CHAPTER VIII.
THE TOWER (continued).
The Jewels of the Tower—The Imperial State Crown—St. Edward's Crown—Prince of Wales's Crown—Ancient Queen's Crown—The Queen's
Diadem or Circlet of Gold—The Orb—St. Edward's Staff—The King's Sceptres—The Queen's Sceptre—The Queen's Ivory Rod—The
Ampulla—The Curtana, or Sword of Mercy—Bracelets—The Royal Spurs—The Saltcellar of State—Blood's Desperate Attempt to
Steal the Regalia—The Tower Armouries—Absurd Errors in their Arrangement—Chain Mail—German Fluted Armour—Henry VIII.'s Suit
of Armour—Horse Armour—Tilting Suit of the Earl of Leicester—A Series of Strange Blunders—Curiosities of the Armoury—Naval
Relics—Antiquities.
The present Jewel House at the Tower is the old
Record Tower, formerly called the Hall Tower.
The regalia were originally kept in a small building
at the south side of the White Tower, but in the
reign of Charles I. they were transferred to a strong
chamber in the Martin Tower, afterwards called
the Jewel Tower, which being damaged in the great
fire of 1841, the warders removed the regalia to
the governor's house. The new Jewel House was
erected the same year, and is more commodious
than the old room.
Here you see the types of power and sovereignty.
The collection is surmounted by the imperial State
crown of Her Majesty Queen Victoria. This
crown, says Professor Tennant, "was made by
Messrs. Rundell and Bridge, in the year 1838,
with jewels taken from old crowns, and others
furnished by command of Her Majesty. It consists
of diamonds, pearls, rubies, sapphires, and emeralds,
set in silver and gold; it has a crimson velvet cap
with ermine border, and is lined with white silk.
Its gross weight is 39 oz. 5 dwt. troy. The lower
part of the band, above the ermine border, consists
of a row of 129 pearls, and the upper part of the
band a row of 112 pearls, between which, in front of
the crown, is a large sapphire (partly drilled), purchased for the crown by His Majesty George IV.
At the back is a sapphire of smaller size, and six
other sapphires (three on each side), between which
are eight emeralds.
"Above and below the seven sapphires are fourteen diamonds, and around the eight emeralds 128
diamonds. Between the emeralds and sapphires
are sixteen trefoil ornaments, containing 160
diamonds. Above the band are eight sapphires,
surmounted by eight diamonds, between which are
eight festoons, consisting of 148 diamonds.
"In the front of the crown, and in the centre of
a diamond Maltese cross, is the famous ruby, said
to have been given to Edward, Prince of Wales,
son of Edward III., called the Black Prince, by
Don Pedro, King of Castile, after the battle of
Najera, near Vittoria, A.D. 1367. This ruby was
worn in the helmet of Henry V. at the battle of
Agincourt, A.D. 1415. It is pierced quite through,
after the Eastern custom, the upper part of the
piercing being filled up by a small ruby. Around
this ruby, to form the cross, are seventy-five brilliant
diamonds. Three other Maltese crosses, forming
the two sides and back of the crown, have emerald
centres, and contain respectively 132, 124, and 130
brilliant diamonds.
"Between the four Maltese crosses are four
ornaments in the form of the French fleur-de-lis,
with four rubies in the centres, and surrounded
by rose diamonds, containing respectively eighty-five, eighty-six, eighty-six, and eighty-seven rose
diamonds.
"From the Maltese crosses issue four imperial
arches, composed of oak-leaves and acorns; the
leaves containing 728 rose, table, and brilliant
diamonds; thirty-two pearls forming the acorns,
set in cups containing fifty-four rose diamonds and
one table diamond. The total number of diamonds
in the arches and acorns is 108 brilliant, 116 table,
and 559 rose diamonds.
"From the upper part of the arches are suspended four large pendant pear-shaped pearls,
with rose diamond caps, containing twelve rose
diamonds, and stems containing twenty-four very
small rose diamonds. Above the arch stands the
mound, containing in the lower hemisphere 304
brilliants, and in the upper 244 brilliants; the
zone and arc being composed of thirty-three rose
diamonds. The cross on the summit has a rosecut sapphire in the centre, surrounded by four large
brilliants, and 108 smaller brilliants."
The next crown to be mentioned is known as
St. Edward's. (fn. 1) It is the imperial crown with
which the kings of England have been crowned.
It was made for the coronation of Charles II., to
replace the one broken up and sold during the civil
wars. It is embellished with pearls, diamonds,
rubies, emeralds, and sapphires, with a mound of
gold on the top, enriched with a band or fillet
of gold, garnished also with precious stones, and
three very large oval pearls, one at the top, and
the others pendant to the ends of the cross. This
crown is formed of four crosses, and as many fleursde-lis of gold, rising from a rim or circlet, also of
gold, and set with precious stones; and the cap
within is made of purple velvet, lined with taffeta,
and turned up with ermine.
The Prince of Wales's Crown. This is formed
of pure gold, and is unadorned by jewels. On
occasions of State it is placed before the seat in
the House of Lords which is occupied by the heir
apparent.
THE JEWEL ROOM AT THE TOWER.
The Ancient Queen's Crown, being that used at
coronations for the queen consort, is a very rich
crown of gold, set with diamonds of great value,
intermixed with other precious stones and pearls;
the cap being similar to the preceding.
The Queen's Diadem or Circlet of Gold. This was
worn by Queen Mary, consort of James II., in proceeding to her coronation. It is a rim or circle of
gold, richly adorned with large diamonds, curiously
set, and around the upper edge a string of pearls;
the cap is of purple velvet, lined with white taffeta,
and turned up with ermine, richly powdered. It
cost, according to Sandford, £111,000.
The Orb, which rests in the sovereign's right
hand at his coronation, and is borne in his left on
his return to Westminster Hall, is a ball of gold
six inches in diameter, encompassed with a band
or fillet of gold, embellished with roses of diamonds
encircling other precious stones, and edged with
pearls. On the top is an extraordinary fine amethyst,
of an oval shape, nearly an inch and a half in height,
which forms the foot or pedestal of a cross of gold
three inches and a quarter high, set very thick with
diamonds, and adorned with a sapphire, an emerald,
and several large pearls.
St. Edward's Staff, which is carried before the
sovereign at the coronation, is a staff or sceptre of
beaten gold, four feet seven inches and a half in
length and about three quarters of an inch in diameter, with a pike or foot of steel four inches and
a quarter long, and a mound and cross at the top.
The King's Sceptre with the Cross, or Sceptre
Royal, likewise of gold, is two feet nine inches in
length, and of the same size as that with the dove;
the handle is plain, but the upper part is wreathed,
and the pommel at the bottom set with rubies,
emeralds, and small diamonds. On the top is a
mound, and on the mound is a cross adorned with
precious stones. This sceptre is placed in the
right hand of the sovereign at the coronation by
the Archbishop of Canterbury.
