South London

by Walter Besant

'And so furthewith I was taken, and led to the capteyns tent, and j. ax and j. blok was brought forth to have smetyn of myn hede; and than my maister Ponyngs, your brodyr,[5] with other of my frendes, come and lettyd the capteyn, and seyd pleynly that there shulde dye a C. or ij. (a hundred or two), that in case be that I dyed; and so by that meane my lyf was savyd at that tyme. And than I was sworen to the capteyn, and to the comens, that I shulde go to Southwerk, and aray me in the best wyse that I coude, and come ageyn to hem to helpe hem; and so I gote th' articles, and brought hem to my maister, and that cost me more emongs the comens that day than xxvijs.

'Wherupon I come to my maister Fastolf, and brought hym th' articles, and enformed hym of all the mater, and counseyled hym to put a wey all his abyllyments of werr and the olde sawdiors; and so he dyd, and went hymself to the Tour, and all his meyny with hym but betts and j. (i.e. one) Mathew Brayn; and had not I ben, the comens wolde have brennyd his plase and all his tennuryes, wher thorough it coste me of my noune propr godes at that tyme more than vj. merks in mate and drynke; and nought withstondyng the capteyn that same tyme lete take me atte Whyte Harte in Suthewerk, and there comandyt Lovelase to dispoyle me oute of myn aray, and so he dyd. And there he toke a fyn gowne of muster dewyllers[6] furryd with fyn bevers, and j. peyr of Bregandyrns[7] kevert with blew fellewet (velvet) and gylt naile, with leg-harneyse, the vallew of the gown and the bregardyns viijli.

'Item, the capteyn sent certeyn of his meyny to my chamber in your rents, and there breke up my chest, and toke awey j. obligacion of myn that was due unto me of xxxvjli. by a prest of Poules, and j. nother obligacion of j. knyght of xli., and my purse with v. ryngs of golde, and xvijs. vjd. of golde and sylver; and j. herneyse (harness) complete of the touche of Milleyn;[8] and j. gowne of fyn perse[9] blewe furryd with martens; and ij. gounes, one furreyd with bogey,[10] and j. nother lyned with fryse;[11] and ther wolde have smetyn of myn hede, whan that they had dyspoyled me atte White Hart. And there my Maister Ponyngs and my frends savyd me, and so I was put up tyll at nyght that the batayle was at London Brygge;[12] and than atte nyght the captyn put me oute into the batayle atte Brygge, and there I was woundyt, and hurt nere hand to deth; and there I was vj. oures in the batayle, and myght nevyr come oute therof; and iiij. tymes before that tyme I was caryd abought thorough Kent and Sousex, and ther they wolde have smetyn of my hede.

'And in Kent there as my wyfe dwellyd, they toke awey all oure godes movabyll that we had, and there wolde have hongyd my wyfe and v. of my chyldren, and lefte her no more gode but her kyrtyll and her smook. And a none aftye that hurlyng, the Bysshop Roffe,[13] apechyd me to the Quene, and so I was arestyd by the Quenes commaundment in to the Marchalsy, and there was in rygt grete durasse, and fere of myn lyf, and was thretenyd to have ben hongyd, drawen, and quarteryd; and so wold have made me to have pechyd my Maister Fastolf of treson. And by cause that I wolde not, they had me up to Westminster, and there wolde have sent me to the gole house at Wyndsor; but my wyves and j. coseyn of myn noune that were yomen of the Croune, they went to the Kyng, and got grase and j. chartyr of pardon.'

Here we see the popular opinion of Fastolf 'the greatest traitor in England or in France:' he who 'mynnyshed all the garrisons of Normandy, and Manns, and Mayn:' he who was the cause of the 'lesyng of all the Kyng's tytyll and rights of an heritaunce that he had by yonde see.'

The whole story is in the highest degree dramatic. Sir John wants to know what the rebellion means. Let one of his men go and find out. Let him take two horses in case of having to run for it: the rebels will most probably kill him if they catch him. Well: it is all in the day's work: what can a man expect? Would the fellow live for ever? What can he look for except to be killed some time or other? So John Payn takes two horses and sets off. As we expected, he does get caught: he is brought before Mortimer as a spy. At this point we are reminded of the false herald in 'Quentin Durward,' but in this case it is a real herald pressed into the service of Mortimer, alias Jack Cade. Now the Captain is by way of being a gentleman: very likely he was: the story about him, that he had been a common soldier, is improbable and supported by no kind of evidence. However, he conducts the affair in a courteous fashion. No moblike running to the nearest tree: no beating along the prisoner to be hanged upon a branch: not at all: the prisoner is conducted with much ceremony to the four quarters of the camp and at each is proclaimed by the herald a spy. Then the axe and the block are brought out. The prisoner feels already the bitterness of death. But his friends interfere: he must be spared or a hundred heads shall fall. He is spared: on condition that he goes back, arrays himself in his best harness and returns to fight on the side of the rebels.

Observe that this faithful person gets the 'articles' that his master wants: he also reports on the strength of the rebellion in-so-much that Sir John breaks up his garrison and retreats across the river to the Tower. But before going he tells the man that he must keep his parole and go back to the rebels to be killed by them or among them. So the poor man puts on his best harness and goes back.

They spoil him of every thing: and then, they put him in the crowd of those who fight on London Bridge.

It was a very fine battle. Jack Cade had already entered London when he murdered Lord Saye, and Sir James Cromer, Sheriff of Kent, and plundered and fined certain merchants. He kept up, however, the appearance of a friend of the people and permitted no plundering of the lower sort. So that one is led to believe that in the fight the merchants, themselves, and the better class held the bridge.

The following account comes from Holinshed. It must be remembered that the battle was fought on the night of Sunday the 5th of July, in midsummer, when there is no night, but a clear soft twilight, and when the sun rises by four in the morning. It was a wild sight that the sun rose upon that morning. The Londoners and the Kentish men, with shouts and cries, alternately beat each other back upon the narrow bridge, attack and defence growing feebler as the night wore on. And all night long the bells rang to call the citizens to arms in readiness to take their place on the bridge. And all night the old and the young and the women lay trembling in their beds lest the men of London should be beaten back by the men of Kent, and these should come in with fire and sword to pillage and destroy. All night long without stopping: the dead were thrown over the bridge: the wounded fell and were trampled upon until they were dead: and beneath their feet the quiet tide ebbed and flowed through the arches.