The occasion called forth the active zeal of Jane Lane, and never had it been more energetically displayed. Accompanied by Sir Clement Fisher and her brother, she rode through all the districts destined to destruction, and wherever she found a little crowd assembled, or heard murmurs, she halted and earnestly exhorted submission to the decree.
"Blame not the king," she said, "for this severe measure, but blame the great rebel and regicide, who has rendered it necessary. It is Cromwell, the murderer of your martyred sovereign, who comes hither to ravage your city, and slay your rightful king, that he may set himself up in his place, who thus drives you from your homes. Charles, your king, loves you, and would save you from this ruthless general and his fierce and fanatical soldiery, who will put you all to the sword if they obtain the victory. Resist, therefore, to the uttermost. Better that your houses should be burnt down than that they should afford shelter to such an enemy. Better your wives should be driven forth than exposed to the insults of Cromwell's soldiery. Quit your homes without hesitation and without murmuring, but with the deep determination to be avenged upon the foe. 'Tis a sacrifice you are called upon to make for your king—but we all make sacrifices for him. Right, justice, truth are on our side: treason of the darkest dye, rebellion and oppression, are on the other. Fight for your lawful king. Place your trust in Heaven, and you will triumph over these bloodthirsty rebels."
While uttering these stirring words, which produced an extraordinary impression upon those who heard them, she looked as if inspired. Her beautiful features assumed a very different expression from that which they ordinarily wore. For the moment they had lost all their softness, and when speaking of Cromwell, her eyes flashed as with lightning, her proud nostrils distended, and her delicate lips curled fiercely. Her beauty, her energetic language, and fiery looks produced, as we have said, the strongest effect upon her auditors, and roused within them a burning desire of vengeance. No longer they thought it a hardship to quit their homes, but were eager to fight for the king, and, if need be, lay down their lives for him. All feelings of discontent were subdued, and the greatest enthusiasm for the royal cause was awakened. Even the women who listened to her were almost as much roused as their husbands. Nor when she had departed did the effect of her eloquence subside. Wrath against Cromwell had now taken possession of every breast. Old Noll was the real author of the cruel decree. Old Noll had driven them from their homes. Old Noll would burn down the city itself, and massacre them all, men, women, and children, if he could. But the king would prevent it. Long live the king!—Down with the Republic!
Night had come on before all the necessary preparations were completed. Combustibles having been placed in most of the houses, and bands of men employed to set fire to them at a given signal, the conflagration began almost simultaneously on every side, and in a surprisingly short space of time the city was encompassed by a semicircle of fire. The spires and towers of the churches caught the red reflection of the flames, and a ruddy glow illumined the massive roof and tower of the cathedral. All the principal buildings were lighted up.
Viewed from the heights, it seemed as if the fire, which burnt with great fierceness, was gaining upon the walls and gates; but this was not so, all needful precautions having been taken to prevent its too near approach. Luckily the night was almost calm. A gentle breeze from the south carried the flames from the city. Overhead hung a cloud of smoke. The spectacle was magnificent; the soldiers could be seen on the gates and walls, the engineers on the summit of Fort Royal and the Blockhouse, while all the troops outside the city were clearly distinguishable.
The conflagration did the Royalists an unexpected service by revealing the engineers engaged in raising the breastwork in front of Perry Wood. The operations of these men were quickly stopped by the guns of Fort Royal, to which they offered an excellent mark. Two artillerymen and a matross were killed, and the rest dispersed.
The defenders of the fort, having thus learnt that a detachment of the enemy was hidden in Perry Wood, continued their cannonade briskly, and sent shot into different parts of the thicket in the hope of dislodging the Parliamentarians. Little did they think that among those whom they had driven off was the Lord General himself, who chanced at the time to be superintending the construction of the breastwork. One of the artillerymen was killed close beside him.
With the utmost calmness, Cromwell gave orders to the engineers to suspend their work till the fire had burnt out, and then deliberately withdrew to a place of safety, whence he watched the progress of the conflagration, the cause of which he had comprehended from the first. Several shots passed over his head and shattered the trees beyond him, as he stood behind a hedge bank with his constant attendant Dighton. His curiosity was excited, for the fortifications were more completely revealed by this fierce glare than by daylight. He could count the large guns on Fort Royal, and the sakers, demi-cannons, culverins, and falcons on the Blockhouse.
"Ha!" he suddenly exclaimed. "Methinks I see the young man, Charles Stuart, on the summit of yon blustering fort, which he took from Colonel James, and which I shall soon retake from him. Were he wise, he would stop this furious and senseless cannonading. But the noise pleases him. Dost note what he has done, Dighton?"