Thomas Miller

THE oldest remains of London, with few exceptions, nearly stand facing each other, and are on opposite sides of the river. Thus, the Tower, though some distance “below” bridge, looks on its ancient neighbour a little higher up, the Church of St. Mary Overies, now called St. Saviour’s; while westward, Lambeth Palace confronts Westminster Abbey and Hall, where they stand looking at each other, as they have done for more than six centuries. Had that highway of waters which rolls between these ancient edifices a tongue, what “deeds of other years” it might babble forth! scenes mirrored on its surface, of which we have no mention—events of which history has made no note, nor time preserved any record.

At what period a fortress was first built on the spot now occupied by the Tower will probably never be known, though it must have been a place of some strength when Edmund Ironside defended it against the Danes, and probably was centuries before that period.

No one doubts but that London was long inhabited by the Romans; and from all we know of the many habits of those cautious warriors, we are certain that they would not leave the river front of their city undefended. Ancient foundations have been discovered in the Tower within the last century, so strong and thick, as to call back Fitz-Stephen’s description of those large and strong walls which rose up from a deep foundation, the mortar of which is “tempered with the blood of beasts.” Nearly seven hundred years ago did Fitz-Stephen write thus; so that the “Tower Palatine,” as he calls it, must have been so ancient even in his day, that he knew nothing of its origin, more than that of the mortar being “tempered with the blood of beasts.” Nearly all our Roman remains in Lower Thames-street have been discovered “deep down,” and this goes far in favour of those strong and undated foundations, laid bare within the Tower, being Roman; the great width—three yards—corresponds also with all we have seen of such ancient relics.

We know that the first London Bridge was built of wood, but we know not the date of its erection, though it is mentioned many times long before the Norman invasion. We also know that Edmund Ironside defended a walled fortress which stood on the City side of the river; and that in those days there was a bridge which Canute the Dane’s ships did not pass under, and that the battle on the river and on land was at the foot of this old wooden bridge; and that the wall Edmund and his followers defended must have been somewhere about the spot on which the Tower now stands. This battle took place more than eight hundred years ago; and after Canute’s forces were repulsed by the London citizens, headed by the son of Ethelred the Unready, the Danish king sailed out of the Thames and landed in Mercia, somewhere near the mouth of the Humber.

This fortress was defended, and this wooden bridge stood, more than 150 years before Peter of Colechurch commenced his stone bridge in 1176; but how much longer we know not. London must have been well fortified to have held out as it did, against the invasion of Swein king of Denmark, who came up to its very walls with his ships, and was compelled to retreat. There must have been either tower or fortress beside the river, for the Saxon citizens to have driven back such a powerful enemy.

It is generally admitted that Gundulp, Bishop of Rochester, was the architect of the White Tower; and that it was built in the time of William the Conqueror. Nor must we forget that soon after his first entry into London, William the Norman resided in the Tower, in proof (if true) that this fortress, whatever it might have been, was one of the strongest in London—one of the safest to retire into in a land filled with enemies, for he had then but few friends except his own soldiers.

What William the Norman built, and Rufus and Henry I. added to the old Saxon Tower of London, cannot distinctly be defined, for we read of the Great Tower, and a castle fronting the river beneath this Tower; and then we pass over a few years, and find Flambard, the fighting Bishop of Durham, a prisoner within the Tower walls, and from which, with the aid of a rope, he made his escape.

Another Bishop, Longchamp, held the Tower against John and his retainers while the lion-hearted King Richard I. was waging war in Palestine. Here we see it used as a prison, and find it a fortress too strong for Prince John and his followers to storm.

Henry III., who built the Lion Tower and kept leopards in it, made many additions and improvements.

Mr. Bayley says, “The records of that era, which abound with curious entries, evincing Henry’s great and constant zeal for the promotion of the fine arts, contain many interesting orders which he gave for works of that kind to be executed in different parts of the Tower.” Edward I. strengthened the fortifications, and seems to have left the Tower much in the state that we now see it; for, after this period, but few alterations or additions appear to have been made. Edward III. repaired it, and Mr. Bayley, in his History of the Tower, tells us how the sum (nearly 1000l.) was expended. The first interesting description we have of the Tower was written by a foreigner named Paul Hentzner, in the reign of Elizabeth, and is as follows:

