Ball's proposal.
There was a certain priest named John Ball, who, before the rebellion broke out, had done much to enlighten the people as to their rights, and had attempted to induce them to seek redress at first in a peaceable manner. He used to make speeches to the people in the market-place, representing to them the hardships which they endured by the oppressions of the nobility,and urging them to combine together to petition the king for a redress of their grievances. "The king will listen to us, I am sure," said he, "if we go to him together in a body and make our request; but if he will not hear us, then we must redress our grievances ourselves the best way we can."
Other orators.
The example of Ball was followed by many other persons; and, as always happens in such cases, the excitement among the people, and their eagerness to hear, brought out a great many spectators, whose only object was to see who could awaken the resentment and anger of their audiences in the highest degree, and produce the greatest possible excitement. These orators, having begun with condemning the extravagant wealth, the haughty pretensions, and the cruel oppressions of the nobles, and contrasting them with the extreme misery and want of the common people, whom they held as slaves, proceeded at length to denounce all inequalities in human condition, and to demand that all things should be held in common.
Their discourses.
"Things will never go on well in England," said they, "until all these distinctions shall be leveled, and the time shall come when there shall be neither vassal nor lord, and these proud nobles shall be no more masters than ourselves.How ill have they used us! And what right have they to hold us in this miserable bondage? Are we not all descended from the same parents, Adam and Eve? What right have one set of men to make another set their slaves? What right have they to compel us to toil all our lives to earn money, that they may live at ease and spend it? They are clothed in velvets and rich stuffs, ornamented with ermine and furs, while we are half naked, or clothed only in rags. They have wines, and spices, and fine bread, while we have nothing but rye, and the refuse of the straw. They have manors and handsome seats, while we live in miserable cabins, and have to brave the wind and rain at our labor in the fields, in order that, with the proceeds of our toil, they may support their pomp and luxury. And if we do not perform our services, or if they unjustly think that we do not, we are beaten, and there is no one to whom we can complain or look for justice."
Mixture of truth and error in their complaints.
There is obviously some truth and some extravagance in these complaints. Men deprived of their rights, as these poor English serfs were, and goaded by the oppressions which they suffered almost to despair, will, of course, be extravagant in their complaints. None but those totally ignorant of human nature would expectmen to be moderate and reasonable when in such a condition, and in such a state of mind.
Necessary inequality among men.
The truth is, that there always has been, and there always will necessarily be, a great inequality in the conditions, and a great difference in the employments of men; but this fact awakens no dissatisfaction or discontent when those who have the lower stations of life to fill are treated as they ought to be treated. If they enjoy personal liberty, and are paid the fair wages which they earn by their labor, and are treated with kindness and consideration by those whose duties are of a higher and more intellectual character, and whose position in life is superior to theirs, they are, almost without exception, satisfied and happy. It is only when they are urged and driven hard and long by unfeeling oppression that they are ever aroused to rebellion against the order of the social state; and then, as might be expected, they go to extremes, and, if they get the power into their hands, they sweep every thing away, and overwhelm themselves and their superiors in one common destruction.
The true doctrine of equality.
Young persons sometimes imagine that the American doctrine of the equality of man refers to equality of condition; and even grown persons, who ought to think more clearly andbe more reasonable, sometimes refer to the distinctions of rich and poor in this country as falsifying our political theories. But the truth is, that, in our political theory of equality, it is not at all equality of condition, but equality ofrights, that is claimed for man. All men—the doctrine is simply—have an equal right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Even when all are in the full enjoyment of their rights, different men will, of course, attain to very different degrees of advancement in the objects of their desire. Some will be rich and some will be poor; some will be servants and some masters; some will be the employers and some the employed; but, so long as all are equalin respect to their rights, none will complain—or, at least, noclasseswill complain. There will, of course, be here and there disappointed and discontented individuals, but their discontent will not spread. It is only by the long-continued and oppressive infringement of the natural rights of large masses of men that the way is prepared for revolts and insurrections.
