The Signal Gun.
Anne Boleyn’s arraignment took
place in the great hall of the White Tower, on the
16th of May, before the Duke of Norfolk, who was created
lord high steward for the occasion, and twenty-six
peers. The duke had his seat under a canopy of
state, and beneath him sat the Earl of Surrey as deputy
earl-marshal.
Notwithstanding an eloquent and impassioned
defence, Anne was found guilty; and having been required
to lay aside her crown and the other insignia of royalty,
was condemned to be burned or beheaded at the king’s
pleasure.
On the following day, she was summoned
to the archiepiscopal palace at Lambeth, whither she
was privately conveyed; and her marriage with the
king was declared by Cranmer to be null and void, and
to have always been so. Death by the axe was
the doom awarded to her by the king, and the day appointed
for the execution was Friday the 19th of May, at the
hour of noon.
Leaving the conduct of the fatal ceremony
to the Duke of Suffolk, who had orders to have a signal
gun fired from the summit of the White Tower, which
was to be answered from various points, when all was
over, Henry repaired to Windsor Castle on the evening
of Thursday. Before this, he had formally offered
his hand to Jane Seymour; and while the unfortunate
queen was languishing within the Tower, he was basking
in the smiles of his new mistress, and counting the
hours till he could make her his own. On the
Tuesday before the execution, Jane Seymour retired
to her father’s mansion, Wolff Hall, in Wiltshire,
where preparations were made for the marriage, which
it was arranged should take place there in private
on the Saturday.
On arriving at the castle, Henry gave
out that he should hunt on the following morning in
the great park, and retired to his closet. But
he did not long remain there, and putting on the garb
of a yeoman of the guard, descended by the narrow
flight of steps (already mentioned as occupying the
same situation as the existing Hundred Steps) to the
town, and proceeded to the Garter, where he found
several guests assembled, discussing the affairs of
the day, and Bryan Bowntance’s strong ale at
the same time. Amongst the number were the Duke
of Shoreditch, Paddington, Hector Cutbeard, and Kit
Coo. At the moment of the king’s entrance,
they were talking of the approaching execution.
“Oh, the vanity of worldly greatness!”
exclaimed Bryan, lifting up his hands. “Only
seven years ago, last Saint George’s Day, this
lovely queen first entered the castle with the king,
amid pomp and splendour and power, and with a long
life apparently of happiness
before her. And now she is condemned to die.”
“But if she has played the king
false she deserves her doom,” replied Shoreditch.
“I would behead my own wife if she served me
the same trick that is, if I could.”
“You do right to say ‘if
you could,’” rejoined Paddington.
“The beheading of a wife is a royal privilege,
and cannot be enjoyed by a subject.”
“Marry, I wonder how the king
could prefer Mistress Jane Seymour, for my part!”
said Hector Cutbeard. “To my thinking she
is not to be compared with Queen Anne.”
“She has a lovely blue eye,
and a figure as straight as an arrow,” returned
Shoreditch. “How say you, master?”
he added, turning to the king; “what think you
of Mistress Jane Seymour?”
“That she is passably fair, friend,” replied
Henry.
“But how as compared with the
late that is, the present queen, for, poor
soul! she has yet some hours to live,” rejoined
Shoreditch. “How, as compared with her?”
“Why, I think Jane Seymour the
more lovely, Undoubtedly,” replied Henry.
“But I may be prejudiced.”
“Not in the least, friend,”
said Cutbeard. “You but partake of your
royal master’s humour. Jane Seymour is beautiful,
no doubt, and so was Anne Boleyn. Marry! we shall
see many fair queens on the throne. The royal
Henry has good taste and good management. He sets
his subjects a rare example, and shows them how to
get rid of troublesome wives. We shall all divorce
or hang our spouses when we get tired of them.
I almost wish I was married myself, that I might try
the experiment-ha! ha!”
“Well, here’s the king’s
health!” cried Shoreditch, “and wishing
him as many wives as he may desire. What say
you, friend?” he added, turning to Henry.
“Will you not drink that toast?”
“That will I,” replied
Henry; “but I fancy the king will be content
for the present with Mistress Jane Seymour.”
“For the present, no doubt,”
said Hector Cutbeard; “but the time will come and
ere long when Jane will be as irksome to
him as Anne is now.”
“Ah, God’s death, knave!
darest thou say so?” cried Henry furiously.
“Why, I have said nothing treasonable,
I hope?” rejoined Cutbeard, turning pale; “I
only wish the king to be happy in his own way.
