THE Tower of London has existed for over eight centuries, and long before the Conquest the site was occupied by a Roman fortification. It is the most time-honoured building in Great Britain, and probably the foremost building (not a ruin) in the world.

With so much in London that is new, it is a source of the deepest pride to every Londoner that there is a relic of the past of unequalled interest, on whose walls are written the chief incidents of the history of England. The name has long been a puzzle, but Mr. Horace Round has explained it, and thus thrown a fresh light upon the study of Norman military architecture.

There were two different kinds of fortified places during the mediÆval period, viz., (1) the Roman ‘castrum,’ or ‘castellum,’ which survived in the fortified enclosure, and (2) the mediÆval ‘motte,’ or ‘tour,’ which survived in the central keep. When the ‘tour’ coalesced with the ‘castellum,’ a name was required for the entire fortress. Sometimes the keep was added to the castle, and sometimes the castle to the keep. It was then a question which word should prevail,—‘tour’ (turris), or chastel (castellum). Generally, the word castle has prevailed, but the respective strongholds in the capitals of Normandy and England were the ‘Tour de Rouen,’ and the ‘Tower of London.’[89]

Gray alludes to the ‘towers of Julius,’ and Shakespeare’s reference to the place is equally erroneous:—

Of course, Julius CÆsar had nothing to do with the Tower, but the Roman remains that have been discovered on the site prove that this grand strategical position had been utilised from the early period of London’s history.

Mr. George T. Clark writes: ‘When, having crossed the Thames, the Conqueror marched in person to complete the investment of London, he found that ancient city resting upon the left bank of its river, protected on its landward side by a strong wall, a Roman work, with mural towers and an exterior ditch.’[90]

In 1777 some Roman coins were discovered, and a double wedge of silver, inscribed ‘Ex officina Honorii,’ which makes the conjecture probable, that at this early period, as in later times, the buildings on the site of the Tower were used as a mint.

William the Conqueror was crowned in 1066, and Mr. Clark says that ‘it was from Barking, immediately after the ceremony, that he directed the actual commencement of the works, which were no doubt at first a deep ditch and strong palisade; for the keep, probably the earliest work in masonry, appears not to have been begun till twelve or fourteen years later.’[91]

The keep (known later as the White Tower) was built by Gundulf, a monk of Bec, who in 1077, soon after his arrival in England, was consecrated Bishop of Rochester. We learn from the Textus Roffensis, written about the year 1143, that Gundulf, while employed upon the Tower, lodged at the house of Eadmer Anhoende, a burgess of London, but he is not supposed to have commenced the building until 1078.

A great work such as the construction of the Tower of London took many years to complete. It is supposed that although the Conqueror, to a great extent, planned the fortress, he did not build more than the inner ward. The existing ‘curtain’ of the inner ward (9 to 12 feet thick, and from 39 to 40 feet high) is thought by Clark to be the work of William Rufus.

In November 1091 there was a violent storm which did immense damage in London. Stow says in his Chronicle that ‘the Tower of London was also broken,’ and in the Survey he further writes that the Tower was sore shaken by the tempest of wind, but was repaired by William Rufus and Henry I. Clark doubts this, but adds that the outworks, both wall and towers, if in course of construction, with scaffolding about them, probably suffered severely. He further writes: ‘The Tower, therefore, of the close of the reign of Rufus, and of those of Henry I., and Stephen, was probably composed of the White Tower, with a palace ward upon its south-east side, and a wall, probably that we now see, and certainly along its general course, including what is known as the inner ward. No doubt there was a ditch, but probably not a very formidable one.’[92]

Fitz-Stephen is not very full in his description of the Tower. He merely says: ‘On the east stands the Palatine Tower, a fortress of great size and strength, the court and walls of which are erected upon a very deep foundation, the mortar used in the building being tempered with the blood of beasts.’