Origin of Wat Tyler's insurrection.
It was by this process that the way was prepared for the insurrection which I am now to describe. The whole country for fifty miles about London was in a very sullen and angry mood, ready for an outbreak the moment thatany incident should occur to put the excitement in motion. This incident was furnished by an occurrence which took place in the family of Walter the Tiler.
The tax-gatherer in Walter's family.Intolerable outrage.The tax-gatherer killed.
It seems that a personal tax had been levied by the government, the amount of which varied with the age of the individual assessed. Children paid so much. Young men and young women paid more. The line between these classes was not clearly defined, or, rather, the tax-gatherers had no means of determining the ages of the young people in a family, if they suspected the parents reported them wrong. In such cases they were often very insolent and rude, and a great many quarrels took place, by which the people were often very much incensed. The tax-gatherer came one day into Walter's house to collect the tax. Walter himself was away, engaged at work tiling a house nearby. The only persons that were at home were his wife and a young daughter just growing to womanhood. The tax-gatherer said that the girl was full-grown, and that they must pay the higher tax for her. Her mother said, "No, she is not full-grown yet; she is only a child." The tax-gatherer then said he would soon find out whether she was a woman or not, and went to her to take hold of her, offering her rudenessand violence of the worst possible character. The poor girl screamed and struggled to get away from him. Her mother ran to the door, and made a great outcry, calling for help. Walter, hearing the cries, seized for a club a heavy implement which he used in tiling, and ran home. As soon as he entered the house, he demanded of the officer, who had now left his daughter and came forward to meet him, what he meant by conducting in so outrageous a manner in his house. The officer replied defiantly, and advanced toward Walter to strike him. Walter parried the stroke, and then, being roused to perfect phrensy by the insult which his daughter had received and the insolence of the tax-gatherer, he brought his club down upon the tax-gatherer's head with such a blow as to break his skull and kill him on the spot. The blow was so violent that the man's brains were scattered all about the floor.
Plan of the insurgents to march to London.
The news of this occurrence spread like wildfire through the town. The people all took Walter's part, and they began to assemble. It seems that a great many of them had had their daughters maltreated in the same way by the tax-gatherers, but had not dared to resist or to complain. They now, however, flocked around the house of Walter, and promised to stand byhim to the end. The plan was proposed that they should march to London, and in a body appeal to the king, and call upon him to redress their wrongs.
"He is young," said they, "and he will have pity upon us, and be just to us. Let us go in a body and petition him."
The news of the movement spread to all the neighboring towns, and very soon afterward a vast concourse collected, and commenced their march toward London. They were joined on the road by large companies that came from the villages and towns on the way, until at length Walter and his fellow-leaders found themselves at the head of from sixty to one hundred thousand men.
VIEW OF THE TOWER OF LONDON, AS SEEN FROM THE RIVER.VIEW OF THE TOWER OF LONDON, AS SEEN FROM THE RIVER.
The whole country was, of course, thrown into a state of great alarm. The Duke of Lancaster, who was particularly obnoxious to the people, was absent at this time. He was on the frontiers of Scotland. The king was in his palace; but, on hearing tidings of the insurrection, he went to the Tower, which is a strong castle built on the banks of the river, in the lower part of London. A number of the nobles who had most cause to fear the mob went with him, and shut themselves up there. The Princess of Wales, Richard's mother, happened tobe at Canterbury at the time, having gone there on a pilgrimage. She immediately set out on her return to London, but she was intercepted on the way by Tyler and his crowd of followers. The crowd gathered around the carriage, and frightened the princess very much indeed, but they did her no harm. After detaining her for some time, they let her pass on. She immediately made the best of her way to the Tower, where she joined her son.
Re-enforcements by the way.Oaths administered.