[Views of the Tower of London]
The King's Sceptre with the Dove is gold, in
length three feet seven inches, and about three
inches in circumference. It is set with diamonds and
other precious stones, and upon the mound at the
top, which is enriched with a band or fillet of rose
diamonds, is a small cross, whereon is fixed a dove
with wings expanded, as the emblem of mercy.
The Queen's Sceptre with the Cross is also of gold,
adorned with diamonds and other precious stones,
and in most parts is very like the king's, but not
wreathed, nor quite so large.
The Queen's Ivory Rod, which was made for
Queen Mary, consort of James II., is a sceptre of
white ivory three feet one inch and a half in length,
with a pommel, mound, and cross of gold, and a
dove on the top.
Besides these there is another very rich and
elegant sceptre with a dove, which was discovered
in 1814 behind a part of the old wainscot of the
Jewel House, where it seems to have lain unobserved for a great number of years. This nearly
assimilates to the king's sceptre with the dove, and
there is every probability that it was made for
Queen Mary, consort of William III., with whom
she was jointly invested with the exercise of the
royal authority.
The Ampulla, or Eagle of Gold, which contains
the holy oil at the ceremony of the coronation, is in
the form of an eagle, with wings expanded, standing
on a pedestal, all of pure gold finely chased. The
head screws off about the middle of the neck, for
the convenience of putting in the oil, which is
poured out through the beak into a spoon called
the anointing-spoon, which is likewise of pure gold,
with four pearls in the broadest part of the handle.
These are considered to be of great antiquity.
Curtana, or the Sword of Mercy, which is borne
naked before the king, between the two swords of
justice, at the coronation, is of plain steel, gilded.
The blade is thirty-two inches in length, and nearly
two in breadth; the handle is covered with fine
gold wire, and the point flat. The Swords of Justice
are the spiritual and temporal, which are borne,
the former on the right hand and the latter on
the left, before the king or queen at their coronation. The point of the spiritual sword is somewhat
obtuse, but that of the temporal sword is sharp.
Their blades are about forty inches long, the handles
cased with fine gold wire, and the scabbards of all
three are alike, covered with a rich brocaded cloth
of tissue, with a fine ferule, hook, and chape.
Armillæ, or Bracelets, which are ornaments for
the king's wrist, worn at coronations, are of solid
fine gold, an inch and a half in breadth, and edged
with rows of pearl. They open by means of a
hinge, for the purpose of being put on the arm,
and are chased with the rose, thistle, fleur-de-lis,
and harp.
The Royal Spurs are also made of fine gold,
curiously wrought, and are carried in the procession
at coronations by the Lords Grey of Ruthyn, a
service which they claim by descent from the family
of Hastings, Earls of Hastings.
The Saltcellar of State, which is said to be a
model in gold of the White Tower, a grand silver
font, double gilt, generally used at the baptisms of
the royal family, and a large silver fountain, presented to Charles II. by the town of Plymouth, are
likewise worthy of notice; and there is also deposited in the Jewel House a magnificent service
of communion-plate belonging to the Tower Chapel;
it is of silver, double gilt, superbly wrought, the
principal piece containing a beautiful representation
of the Lord's Supper.
The summary of jewels comprised in the crown
is as follows:—1 large ruby, irregularly polished;
1 large broad-spread sapphire; 16 sapphires; 11
emeralds; 4 rubies; 1,363 brilliant diamonds;
1,273 rose diamonds; 147 table diamonds; 4
drop-shaped pearls; and 273 pearls.
A curious fact in connection with the regalia is
related by Haydon the painter. The crown, he
says, at George IV.'s coronation, "was not bought,
but borrowed. Rundell's price was £70,000; and
Lord Liverpool told the king he could not sanction
such an expenditure. Rundell charged £7,000
for the loan, and as some time elapsed before it was
decided whether the crown should be bought or
not, Rundell charged £3,000 or £4,000 more for
the interval."
The crown jewels have been exhibited for a fee
since the restoration of King Charles II. They
had been before that period kept sometimes in
the Tower, in the treasury of the Temple or other
religious house, and in the treasury at Westminster.
The royal jewels have on several occasions been
pledged to provide for the exigencies of our
monarchs, by Henry III., Edward III., Henry V.,
Henry VI.; and Richard II. offered them to the
merchants of London as a guarantee for a loan.
The office of Keeper of the Regalia, conferred by
the king's letters patent, became, in the reign of
the Tudors, a post of great emolument and dignity,
and "The Master of the Jewel-House" took rank
as the first knight bachelor of England; the office
was some time held by Cromwell, afterwards Earl of
Essex. During the civil war under Charles I. the
regalia were sold and destroyed. On the restoration
of Charles II. new regalia were made, for which
the king's goldsmith, Sir Robert Vyner, was paid
£21,978 9s. 11d.
At the great fire of 1841 the grating was broken
open and the jewels removed for safety. Mr. G.
Cruikshank made a clever drawing of this scene.
The history of the regalia would be incomplete
without some short mention of Blood's desperate
and impudent attempt to steal the crown, globe,
and sceptre, in the reign of Charles II. This
villain, Blood, had been a lieutenant in Cromwell's
army, and had turned Government spy. He had
joined in a plan to seize Dublin Castle and kill the
Lord Lieutenant. He had actually stopped the
Duke of Ormond's coach in Piccadilly, carried off
the duke, and tried to hang him at Tyburn, a
plan which had all but succeeded; and the Duke
of Buckingham was suspected by the Ormond
family of having encouraged the attempt. In the
attempt on the regalia Blood had four accomplices.
Blood, disguised as a country parson, in band and
gown, began the campaign by going to see the
crown with a woman who passed for his wife. This
woman, while seeing the jewels, pretended to be
taken ill, and was shown into the private rooms of
Talbot Edwards, the old Deputy Keeper of the
Crown Jewels, a man eighty years of age. Blood
then observed the loneliness of the Tower, and the
scanty means of defence. He called four days later
with a present of gloves for Mrs. Edwards, and
repeated his visits, till he at last proposed that his
nephew, a young man, as he said, with £200 or
£300 a year, should marry the old man's daughter.
He finally fixed a day when the young bridegroom
should present himself for approval. On the appointed day he arrived at the outside of the Iron
Gate with four companions, all being on horseback. The plan for action was fully matured.
Hunt, Blood's son-in-law, was to hold the horses,
and keep them ready at St. Catherine's Gate.
Parrot, an old Roundhead trooper and now a
Government spy, was to steal the globe while Blood
carried off the crown, and a third accomplice was
to file the sceptre into pieces and slip them into a
bag. A fourth rogue represented the lover. The
five men were each armed with sword-canes, sharp
poignards, and a brace of pistols. While pretending to wait for the arrival of his wife, Blood asked
Edwards to show his friends the jewels. The
moment the door was locked inside, according to
Tower custom, the ruffians muffled and gagged the
old man, and then felled him to the ground and
beat him till he was nearly dead. Unluckily for the
rascals, young Edwards at that moment returned
from Flanders, and ran upstairs to see where his
mother and sisters were. Blood and Parrot made
off at once with the globe and crown. The sceptre
they could not break. The old man freeing him
self from the gag, screamed and roused the family.