And as he seems to delight in change of wives, I pray
that he may have it to his heart’s content.”
“A fair explanation,” replied Henry, laughing.
“Let me give a health, my masters!”
cried a tall archer, whom no one had hitherto noticed,
rising in one corner of the room. “It is The
headsman of Calais, and may he do his work featly
tomorrow!”
“Ha! ha! ha! a good toast!” cried Hector
Cutbeard.
“Seize him who has proposed
it!” cried the king, rising; “it is Herne
the Hunter!”
“I laugh at your threats here
as elsewhere, Harry,” cried Herne. “We
shall meet tomorrow.”
And flinging the horn cup in the face
of the man nearest him, he sprang through an open
window at the back, and disappeared.
Both Cutbeard and Shoreditch were
much alarmed lest the freedom of their expressions
should be taken in umbrage by the king; but he calmed
their fears by bestowing a good humoured buffet on
the cheek of the latter of them, and quitting the
hostel, returned to the castle by the same way he
had left it.
On the following morning, about ten
o’clock, he rode into the great park, attended
by a numerous train. His demeanour was moody and
stern, and a general gloom pervaded the company.
Keeping on the western side of the park, the party
crossed Cranbourne chase; but though they encountered
several fine herds of deer, the king gave no orders
to uncouple the hounds.
At last they arrived at that part
of the park where Sandpit Gate is now situated, and
pursuing a path bordered by noble trees, a fine buck
was suddenly unharboured, upon which Henry gave orders
to the huntsmen and others to follow him, adding that
he himself should proceed to Snow Hill, where they
would find him an hour hence.
All understood why the king wished
to be alone, and for what purpose he was about to
repair to the eminence in question, and therefore,
without a word, the whole company started off in the
chase.
Meanwhile, the king rode slowly through
the woods, often pausing to listen to the distant
sounds of the hunters, and noticing the shadows on
the greensward as they grew shorter, and proclaimed
the approach of noon. At length he arrived at
Snow Hill, and stationed himself beneath the trees
on its summit.
From this point a magnificent view
of the castle, towering over its pomp of woods, now
covered with foliage of the most vivid green, was
commanded. The morning was bright and beautiful,
the sky cloudless, and a gentle rain had fallen over
night, which had tempered the air and freshened the
leaves and the greensward. The birds were singing
blithely in the trees, and at the foot of the hill
crouched a herd of deer. All was genial and delightful,
breathing of tenderness and peace, calculated to soften
the most obdurate heart.
The scene was not without its effect
upon Henry; but a fierce tumult raged within his breast.
He fixed his eyes on the Round Tower, which was distinctly
visible, and from which he expected the signal, and
then tried to peer into the far horizon. But
he could discern nothing. A cloud passed over
the sun, and cast a momentary gloom over the smiling
landscape. At the same time Henry’s fancy
was so powerfully excited, that he fancied he could
behold the terrible tragedy enacting at the Tower.
“She is now issuing forth into
the green in front of Saint Peter’s Chapel,”
said Henry to himself. “I can see her as
distinctly as if I were there. Ah, how beautiful
she looks! and how she moves all hearts to pity!
Suffolk, Richmond, Cromwell, and the Lord Mayor are
there to meet her. She takes leave of her weeping
attendants she mounts the steps of the
scaffold firmly she looks round, and addresses
the spectators. How silent they are, and how
clearly and musically her voice sounds! She blesses
me I hear It! I feel it here!
Now she disrobes herself, and prepares for the fatal
axe. It is wielded by the skilful executioner
of Calais, and he is now feeling its edge. Now
she takes leave of her dames, and bestows a parting
gift on each. Again she kneels and prays.
She rises. The fatal moment is at hand. Even
now she retains her courage she approaches
the block, and places her head upon it. The axe
is raised ha!”
The exclamation was occasioned by
a flash of fire from the battlements of the Round
Tower, followed by a volume of smoke, and in another
second the deep boom of a gun was heard.
At the very moment that the flash
was seen, a wild figure, mounted on a coal-black steed,
galloped from out the wood, and dashed towards Henry,
whose horse reared and plunged as he passed.
“There spoke the knell of Anne
Boleyn!” cried Herne, regarding Henry sternly,
and pointing to the Round Tower. “The bloody
deed is done, and thou art free to wed once more.
Away to Wolff Hall, and bring thy new consort to Windsor
Castle!”