The Tower is believed to owe much to Henry III., who made extensive alterations and additions. The new works were unpopular among the citizens, and as some of them were unfortunate, a legend came into existence to account for the misfortune. St. Thomas’s Tower and the ‘Traitor’s Gate’ beneath it were in course of construction in 1240, when on St. George’s night the gateway and wall fell down. They were at once re-erected, but in the following year they again fell down. The story, as told by Matthew Paris, is that on the night of the second fall a certain grave and reverend priest saw a robed archbishop, cross in hand, who gazed sternly upon the walls, with which the King was then girdling the Tower, and striking them sharply, asked: ‘Why build ye there?’ on which the newly-built work fell, as though shattered by an earthquake. The priest, too alarmed to accost the prelate, addressed himself to the shade of an attendant clerk: ‘Who, then, is the archbishop?’ ‘St. Thomas the Martyr,’ was the answer, ‘by birth a citizen, who resents these works, undertaken in scorn, and to the prejudice of the citizens, and destroys them beyond the power of restoration!’ On which the priest remarked: ‘What outlay and labour of the hands he has destroyed!’ ‘Had it been,’ said the clerk, ‘simply that the starving and needy artificers thence promised themselves food, it had been tolerable; but seeing that the works were undertaken, not for the defence of the realm, but to the hurt of the citizens, even had not St. Thomas destroyed them, they had been swept away utterly by St. Edmund, his successor.’ This was Edmund of Abingdon, who died in 1240. The works were resumed, and in spite of the powerful opposition of St. Thomas, they were completely successful, and the rebuilding was strong and satisfactory.

The outer ward is supposed to have been completed by Henry III. It is a strip of from 20 feet to 110 feet in breadth, which completely surrounds the inner ward, and is itself contained within the ditch, of which its wall forms the scarp.

The Tower has been (1) a fortress, and so it remains to the present day; (2) a palace, and (3) a prison. We can now consider it under these three aspects, merely mentioning in passing that it was also a mint, an armoury, and a record office.

The Tower as a Fortress.—It was regarded as impregnable in the reign of Stephen, when it was specially required by the King as a fortress, and during the whole mediÆval period it was always a place of strong defence. It does not appear ever to have endured a siege of any importance, but if it had, it would doubtless have successfully resisted attack.

The Byward Tower is the great gatehouse of the outer ward, and the Middle Tower is its outwork. There was formerly a drawbridge across the ditch or moat, where now there is a stone bridge 130 feet wide. The gateway to the Bloody or Garden Tower is the main entrance to the inner ward. The inner ward is enclosed within a curtain wall having four sides, twelve mural towers, and a gatehouse. Wakefield Tower, known also as the Record Tower and as the Hall Tower, is, in its lower storey, next in antiquity to the White Tower.

Commencing with Wakefield, and passing westward, the towers are Bloody (where the Duke of Clarence is supposed to have been drowned in Malmsey, and the two sons of Edward IV. smothered), Bell (so called from an alarm bell in the little turret), Beauchamp (from Thomas de Beauchamp, Earl of Warwick, and also called Cobham Tower, after Lord Cobham), Devereux (after Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex, also called ‘Robyn the Devyll’s Tower,’) Flint, Bowyer (so called because it was the residence and workshop of the royal maker of bows), Brick (previously Burbidge), Martin (or Jewel, at one time styled Brick Tower), Constable’s, Broad Arrow, Salt (meaning saltpetre; in the sixteenth century it was known as Julius CÆsar’s Tower), and Lanthorn (called in 1532 the New Tower; it was pulled down in 1788, after a fire).

The wall of the outer ward has upon it bold drum bastions at the angles of the north front; and the south or Thames front is protected by five mural towers, of which one covers the landgate and one the watergate, and two others are connected with posterns. These towers are Develin (called ‘Galighmaies Tower’ in 4 Ric. II.), Well, Cradle, St. Thomas’s (over Traitor’s Gate), and Byward.

Mr. Clark writes: ‘The Tower, at the commencement of the present century, was an extraordinary jumble of ancient and later buildings, the towers and walls being almost completely encrusted by the small official dwellings by which the area was closely occupied. A great fire in 1841 removed the unsightly armoury of James II. and William III. on the north of the inner ward, but the authorities at the time were not ripe for a fire. The armoury was replaced by a painfully-durable Tudor barrack, and the repairs and additions were made with little reference to the character of the fortress. More recently, the general improvement in public taste has made its way even into the Tower.’[93]

The Tower is still a fortress. Each night the mediÆval ceremony of locking the gates takes place; after which no one can enter without the password, and this after the manner at fortresses is changed daily. The password is always communicated to the Lord Mayor, who each quarter receives a list containing the password for each day in the coming three months. Residents in the Tower can enter until twelve midnight, when the wickets are locked by the yeoman on ‘watch duty’ and no one is allowed to enter after that hour, unless they give the password.