Blood wounded a sentinel and fired at another, but
was eventually overpowered. The crown fell in the
dirt, a pearl was picked up by a sweeper, a diamond
by an apprentice, and several stones were lost.
Parrot was captured and the globe found in his
pocket; one fine ruby had broken loose. Hunt
was thrown from his horse and taken. But none of
these culprits were punished. Blood betrayed pretended plots, or in some way obtained power over
the king. He was received at court, and £500 a
year was given him.
From the Jewel House we pass to the Armouries.
The Armouries in the Tower were established by
our earliest kings. We find Henry III. issuing a
mandate to the Archdeacon of Durham to transmit
to the arsenal twenty-six suits of armour, five iron
cuirasses, one iron collar, three pairs of fetters, and
nine iron helmets. In 1339 (Edward III.) John de
Flete, keeper of the arms in the Tower, was commanded to bring as many "espringals, quarrells,
hauberks, lances, arbalasts, bows and arrows," as
were necessary for the defence of the Castle of
Southampton. Two years afterwards the Sheriff of
Gloucester was ordered to purchase and transmit
to the Tower 1,000 bows, and 300 sheaves of
arrows; 250 of the bows to be painted, the rest to
be white or plain.
A curious inventory of Tower armour in the
reign of Edward VI. enumerates:—"Brigandines
complete, having sleeves covered with crimson;
ditto, with sleeves covered with cloth of gold; ditto,
with sleeves covered with blue satin; millars' coats
covered with fustian and white cloth; and brigandines covered with linen cloth with long taces."
The inventory also enumerates targets covered
with steel, and having pistols in the centre; a
target with twenty pistols; a target "of the shell
of Tortys;" steel horse-trappings; poleaxes with
pistols at the end; gilt poleaxes, the staves covered
with crimson velvet and fringed with silk of gold;
holy water sprinklers, or Danish clubs, with spiked
balls fastened to a chain. Some of these arms still
remain in the Tower, especially a "holy water
sprinkler with 3 guns," which the warders used to
call "King Harry the Eighth's Walking-Staff."
In the reign of Elizabeth the Tower armouries
were described by Hentzner, a German traveller,
in 1598, and our readers will see, by the following
extract, that many of the chief curiosities now
shown were even then on view:—
"We were," says Hentzner, "next led to the
Armoury, in which were these peculiarities. Spears
out of which you may shoot; shields that will give
fire four times; a great many rich halberds, commonly called partisans, with which the guard defend
the royal person in battle; some lances covered
with red and green velvet; and the suit of armour
of 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, bows and arrows, of which to this day
the English make great 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."
Hewitt, in his account of the Tower, argues very
shrewdly, from Hentzner's silence about the spoils
of the Armada still exhibited, and, in fact, about the
"Spanish Armoury" altogether, that those pretended
trophies were never trophies at all. The Spanish
"coller of torment" is an undoubted relic of the
Armada; the rest, Mr. Hewitt decides, were taken
from a collection of Spanish arms, chosen for their
excellent quality, and of a far earlier date than 1588.
Hentzner visited England soon after the Armada.
As a German he would be interested in all relics
of the defeated Spanish invasion. He visited the
Spanish Armoury, and had he been shown there
any relics of Philip's armament, would be sure to
have mentioned it.
The first mention of a Spanish weapon-house is
in a survey of 1675, which enumerates targets with
pistols, Spanish pikes, partisans, Spanish boar-spears,
Spanish poleaxes, and Spanish halberts. Some later
exhibitors, says Mr. Hewitt, finding a room called
the Spanish Weapon-house, immediately set it down,
with true showman's instinct, as a room of Armada
spoils, and so the error has been perpetuated.
During the Commonwealth the Tower collection
of armour lay in abeyance, but at the Restoration,
William Legg, Master of the Armouries, made a
survey of the stores, and in it enumerates Brandon's
huge lance, the Spanish collar of torture, and the
ancient head-piece with rams'-horns and spectacles
still named after William Somers, the Jester of
Henry VIII. Some of the suits are noted as
having come from the Green Gallery, at Greenwich. These last included both suits of Prince
Henry and suits of Henry V., Henry VIII., Edward III., Edward IV., Henry VI., the Earl of
Leicester, and Charles Brandon. There is also
mentioned a gilt and graven suit for "his late
majesty, of ever blessed memory, Charles I.;" a
suit of Charles II., when a boy; and a suit sent to
Charles II. by the Great Mogul.
On the Restoration, says Meyrick, the armour
which had been formerly in the Green Gallery at
Greenwich, placed on horseback and dignified with
the name of some of our kings, gave the hint for
an exhibition at the Tower of the same sort. The
Tudors and Stuarts were added; and in 1686, the
year after the death of Charles II., his figure and
that of his father were added, their horses and faces
carved by Grinling Gibbons.
Towards the close of the seventeenth century
armour fell into disuse, and was sent by various
regiments to the Tower stores. A survey in 1697
enumerates thousands of back and breast pieces,
pots, and head-pieces. The equestrian figures, when
fitted out from these and from various gifts, increased from ten to twenty-seven.
Among the confused suits Meyrick found both
William the Conqueror and William III. clad in
plate armour of the age of Edward VI. The suit
of Henry V. was composed from parts of three
others, of which the upper portion was of the time
of Charles I., while the legs—which were not
fellows!—were of the age of Henry VII. Henry
VIII. also had the misfortune to have odd legs.
George I. and George II. were armed cap-a-pie in
suits of Henry VIII.'s time, and mounted on
Turkish saddles, gilt and ornamented with the globe,
crescent, and star. John of Gaunt was a knight of
Henry VIII.'s reign, and De Courcy a demi-lancer
of Edward VI.'s. The helmet of Queen Elizabeth
was of the period of Edward VI.; the armour for
her arms, of that of Charles I.; her breastplate went
as far back as Henry VIII.; and the garde de reins
of that monarch covered Her Majesty's "abdomen."
A big suit of Henry VIII., rough from the hammer,
had first been described by the warders as "made
for the king at the age of eighteen," and then "as
much too small for him."
The absurd inventions of the Tower warders
were endless. A "Guide to the Tower of London
and its Curiosities" (says Mr. Planché), published
in the reign of George III., mentions a breastplate desperately damaged by shot, which was
shown as having been worn by a man, part of
whose body, including some of the intestines, was
carried away by a cannon-ball, notwithstanding
which, being put under the care of a skilful surgeon,
the man recovered, and lived for ten years afterwards. "This story," adds the Guide, "the old
warder constantly told to all strangers, till H.R.H.
Prince Frederick, father of the present king, being
told the accustomed tale, said, with a smile, 'And
what, friend, is there so extraordinary in all this?