“Upon entering the Tower of London we were obliged to leave our swords at the gate, and deliver them to the guard. When we were introduced, we were shewn above a hundred pieces of arras belonging to the Crown, made of gold, silver, and silk; several saddles, covered with velvet of different colours; an immense quantity of bed-furniture, such as canopies and the like, some of them richly ornamented with pearl; some royal dresses, so extremely magnificent as to raise any one’s admiration at the sums they must have cost. We were next led to the Armoury, in which are these particulars: Spears out of which you may shoot; shields that will give fire four times;(?) a great many rich halberts, commonly called partisans, with which the guards defend the royal persons in battle; some lances covered with red and green velvet, and the suit of armour of King Henry VIII.; many and very beautiful arms, as well for men as for horse-fights; the lance of Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk, three spans thick; two pieces of cannon—the one fires three, the other seven balls at a time; two others made of wood, which the English had at the siege of Boulogne in France; and by this stratagem, without which they could not have succeeded, they struck a terror as at the appearance of artillery, and the town was surrendered upon articles: nineteen cannons, of a thicker make than ordinary, and in a room apart, thirty-six of a smaller; other cannons for chain-shot, and balls proper to bring down masts of ships; cross-bows and arrows, of which to this day the English make use in their exercises. But who can relate all that is to be seen here? Eight or nine men employed by the year are scarce sufficient to keep all the arms bright. The mint for coining money is in the Tower. N.B.—It is to be noted, that, when any of the nobility are sent hither on the charge of high crimes punishable with death, such as murder, &c., they seldom or never recover their liberty. Here was beheaded Anne Bolen, wife of King Henry VIII., and lies buried in the chapel, but without any inscription; and Queen Elizabeth was kept prisoner here by her sister, Queen Mary, at whose death she was enlarged, and by right called to the throne. On coming out of the Tower, we were led to a small house close by, where are kept a variety of creatures; viz. three lionesses, one lion of great size, called Edward VI., from his having been born in that reign; a tiger, a lynex, a wolf, exceedingly old: this is a very scarce animal in England, so that their sheep and cattle stray about in great numbers without any danger, though without any body to keep them. There is, besides, a porcupine and eagle: all these creatures are kept in a remote place, fitted up for the purpose with wooden lattices, at the Queen’s expense.

“Near to this Tower is a large open space; on the highest part of it (Tower-hill) is erected a wooden scaffold for the execution of noble criminals; upon which they say three Princes of England, the last of their families, have been beheaded for high treason. On the Thames, close by, are a great many cannon, such chiefly as are used at sea.”

Such was the Tower in the reign of Elizabeth, and such as it is now we shall proceed to explain, enriching our description with several engravings, which, though not placed exactly beside the text they illustrate, will be clearly understood by the names affixed to each engraving.

Passing through the entrance-gate, we reach the Lion Tower, which stands at the corner of the moat or Tower ditch facing the Thames. Proceeding eastward, with the river on our right, we come to the Middle Tower—then the Bell Tower—the Lieutenant’s lodgings—and the Bloody Tower, which faces Traitor’s Gate, to which there is a water-entrance. Passing these, we either approach the White Tower in the centre, or visit the Salt Tower at the east end; then the Brick Tower on the north side, in which Lady Jane Grey was imprisoned, from thence to the Bowyer Tower, in which the Duke of Clarence was drowned in a butt of malmsey; and last to the west side, where stands the Beauchamp Tower, in which Anne Boleyn was imprisoned. The chapel of St. Peter ad Vincula, and the Jewel House, are the last places we shall describe. In something like the plan we have here adopted, we shall proceed to carry our readers with us while describing the above-named portions of this ancient fortress.

The entrance is on the west side, leading to the Lion Tower, in which the royal beasts were formerly kept. In Nicholl’s Progress of James I., we find the following:—“This spring of the year (1605)

the king builded a wall, and filled up with earth all that part of the moat or ditch about the west side of the lions’ den, and appointed a drawing partition to be made towards the south part thereof, the one part thereof to serve for the breeding lioness when she shall have whelps, and the other part thereof for a walk for the other lions. The king caused also three trap-doors to be made in the wall of the lion’s den, for the lions to go into their walk at the pleasure of the keeper, which walk shall be maintained and kept for especial place to bait the lions with dogs, bears, bulls, boars, &c.”

Ned Ward, of “merry memory,” in his London Spy, published above a century and a half ago, has left us the following anecdotes of the Lions in the Tower.

“One of the keeper’s servants, whilst he was shewing us his unruly prisoners, entertained us with a couple of remarkable stories, which, because the tragedy of the one will render an escape in the other story the more providential, I shall proceed to give them to the reader in their proper places—namely, that a maid, some years since, being a servant to the keeper, and a bold, spirited wench, took pleasure now and then in helping to feed the lions, and imprudently believing the gratitude of the beasts would not suffer them to hurt her, she would venture sometimes—though with extraordinary caution—to be a little more familiar with them than she ought to be. At last she either carelessly or presumptuously ventured too near their dens; and one of the lions caught hold of her arm, and tore it off quite at the shoulder, after a most lamentable manner, before any body could come to her assistance; killing her with a gripe, before he would loose her from his talons, till she was a miserable object of her own folly, the lion’s fury, and the world’s pity.

“This story he succeeded by another, wherein was shewn as miraculous a preservation of himself, contrary to the cruelty the lion had before used to his unhappy fellow-servant, which he delivered after this following manner, namely:

“‘’Tis our custom,’ says he, ‘when we clean the lions’ dens, to drive them down over-night through a trap-door into a lower conveniency, in order to rise early in the morning and refresh their day apartments by clearing them; and having through mistake, and not forgetfulness, left one of the trap-doors unbolted, which I thought I had carefully secured, I came down in the morning, before daylight, with my candle and lanthern fastened before me to my button, with my implements in my hands, to despatch my business, as was usual; and going carelessly into one of the dens, a lion had returned through the trap-door, and lay couchant in a corner, with his head towards me. The sudden surprise of this terrible sight brought me under such dreadful apprehensions of the dangers I was in, that I stood fixed like a statue, without the power of motion, with my eyes steadfast upon the lion, and his likewise upon me. I expected nothing but to be torn to pieces every moment, and was fearful to attempt one step back, lest my endeavour to shun him might have made him the more eager to have hastened my destruction. At last he roused himself, as though to have a breakfast off me; yet, by the assistance of Providence, I had the presence of mind to keep steady in my posture, for the reasons before-mentioned. He moved towards me without expressing in his countenance either greediness or anger; but, on the contrary, wagged his tail, signifying nothing but friendship in his fawning behaviour; and after he had stared me a little in the face, he raises himself up on his two hindmost feet, and laying his two fore paws upon my shoulders without hurting me, fell to licking my face, as a further instance of his gratitude for my feeding him, as I afterwards conjectured; though then I expected every minute when he would have stripped my skin over my ears, as a poulterer does a rabbit, and have cracked my head between his teeth, as a monkey does a small nut.