As fast as companies of men came from the villages and towns along the road to join the insurgents, the leaders administered to them an oath. The oath bound them,
1. Always to be faithful and true to King Richard.2. Never to submit to the reign of any king named John. This was aimed at the Duke of Lancaster, whose name was John, and whom they all specially hated.3. Always to follow and defend their leaders whenever called upon to do so, and always to be ready to march themselves, and to bring their neighbors with them, at a moment's warning.4. To demand the abrogation of all the obnoxious taxes, and never to submit again to the collection of them.
1. Always to be faithful and true to King Richard.
2. Never to submit to the reign of any king named John. This was aimed at the Duke of Lancaster, whose name was John, and whom they all specially hated.
3. Always to follow and defend their leaders whenever called upon to do so, and always to be ready to march themselves, and to bring their neighbors with them, at a moment's warning.
4. To demand the abrogation of all the obnoxious taxes, and never to submit again to the collection of them.
The Archbishop of Canterbury.
In this manner the throngs moved on along the roads leading to London. They became gradually more and more excited and violent as they proceeded. Soon they began to attack the houses of knights, and nobles, and officers of the government which they passed on the way; and many persons, whom they supposed to be their enemies, they killed. At Canterbury they pillaged the palace of the archbishop. The Archbishop of Canterbury, then as now, drew an immense revenue from the state, and lived in great splendor, and they justly conceived that the luxury and ostentation in which he indulged was in some degree the cause of the oppressive taxation that they endured.
Case of Sir John Newton.
They assaulted a castle on the way, and made prisoner of a certain knight named Sir John Newton, whom they found in it, and compelled him to go with them to London. The knight was very unwilling to go with them, and at first seemed determined not to do so; but they disposed of his objections in a very summary manner.
"Sir John," said they, "unless you go with us at once, and in every thing do exactly as we order you, you are a dead man."
So Sir John was compelled to go. They took two of his children with them also, to hold assecurity, they said, for their father's good behavior.
There were other parties of the insurgents who made prisoners in this way of men of rank and family, and compelled them to ride at the head of their respective columns, as if they were leaders in the insurrection.
Sir John Newton is sent as an embassador to the king.
In this manner the throngs moved on, until at length, approaching the Thames, they arrived at Blackheath and Greenwich, two villages below London, farther down than the Tower, and near the bank of the river. Here they halted, and determined to send an embassage to the king to demand an audience. The embassador that they were to send was the knight, Sir John Newton.
Sir John did not dare to do otherwise than as the insurgents directed. He went to the river, and, taking a boat, he crossed over to the Tower. The guards received him at the gate, and he was conducted into the presence of the king.
He found the king in an apartment with the princess his mother, and with a number of the nobles and officers of his court. They were all in a state of great suspense and anxiety, awaiting tidings. They knew that the whole country was in commotion, but in respect to whatthey were themselves to do in the emergency they seem to have had no idea.
Interview between Sir John and the king at the Tower.
Sir John was himself one of the officers of the government, and so he was well known to all the courtiers. He fell on his knees as soon as he entered the king's presence, and begged his majesty not to be displeased with him for the message that he was about to deliver.
"I assure your majesty," said he, "that I come not voluntarily, but on compulsion."
The king said to him that he had nothing to fear, and directed him to proceed at once and deliver his message.
The knight then said that the people who had assembled wished to see the king, and he urgently requested that his majesty would come and meet them at Blackheath.
"They wish you to come by yourself alone," said he. "And your majesty need have no fear for your person, for they will not do you the least harm. They have always respected you, and they will continue to respect and honor you as their king. They only wish to tell you some things which they say it is very necessary that your majesty should hear. They have not informed me what it is that they wish to say, since they desire to communicate it themselves directly to your majesty."
The knight concluded by imploring the king to grant his subjects a favorable answer if he could, or at least to allow him to return to them with such a reply as would convince them that he, their messenger, had fairly delivered his message.
"Because," said he, "they hold my children as hostages, and unless I return they will surely put them to death."
