Part 12 (1/2)
It was originally intended that Jane and Guilford should be executed together on Tower Hill, but this was not carried out, probably because Lady Jane, being of blood royal, could be executed inside the precincts of the Tower, where two queens of Henry the Eighth had been beheaded, while Guilford, being of plebeian origin, was obliged to perish outside the Tower walls.
While awaiting the fatal day, Jane occupied herself in writing a letter to her father, in which she held him responsible for her death, and then probably spent Sunday the 10th of February, in prayer and meditation, and on the following day she wrote a beautiful letter to her sister Katherine, of whose terrible grief on her account she had been told. The letter was written on the blank leaves of a Greek testament, which has fortunately been preserved, and can be seen to-day in the British Museum.
Lord Guilford Dudley begged for an interview with his wife before their death, but this Lady Jane declined, saying that it would unnerve them both for the supreme moment, although she sent a message to her husband, and on the day of the execution, at the time when he was to pa.s.s her window on his way to the scaffold, she stood and waved her hand to him, as he pa.s.sed, in the strength of his youth and manhood, to the horrible grave dug for him by his own father's hand, facing death bravely at the end.
Then a ghastly accident occurred. Either by accident or by design, Jane caught a glimpse of her husband's body as it was being carried from the scaffold to the Tower for burial, and for a time it seemed as if her frail young frame could not resist the strain of that agony of sorrow and fear which overcame her; but at last Lady Jane was on her way to meet her doom.
The bells of the churches tolled as the dread procession wound its way slowly to the foot of the scaffold, and the young prisoner was dressed as on the day of her trial, in a black cloth dress edged with black velvet, a Marie Stuart cap of black velvet on her head, with a veil of black cloth hanging to her waist and a white wimple concealing her throat, her sleeves edged with lawn, neatly plaited around her wrists.
Before ascending the steps leading to the scaffold the Lady Jane bade farewell to her sobbing ladies, then mounting, advanced to the edge of the platform and spoke in a clear sweet voice, of her innocence of treason, and begging them to bear witness that she died a true Christian woman. Then after a pause, and wiping her eyes, she added, ”Now, good people, Jane Dudley bids you all a long farewell. And may the Almighty preserve you from ever meeting the terrible death which awaits her in a few minutes.”
At these words, seeing the towering figure of the executioner in his scarlet robe, she threw herself into the arms of her old nurse, who was by her side, and sobbed and s.h.i.+vered with terror. Then growing calmer she knelt while a psalm was said and prayer offered, then she said farewell to those who had been with her to the end, and gave her prayer book as a memento to one who had asked this favour.
The supreme moment had come. Unloosening her gown without the aid of her attendants, who were overcome with emotion, she cast aside the handkerchief with which she was expected to bandage her eyes, and then with a swift glance at the executioner, she said simply:
”I pray you despatch me quickly,” then kneeling down she asked, ”Will you take it off before I lay me down?”
Without any apparent emotion Lady Jane then tied the handkerchief over her eyes. She was now blindfolded and, trying to feel for the block, asked, ”What shall I do? Where is it?”
A person near her, on the scaffold, guided her to the block, and she instantly laid her head upon it, rested in silence for a moment, then exclaimed:
”Lord, into thy hands I commend my spirit,” and a moment later the agony was over.
The n.o.blest, most courageous girl who was ever the victim of relentless ambition, was gone, sacrificed to a game of chance in which she was the royal p.a.w.n! History offers no sadder, no more thrilling story than that of Lady Jane, the girl of seventeen, who was a ”Nine Days Queen!”
GENTLE ANNIE:
A Daughter of the Regiment
FORT SUMTER had been fired on!
The whole country was in a state of flaming excitement. Up to that time there had been a division of sentiment in the North, and many thought that by patient effort the seceding States could be brought back into the Union--that there would never be any serious fighting--but now all that was changed.
In a measure the Northerners were unprepared for war, and the regular army was then very small, but one month after the inauguration of President Lincoln he issued a call for seventy-five thousand volunteers for three months' service only, and the war between North and South began in earnest.
In every part of the country there was one absorbing topic of conversation, while men were being hastily gathered into companies, officers were forming their regiments to march to the scene of conflict, women were hurriedly joining hospital brigades, and the government was rus.h.i.+ng the purchase and manufacture of ammunition and weapons, and collecting an adequate supply of horses and army-wagons, camp equipments and provisions and uniforms for the soldiers.
In every State there was an individual flurry of preparation while men and women made ready to leave homes and families, for the sake of their country. When the first enlistment took place, Annie Etheredge, a young woman whose childhood and early girlhood had been pa.s.sed in Wisconsin, was in Detroit visiting some friends, and the set of young women with whom she a.s.sociated became so filled with the enthusiasm of war that nineteen of them offered themselves to go as nurses with the Second Michigan volunteers under Colonel Richardson. This offer was accepted and all bade brave farewells to their families and friends, and set out with the regiment, to help and to heal wherever opportunity offered. But theirs were hands and hearts not accustomed to such work, and at the end of a few months, eighteen of them returned to their homes, having been unable to bear the sights and service of the battlefield. But it was not so with Annie Etheredge. Her brave spirit and heroic character never gave way under the most severe strain, and as we follow her through those sombre days, we give thanks for such a pure, strong example of what a woman, however young, may be. To Tennessee went Annie with her regiment, and was transferred to Michigan, where she had many friends and was with that regiment in every battle in which they took part.
It took very little time to discover the value of her services and General Berry, who for a long time commanded the brigade to which Annie's regiment was attached, soon declared that the young woman was as self-possessed under a hot fire of shot and sh.e.l.l as he was himself--and that was a good deal for the gallant commander to acknowledge of one of the opposite s.e.x!
Annie was provided with a fine horse, a side-saddle, and saddle bags, as well as two pistols which she carried in her holster, but never used, and so fitted out she rode fearlessly to the front in the skirmish of Blackburn's Ford and in the first battle of Bull Run. Her keen eye was always quick to discover where there was need of a.s.sistance, and she would gallop to a wounded soldier who was too severely hurt to go to the rear, dismount, and regardless of the fire of shot and sh.e.l.l often whizzing around her, would skilfully bind up his wounds, give him water or a necessary stimulant, say a cheery word,--then gallop on to her next patient. So tender and soothing a nurse was she that the soldiers called her ”Gentle Annie,” and many an eye watched with eager affection as the horse carrying her girlish figure came in sight following the troops.
In the second battle of Bull Run, on the 29th of August, 1861, Annie was standing on a part of the battle-field where there was a rocky ledge, under the protection of which some wounded soldiers had crawled. Seeing this, Annie lingered behind the troops, helped several other injured men to the same retreat, and was soon busy dressing their wounds. One of the fellows was a fine looking boy whose lips were parched and his eyes brilliant with fever. She gave him a refres.h.i.+ng drink, then bound up his wounds, receiving in return a bright glance of grat.i.tude and a faint ”G.o.d's blessing on you,” just as the rebel battery literally tore him to pieces under her very hands, while at the same moment she saw the enemy, almost within touch, and she was obliged to make a hasty flight or she too would have been killed.
On another part of that b.l.o.o.d.y battle-field of Bull Run, tireless in her activity, although sick at heart from the ghastly sights and sounds of the day, she was kneeling beside a soldier and tenderly binding up his wounds, when she heard a gruff voice repeating her name, and looking up, to her astonishment saw brave General Kearney, checking his horse by her side, watching her with genuine admiration in his eyes. ”That's right,”
he exclaimed. ”I am glad to see you here, helping those poor fellows, and when this is over, I will have you made a regimental sergeant,”