“‘His tongue was so very rough, that with the few favourite kisses he gave me, it made my cheeks almost as raw as a pork griskin, which I was very glad to take in good part without a bit of grumbling. And when he had thus saluted me, and given me his sort of welcome to his den, he returned to his place, and laid him down, doing me no further damage; which unexpected deliverance hitherto occasioned me to take courage, that I slunk back by degrees till I recovered the trap-door, through which I jumped, and pulled it after me; thus happily, through an especial Providence, I escaped the fury of so dangerous a creature.’”

Ward also mentions two stuffed lions, one said to have been Queen Mary’s, the other King Charles’s: and of the latter he says, he “had no more fierceness in his looks that he had when living, than the effigies of his good master at Westminster has the prescence of the original.”—London Spy, part 13.

We know of no historical incident of any interest connected with the Middle Tower; but in the Bell Tower adjoining, Fisher, Bishop of Rochester, is said to have been imprisoned. How much this venerable bishop must have suffered before he wrote as follows to Cromwell we know not: “I beseech you to be good, master, in my necessity; for I have neither shirt nor yet other clothes that are necessary for me to wear, but that be ragged and rent too shamefully. Notwithstanding, I might easily suffer that, if they would keep my body warm. But my diet also, God knoweth how slender it is at many times. And now in mine age [poor old man, he was nearly eighty] my stomach may not away but with a few kind of meats, which if I want, I decay forthwith.”

How we feel to hate the brutal Defender of the Faith, whose supremacy he refused to acknowledge, while perusing the catalogue of the venerable prelate’s sufferings.

The martyr and the murderer have long since gone to render an account of their good and evil deeds.

The Lieutenant’s lodgings contain a few old paintings, together with a bust of James I., and a marble monument recording the names of those who were examined regarding the Gunpowder Plot.

The Bloody Tower is supposed to have been the place in which the sons of Edward IV. were murdered; but of this we have no proof; neither in the discovery of the bones (which were found, in 1674, at the foot of the staircase near the chapel in the White Tower,) any proof that the princes were murdered in that part of the fortress. That they should be buried near the White Tower chapel bespeaks a reverence for their remains.

There is something ominous and gloomy about the grim gateway, with its grated portcullis and grinning iron teeth, that leads to the Bloody Tower, which even now seems to chill the blood as we pass beneath it. Nor is this feeling at all diminished by the recollection that one of the Earls of Northumberland either committed suicide or was privately murdered within those very walls. It was at this gate where Sir John Bridge seized Wyatt by the collar and shook him, when he was made prisoner after the insurrection. “But that the law must pass upon thee,” said the angry lieutenant, “I would stick thee through with my dagger.” To which Wyatt replied, holding his arms under his side, and looking grievously with a grim look upon the lieutenant, “It is no mastery now,” and so passed on.

The Salt Tower is remarkable for a curious engraving on the walls representing the signs of the Zodiac, the work of Hugh Draper, of Bristol, who was a prisoner in this turret in 1560. What a glimpse we obtain of the superstitious ignorance of this period, when recalling the “crime” he was committed for—that of practising the art of sorcery against Sir William Lowe and his lady. The Brick Tower, on the north-east side, near the mount, is said to be the spot in which Lady Jane Grey, the “nine-days’ Queen,” as she is called by the old chroniclers, was imprisoned.

In the Bowyer Tower, which stands behind the barracks, it is said the Duke of Clarence was murdered, by being drowned in a butt of his own favourite drink. The upper portion of this tower is modern, and the whole was again greatly impaired in the fire which burnt down the great storehouse in 1841, which also injured the Flint and the Brick Towers.

We next come to the Beauchamp or Wakefield Tower, in which are deposited so many records. “This is perhaps the most interesting building of the whole range, the White Tower not excepted,” says Mr. Howitt, in his Tower of London. “Employed for many years as a ‘prison lodging,’ its walls are covered with the carved memorials of its unfortunate occupants. Among those who have thus recorded their sorrows are John Dudley, Earl of Warwick, 1553; Philip Howard, Earl of Arundel, 1578; Charles Baily, a Fleming, and agent of Mary Queen of Scots; Arthur and Edmund Poole, grandchildren of George, Duke of Clarence, brother to King Edward IV.; Thomas Fitzger, son of the Earl of Kildare, 1534; Sedburn, Abbot of Joreval, 1537; Dr. Abel, chaplain of Queen Catherine of Arragon; Thomas Cobham, son of Lord Cobham, 1555; Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester, the favourite of Queen Elizabeth; Sir Ingram Percy, son of the Earl of Northumberland, 1537; Eyremot Radclyffe, son of the Earl of Sussex, 1576; with many others. Couplets, maxims, or allegories are sometimes added, as—

‘By torture strange my truth was tryed,
Yet of my liberty denied.’—1581, Thomas Myagh.