I remember myself to have read in a book of a
soldier who had his head cleft in two so dextrously
by the stroke of a scimitar, that one half of it fell
on one shoulder, and the other half of it on the
other shoulder; and yet, on his comrade's clapping
the two sides nicely together again, and binding
them close with his handkerchief, the man did well,
drank his pot of ale at night, and scarcely recollected that he had ever been hurt." The writer
goes on to say that the old warder was "so dashed,"
that he never had the courage to tell his story
again; but, though he might not, it was handed
down by his successors, by several of whom, Mr.
Planché says, he heard it repeated in his boyhood,
fifty years after the death of Frederick Prince of
Wales. The old battered breastplate is still in the
collection, and has not been "sold as old iron,"
being thoroughly unworthy of preservation.
In the year 1825 Dr. (afterwards Sir) Samuel
Rush Meyrick received the royal commands to
re-arrange the Horse and Spanish Armouries, a
task for which that antiquary's taste and knowledge
eminently qualified him. This task he executed,
but, unfortunately, was compelled by ignorant
officials to appropriate every suit (right or wrong)
to some great personage of the period, distinguishing the few that could actually be identified
by stars on the flags above them. The storekeeper
then resumed his care, and everything went wrong:
forgeries were bought and carefully preserved under
glass, and valuable pieces of armour, which had
been actually stolen or sold from the armoury,
were often offered for sale to the authorities and
rejected by them. In 1859, Mr. Planché, an eminent authority on armour, drew the attention of the
Right Hon. Sidney Herbert to the confusion of the
whole collection, and to the fact that the armoury
produced an annual revenue of £2,000 and odd,
being, therefore, self-supporting. The same publicspirited gentleman also pointed out that the Horse
Armoury admitted the rain, and had an inflammable
wooden shed at one end. In 1869, to the great
satisfaction of all true antiquaries, Mr. Planché was
commissioned to arrange the armour in the Tower
in strict chronological order. In his "Recollections and Reflections," he suggests that a fine
gallery could be made out of the row of carpenters'
shops on the east side of the White Tower.
The negligence of the Government led, Mr.
Planché says, in his own time, to many blunders.
One of the bargains missed by the Keeper of the
Armouries was the complete suit in which Sir Philip
Sidney was killed at the battle of Zutphen, the embossed figures on which were of solid gold. This
national and magnificent relic was at Strawberry
Hill, and is now at St. Petersburg. Another relic
lost to the Tower was a heaume of the time of
King John, now at Warwick Castle. A third was
the gauntlets of a fine suit made for Henry VIII.,
now in the Tower, imperfect from their absence.
They had found their way out of the Tower, and,
on being brought back to it, were ignored and refused by the authorities, and are now at Grimston.
A fourth was a most singular quaint helmet, probably as early as the time of Stephen, if not
actually the helmet of that monarch, or of his son,
now in the Musée d'Artillerie at Paris. Two other
helmets, one temp. Henry III., the other of the
fifteenth century, with part of the crest remaining,
were also rejected. At the very same time a helmet
newly made at Vienna, for theatrical purposes, was
purchased at the price of £50, and is now in one
of the glass cases at the Tower. The only armour
at Alton Towers that could possibly have belonged
to the great Talbot was suffered by some gentleman
sent down by the Tower to pass into the hands of
dealers. The back-plate, a most elegant specimen,
sold for £10, and is now in the collection of Lord
Londesborough, at Grimston.
The present Horse Armoury, at the south-west
corner of the White Tower, was completed in 1826,
when Meyrick re-arranged the collection. This is
a single apartment, about 150 feet long by 34 wide.
A row of pillars supporting pointed arches runs the
whole length of the interior. The space in front of
the columns is occupied by figures, some equestrian
and some on foot, clothed in armour from the reign
of Henry VI. to that of James II. Several military
trophies and emblems adorn the walls and ceilings
of the apartment, and the space devoted to the
armed figures is divided into several compartments
by stands containing weapons of the various periods.
The visitor can pass here from the simple mail
of early days to the engraved and ornamented
armour of Elizabeth's reign.
The Crusaders of Henry III.'s reign brought
chain-mail from the East. Mixed plate and chain
suits were introduced in the reign of Edward II.
In the reign of Richard II. the visors were peaked,
and projected from the face like birds' beaks.
With Henry IV. armour became all plate, and
the steel monster was now fully hatched. With
Henry V. came two-handed swords, to hew to
pieces the said armour. In Edward IV.'s days
came all sorts of novelties in armour—tuilles to
cover the hips, pauldrons for the shoulders, grandegardes, or extra half-breastplates, to cover the left
breast. In the time of Richard III., say most
authorities, armour attained its highest perfection
of form and arrangement. The shoes have long,
pointed toes. The Richard III. suit at the Tower
was brought from Spain, and was worn by the
Marquis of Waterford at the fantastic Eglinton
Tournament.
THE TOWER HORSE ARMOURY.
In the reign of Henry VII. came in the beautiful
German fluted armour. The helmets worn were
the round Burgundian, and the shoes were round
and large at the toes. The horse-armour, too is
splendid.
The Henry VIII. suit, the first suit in the collection, really belonged to the king whose effigy it
covers. The armour is damasked, and the stirrups
are curious, from their great size. But one of the
finest suits in the world, and belonging to this same
burly king, is in the central recess of the south wall
"This," says Hewitt, " is one of the most curious
suits of armour in the world, having been made to
commemorate the union of Henry VIII. and
Katherine of Arragon. The badges of this king
and queen, the rose and pomegranate, are engraved
on various parts of the armour. On the fans of the
genouilleres is the 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 lovers' knot. The same letters, similarly
united by a knot, which includes also a curious
love-badge, formed of a half rose and half pomegranate, are engraved on the croupiere of the
horse.
"But the most remarkable part of the embellishment of this suit consists in the saintly legends
which are engraved upon it. These consist of ten
subjects, full of curious costume, and indicating
curious manners.
THE TOWER MENAGERIE ABOUT 1820.
"On the breastplate is the figure of St. George
on foot, encountering the dragon. On the backplate appears St. Barbara, with her usual emblems.
On the front of the poitrail St. George, on horseback, is dispatching the dragon; the armour of
his horse is embellished with the rose and pomegranate. Also, on the poitrail, St. George accused
before Diocletian; and another subject, representing some lady of rank, attended by her maids,
directing the fortifications of a town or fortress.
On the croupière, St. George, stretched on the rack;
a saint receiving martyrdom, by being enclosed as
high as the waist in the brazen figure of an ox,
beneath which a fire is blazing, to boil the oil
within; a female saint suffering decapitation; while
in the background is predicted the retribution that
awaits the persecutor; another saint about to suffer
decapitation; St. Agatha led to be scourged; and
St. Agatha being built up in prison.