At a few minutes before eleven the yeoman porter takes his keys and applies to the serjeant for the ‘escort for the keys.’ The serjeant acquaints the officer, and the officer placing the guard under arms, furnishes a serjeant and four men. Two of the men are unarmed. Their duty is to assist in closing the gates, and to carry the ancient lantern, which contains a tallow candle. The procession is formed, and the yeoman porter with the keys places himself in the midst of the escort. He goes the round of the gates, and when he returns to the main guard, the sentry at the guard-room challenges—

‘Halt! Who comes there?’

‘The keys,’ replies the yeoman porter.

‘Whose keys?’

‘King Edward’s keys.’

‘Advance King Edward’s keys.’

The yeoman porter places himself in front of the guard. The guard present arms and the yeoman porter says, ‘God preserve King Edward,’ and the guard from the officer to the drummer answer, ‘Amen.’

The keys are then carried by the yeoman porter to the King’s House, to be delivered into the charge of the officer of the Tower in command. A similar escort is called for by the yeoman porter when the gates are opened in the morning, but no ceremony takes place at that time, nor does the guard turn out. MediÆvalism is in our very midst, and here, at all events, mediÆval London still exists.

The Tower as a Palace.—Most of our Kings from the Conqueror to Charles II. used the Tower as a palace; those who feared their subjects sheltered themselves there, but those who were popular preferred the comfort of Westminster and Whitehall. Mr Clark says that ‘the strong monarchs employed the Tower as a prison, the weak ones as a fortress.’ After the Middle Ages had closed the sovereigns kept out of the Tower as much as they could, and seldom visited it unless they were officially obliged, and these visits were almost confined to a lodging there on the day before the coronation. Charles II. was the last sovereign to carry out this convention.

William I., William II. and Henry I., all three inhabited the Tower, but it was not till the reign of Stephen that its value as a place of refuge was proved.

With the Empress Matilda at Winchester and King Stephen at London the state of public affairs, with sieges and countersieges, in which neither party gained any great success, came to a deadlock. Stephen, in 1140, sought safety in the Tower in close proximity to his trusty followers—the Londoners, but in the following year he was made a prisoner at Lincoln. The Londoners attended the synod at Winchester and requested the King’s release, but without avail. Geoffrey de Mandeville, Constable of the Tower of London (whose faithless conduct in these civil wars has been fully set out by Mr. Horace Round),[94] had been made Earl of Essex by Stephen, but when the Empress came to London he had no compunction in transferring his allegiance to her, for which conduct she loaded him with honours. He was, however, short-sighted in his action, for Matilda treated the Londoners with such contumely that they rose against her and drove her from the city. They also attacked Mandeville in the Tower, but this Mr. Facing-both-ways, finding that the Empress Matilda had fled, and the Queen Matilda (Stephen’s wife) taken her place in London, saw no objection to supporting the latter’s cause. Stephen was soon afterwards released, and he again honoured Geoffrey de Mandeville. No amount of special favour, however, was sufficient to keep this man to his allegiance, and he planned a revolt in favour of the Empress. This came to naught, and the King captured the fortifications erected by the Earl at Farringdon and took him prisoner. Mandeville took no more part in public affairs, and ended his life as a marauding freebooter in September 1143. Thus ignominiously came to a conclusion the career of a man who held a foremost place in London. He was not wise in his conduct, because in the words of the Empress’s charter to him, he made the Londoners ‘his mortal foes.’ As Dr. Sharpe says of these same Londoners, they ‘throughout the long period of civil dissension were generally to be found on the winning side, and held, as it were, the balance between the rival powers.’[95]

In John’s reign London opened its gates to the forces of the Barons, organised under Robert Fitz-Walter, Castellan of London, as ‘Marshal of the army of God and Holy Church.’ During the period that the Barons were at war with John, Prince Louis of France lived in the Tower prior to his renunciation of all right of sovereignty in England, and his return to France.

Henry III., in 1236, summoned the Council to meet him in the Tower, but the Barons had so little faith in their King that they refused to assemble there. The King was satisfied to be safe in the Tower in 1263, while Simon de Montfort, with the barons, pitched tents at Isleworth. The Londoners were distinctly disloyal, and Stow tells us that ‘when the Queene woulde have gone by water unto Windsore, the Londoners getting them to ye bridge in great numbers, under the which she must passe, cryed out on her, using many vile reprochfull words, threwe durte and stones at her, that shee was constrained to returne again to the Towre.’[96]

In Edward I.’s reign Raymund Lully, the alchemist, is said to have taken up his residence in the Tower at the King’s desire, and to have performed in the royal presence the experiment of transmuting some crystal into a mass of diamond or adamant, of which the King is said to have made little pillars for the tabernacle of God. The biographers of Lully, however, express the belief that he never visited England.