This torture was the rack.

‘It is the poynte of a wyse man to try and then to truste,
For hapy is he who fyndeth on that is juste.’—R. C.

The following is the conceit of a poor lover:

‘Thomas Willynagh, Goldsmithe. My hart is yours tel dethe.’

And by the side is a figure of a ‘bleeding hart,’ and another of ‘dethe.’ The initials, T. W. and P. A. on each side of the bleeding heart, are doubtless those of the lover and his mistress.”

This was the Tower in which Anne Boleyn was imprisoned. It is on record, that, when she passed under the Traitor’s Gate, she fell on her knees and prayed, declaring herself innocent. When about to be beheaded on the Green, she refused to have her eyes bandaged (those eyes into which her brutal, tiger-like husband had so often fondly looked), but kept them riveted on the headsman, who, while she gleamed on him, had not power to strike the blow, until some one attracted her attention, and then, when her eyes were turned away, he took off his shoes, strode forward noiselessly, and struck off her head.

Another inscription in this tower, in Italian, runs as follows:

“Since fortune hath chosen that my hope should go to the wind, to complain, I wish the time were destroyed, my planet being ever sad and unpropitious.”—Wilim Tyrree, 1541.

One underground cell was called the Rats’ Dungeon; it was below high-water mark, and dark as the grave. At high-water, hundreds of rats are believed to have sought shelter in this hideous cavern, until the tide subsided. In this den, it is said, prisoners were sometimes thrust, when the rack was found of no avail in extorting a confession. But all the shrieks and struggles would be drowned deep down in this inhuman hell, and only the Angel of Death left to look on the maddening horrors of the wretched prisoners. The imagination shrinks back, as, through the darkness of bygone years, it pictures for a moment the terrible tragedies which must have been enacted in such a blood-stained dungeon.

We now come to the White Tower, with its four turrets, which may be seen from many an eminence that overlooks London, and is always pointed out as “The Tower.” It is to the east of London what Westminster Abbey is to the west, and St. Paul’s to the centre of the city—the great object of attraction. The interior consists of three stories (beside the vaults), the first floor having two rooms, the roofs of which are no doubt as old as the walls that surround them. In ancient times they were used as prisons. The second story also contains two large rooms, in which are deposited arms and other stores; and here also stands the chapel, the most interesting of all the apartments, and shewing how great must be the strength of a building to support such massy pillars and heavy arches on its second story. It is a splendid specimen of true unaltered Norman architecture, and unlike any thing we have seen in London, except the interior of St. Bartholomew, Smithfield; not that it is so beautiful as a whole as the church of the old Priory, but there is a massiness about it in solemn keeping with the heavy and stupendous pile of buildings which it stands upon and overlooks, for it rises to the very roof of the Tower—the remainder of the third story forming the Council Chamber, which is a large, heavy, plain-looking room, and arrests the eye as soon as you enter. It is so unlike the chapel, that you are amazed at its rude and primitive appearance, its flat timber ceiling and plain rows of wooden beams, give to it something of a gigantic, barn-like look; lost, however, when you glance at the pierced walls and side arches, that tell you that all is in keeping with the solemn fortress that has stood the shock of war, and the wear and tear of time, through the long nights of nearly eight centuries. The scenes that have taken place in this vast chamber are written in the pages of English history, and are, with few exceptions, the most important in all our annals.

We will now glance at the Jewel-house, and give a brief description of the chief curiosities and treasures it contains.

The regalia appears to have been kept within the Tower from an early period, as mention is made of jewels deposited there as far back as the days of Henry III. These jewels were often pledged, and were sometimes in the hands of French and Flemish merchants. Henry VI. was the first, we believe, who went to “his uncle” to raise money on them; and Beaufort advanced him 7000 marks with the true pawn-broker-like proviso, that if they were not redeemed by a certain day, they were to remain his (uncle’s) property. Henry VIII., who melted down so many old monastic treasures, lightened the regalia of many a rich relic, and, free-trader like, dispersed it again in the shape of the current coin of the realm. Those who possess the rose-nobles of that period may retain a portion of the crown which once encircled the brow of one of his beautiful wives, whom, Bluebeard-like, he butchered. He thought no more of melting a rich sacramental cup than he did of a broken spoon.

During the civil wars the regalia was again diminished; but to what extent we are not able to state, though mention is made of the sale of such plate as bore the emblems of the cross, or was engraven with “superstitious pictures.” In its present state there will be found worthy of notice the crown known as St. Edward’s, first worn by Charles II., and since that time used by all the monarchs who have ascended the throne of Great Britain. This is the very crown that Blood stole, as we have before stated, and the one placed on the head of her present Majesty when she was crowned in Westminster Abbey. The new crown made purposely for her Majesty is also here, and is formed of purple velvet, hooped with silver, and richly adorned with diamonds. The ruby in it is said to have been worn by the Black Prince, and the sapphire is considered to be of great value: the crown altogether is estimated at above 100,000l.

The Prince of Wales’s crown is formed of pure gold, without much addition of jewels; while that of the Queen’s consort is enriched with pearls, diamonds, and other precious stones. The Queen’s diadem was made for Maria d’Este, the unfortunate queen of James II., who stood sheltering in the rain under the wall of Lambeth Church on the night her husband abdicated, when he threw the great seal into the Thames as he crossed the river at Westminster to join her. Little did she dream, when that golden diadem first pressed her fair brow, of the troubles she was doomed to undergo.