"Round the lower edge of the horse-armour,
many times repeated, is the motto, 'Dieu et mon
Droit,' while numerous other decorations—human
figures, heraldic badges, arabesque work, and
grotesque devices of fabulous and other animals—are continued over the whole suit, both of man
and horse. Among these engravings is one of a
female figure, bearing on the front of her bodice
the German word 'Glück' (good luck, health,
prosperity). From this, it has been suggested by
Sir S. Meyrick, we may infer that the suit before
us was presented by the Emperor Maximilian to
Henry, in honour of his marriage with Katherine
of Arragon. We own this inference seems rather a
bold one.
"The armour is doubtless of German manufacture, and one of the finest of the period. It
was formerly gilt, and when new must have had a
most gorgeous appearance. From its discoloration,
by time, the elaborate decorations of its surface are
almost entirely lost, but might easily be restored
by a judicious renewal of the gilding."
"We find another splendid suit of armour, of
the reign of Edward VI. It is of the kind called
russet, which was produced by oxidising the metal,
and then smoothing its surface. By this means
the gold-work with which it was afterwards damasquined looked much richer than if inlaid on a
ground of polished steel (or white armour, as it
was technically called). The suit before us is
covered with the most beautiful filagree-work. The
helmet especially is most elaborately ornamented;
embossed lions' heads adorn the pauldrons, elbowpieces, gauntlets, breastplate, genouillères, and sollerets; and the whole is in the finest preservation.
The helmet, which is a burgonet, is also embellished
with a lion's head. In the right hand is a mace,
terminating in a spear. This figure was formerly
exhibited as Edward the Black Prince.
"The horse-armour, which is a complete suit,
is embossed and embellished with the combined
badges of Burgundy and Granada. The probabilities are that it belonged to Philip of Flanders,
surnamed 'the Fair.' He was the son of the Emperor Maximilian, by Mary, daughter and heiress
of Charles the Bold, last Sovereign-Duke of Burgundy, and consequently, in right of his mother,
Duke of Burgundy and Count of Flanders. He
married Joanna, second daughter of Ferdinand and
Isabella, and sister of Katherine of Arragon, queen
of Henry VIII.
"The badge of the pomegranate was borne by
all the children of Isabella and Ferdinand the
conqueror of Granada. Philip and Joanna, on the
death of Isabella, in 1504, became sovereigns of
Castile and Arragon, and in 1506, on a voyage to
Spain, were obliged by a violent tempest to take
shelter in England, where they were detained upwards of three months in a sort of honourable
captivity by Henry VII. The armour might have
been left behind, in England, on the departure of
the royal travellers, or presented by Philip to
Henry."
The tilting-suit of the Earl of Leicester is still
shown. "That the armour before us was worn
by Leicester," says Mr. Hewitt, "there is not
the slightest doubt. His initials, 'R. D.,' are engraved on the genouillères. His cognizance of the
bear and ragged staff appears on the chanfron of
the horse, encircled by the collar of the Garter; and
the ragged staff is repeated on every part of the
suit. The suit was originally gilt, and 'was kept,'
says Sir S. Meyrick, 'in the tilt-yard, where it
was exhibited on particular days.' It afterwards
figured in the old horse armoury as that of King
James I."
The suit of Sir Henry Lea, champion of Queen
Elizabeth, was formerly exhibited as that of William
the Conqueror. The fine engraved and gilt suit
of the Earl of Essex (1581) was worn by the
king's champion at the coronation of George II.
The figure of James I. was formerly shown as
Henry IV. The suit of Charles I. was given him
by the Armourers' Company. It is richly gilt and
arabesqued. The suit is specially interesting as
being the identical one laid on the coffin of the
Duke of Marlborough at his public funeral. The
head of the effigy of James II. is one carved by
Grinling Gibbons as a portrait of Charles II.
The suit long called John of Gaunt's turned out to
be an engraved suit for a man-at-arms of the reign
of Henry VIII., and the Norman Crusader to have
come from the Mogul country. There is a fine
suit of Italian armour here, date 1620, once worn
by Count Oddi, of Padua. It is ornamented with
the imperial eagle, the badge of his house. The
devices, formed of swords, pistols, and bayonets,
are very ingenious. The large pavois shield (temp.
James I.) should be noticed. The russet and gold
armour is Venetian, of the sixteenth century; and
the six pieces of a puffed and engraved suit of the
time of Henry VIII. are extremely curious and rare.
The ancient German saddle of bone inlaid with
figures is of uncertain date. The inscription is—
"I hope the best to you may happen;
May God help you well in Saint George's name."
The fantastic helmet with horns, made for
mock tournaments, is said to have belonged to
Henry VIII.'s jester. The crossbows are of all
ages. Firearms can here be traced, from the
earliest hand-gun of 1430. One flint-lock rifle, of
Austrian make (1750), could be fired eighteen times
in a minute. Here we see the steel mace combined
with the pistol (temp. Edward VI.). The padded
Chinese armour, too, is curious; and there is a
curious suit of the Great Mogul, sent to Charles II.,
made partly of plates and partly of small iron tubes
bound in rows. The Elizabethan Armoury contains a goodly store of glaives, black-bills, Lochaber
axes, and boar-spears. The great curiosity here is
the block on which Lords Balmerino, Kilmarnock,
and Lovat laid down their heads; the old headingaxe (said to have taken off the head of Essex); the
iron torture-cravat, called in the Tower, "Skeffington's Daughter," from the name of the inventor; the
bilboes; the thumbscrews; the Spanish collar of
torture, from the Armada; two yew-bows, from the
wreck of the Mary Rose, sunk off Spithead in the
reign of Henry VIII.; and a breech-loading matchlock petronel, that belonged to Henry VIII. The
relics of Tippoo Sahib have also a special interest.
The grand storehouse for the royal train of
artillery, and the small-arms armoury for 150,000
stand of arms, destroyed by fire October 30, 1841,
was built in the reign of James II. or William III.,
since which the Tower has been remodelled, many
small dwelling-houses cleared away, and several
towers and defences rebuilt. The houses of Petty
Wales and the outworks have been removed, as well
as the menagerie buildings near the west entrance.
In the great fire of 1841 only 4,000 stand of arms
were saved out of about 100,000, and the loss was
computed at about £250,000. But for the height
of the tide and the fulness of the ditch, the whole
Tower would have been destroyed. In 1830 the
store of arms in the Tower had amounted to
600,000. Among the curiosities destroyed was one
of the state swords carried before the Pretender
when he was proclaimed in Scotland, in 1715, and
a curious wooden gun.
The Train Room contained some interesting
naval relics; among others, the steering-wheel of
Lord Nelson's Victory, trophies of William III.
and General Wolfe, and relics of Waterloo. The
earliest guns were of the reigns of Henry VI.
and Edward IV.—hooped guns, with movable
chambers. There was also a great treasure which
fortunately escaped the fire—a large iron chambergun, recovered from the wreck of the Mary Rose
(Henry VIII.). The Great Harry, which is of
brass, weighs five tons (temp. Henry VIII.). It
has the date 1542, and the English rose engraved
upon it is surmounted by the crown of France.
There were guns, too, from Ramillies, and relics of
the Royal George. One old brass German gun,
date 1581, had the spirited motto—
"I sing and spring,
My foe transfixing."