Edward II. seldom visited the Tower, except when he sought shelter from his subjects. His Queen gave birth there to her eldest daughter, who was known as Jane of the Tower. His second son, John of Eltham, who was born on August 15, 1316, was appointed Warden of the City of London and Warden of the Tower when he was ten years of age. In 1328, a year after his father’s death, John of Eltham was created Earl of Cornwall, and in 1336 he himself died.

The first years of Edward III.’s reign were spent in the Tower, and the King was forced to remain there till he had put down Mortimer and was able to assume the government himself. He made many additions to the buildings, and Clark supposes that he built the Beauchamp and Salt Towers, and perhaps the Bowyer. The King took great pride in the Tower, which he made his chief arsenal, and strongly fortified and garrisoned. Hence his anger in 1340 when he unexpectedly returned to England and found the Tower unguarded. His first act was to imprison the Constable and other officers for their negligence. The Mayor, the Clerk of the Exchequer, and many others whose duty it was to raise or receive the subsidies which had been granted were thrown into prison.[97]

The Tower stands out very prominently in the history of the reign of Richard II. We have already seen in the second chapter what crimes were perpetrated there during the Peasants’ Revolt in 1381.

In 1390 a grand international tournament was arranged, when many foreigners of distinction became the guests of the King in the Tower.

On the 29th of September 1399, in the Council Room of the White Tower, occurred that sad scene when Richard in his kingly robes, sceptre in hand and crown upon his head, abdicated his throne, saying: ‘I have been King of England, Duke of Aquitaine and Lord of Ireland about twenty-one years, which seigniory, royalty, sceptre, crown and heritage I clearly resign here to my cousin, Henry of Lancaster; and I desire him here in this open presence in entering the same possession to take the sceptre.’ So closed the career of a King whose sun rose with so much promise, only to set in misfortune and leave behind him the recollection of one of the greatest disappointments of history.

Henry VI. had a sorry time in the Tower, but the incidents connected with the constant vicissitudes, which at one time raised the fortunes of the Yorkists and at another those of the Lancastrians, caused so many changes in the occupation of the Tower that it is impossible to note here all that took place. When the Yorkist Earls of Salisbury, Warwick and March returned to England in 1460 they marched on London, but the Common Council determined to oppose their entrance into the city. This arrangement was agreed on with Lords Scales and Hungerford who, with others, held the Tower for King Henry. The citizens, however, after a time began to doubt the wisdom of supporting the imbecile Henry, so on July 2 they admitted the Yorkist earls into the city. While London was thus on the side of the Yorkists the Tower remained true to the King, but every effort was made to obtain the surrender of the fortress. The Tower was invested by land and water, and the garrison was starved out and had to surrender.

In the following year the Earl of March became King as Edward IV., and made himself agreeable to his subjects. When in 1464 he married Elizabeth Woodville the citizens showed their respect for the Queen by riding out to meet her and escorting her to the Tower, besides presenting her with a gift of 1000 marks.

A change occurred in 1470, when Edward had to fly and Henry was restored. Henry VI., no longer a prisoner, was removed from his cell to the palace, but soon afterwards he was taken to the Bishop of London’s palace at St. Paul’s. In the following year, however, Edward recovered the throne, and was let into London by the Recorder and some aldermen. In May 1471, when Edward IV. was out of the city, Thomas (the natural son of William Nevill, first Lord Fauconberg, Earl of Kent), known as the Bastard Falconbridge, headed a rising of Kentish men and marched on London in support of Henry VI. He was supported by a fleet in the river. With the help of a company of shipmen and other followers he made an attempt to force Bishopsgate, Aldgate, and the Bridge. Some of his followers got through Aldgate, but the portcullis being let down those who had entered were cut off from the main body and lost their lives. A few days after this unsuccessful assault (May 21) King Henry was murdered in the Tower.

The name of Richard III. was intimately associated with the Council Chamber, and the consideration of the particulars of his violent methods helps us to obtain a vivid picture of the dark passages filled with armed men ready to do the wicked will of their employer.