St. Edward’s Staff (why so called we know not, as the gold coronation spoon is believed to be all that remains of the ancient regalia,) is four feet seven inches long, bearing at the top an orb and cross; the orb containing, it is said, a portion of the true cross. This staff is made of beaten gold, to the bottom of which is fixed a steel spike, no

1. Queen’s Diadem. 2 and 3. Queen’s Coronation Bracelets. 4. Prince of Wales’s Crown. 5. Old Imperial Crown. 6. Queen’s Crown. 7. Spiritual Sceptre. 8. Temporal Sceptre.
1. Queen’s Diadem. 2 and 3. Queen’s Coronation Bracelets. 4. Prince of Wales’s Crown. 5. Old Imperial Crown. 6. Queen’s Crown. 7. Spiritual Sceptre. 8. Temporal Sceptre.

doubt intended for defence, as a strong arm would be able to drive it through any assailant. Nothing is known of the history of this staff; though we shall probably not be far wrong if we date the orb as far back as the days of the Crusaders, on account of the portion of the “true cross” which it is said to contain.

The Royal Sceptre is of gold, ornamented with precious stones; also with the rose, shamrock, and thistle, all in gold; the cross is richly jewelled, and contains a large diamond in the centre; the length of the sceptre is two feet nine inches.

The Rod of Equity is three feet seven inches in length, and is made of gold set with diamonds. The orb at the top is enriched with rose diamonds, and on the cross which surmounts it stands the figure of a dove with wings expanded. This is sometimes called the Sceptre with the Dove. Another sceptre, called the Queen’s Sceptre with the Cross, though much smaller, is very beautiful in design, and thickly set with precious stones. The Ivory Sceptre was made for Maria d’Este; and another sceptre, found behind the wainscoting in the apartment in which the regalia was formerly kept, is said to have been made for the queen of William III. There are also two orbs well worthy of observation, as are also the swords of Justice, ecclesiastical, and temporal, and the Sword of Mercy, or Curtana, which is pointless. A few of these will be best understood by a reference to the engravings, which shew the Ampulla for the holy oil, formed like an eagle; the ArmillÆ, or coronation bracelets, made of gold, and rimmed with pearls; the coronation spoon, used for anointing the sovereigns, very ancient; and the golden salt-cellar, shaped like a castle with turrets. There are several of these state salt-cellars worthy of notice; also a baptismal font, and a silver wine-fountain, beside many other valuable curiosities, which would give our work too much the appearance of a catalogue were we to describe them all.

On the south side of the White Tower stands the Horse Armoury, which was erected about a quarter of a century ago. Many of the suits of armour which these equestrian figures wear are very ancient; and a few are highly interesting, through having been worn by kings and warriors who stand proudly out in the annals of England. The first in supposed antiquity is a Norman Crusader, said to be nearly as old as the time of the Conqueror; and is formed of small iron rings, which make a kind of net-work that must have given far more play to the body of the wearer than the cumbrous mail worn on a later day. Similar armour was worn by the Saxons before the reign of Alfred, as is shewn in a few of the illuminated documents which have been preserved to the present day. There is a kite-shaped shield, such as was used at this period, in the Elizabethan Armoury, which

1. Imperial Orb. 2. Ampulla. 3. Golden Salt-Cellar of State. 4. Anointing Spoon. 5, 6, 7. State Salt-Cellars.
1. Imperial Orb. 2. Ampulla. 3. Golden Salt-Cellar of State. 4. Anointing Spoon. 5, 6, 7. State Salt-Cellars.

