The soldiers needed little encouragement, being already inflamed with zeal and the sight of the exceeding rich plunder, for never, since the war began, had they made booty of a place as splendid as Basing.
Major Harrison with his musket hurled over the image of the Virgin on the altar, and his followers made spoil of the golden vessels, the embroidered copes, stoles, and cloths, the cushions and carpets.
The altar-painting was ripped from end to end by a halbert, slashed across, and torn till it hung in a few ribbons of canvas; the gorgeous glass in the windows was smashed, the leading, as the only thing of value, dragged away, the marble carvings were chipped and broken, the mosaic walls defaced by blows from muskets and pikes.
After five minutes of this fury the chapel was a hideous havoc, and the Marquess could not restrain a passionate exclamation.
Cromwell turned to him.
"We destroy wood and stone and the articles of a licentious worship," he said, "but you have destroyed flesh and blood. To-day you shall see many popish books burnt—but at Smithfield it was human bodies."
The Marquess made no reply, nor would he look at the speaker, and they led him away through his desolated house.
Wild scenes of plunder were now taking place; clothes, hangings, plate, jewels were seized upon, the iron was being wrenched from the windows, the lead from the roof; what the soldiers could not remove they destroyed; one wing of the house was alight with fierce fire, and into these flames was flung all that savoured of Popery; from the Grange, wheat, bacon, cheese, beef, pork, and oatmeal were being carried away in huge quantities; amid all the din and confusion came the cries for quarter of some of the baser sort who had taken refuge in the cellars, and divers groans from those of the wounded who lay unnoticed under fallen rubbish and in obscure corners.
Cromwell gave orders to stop the fire as much as might be, for, he said, these chairs, stools, and this household stuff will sell for a good price.