The most memorable of these scenes occurred when the Council was sitting. Suddenly there is a cry of ‘Treason’ from the adjoining apartment. Gloucester rushes to the door and is met by a party of soldiers, who at his command arrest all the Council but the Duke of Buckingham. The astonished nobles have scarcely time to recover from their surprise before they see from the windows of their prison Lord Hastings beheaded on Tower Green.

In the following reign, when Henry VII. fixed the day for the coronation of his Queen—November 25, 1487—she came by water from Greenwich two days before, attended by the Mayor, Sheriffs and Aldermen, and many citizens, chosen some from each craft, wearing their liveries, in barges ‘freshly furnished with banners and streamers of silk.’ One of the barges, called the Bachelors’, contained ‘many gentlemanly pageants, well and curiously devised to do her highness sport and pleasure.’ The King received the Queen at the Tower.

Much might be said of the doings of Henry VIII., Edward VI., Queens Mary and Elizabeth, James I. and Charles I., but there is no room in this book for a complete history of the Tower, and we must therefore hurry on in order to give some notice of a few of the celebrated prisoners.

There could never have been much accommodation in the White Tower (so called on account of the white-washing it received in the reign of Henry III.) as a suitable residence for the sovereign, so that as the centuries passed and more comfort was expected by all classes, Kings and Queens would naturally expect to be better cared for. A palace was therefore built in the inner ward, and the Lanthorn Tower formed a part of this palace, containing as it did the King’s bed-chamber and his private closet. These buildings appear to have fallen into decay in the reign of Elizabeth, by whom or by James the great hall was removed. Some were destroyed by Cromwell, and others by James II., to make room for a new Ordnance office, and the remains of the Lanthorn Tower were taken down late in the eighteenth century[98] (1788).

That royalty was not always well-housed may be seen by a recorded case in the reign of Edward II. Johannes de Crombwelle, Constable of the Tower, gave great offence to the citizens by reason of certain of his high-handed actions, and in the end he was dismissed from his office, but the reason given for his dismissal was not on account of the offensive acts complained of, but for neglect of duties, by which the rooms were allowed to remain out of repair, and because the rain came in upon the Queen’s bed.[99]

Some particulars are given in the Liber Albus respecting the legal position of the Tower. When the Exchequer was closed the Mayor was to be presented at the Tower, and the Pleas of the City with the Crown were sometimes held there; and when this was the case the city barons were to place their own ‘janitors’

ST. JOHN’S CHAPEL IN THE TOWER.
ST. JOHN’S CHAPEL IN THE TOWER.

outside the Tower gate, and the King’s janitor was to be on the inside. They further had an ‘ostiarius’ outside the door of the hall when the pleas were held, to introduce the barons, and the King had an ‘ostiarius’ inside. Mr. Clark supposes the hall to have been the building afterwards superseded by the office of Ordnance, ‘and the entrance to which is thought to have been by the modernised doorway close east of the Wakefield Tower.’[100]

St. John’s Chapel is one of the most interesting ecclesiastical buildings in England. It is a singularly fine example of Early Norman architecture, and many historical events are associated with it. The triforium was used as a gallery, and it is supposed that the Queens and their maids of honour sat there at the services.

It is traditionally reported that in front of the old altar (now replaced by a new one) Brackenbury, when kneeling at prayer, was tempted by the emissaries of Richard of Gloucester to make away with the young Princes—a suggestion which he indignantly repudiated. Here also Mary I. was betrothed to Philip of Spain.

One important appanage of the palace was the menagerie of wild beasts, which was placed near the entrance at a very early date. Henry I. kept lions and leopards, and Henry III. added to the collection. Stow tells us that in the year 1235 Frederick the Emperor sent to Henry III. three leopards in token of his regal shield of arms wherein those leopards were pictured, since the which time those lions and others have been kept in a part of this bulwark, now called the Lion Tower, and their keepers there lodged. In 1255 the sheriffs built a house ‘for the King’s elephant,’ which was brought from France and was the first seen in England.

Edward II., in the twelfth year of his reign, ‘commanded the Sheriffs of London to pay to the keeper of the King’s leopard sixpence the day for the sustenance of the leopard, and three halfpence a day for diet of the said keeper.’

Edward III. appears to have taken much pride in his menagerie, and in 1364 a proclamation was issued by the King for the safe keeping of a beast called an ‘oure,’ which was in danger from certain persons who threatened to do grievous harm to the keepers, ‘and atrociously to kill the said beast.’ Mr. Riley, who prints the proclamation in his Memorials, supposes the animal to be either the urus, aurochs or bison, from the east of Europe, or the Ihrwy from Morocco.