ought to be removed and affixed to this figure of the Crusader. The next in date that claims our attention, is the resemblance of a grim warrior, armed from head to heel, after the fashion of the heroes who fought in the days of Edward I. Here we have the long surcoat and rich emblazonry, which is so often mentioned in the wars of Palestine: the prick-spears are of a very primitive form, and worth examining, as is every portion of the armour on this figure; for even what is modern is a strict imitation of what was worn at this period. The next is a gorgeous specimen of the time of Henry VI., both as regards the armour and the trappings of the figured steed; the skirts and sleeves are splendid specimens of chain-mail, and the fluted gauntlets, “beautiful exceedingly.” The breasts and back are made of flexible plates, that is, loose, and put on in pieces; and the helmet, which is a salade, with a vizor or pontlet, has a grand appearance, surmounted as it is with a crest. All these it would require the skill of a Meyrick to describe accurately; for he tells us of sollerets, and tuilettes, vambraces, and rere-braces, camails, cuisses, and greaves, which are difficult to explain, and still more difficult to comprehend, without the aid of engravings. We then come to the reign of Edward IV., and here we find a rich but very singular-looking suit of armour. The angular-shaped helmet strikes the eye as being well adapted to throw off the point of a spear, if struck on the volant piece, which stands out sharp and ridgy as the point of a plough. The vambrace of the lance is very old, and shews how the hand was protected; there is also an addition to the safety of the wearer in the steel guard on the left side of the breast-plate, and also on the elbow, compared to that worn in the preceding reign. Armour of the time of Richard III. is placed on the next figure, very beautiful, being ribbed or plated; and here we have rosettes on the shoulders, which look like little wings or epaulets that have blown loose, and stand erect. This suit was worn by the Marquis of Waterford, when several gentlemen met to play at tournament at Eglintoun. Period of Henry VII.: a warrior dismounted, the armour of German workmanship; the figure remarkable for the change made in the helmet. Next to this another suit of the same age, and the horse majestically armed, especially about the head, neck, and upper parts of the chest. We now come to a suit of what is called Damask armour, and this the great wife-killer, Henry VIII., really wore—better for his fame if he had been killed in it the first day he rode armed; but we have “said our say” in a novel called Lady Jane Grey, and will pass on to mention that there is another suit, said to have been presented to him by Ferdinand, on his marriage with his daughter, Katherine of Arragon; of this suit, Mr. Howitt, in his Tower Armoury, says, “The badges of this king and queen, the rose and pomegranate, are engraved on various parts of the armour. On the pins of the genouillÈres sheaf of arrows, the device adopted by Ferdinand, the father of Katherine, on his conquest of Granada; Henry’s badges, the portcullis, the fleur-de-lis, and the red dragon, also appear; and on the edge of the lamboys or skirts are the initials of the royal pair, ‘H. K.’ united by a true-lover’s knot.” The red dragon was the figure the ancient Britons bore on their standards in their wars against the Saxons. It is frequently mentioned by the Welsh bards who lived at that period, and also fought in these battles; but we do not think they bore standards before the invasion of the Romans, emblazoned with any devices. Passing by the armour of Edward VI., and that said to have been used by Hastings Earl of Huntingdon, we come to a suit that once covered the stately form of Dudley Earl of Leicester, “the gipsy,” as Essex called him, on account of those dark features that Queen Elizabeth loved to look on. A suit, said to have been worn by his once powerful rival, the Earl of Essex, is only divided from Dudley by the armed figure that wears the mail assigned to Sir Henry Lea. Passing by the figures of James I., Sir Maurice de Vere, and the Earl of Arundel, we come to a beautiful suit of armour, made for Henry Prince of Wales, who died young; it is gilt, and enriched with quaint designs of ancient battles and stormy sieges, and other emblems of “grim-visaged war.” Then follow suits said to have been worn by the Duke of Buckingham, James’s favourite; Charles I., when Prince of Wales; and the unfortunate Earl of Strafford, who was, like his royal master, beheaded. The suit said to have belonged to James II., a curious head-piece, believed to have been worn by Henry the Seventh’s jester, and several other curiosities, such as an ancient warder’s horn, swords, &c., that were formerly in the possession of Tippoo Saib, together with an old suit of unpolished armour, are things which will be shewn, if the stranger make himself agreeable to the warder.

Quitting this gallery, we enter Queen Elizabeth’s Armoury by a staircase, passing by two carved figures called “Gin and Beer,” which were brought from the old palace of Greenwich, probably at the time of its destruction. We are again in the White Tower, and tread the very rooms in which Sir Walter Raleigh was imprisoned, for no doubt he had the privilege of stepping beyond what is called his sleeping-room. In the recessed arch at the end of this groined and vaulted apartment, stands the equestrian figure of Queen Elizabeth, in a similar costume to what she wore when she rode to St. Paul’s to return thanks for the destruction of the Spanish Armada. It would but make a dry catalogue were we to enumerate the whole of the miscellaneous articles in this Armoury, which consist of shields, swords, bows, blocks, instruments of torture, partisans, poles, match-locks, &c. &c., all hanging on the walls, or standing upright, or huddled together like old iron in a marine-store. There, however, is the axe with which Lady Jane Grey is supposed to have been beheaded, nor can we in a more fitting place, while the mind is filled with horror, which this “heading-axe” and block (the latter comparatively new) call up, describe her execution, which we copy from a work edited by J. G. Nichols, Esq., F.R.S., entitled the Chronicle of Queen Jane, and another scarce pamphlet, called The Ende of Lady Jane Dudley. The heroic spirit she displayed at her execution was long the talk in the streets of old London, when Queen Mary ascended her sanguinary throne.

“By this tyme was ther a scaffolde made apon the grene over agaynst the White Tower, for the saide lady Jane to die apon. Who, with hir husband, was appoynted to have ben put to deathe the fryday before, but was staied tyll then, for what cause is not knowen, unlesse yt were because hir father was not then come into the Tower. The saide ladye being nothing at all abashed, (neither with feare of her owne deathe, which then approached, neither with the sight of the ded carcase of hir husbande, when he was brought in to the chappell,) came forthe, the levetenaunt leding hir, in the same gown wherin she was arrayned, hir countenance nothing abashed, neither hir eyes enything moysted with teares, although her ij. gentylwomen, mistress Elizabeth Tylney and mistress Eleyn, wonderfully wept, with her booke in hir hand, wheron she praied all the way till she cam to the saide scaffolde, wheron when she was mounted, &c.”

