CHAPTER XVII THREE CLOSING SCENES

Scene I

It was the last day of the year 1557, and it closed amid storm and tempest. The old town of Calais was enshrouded in gloom, the lanterns which dimly lit the streets had one by one gone out under the combined influence of a howling wind and a heavy rain.

In the citadel alone was there light and active life, for the Lords Wentworth and Gray were that night seeing "the old year out and the new year in," after the customary English fashion; there was feasting and merriment within the old Castle walls and the gay uniforms of the officers of the garrison flashed and glittered as they moved about amid the Governors guests.

Out in the darkness Captain Lascelles was relieving the guards and setting the night watches; his men carried lanterns, which they endeavoured to shroud from the blasts of the tempest by the folds of their great military cloaks. The men had reached the strong town gate which guarded the western approach from Sangatte and Hames. A belated English sailor was vainly clamouring for admission.

"Fools," he shouted, "let me in, or you will rue the day. I have a matter of life and death to report to your Captain."

Whereat the guards laughed aloud.

But Captain Lascelles arriving at this moment ordered the gate to be opened and the man to be brought before him, and this was quickly done.

"And now, my man, tell me your wondrous news," said Captain Lascelles incredulously.

"For your ears alone, Captain, I beg of you," replied the sailor, and the pair stepped apart. "I come from Sandgate to-night and the place is full of armed men, they are occupying all the roads, and when to-morrow dawns you will find Calais invested on all sides by a French army."

"Are you sober, my man?" asked the Captain, as he threw the light of a lantern on his features.

"Oh, Captain, it is God's truth," said the sailor, "and I can tell you even more. I mixed with some of these men, and in the darkness they did not discover that I was a foe. They told me that they were the advanced corps of a great army under the Dukes of Guise and De Nevers."

Lascelles was convinced, the deep earnestness of the sailor dispelled all doubt from his mind. He called his lieutenant to his side, and in a few words told him the fateful news.

"Take six of your best scouts, De Warenne," he said, "we must verify the truth of this man's statements, though in good sooth I doubt them not. Be wary and watchful lest you fall into the hands of the enemy; when you return come to me at the Castle, I take this man thither at once."

Then he summoned his sergeant and bade him take immediate steps to double the number of guards at all the gates of Calais. Ten minutes later he had reached the Castle, and in reply to his urgent message the Governor gave him instant audience.

Lord Wentworth heard the Captain's report with utter incredulity.

"We know," he said, "that De Nevers is marching into Luxembourg, and Guise is in Picardy; the thing is absurd and impossible. It is now nearly midnight, and I will not disturb the peace and happiness of my guests, who will soon be leaving the Castle. But, meanwhile, warn the whole garrison that daybreak must find them under arms," and therewith he rejoined his guests.

The hours of night passed slowly.

Before the dawn of day Lascelles had visited every outpost and the forts of Froyton and Neslé.

De Warenne had not returned, but at many of the gates the country people were assembling in frightened groups, begging for admission into the town. Their report was in every case the same—Guisnes, Sangatte, and Hames were beset by a host of armed men.

"De Warenne and his men have fallen into the hands of the foe, and this is the beginning of woe and disaster," said Captain Lascelles to himself, as the first streaks of day appeared in the sky and the drums of the garrison broke into furious uproar calling all men, and even all citizens, to arms.

It was the first day of January 1558. Ah, what a "New Year's Day" was that for England!

All around Calais lay a great host of Frenchmen, and the banners of Guise and De Nevers revealed the fact that the young Duc, the hope of France, was there in person, eager to wipe out the disgrace of St. Quentin. Everywhere the French were throwing up batteries and bringing up their artillery, their first point of attack being the forts of Froyton and Neslé.

Then the guns of the citadel opened fire, and few and feeble as they were their deep roar filled the air and shook the old houses of the town to their foundations.

Wentworth and Gray were everywhere, haranguing, cheering, and encouraging their men. Gray was a famous engineer and, with his own hands, he aimed and fired the best guns the citadel possessed, doing evident execution upon the batteries in course of construction by the foe.

Thus an hour flew by, it was broad daylight now and the rain and storm of the preceding night had ceased. Suddenly the French batteries began to play upon the fortresses on the city walls, and the uproar of war was increased tenfold.

It was at once perceived by the garrison that Guise possessed very powerful battering-trains, for which their poor artillery was no match. And though Lord Gray had brought a reinforcement of two hundred men to the garrison of Calais, no artillery had been sent by the Government.

So the unequal duel went on throughout the day, with a roar so deafening that it was heard both at Antwerp and at Dover. The very heavens seemed to be fighting against England, for there, at Dover, was a great train of artillery waiting for transit to Calais. But the winds were fiercely contrary, and not an English vessel could put to sea.

The darkness of night did not stay the conflict, for the French artillerymen had got their "mark and distance," and the fierce cannonade never ceased.

