroyed every thing which came in their way that was at all obnoxious to them. They broke into the chamber of the Princess of Wales, Richard's mother, and, though they did not do the princess any personal injury, they terrified her so much by their violence and noise that she fainted, and was borne away apparently lifeless. Her attendants carried her down the landing-stairs on the river side, and there put her into a covered boat, and rowed her away to a place of safety.

The people in the Tower did not all get off so easily. The Archbishop of Canterbury was there, and three other prelates of high rank. These men were particularly obnoxious to the rioters, so they seized them, and without any mercy dragged them into the court and cut off their heads. The heads they put upon the ends of poles, and paraded them in this way through the streets of London.

In the mean time, the king, followed by a numerous train of attendants, had proceeded to Mile-End, and there met the insurgents, who had a.s.sembled in a vast concourse to receive him. Several of the attendants of the king were afraid to follow him into the danger to which they thought he was exposing himself by going among such an immense number of lawless and desperate men. Some of them deserted him on the way to the place of meeting, and rode off in different directions to places of safety. The king himself, however, though so young--for he was now only about sixteen years of age--had no fear. As soon as he came to the meadow at Mile-End, where the insurgents had now a.s.sembled to the number of sixteen thousand, he rode forward boldly into the midst of them, and opened the conference at once by asking them what they desired.

The spokesman whom they had appointed for the occasion stated their demands, which were that they should be made free. They had hitherto been held as serfs, in a bondage which exposed them to all sorts of cruelties and oppressions, since they were amenable, not to law, but wholly to the caprice and arbitrary will of individual masters. They demanded, therefore, that Richard should emanc.i.p.ate them from this bondage, and make them free.

It was determined by Richard and his counselors that this demand should be complied with, or, at least, that they should pretend to comply with it, and that decrees of emanc.i.p.ation for the different counties and districts which the various parties of insurgents had come from should be immediately issued. This decision seemed to satisfy them. The leaders, or at least a large portion of them, said that it was all they wanted, and several parties immediately began to set out on their return to their several homes.

But there were a great many who were not satisfied. An insurrection like this, whatever may be the object and design of the original movers in it, always brings out into prominence, and invests with temporary power, vast numbers of desperate and violent men, whose pa.s.sions become inflamed by the excitement of movement and action, and by sympathy with each other, and who are never satisfied to stop with the attainment of the objects originally desired. Thus, in the present instance, although a great number of the rebels were satisfied with the promises made by the king at Mile-End, and so went home, mult.i.tudes still remained. Large parties went to London to join those who had already gone there in hopes of opportunities for pillage.

Others remained at their encampments, doubting whether the king would really keep the promises which he had made them, and send the decrees.

Then, besides, fresh parties of insurgents were continually arriving at London and its neighborhood, so that the danger seemed by no means to have pa.s.sed away.

The king immediately caused the decree to be prepared. Thirty secretaries were employed at once to write the several copies required. They were all of the same form. They were written, as was customary with royal decrees in those times, in the Latin language, were engrossed carefully upon parchment, signed by the king, and sealed by his seal. The announcement that the secretaries were preparing these decrees, when the work had been commenced, tended greatly to satisfy the insurgents, and many more of them went home.

Still, vast numbers remained, and the excitement among them, and their disposition for mischief, was evidently on the increase.

Such was the state of things during the night of Friday. The various parties of the insurgents were encamped in and around London, the glare of their fires flas.h.i.+ng on the buildings and lighting up the sky, and their shouts, sometimes of merriment and sometimes of anger, filling the air. The peaceable inhabitants pa.s.sed the night in great alarm. Some of them endeavored to conciliate the good-will of the insurgents by offering them food and wine. The wine, of course, excited them, and made them more noisy than ever. Their numbers, too, were all the time increasing, and no one could foresee how or when the trouble would end.