The assembly seemed so noisy and furious that 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]
[Footnote H: See Frontispiece.]
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.
When the crowd upon the shore saw that the 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."
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 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 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."
[Illustration: THE SAVOY.]
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, they would, 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.
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 London and 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.
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."
[Illustration: 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.