Instead
of a reply, they hung down their heads, or threw away their arms. "Then
shoot me dead," exclaimed the distressed prince, "rather than let me live
to see the sad consequences of this day." But his despair was as unavailing
as had been his entreaties; and his friends admonished him to provide for
his safety, for the enemy had already penetrated within the walls.
We left Fleetwood on the right bank pushing the Scots slowly before him. At
length they resigned the hope of resistance; their flight opened to him the
way to St. John's, and its timid commander yielded at the first summons. On
the other bank, Cromwell stormed the Fort Royal, put its defenders, fifteen
hundred men, to the sword, and turned the guns upon the city. Within the
walls irremediable confusion prevailed, and the enemy began to pour in by
the quay, the castle hill, and the Sidbury gate. Charles had not a moment
to spare. Placing himself in the midst of the Scottish cavalry, he took the
northern road by the gate of St. Martin's, while a few devoted spirits,
with such troopers as dared to followed them, charged down Sidbury-street
in the contrary direction.[1] They accomplished their purpose. The royal
party cleared the walls, while _they_ arrested the advance, and distracted
the attention of the enemy.
Pages:
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462