The proclamation addressed to the Mayor and Sheriff runs thus: ‘We, wishing to preserve the said keepers and the beast from injury and grievance, do command you that in the city aforesaid and the suburbs thereof, where you shall deem most expedient, you do cause public proclamation to be made, and it on our behalf strictly to be forbidden, that any person, native or stranger, of whatsoever condition he may be, on pain of forfeiting unto us as much as he may forfeit, shall have the audacity to do any damage, violence, misprision or grievance unto the said keepers or to the beast, which we have so taken under our protection and especial defence, or to any of them, or shall presume to intermeddle for getting a sight of the said beast, against the will of them, the keepers thereof. And if you shall know anyone to attempt the contrary hereof, then you are so to punish them that the same punishment may deter all others from attempting the like; and to answer unto us as to such forfeiture, in manner as is befitting.’[101]

In later times the collection of wild beasts must have been considerable, and Stow relates in his Chronicle how trials of strength between the animals were exhibited before the royal family. On the 23rd of June 1609 ‘the King, Queene, and Prince, the Lady Elizabeth and the Duke of Yorke, with divers great lords and manie others, came to the Tower to see a triall of the lyon’s single valour, against a great fierce beare, which had kild a child, that was negligently left in the beare-house. This fierce beare was brought into the open yard, behind the lyon’s den, which was the place for fight.’ Two mastiffs let into the yard passed the bear and attacked the lion. Then a stallion and six dogs were introduced. The dogs worried the horse till three stout bear-wards drove them off, the bear and lion looking on. The latter was allowed to escape to his den, and other lions were brought out, but none would attack the bear. On the 5th of July this same bear was baited to death.

On the 10th April 1610 Prince Henry and attendant nobles went privately to the Tower to see a fight between the great lion and four dogs. The dogs got the better of the lion, and another lion and lioness were brought to see if they would help the first lion, but they would not, and all three were glad to escape to their dens.[102] The few animals that remained in the menagerie in the nineteenth century were removed to the Zoological Gardens in Regent’s Park in 1834.

The Tower as a Prison.—It is as a State prison that the Tower is most associated in our memories. Here have been confined some of the noblest of English men and women, but besides these there were others who have richly deserved their fate. Some of the prisoners lodged here only for a time, but the majority found it to be merely the threshold of death.

The first prisoner was Ralph Flambard, Bishop of Durham, the hated Minister of William Rufus. On that King’s death, Henry I., with the advice of his Council, shut the bishop up in one of the topmost chambers of the White Tower. Flambard was not very carefully guarded, and he used the liberal allowance put aside for him in providing drink for his keepers. He received a rope in a flagon from friends outside, and while his gaolers were drunk, he managed to escape by its means on the night of 4th February 1101. Although the rope proved too short, and he was injured by his fall, he reached Normandy safely.

Five years after this, the Count of Mortain, who was taken prisoner by Henry I., was imprisoned in the Tower, as we learn from the testimony of Eadmer.

The Jews in large numbers were thrown into the Tower in 1282. The Welsh next furnished victims, and then the Scots. The Battle of Dunbar in 1296 caused many prisoners, including the King, John Balliol, and a host of his nobility to fall into the hands of Edward I. In 1303 the King’s treasury was robbed while Edward I. was in Scotland, and suspicion fell upon the Abbot and Monks of Westminster. The sacristan, sub-prior and others were imprisoned in the Tower. The whole affair is very difficult to understand, but it was fully investigated by order of the King, and there can be no doubt that some members of the monastery were deeply implicated. It created a great scandal, and was one of the most remarkable crimes ever committed. Mr. L. O. Pike gives a full account of the incidents in his History of Crime in England, 1873 (vol. i.), and says: ‘It is quite evident that an enterprise which required more than four months for its accomplishment could not have been successful had there been no collusion within the abbey gates. The findings of the various juries point to a deep-laid conspiracy between some persons in the abbey and others in the neighbouring palace.’

Wallace in 1305 found a prison here before he was drawn through Cheapside and executed in Smithfield.

The Order of the Knights Templar was abolished in 1313, and all the members south of the Trent were imprisoned in the Tower, where the master died.