From the last-named pamphlet the narrative is continued as follows:

“She sayd to the people standing thereabout: ‘Good people, I am come hether to die, and by a lawe I am condemned to the same. The facte, indede, against the quenes highnesse was unlawful, and the consenting thereunto by me; but touching the procurement and desyre therof by me or on my halfe, I doo wash my handes thereof in innocencie, before God and the face of you, good Christian people, this day,’ and therewith she wrong hir handes, in which she had hir booke. Then she sayd, ‘I pray you all, good Christian people, to bear me witness that I dye a true Christian woman, and that I looke to be saved by none other meane but only by the mercy of God in the merites of the blood of his only sonne Jesus Christ: and I confesse, when I dyd know the word of God I neglected the same, loved my selfe and the world, and therefore this plague or punyshment is happely and worthely happened unto me for my sins; and yet I thank God of his goodnesse that he hath thus geven me a tyme and respet to repent. And now, good people, while I am alyve, I pray you to assyst me with your prayers.’ And then, knelyng downe, she turned to Fecknam, saying, ‘Shall I say this psalme?’ And he said ‘Yea.’ Then she said the psalme of Miserere mei, Deus, in English, in most devout manner, to the end. Then she stode up, and gave her maiden, mistress Tylney, her gloves and handkercher, and her booke to maister Bruges, the levetenantes brother; forthwith she untyed her gown. The hangman went to her to help her of therewith; then she desyred him to let her alone, turning towardes her two gentylwomen, who helped her off therwith, and also with her frose past and neckercher, geving to her a fayre handkercher to knytte about her eyes. Then the hangman kneeled downe and asked her forgevenesse, whome she forgave most willingly. Then he willed her to stand upon the strawe; which doing, she sawe the blocke. Then she sayd, ‘I pray you dispatch me quickly.’ Then she kneeled down, saying, ‘Wil you take it (her head) off before I lay me downe?’ and the hangman answered her, ‘No, madame.’ She tyed the kercher about her eys; then feeling for the blocke, saide, ‘What shall I do? Where is it?’ One of the standers-by guyding her therunto, she layde her heade down upon the blocke, and stretched forth her body, and said, ‘Lorde, into thy hands I commende my spirite!’ And so she ended.”

With a few of the names of the most celebrated persons who have been imprisoned, and some of them beheaded in the Tower and on Tower-hill, together with a slight notice of the chapel in which several of them lie buried, we shall close our description of this ancient fortress. Early in the fourteenth century, Wallace, the hero of Scotland, was prisoner within these walls, from whence he was dragged to Smithfield, fastened to the tails of horses, and there put to death, after enduring the most cruel and horrible tortures. Hither Mortimer was brought from Nottingham, laden with chains, having, we believe, been a prisoner in the Tower before that time, and escaped through making his keepers drunk. Here the brave Earl of Moray was confined for many weary years, unable to raise the extortionate ransom King Edward demanded. The Duke of Orleans was brought prisoner from the field of Agincourt, and long detained in the Tower. The victims of Henry VIII, we pass over, as they have a blood-stained page to themselves in English history. The Earl of Essex, whose death embittered the last moments of Elizabeth, and an account of which we extract verbatim from the scarce work we have so often mentioned, entitled The Life and Reign of Queene Elizabeth; it is as follows: “Wherefore on the same day was the Earle brought out between two diuines, apon the scaffold in the Tower-yard; where sate the Earls of Cumberland and Hartford, Viscount Howard of Bindon, the Lords Howard of Walden, Darcy of Chile, and Compton. There were also present some of the aldermen of London, and some knights, and Sir Walter Rawleigh, to no other end (if we may beleeve him) then to answere him, if at his death he should chance to object any thing to him; although many intrepreted his being there to a worser sence, as though he had done it oneley to feed his eyes with his torments, and to glut his hate with the Earles bloud: wherefore being admonished that hee should not presse on him now he was dying, which was the property of base wilde beasts, he withdrew himselfe, and looked out upon him at the Armoury.

“The Earle as soone as he had mounted the scaffold uncovereth his head, and lifting up his eyes to Heaven, confesseth, that many and greivous were the sins of his youth, for which he earnestly begged pardon of the eternall Majesty of God, through the mediation of Christ, but especeialy for this his sinne, which hee said was a bloudy, crying, and contagious sinne, whereby so many men being seduced, sinned both against God and their Prince. Then he entreated the Queene to pardon him, wishing her a long life, and all prosperity, protesting he never meant ill towards her. He gave God hearty thanks that he never was an Atheist or Papist, but that always he put his trust in Christ’s merits. He beseeched God to strengthen him against the terrors of death, And he entreated the standers by to accompany him in a little short prayer, which with a fervent ejacculation and hearty devotion he made to God. Then he forgave his executioner and repeated his Creed, and fitting his neck to the blocke, having repeated the first five verses of the 51 Psalme, he said: ‘Lord, I cast my selfe downe humbly and obedeintly to my deserved punishment: Thou, O Lord, have mercy upon thy servant that is cast downe: Into thy hands, O Lord, I commit my spirit.’ His head after that was stricken off at the third blow, but the first tooke away both sence and motion.”

Against this charge Sir Walter Raleigh defended himself, in his last speech, in the following words: “It is said I was a prosecutor of the death of the Earl of Essex, and stood in a window over against him when he suffered, and puffed out tobacco in disdain of him; but I take God to witness I had no hand in his blood; and was none of those that procured his death. My Lord of Essex did not see my face at the time of his death, for I had retired far off into the Armoury, where I indeed saw him, and shed tears for him.”