One of the finest guns preserved was a brass gun
taken from the French. It had formerly belonged
to the Knights of Malta. The date is 1773. It is
covered with exquisite figures in alto-relievo. In
one part is a medallion portrait of the artist, Philip
Lattarellus, and in another the portrait of the Grand
Master of Malta, supported by two genii. The
carriage also is very curious; its trails are formed
of the intertwined figures of two furies holding
torches, and grasping a huge snake. The centre
of the wheel represents the sun, the spokes forming
its rays. There was also saved a small brass gun,
presented to the Duke of Gloucester, the son of
Queen Anne.
In other parts of the Armoury are ancient British
flint axes, Saxon weapons, a suit of Greek armour,
found in a tomb at Cumæ kettle-drums from Blenheim; the cloak in which General Wolfe died; the
sword-sash of that eminent but unappreciated hero,
the Duke of York; Saracenic, Indian, Moorish,
New Zealand, and Kaffrarian arms, and even a
door-mat suit from the South Seas. In 1854,
2,000 stand of Russian arms, taken at Bomarsund,
the first trophies of a useless and unlucky war, were
placed in the Tower. Those two rude wooden
figures on the staircase, called "Beer and Gin,"
formerly stood over the buttery of the old palace
at Greenwich. There are also ten small brass
cannon to be seen, presented by the brass-founders
of London to Charles II. when a boy. Hatton,
in 1708, mentions among the curiosities of the
Tower the sword which Lord Kingsale took from
an officer of the French body-guard, for which
deed he and his posterity have the right of remaining covered in the king's presence.
From the above account it will be seen that the
Tower contains as many interesting historical relics
as any museum in England. Here the intelligent
visitor can trace the progress of weapons from the
rude flint axe of the early Briton to the latest rifle
that science has invented. Here he can see all
the changes of armour, from the rude suits worn
at Hastings to the time when the Italians turned
the coat of steel into a work of the finest art, and
lavished upon it years of anxious and refined
labour. There are breastplates in the Tower on
which Montfort's spear has splintered, and cuirasses on which English swords struck fire at
Waterloo. There are trophies of all our wars, from
Cressy and Poictiers to Blenheim and Inkermann,
spoils of the Armada, relics of the early Crusade
wars, muskets that were discharged at Minden,
swords of Marlborough's troopers, shields carried
at Agincourt, suits of steel that Elizabeth's champions wore at Cadiz, flags that have been scorched
by Napoleon's powder, blades that have shared in
struggles with Dane and Indian, Spaniard and
Russian. Thanks to Mr. Planche, the Tower
Armoury can now be studied in sequence, and with
intellectual advantage. The blunders of former
days have been rectified, and order once more prevails, where formerly all was confusion and jumble.
Thanks to the imperishability of steel, the old warcostumes of England remain for us to study, and
with the smallest imagination one can see Harry of
Monmouth, in the very arms he wore, ride forth
against the French spears, all blazoned with
heraldic splendour, and, shouting "God and St.
George for merry England," scatter the French, as
he did when he won his crowning victory.
CHAPTER IX.
THE TOWER (continued).
The Tower of London Officials—Locking-up the Tower—The Tower Menagerie—The Moat—The Church of St. Peter ad Vincula—Early
Sufferers for State Errors—Gerald Fitzgerald—Fisher—Lord Seymour of Dudley—The Protector Somerset—The Earl of Essex—Sir
Thomas Overbury—Anne Boleyn—The Monuments in St. Peter ad Vincula—A Blood-stained Spot—Historical Treasure Trove—The
Waterloo Barracks—The Royal Mint—Nooks and Corners of the Tower—Its Terrible Cells—The Tower Ghost.
The Constable of the Tower was anciently called
"the Constable of London," "the Constable of the
Sea," and "the Constable of the Honour of the
Tower." William I. chose as the first Constable of
his new fortress Geoffrey de Mandeville, who had
fought well at Hastings. The Constable temp.
Edward II. received a dole of twopence from
each person going and returning by the Thames
on a pilgrimage to St. James of Compostella. In
the reign of Richard II. he received £100 a year,
with fees from prisoners for the "suite of his irons"—for a duke, £20; for an earl, twenty marks;
for a baron, £10; for a knight, 100 shillings.
Later, he had wine-tolls, which were taken from
passing ships by his officers. Taylor the Waterpoet farmed this office, and naively confesses that
he could make no profit of it till he cheated. The
Constable's salary is at present about £1,000
a year. The Duke of Wellington was Constable
from 1820 till his death, in 1852, and he was succeeded by that brave old veteran, Viscount Combermere. The Lieutenant of the Tower ranks next
to the Constable, but the duties of his office are
performed by the Deputy-Lieutenant and the
Tower Major. The warders' old dress was obtained for them by the Duke of Somerset, after his
release from prison in the reign of Edward VI.
There are two officers, says Bayley, who are
now joined in the command and custody of the
Tower, with the denomination of Deputy-Lieutenant and Major, both of whom are appointed by
commission from the Crown, though the patronage
is virtually in the Constable, who exercises the
power of recommending. These officers, however,
are of very modern date, having both sprung up in
the course of the last century. The earliest mention
we find of a Deputy-Lieutenant is in the time of
Queen Anne, and that of a Major not till many
years afterwards. The civil establishment of the
Tower also consists of a chaplain, whose appointment is in the king exclusively; the chief porter,
now called the gentleman-porter, who has his office
by letters patent, at the recommendation of the
Constable; a physician and a surgeon, who are
appointed by his Majesty's Commission, at the
recommendation of the Constable; an apothecary,
who holds his place by warrant from the Constable;
the gentleman-gaoler, the yeoman-porter, and forty
yeoman-warders, all of whom also have their places
by warrant of the Constable.
Locking-up the Tower is an ancient, curious,
and stately ceremony. A few minutes before the
clock strikes the hour of eleven—on Tuesdays and
Fridays, twelve—the head warder (yeoman-porter),
clothed in a long red cloak, bearing a huge bunch
of keys, and attended by a brother warder carrying
a lantern, appears in front of the main guardhouse,
and loudly calls out, "Escort keys!" The sergeant of the guard, with five or six men, then turns
out and follows him to the "Spur," or outer gate,
each sentry challenging as they pass his post,
"Who goes there?" "Keys." The gates being
carefully locked and barred, the procession returns,
the sentries exacting the same explanation, and
receiving the same answer as before. Arrived
once more in front of the main guardhouse, the
sentry there gives a loud stamp with his foot, and
asks, "Who goes there?" "Keys." "Whose
keys?" "Queen Victoria's keys." "Advance,
Queen Victoria's keys, and all's well." The yeomanporter then exclaims, "God bless Queen Victoria!" The main guard respond, "Amen!" The
officer on duty gives the word, "Present arms!"
