riverside, and London Bridge. Fabyan says that they shot guns and arrows and fired the gates, but nevertheless they seem to have effected nothing in their attack from the river; at Aldgate they actually got in, but the portcullis was dropped and none of them got out again. Robert Basset, the valiant Alderman of Aldgate Ward, was conspicuous for his courage on this occasion. He drove back the Kentish men, put them to flight and killed three hundred of them in their endeavours to reach their boats at Blackwall. Meantime, Falconbridge with the main body of his men was trying to fight his way across London Bridge. They lost heart on hearing of the repulse at Aldgate and fled, being pursued as far as Deptford, a great number being slain. Ralph Jocelyn, late Mayor, was in command of the citizens; he, too, like Robert Basset, performed prodigies of valour. Many of the men were taken prisoners and held for ransom “as they had been Frenchmen,” says Fabyan. The rising was treated as a rebellion, a good many being executed for their share in it. The Captain got on board ship and on the following night dropped down the river with his fleet and so escaped. At Sandwich he fortified himself, for, as he had 47 ships and 800 men, he was strong enough to dictate his own terms—pardon for himself and his men, in return for which he was ready to deliver the ships into the hands of the King. Edward accepted, and the Bastard did deliver up his ships. Six months later, we hear that he was captured at Southampton; and, one knows not on what pretence, they beheaded him. What are we to call the Bastard, pirate or patriot? Henry was still living, though his very hours were now numbered, for on Edward’s return—he had been brought back—it was announced that he was dead, having met with nothing but care and sorrow during the whole of his most wretched life. Gloucester—not of course Humphrey, but Richard—is said to have killed him; but then Gloucester is said to have killed everybody; tradition makes him a universal murderer. At the same time, as everybody else belonging to the Lancastrian party was killed, there seems a sort of rounding off and completion of the work by the murder of Henry. The fight happening so soon after Tewkesbury as to appear uninfluenced by that event, was a splendid example of the City loyalty. What the Mayor would have done had Tewkesbury gone the other way, it is impossible to say. Loyalty, fidelity, honour, truth, in the Wars of the Roses never survived defeat. They were, however, hugely encouraged by a victory. And when Edward rode back to London he heard with pleasure that while he had smitten his enemies in the West of England, his loyal City, his “Chamber,” had bravely rid him of all that were left in the South.
The Battle of London Bridge is recounted in a contemporary ballad:—
“In Sothwerke, at Bambere heth, and Kyngston eke,
The Bastarde and his meane in the contre abowte,
Many grett men in London they made seke,
Man, wyff, ne childe there durst non rowte,
Oxin, shepe, and vetayle, withowtyn any dowte,
They stale away and carrid ever to and froo.
God suffirs moche thyng, his wille to be doo.
Moche sorow and shame the wrecchis thay wroughte,
Fayre placis they brend on the water side.
Thayre myschevus dedis avaylid ham noughte,
Schamfully thay wrougte, and so them betyd.
Thay wolde not leve ther malice, but therin abyde,
Thay cryed kynge Edward and Warwicke also.
Thus the wille of God in every thynge is doo.
At Londone brygge they made asawte, sham to see,
The utter gate on the brygge thay sett on fyre;
Into Londone shott arrows withowte pete.
With gunnus thay were bett that sum lay in the myre.
Thay asked wage of the brygge, thay paid them thayre hire
Ever amonge thay had the worse, then wakynd thaire woo,
False men most be poyneshed, the will of God is soo.
At London brige anodyr sawte thay made agayne,
Wyth gunpowdir and wildefire and straw eke;
Fro the gate to the drawbrygge that brent down playne,
That x myle men mygte se the smeke.
Thay were not of thayre entent the nere of a leke
For into the cite they mygte not com for a wele ne for woo;
God restid thayre malice, the wille of hym was soo.
At Alegate thay sawtid in an ill seasoun;
Thay brente fayre howsis, pitie was to se.
Thus these false men did opyne tresoun,
Supposynge evermore to enture into cite.
God and good seyntes thereof had pitie.
Thayre malice was sesid and turned hem to woo
Thus in everythynge, Lorde, thy will be doo.
The erle of Esex, and also the aldurmen,
At Bysshopus gate togedder they mette,
And owte therat sewde like manly men.
Thay bete hem down, no man mygte hem lett;
Freshely on thayre enmyes that day did thay fyghte.
Thayre false treson brougte theym in woo;
Thus in every thynge, Lorde, thy wille be doo.
The erle Revers, that gentill knygte,
Blessid be the tym that he borne was
By the power of God and his great mygte,
Throw his enmyes that day did he passe.
The maryners were kellid, thay cryed ‘Alas!’
Thayre false tresoun brougte hem in woo,
Thus in every thynge, Lorde, thy wille be doo.”
(Political Poems and Songs, Ed. III.—Rich. III., p. 277;
edited by Thomas Wright.)
These tumults appeased, and the Civil Wars apparently ended, the City got itself to work upon a question of morals.
William Hampton, Mayor in 1473, hit upon a notable device of terrifying evil-doers. Until then, one pair of stocks had been considered sufficient for the whole City. Hampton set up a pair in every Ward. He also hunted out the women of loose conduct; “he corrected”—i.e. flogged—
“strumpets and causyd them to be ladde aboute the towne with raye hoodes upon their heddes divers and many; and spared none for mede nor for favour, that were by the law atteynted, notwithstanding that he might have taken xl pounds of redy money to hym offerid for to have spared one from that jugment.” (Fabyan.)
Henry’s remains lay in state at St. Paul’s and at Blackfriars.