The earliest drawing of the Tower which has come down to us contains a curious picture of the building, and a representation of the incidents of the captivity of Charles,

DUKE OF ORLEANS IN THE TOWER. (From a copy of MS. in the British Museum.)
DUKE OF ORLEANS IN THE TOWER. (From a copy of MS. in the British Museum.)

Duke of Orleans, who was taken prisoner at the Battle of Agincourt. This interesting picture is in one of the MSS. (Roy MS. 16 F. 2) in the British Museum. As was the custom of the early artists, a succession of incidents in the life of the prisoner are depicted in the same drawing. The duke is seen at a turret window, then writing at a desk in a large chamber. At the foot of the White Tower he is embracing the messenger who brings him his ransom. He is then seen mounting his horse, and he and a friendly messenger ride away from the Tower. Lastly, we see him in a barge with lusty rowers pulling down the stream for the boat which is to carry him home to France.

There were two places of execution, that on Tower Hill (under the authority of the governors of the city), and the other on Tower Green within the Tower walls. Edward IV. set up a scaffold and gallows upon Tower Hill, but the City of London insisted upon their ancient right of dealing with offenders within their own precincts, so the King’s scaffold and gallows were taken down with many apologies, and the sheriffs maintained their ancient privileges of headings and hangings beyond the Tower walls. The city boundary existed within the Tower, and in James I.’s reign a question arose as to whether or no Sir Thomas Overbury’s murder was committed within the city. As his apartment was situated on the west of the boundary, the criminals came under the jurisdiction of the city.

The place of execution on Tower Green is a spot of hallowed memories. It was marked off and railed in by command of Queen Victoria. Lord Hastings was probably beheaded here in 1483, and among the distinguished names of those who suffered on this spot are Anne Boleyn in 1536; Margaret Pole, Countess of Salisbury, daughter of the Duke of Clarence and mother of Cardinal Pole in 1541; Katherine Howard, and Jane, Viscountess Rochford, sister-in-law of Anne Boleyn, in 1542; Lady Jane Grey in 1554; and Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex, in 1601.

The Chapel of St. Peter’s ad Vincula was probably first built by Henry II., although the earliest mention of it occurs in the year 1210. It was burnt in 1512, and rebuilt as we see it now about 1532. The great interest of this chapel centres round the names of the great who having suffered in life now rest in this temple of the dead. A tablet on the wall contains a list of the most distinguished of these names.

The Beauchamp Tower is one of the most interesting of the buildings, as it is full of inscriptions on the walls cut by the prisoners.

Close by is the Yeoman Gaoler’s lodging, where probably Lady Jane Grey stood to see her husband taken from Beauchamp Tower to execution on Tower Hill.

Sir Walter Raleigh was three times a prisoner in the Tower, and he was very differently treated each time. In Elizabeth’s reign he could converse with those outside from the walk near the Bloody Tower, which is named after him. In James’s reign he had for a fellow-prisoner Henry, ninth Earl of Northumberland, known as ‘the Wizard Earl.’ The great philosopher Thomas Harriott was allowed to visit the two prisoners, and he travelled on the Thames between the Tower and Sion House, bringing from the latter place books out of the earl’s library for the solace of Northumberland and Raleigh.

With Traitor’s Gate we end this sad eventful history. Samuel Rogers wrote in his poem of ‘Human Life’:—

These are great names, but there are others. The

Duke of Buckingham in 1521 was taken to Westminster in a barge furnished with a carpet and cushions. After his trial and condemnation for the crime of being too nearly related to the throne he refused the seat of honour on his return to prison, crying: ‘When I came to Westminster I was Lord High Constable and Duke of Buckingham, but now—poor Edward Bohun!’

The Princess Elizabeth, in her sister Mary’s reign, refused at first to land at Traitor’s Gate, but agreed at last, using these words: ‘Here landeth as true a subject, being a prisoner, as ever landed at these stairs, and before Thee, O God! I speak it, having none other friend but Thee.’

What misery and what cruelty a full record of the sufferings of the prisoners in the Tower would unfold to our view. Some of the prisoners reaped the natural consequences of their actions, for they were on the losing side. But others were most unnaturally treated, and among these were noble women whose only fault was that they were related to persons obnoxious to those in power.

In later times imprisonment became somewhat of a farce. Great nobles, unpopular statesmen and others who were in disgrace were sent to the Tower. It still sounded a serious punishment, but the practice gradually fell into disfavour, because people would no longer allow of the beheading of unpopular statesmen.