The firelocks rattle, the officer kisses the hilt of his
sword, the escort fall in among their companions,
and the yeoman-porter marches across the parade
alone, to deposit the keys in the Lieutenant's
lodgings. The ceremony over, not only is all
egress and ingress totally precluded, but even
within the walls no one can stir without being furnished with the countersign.
The Tower has a separate coroner, and the
public have access to the fortress only by sufferance. When Horwood made his survey of London,
1799, he was denied admission to the Tower,
and the refusal is thus recorded upon the map:
"The Tower; the internal parts not distinguished,
being refused permission to take the survey." The
Tower is extra-parochial; and in 1851 the population was 882, and the military in barracks 606.
Nor must we forget the now extinct menagerie in
the Tower. The first royal menagerie in England
was at Woodstock, where Henry I. kept some lions
and leopards to amuse his ladies and courtiers.
Henry III. having three leopards sent him by the
Emperor Frederick II., moved his wild beasts to
the Tower, and thus commenced the menagerie
which existed there till 1834. Among the national
records many orders exist to the sheriffs of London,
Bedfordshire, and Buckinghamshire to provide for
the animals and their keepers. Thus in 1252
(Henry III.) the London sheriffs were ordered to
pay fourpence a day for the maintenance of a white
bear, and to provide a muzzle and chain to hold
him while fishing or washing himself in the river
Thames. In 1255 (same reign) they are again desired to build a house in the Tower for an elephant,
sent to the king by Louis of France (the first ever
seen in England since the Roman period). In the
reigns of Edward I., Edward II., and Edward III.,
the lions and leopards were paid for at the rate of
sixpence a day, while the keepers received only
three-halfpence. At later periods the keeper of
the Tower lions was a person of quality, who received sixpence a day, and the same sum for every
animal under his charge. Henry VI. gave the post
to his marshal, Robert Mansfield, and afterwards
to Thomas Rookes, his dapifer.
The post was often held by the Lieutenant or
Constable of the Tower, on condition of his providing a sufficient deputy. Our ancient kings had
in their household an official called "the Master
of the King's Bears and Apes." In a semi-circular
enclosure round the Lion Tower, James I. and his
court used to come to see lions and bears baited
by dogs. In Howel's time there were six lions in
the Tower, and probably no other animals. In
1708 Strype enumerates eleven lions, two leopards
or tigers (the worthy historian, it seems, knows not
which), three eagles, two owls, two cats of the
mountain, and a jackal. In 1754 Maitland gives
a much larger catalogue. By 1822, however, the
Tower menagerie had sunk to a grizzly bear, an
elephant, and a few birds. By the diligence of
Mr. Cops, the keeper, the collection had increased,
in 1829, to the following:—Bengal lion, lioness and
cubs, Cape lion, Barbary lioness, tiger, leopard,
jaguar, puma, ocelot, caracal, chetah or hunting
leopard, striped hyaena, hyaena dog, spotted hyæna,
African bloodhound, wolf, clouded black wolf,
jackal, civet or musk cat, Javanese civet, grey
ichneumon, paradoxurus, brown coati, racoon,
American black bear, and grizzly bear.
A century ago, says Cunningham, the lions in
the Tower were named after the reigning kings, and
it was long a vulgar belief, "that when a king dies,
the lion of that name dies after him." Addison
alludes to this popular error in his own inimitable
way:—"Our first visit," he says in the Freeholder,
"was to the lions. My friend (the Tory Foxhunter), who had a great deal of talk with their
keeper, inquired very much after their health, and
whether none of them had fallen sick upon the
taking of Perth and the flight of the Pretender?
And hearing they were never better in their lives,
I found he was extremely startled; for he had
learned from his cradle that the lions in the Tower
were the best judges of the title of our British kings,
and always sympathised with our sovereigns."
The Bengal lion of 1829, "George," as the
keepers called him, after the reigning king, had
been captured when a cub by General Watson,
who shot the parents. The general made a goat
foster the two cubs during the voyage to England.
They were at first allowed to walk in the open
yard, the visitors playing with them with impunity. They used to be fed once a day only,
on a piece of beef of eight or nine pounds weight.
The lioness was perfectly tame till she bore cubs.
One of the keepers on one occasion finding her at
large, drove her back into her den, though he was
only armed with a stick, and evaded the three springs
she made at him. The menagerie declining, and
the damp position and restricted room being found
injurious to the animals, they were transferred to
the Zoological Gardens, Regent's Park, in 1834.
The refreshment room and ticket office occupy
part of the site of the Lion Tower, but the buildings
were not entirely removed until 1853. The "washing the Tower lions" on the 1st of April used to
be an old London hoax.
The Tower Moat, long an offensive and useless
nuisance, was finally drained in 1843, and then
filled up and turfed as a small campus martius for
the garrison. Evergreens are planted on the banks,
and on the north-east is a shrubbery garden.
In draining the moat the workmen found several
stone shot, supposed to be missiles directed at the
fortress during the siege of 1460, when Lord Scales
held the Tower for Henry VI., and the Yorkists
cannonaded the fortress from a battery in Southwark. Our readers will remember two occasions
when the Tower fired on the City: first, when
the Bastard Falconbridge attacked the bridge under
pretence of aiding the king; and again on Evil
May Day, in the reign of Henry VIII., when the
Constable of the Tower, enraged at the tumult, discharged his cannon on Cheapside way. In 1792,
when there was much popular discontent, several
hundred men were employed to repair the Tower
fortifications, opening the embrasures, and mounting cannon; and on the west side of the fortress,
a strong barricade was formed of old casks, filled
with earth and rubble. The gates were closed at
an early hour, and no one but soldiers allowed upon
the ramparts. In 1830, when the Duke of Wellington, the Constable, filled the Tower Ditch with
water, and cleansed and deepened it, the Radicals
declared he was putting the fortress into order in
case of the Reform agitation, as very likely he was.
THE TOWER MOAT. (From a View taken about 1800.)
The church of St. Peter ad Vincula, situated
near to the north-west of the White Tower, was
built, or rebuilt, by Edward III.; the private or royal
chapel, in the upper part of the keep, having till
then been the chief ecclesiastical building within
the fortress where so many prisoners have groaned.
The earlier church of St. Peter seems to have
been large and spacious, fitted up with stalls for the
king and queen, and with two chancels, adorned
with shrines and sculpture. A letter still existing,
and quoted by Strype, of Henry III. (that great
builder), desires the keeper of the Tower works to
plaster the chancel of St. Peter, and to colour anew
the shrine and figure of Mary, and the images of
St. Peter, St. Nicholas, St. Katherine, the beam
beyond the altar of St. Peter, and the little cross
with its figures, and to erect a painted image of
the giant St. Christopher carrying Jesus. There
were also to be made two tables, painted with the
stories of the blessed St. Nicholas and St. Katherine, before the altars of the said saints. The king
also ordered two fair cherubims, with cheerful and
joyful countenances, to be made, and erected on
the right and left of the great cross in the said church, and also a marble font with pillars, well
and handsomely wrought; "and the cost for this
you shall be at, by the view and witness of liege
men, shall be reckoned to you at the Exchequer."