At daybreak on January 2nd, the Duke of Guise stormed the forts of Froyton and Neslé in overwhelming force and carried them. On the next day Newhaven Bridge and Risbank surrendered, and henceforth all the strength of Guise's thirty-five great guns was directed upon the town and the castle. There was no rest, day or night, for the besieged garrison, each hour brought their inevitable destruction nearer.

It was on the fifth day that a great breach in the citadel was effected, and then came the final struggle in which Captain Lascelles fell at the head of his troops; the victorious foe overwhelmed the defenders in irresistible force and the French flag was planted on the walls of the citadel!

The Castle of Guisnes still held out under Lord Gray, but on the eighth day of the siege it was captured, and with it went Hames.

Lords Gray and Wentworth were taken prisoners and were held to ransom.

Thus fell Calais after two hundred and ten years occupation by the English, and thus England lost the last rood of its once vast Continental possessions.

Few of the garrison survived the siege, the tremendous cannonade slew most of them, and when the town and citadel were stormed by the French every foot of ground was fiercely contested until the streets of the town and the ramparts of the Castle were choked with the dead and dying. It is stated that only fifty prisoners were made.

For a day and a night Calais was the prey of the ruthless soldiery, neither age nor sex was spared.

The town possessed little wealth; twenty-four hours sufficed for the seizure of all that it had to yield.

On January 10 the Dukes of Guise and De Nevers entered the town in all the panoply of war, and thenceforth all disorder ceased and the French began to repair the shattered walls with desperate haste.

Five days later King Henry the Second visited his latest conquest, and the French army was delirious with joy and enthusiasm.

The flag of France floated majestically from the grey towers of the Castle, never to be replaced by the flag of St. George.
Scene II

On November 17, 1558, Queen Mary died. Philip came not to England; by the hand of the Count de Feria he sent a message and a ring to his dying wife.

A truer friend to the hapless Queen than Philip lay dying at Lambeth—Cardinal Reginald Pole.

Within the period of the dawn and sunset of the same day Mary and her noble kinsman died, and the courtiers passed in crowds from Whitehall to Hatfield.

A new era was dawning for England—"the night was departing, the day was at hand!"

How the bells of the many churches in London clanged with joyous notes as Queen Elizabeth entered her capital!

The youth of the nation, all that was noblest, best and greatest thronged her passage as she wended her way through the gay streets. All that pageantry could devise, all that devoted loyalty could prompt, greeted the brilliant young Queen as she passed to the royal apartments of the Tower to await her coronation.

The first act of Queen Elizabeth was to release all religious prisoners, and forthwith multitudes of refugees returned from the Continent. Among these were William Jefferay and the Vicar of Chiddingly, and there was joy at Gray's Inn.

There was another reason for rejoicing among the family of the Jefferays. This very year of 1558, by a short Act, Parliament restored Geoffrey de Fynes "in blood and honours," and he took his seat in the House of Peers as Baron Dacres.

Yet another reason for joy arose when the young Queen promoted the Treasurer of Gray's Inn to the Bench of Judges and Sir John was created Baron Jefferay.

And when it pleased Elizabeth to call William and Ralph to Court, and to make them "Gentlemen of the Queen's Guard," their happiness was complete.
Scene III, and Last
Chiddingly once more

The spring has come, it is the month of April in the year of grace 1559.

The Manor House at Chiddingly is thronged with guests from all parts of Sussex, and the little village is gay with floral arches and flags.

The bells of the church have been ringing at intervals all this lovely spring day, and the villagers are assembling in such numbers that the sacred building cannot contain them.

Would you know the reason of the happiness which beams on the face of every man, woman and child in Chiddingly?

Here is your answer.

Forth from the Manor House comes a noble company, they are walking to the church in long procession. There are Pelhams, Nevills, Howards, De Fynes, and many another great Sussex family represented there. And there comes the bridegroom, for this is a wedding. Ah! we know him, the brave young soldier who has proved his courage on the tented field, and by his side walk William and Ralph, his brothers-in-arms. It is Geoffrey de Fynes, now Baron Dacres of Herstmonceux.

And presently the great dames of the noble families here represented come forth, and among them we espy one whom we know full well. It is Susan!

Oh, how sweet she looks in her bridal attire, and how supremely happy, as she takes the arm of her father and walks forward to the church!

They enter it and there, awaiting them at the altar, stands the good Vicar of Chiddingly, looking little the worse for his year's banishment from his parish. Then the young couple stand together before him, and the solemn service proceeds which is to make them man and wife.

It is over, the bells "gush out in merry tune," the rustics make the welkin ring with their shouts, and the noble couple retrace their steps to the Manor House, the bride leaning upon the bridegroom's arm.

"O, ter felices ambo!"

There we leave you, possessed of all the happiness that earth has to bestow.