The king replied that the knight should have an answer very soon, and he immediately called a council of his courtiers to consider what should be done. There was much difference of opinion, but it was finally concluded to send word to the men that the king would come down the river on the following day to speak with them, and that, if the leaders would come to the bank of the river opposite Blackheath, he would meet them there.
Sir John returns to the insurgents.
So Sir John Newton left the Tower, and, recrossing the river in his boat, went back to the camp of the insurgents, and reported to the leaders the answer of the king.
They were very much pleased to hear that the king was coming to meet them. The news was soon communicated to all the host, and it gave universal satisfaction. There were sixty thousand men on the ground, it is said, and, ofcourse, they were very insufficiently provided with food, and not at all with shelter. They, however, began to make arrangements to spend the night as well as they could where they were, in anticipation of the interview with the king on the following day.
The king goes down to meet the insurgents.
On the following morning the king attended mass in solemn state in the chapel of the Tower, and then immediately afterward entered his barge, accompanied by a grand train of officers, knights, and barons. The barge, leaving the Tower stairs, was rowed down the river to the place appointed for the interview. About ten thousand of the insurgents had come to the spot, and when they saw the barge coming in sight with the royal party on board, they burst out into such a terrific uproar, with yells, screams, shouts, outcries, and frantic gesticulations, that they seemed to the king and his party like a company of demons. They had Sir John Newton with them. They had brought him down to the bank of the river, because, as they said, if the king were not to come, they should believe that he had imposed upon them in the message which he had brought, and in that case they were going to cut him to pieces on the spot.
Scene on the bank of the river.
The assembly seemed so noisy and furiousthat the nobles 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 shore, 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 shore what they wished for.
"I have come at your request," said he, "to hear what you have to say."[H]
Such an arrangement as this for communicating with a mass of desperate and furious men would not have been safe under circumstances similar to those of the present day. A man standing in this way on the deck of a boat, within speaking distance of the shore, might, with a rifle, or even with a musket, have been killed in a moment by any one of the thousands on the shore. 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.
Parley with the insurgents.
When the crowd upon the shore saw thatthe 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 shore. 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."
The king retires.
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 shore, and to move back up the river. It happened that the tide was now coming in, and this assisted them very much in their progress, and the barge was swept back rapidly toward the Tower.
The insurgents resolve to go into London.
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 multitude, and the cry was raised, To London! To London! So the whole mighty mass 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 substitutes for weapons as they had been able to seize for the occasion, and all in a state of wild and phrensied excitement.
The bridge.
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."
THE SAVOY.THE SAVOY.
Excitement in the city.The gates opened.
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, theywould, 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.
The insurgents occupy the streets of London.
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 brandishing 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 Londonand 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.
Destruction of the Duke of Lancaster's palace.
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."
RUINS OF THE SAVOY.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.
Destruction of the Temple.
The insurgents felt a special animosity against lawyers, whom they considered mercenary instruments in the hands of the nobles 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 spacious edifice containing the courts, the chambers of the barristers, and a vast store of ancient legal records. They burned and destroyed the whole.
Assassination of Richard Lyon.Excesses of the mob.
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 throughthe streets, a warning, as they said, to all cruel and oppressive masters.
A great many other heads, principally those of men who had made themselves particularly obnoxious to the insurgents, were paraded through the streets in the same manner.
They bivouac near the Tower.
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.
A.D. 1381
Anxiety and embarrassment of the king.Consultations in the Tower.Various counsels.
Inthe 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 nobles 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.
Mile-End.A meeting appointed with the rioters at Mile-End.
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 placewas an extended meadow, to which the people of London were accustomed to resort on gala days for parades and public amusements. 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 mass 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 bytheir 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.
The king meets the insurgents at Mile-End.
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 assembled 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 meadowat Mile-End, where the insurgents had now assembled 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.
Parley with them.
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 emancipate them from this bondage, and make them free.
The king accedes to their demands.
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 emancipation 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.
Effect of the concessions.
But there were a great many who were not satisfied. An insurrection like this, whatevermay 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 passions 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, multitudes 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 passed away.