Sir Walter Raleigh’s execution is too closely interwoven with history to dwell upon any of the events of his imprisonment. Of him it may be truly said—

The night before his execution he wrote the following lines in a leaf of the Bible:

Russel, Sydney, Shaftesbury, Buckingham, Laud, Davenant, and a score or more of others, whose names are mixed up with the stormy events of the period in which they lived, were prisoners in the Tower. These past away. Then came those who took part with the Pretender; some of whom were executed, a few pardoned; while others, like the Earl of Nithsdale, escaped. Then the names of Gordon, Burdett, and such like, of but little note in the present century, and they end

The chapel of St. Peter’s ad Vincula stands at the north-west corner of the Tower, and must formerly have been very beautiful, though now sadly disfigured by modern innovators, who are cursed with such a taste as ought to be left only to its free indulgence in the walls of Bethlehem or St. Luke’s.

Here were interred the headless bodies of Queen Catherine Howard, Anne Boleyn, Margaret Countess of Shrewsbury, Lady Jane Grey: beauty, virtue, and talent, each bared her fair neck—the blow was struck, and now,

Here also repose Sir Thomas More, Cromwell, Earl of Essex, Seymour the Lord Admiral, and (strange retribution) his brother, the Protector Somerset; Dudley, the husband of Lady Jane Grey; Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex—all beheaded. The catalogue may be dismissed in the words of Shakspeare, where he

Macaulay, in his History of England, speaking of this chapel, says: “There is no sadder spot on earth than this little cemetery. Death is there associated, not, as in Westminster Abbey and St. Paul’s, with genius and virtue, with public veneration, and with imperishable renown; not, as in our humblest churches and churchyards, with every thing that is most endearing in social and domestic charities, but with whatever is darkest in human nature and in human destiny, with the savage triumph of implacable enemies, with the inconstancy, the ingratitude, the cowardice of friends, with all the miseries of fallen greatness and of blighted fame.”

We conclude with the following extract from the Illustrated London News of January 1843:

“The extent of the Tower within the walls is twelve acres and five roods. The exterior circuit of the ditch—now a garden—surrounding it is 3156 feet. On the river-side is a broad and handsome wharf, or gravelled terrace, separated by the ditch from the fortress, and mounted with sixty pieces of ordnance, which are fired on the royal birthdays, or in celebration of any remarkable event. From the wharf into the Tower is an entrance by a drawbridge. Near it is a cut connecting the river with the ditch, having a water-gate, called Traitors’ Gate, state prisoners having been formerly conveyed by this passage from the Tower to Westminster for trial. Over Traitors’ Gate is a building containing the water-works that supply the interior with water.

“Within the walls of this fortress are several streets. The principal buildings which it contains are, the White Tower, the ancient chapel, the Ordnance-office, the Record-office, the Jewel-office, the Horse Armoury, the grand Storehouse, and the Small Armoury, besides the houses belonging to the constables and to other officers, the barracks for the garrison, and two suttling-houses, commonly used by the soldiers.

“The principal entrance to the Tower is toward the west. It consists of two gates on the outside of the ditch, a stone bridge built over the ditch, and a gate in the inside. These gates are opened every morning with the following ceremony: the yeoman-porter, with a sergeant and six men, goes to the governor’s house for the keys. Having received them, he proceeds to the innermost gate, and passing that, it is again shut. He then opens the three outermost gates, at each of which the guards rest their firelocks while the keys pass and repass. On his return to the innermost gate he calls to the warders on duty to take the Queen’s keys, when they open the gate, and the keys are placed in the warders’ hall. At night the same formality is used in shutting the gates; and as the yeoman-porter with his guard is returning with the keys to the governor’s house, the main-guard, which, with its officers, is under arms, challenges him with ‘Who comes there?’ he answers, ‘The keys,’ and the challenger replies, ‘Pass, keys.’ The guards, by order, rest their firelocks, and the yeoman-porter says ‘God save the Queen,’ the soldiers all answering, ‘Amen.’ The bearer of the keys then proceeds to the governor’s house, and there leaves them. After they are deposited with the governor, no person can enter or leave the Tower without the watchword for the night. If any person obtains permission to pass, the yeoman-porter attends, and the same ceremony is repeated.

“The Tower is governed by its Constable, at present the Duke of Wellington; at coronations and other state ceremonies this officer has the custody of the crown and other regalia. Under him is a lieutenant, deputy-lieutenant, commonly called governor, fort-major, gentleman-porter, yeoman-porter, gentleman-gaoler, four quarter gunners, and forty warders. The warders’ uniform is the same as that of the yeomen of the Queen’s guards.

“The Tower is still used as a state prison, and, in general, the prisoners are confined in the warders’ houses; but, by application to the Privy Council, they are usually permitted to walk on the inner platform during part of the day, accompanied by a warder.

“The fire which took place towards the winter of 1841 destroyed a great portion of the property in the grand Armoury, and materially altered the exhibitorial features of the edifices. The Armoury, said to have been the largest in Europe, was 345 feet in length, and was formerly used as a storehouse for the artillery train, until the stores were removed to Woolwich. A considerable number of chests filled with arms ready for any emergency were in a portion of the room which was portioned off; and in the other part a variety of arms were arranged in fanciful and elegant devices.

“A fearful destruction of property, at once curious and valuable, took place in this department; but one beautiful piece of workmanship was happily preserved. It consisted of the celebrated brass gun taken from Malta by the French, in 1798, and sent, with eight banners, which hung over the same, to the French Directory by General Buonaparte, in La Sensible, from which it was recaptured by the Seahorse, Captain Foote. The sword and sash which belonged to the late Duke of York were also saved, through the intrepidity of Captain Davies; who, however, severely cut his hands by dashing them through the plate-glass frame in which the sword and sash were enclosed.”