Preparation of the decrees.
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 theking, 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.
Scenes in the night in and around London.
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 flashing on the buildings and lighting up the sky, and their shouts, sometimes of merriment and sometimes of anger, filling the air. The peaceable inhabitants passed 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.
The next morning.
The next morning, a grand consultation among the rebels was determined upon. It was to be held in a great open space called Smithfield—a space set apart as a cattle-market, at the outskirts of London, toward the north. All the leaders who had not returnedto their homes were present at the consultation. Among them, and at the head of them, indeed, was Wat Tyler.
The king that morning, it happened, having spent the night at the private house down the river where his mother had sought refuge after making her escape from the Tower, concluded to go to Westminster to attend mass. His real motive for making this excursion was probably to show the insurgents that he did not fear them, and also, perhaps, to make observations in respect to their condition and movements, without appearing to watch them.
The king meets the insurgents at Smithfield.
He accordingly went to Westminster, accompanied and escorted by a suitable cortége and guard. The mayor of the city of London was with the party. After hearing mass at Westminster, the king set out on his return home; but, instead of going back through the heart of London, as he had come, he took a circuit to the northward by a road which, as it happened, led through Smithfield, where a great body of the insurgents had assembled, as has already been said. Thus the king came upon them quite unexpectedly both to himself and to them. When he saw them, he halted, and the horsemen who were with him halted too. There were about sixty horsemen in his train.
Another parley.
Some of his officers thought it would be better to avoid a re-encounter with so large a body of the insurgents—for there were about twenty thousand on the field—and recommended that the king's party should turn aside, and go home another way; but the king said "No; he preferred to speak to them."
He would go, he said, and ascertain what it was that they wanted more. He thought that by a friendly colloquy with them he could appease them.
While the king and his party thus halted to consider what to do, the attention of the leaders of the insurgents had been directed toward them. They knew at once that it was the king.
Walter advances.
"It is the king," said Walter. "I am going to meet him and speak with him. All the rest of you are to remain here. You must not move from this spot until I come back, unless you see me make this signal."
So saying, Walter made a certain gesture with his hand, which was to be the signal for his men.
His orders to his men.
"When you see me make this signal," said he, "do you all rush forward and kill every man in the troop except the king. You must not hurt the king. We will take him and keep him. He is young, and we can make him dowhatever we say. We will put him at the head of our company, as if he were our commander, and we were obeying his orders, and we will do every thing in his name. In this way we can go wherever we please, all over England, and do what we think best, and there will be no opposition to us."
Doubt about the fairness of the accounts.
When I say that Walter gave these orders to his men, I mean that these words were attributed to him by one of the historians of the time. As, however, all the accounts which we have of these transactions were written by persons who hated the insurgents, and wished to present their case in the most unfavorable light possible, we can not depend absolutely on the truth of their accounts, especially in cases like this, when they could not have been present to hear or see.
Conversation between Walter and the king.
At any rate, Walter rode up alone to meet the king. He advanced so near to him that his horse's head touched the king's horse. While in this position, a conversation ensued between him and the king. Walter pointed to the vast concourse of men who were assembled in the field, and told the king that they were all under his orders, and that what he commanded them to do they would do. The king told him that if that were the case, he would do well torecommend them all to go to their respective homes. He had granted the petition, he said, which they had offered the day before, and had ordered decrees to be prepared emancipating them from their bondage. He asked Walter what more they required.
Walter replied that they wanted the decrees to be delivered tothem.
"We are not willing to depart till we get all the decrees," said he. "There are all these men, and as many more besides in the city, and we wish you to give us all the decrees, that we may take them home ourselves to our several villages and towns."
The king said that the secretaries were preparing the decrees as fast as they could, and the men might depend that those which had not yet been delivered would be sent as soon as they were ready to the villages and towns.
"Go back to your men," he added, "and tell them that they had better return peaceably to their homes. The decrees will all arrive there in due time."