THE TOWER. (From a Survey made in 1597 by W. Haiward and F. Gascoyne.)
A. Middle Tower. B. Tower at the Gate. C. Bell Tower. D. Beauchamp Tower. E. Devilin Tower. F. Flint Tower. G. Brick Tower. I. Martin Tower. K. Constable
Tower. L. Broad Arrow Tower. M. Salt Tower. N. Well Tower. O. Tower leading to Iron Gate. P. Tower above Iron Gate. Q. Cradle Tower. R. Lantern Tower. S. Hall Tower. T. Bloody
Tower. V. St. Thomas's Tower. W. Cæsar's, or White Tower. X. Cole Harbour. Y. Wardrobe Tower. AB. House at Water Gate, called the Ram's Head. AH. End of Tower Street.
The interesting old church has been modernised
by degrees into a small mean building, with five
cinquefoil windows of late Gothic, a rude wooden
porch, and a small square bell-turret at the west end.
In a bird's-eye view of the Tower Liberties, made
in 1597, the church is represented as having battlements, and two of the five windows are bricked
up. They continued in that state till after 1739.
It is supposed the old windows were destroyed by
fire in the reign of Henry VIII. In the reign of
Henry III. there was a small cell or hermitage for
a male or female recluse behind the church, the
inmate daily receiving a penny of the king's
charity. The church now consists of a nave,
chancel, and north aisle, the nave and aisle being
separated by five low pointed arches.
In this building lie many great persons whose
heads paid forfeit for their ambition or their crimes.
There are innocent men and women, too, among
them—victims of cruelty and treachery. Many
who lie here headless suffered merely from being
unfortunately too nearly allied to deposed royalty.
In this little Golgotha are interred mighty secrets
now never to be solved; for half the crimes of our
English monarchs were wrought out on the little
plot outside the church-door of St. Peter ad
Vincula.
One of the earliest of the sufferers for state
errors who lie in St. Peter's is Gerald Fitzgerald,
Earl of Kildare and Lord Deputy of Ireland, who,
committed to the Tower for treasonable practices,
died there of a broken heart in 1534. Of the
Tower prisoners already mentioned by us there
here rest—Fisher, Bishop of Rochester, for vexing
Henry VIII. by refusing to deny the Papal supremacy. By his own request he was buried near
Sir Thomas More. The next year the body of
poor Anne Boleyn was tossed into an old arrowchest, and hurriedly buried here. Katherine
Howard, a really guilty queen, though more deserving contempt than death, came next. In the
same reign another grave was filled by Cromwell,
Earl of Essex, the king's deposed favourite, and
Margaret, Countess of Salisbury, mother of Cardinal
Pole. The executioner chased this old countess,
who refused to lay her head on the block as a
traitor, round the scaffold, and killed her at last
after many hasty blows.
The reign of Edward VI. brought some really
evil men to the same burying-place. One by one
they came, after days of greatness and of sorrow.
First, Thomas Lord Seymour of Dudley, the Lord
Admiral, beheaded by order of his brother, the
Protector Somerset; then the bad and ambitious
Protector himself.
In the reign of Mary were buried here, after
execution, that poor unoffending young wife, Lady
Jane, the victim of her selfish kinsman's ambition;
and then the kinsman himself, John Dudley, Earl
of Warwick and Duke of Northumberland. In
Elizabeth's mild reign only the Earl of Essex, who
so well deserved death, is to be added to the list.
In James's shameless reign the murdered Sir
Thomas Overbury was interred here; and in the
reign of Charles I. his victim, the great-hearted Sir
John Eliot. His son begged to be allowed to
convey his father's body to Cornwall, to lie among
his ancestors; but Charles, cold and unrelenting,
wrote at the foot of the petition, "Let Sir John
Eliot's body be buried in the church of that parish
where he died." After the Restoration, Okey, the
regicide, was buried in the same place. The weak
Duke of Monmouth lies beneath the communiontable, and beneath the west gallery are the bodies
of Lords Kilmarnock, Balmerino, and that wicked
old fox, Simon Lovat. The Dukes of Somerset
and Northumberland, Anne Boleyn, and Katherine
Howard were buried before the high altar.
The monuments in the church are interesting,
because the church of St. Peter escaped the Great
Fire. At the west end of the north aisle is a
fine enriched table-tomb, to the memory of Sir
Richard Cholmondeley (that name which is such a
stumbling-block to foreigners), Lieutenant of the
Tower, and his wife, Lady Elizabeth (early part of
Henry VIII.). The knight's recumbent effigy is
in plate-armour, with collar and pendant round
his neck. His hands are joined in prayer. His
lady wears a pointed head-dress, and the tomb has
small twisted columns at the angles, and is divided
at the sides into square panels, enclosing blank
shields and lozenges. The monument formerly
stood in the body of the church. In the chancel
stands also a stately Elizabethan monument, to the
memory of Sir Richard Blount, and Michael his
son, both Lieutenants of the Tower. "Sir Richard,
who died in 1560," says Bayley, "is represented on
one side, in armour, with his two sons, kneeling;
and opposite his wife and two daughters, who are
shown, in the dress of the times, on the other.
Sir Michael is represented in armour attended by
his three sons, his wife and daughter, all in the
attitude of prayer." There is also a monument in
the chancel to Sir Allan Apsley, a Lieutenant of the
Tower, who died in 1630. He was the father of
that noble woman, Mrs. Lucy Hutchinson, whose
husband was afterwards confined in the Bloody
Tower. On the floor of the nave is a small and
humble slab, to the memory of Talbot Edwards,
gentleman, who died in 1674, aged eighty years.
This was the brave old guardian of the regalia,
whom Blood and his ruffians nearly killed, and who
had at last to sell his long-deferred annuity of £200
for £100 ready money. There is also a monument to Colonel Gurwood, that brave soldier who
led the storming party at Ciudad Rodrigo, who
edited the "Wellington Despatches," and who died
by his own hand, from insanity produced by his
wounds. Other officers of the Tower are buried
here, and amongst them George Holmes, the first
Vice-President of the Society of Antiquaries, and
Deputy Keeper of the Records in the Tower (died
1748). On the outside of the church is a monument to the memory of William Bridges, SurveyorGeneral of the Ordnance under Queen Anne.
The blood-stained spot where the private executions formerly took place, nearly opposite the door
of St. Peter's Church, is denoted by a large oval of
dark flints. Here Anne Boleyn, Lady Jane Grey,
and Essex perished. It was an old slander against
Raleigh that at the execution of Essex he stood
at a window opposite, and puffed out tobacco in
disdain of him. But in his speech at the scaffold
Raleigh declared, with all the solemnity due to
such a moment, "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, but he saw not me."
Archbishop Laud, in his superstitious "Diary,"
records with fanatical horror the fact, that in the
lieutenancy of Alderman Pennington, the regicide
Lord Mayor of London, one Kem, vicar of Low
Leyton, in Essex, preached in this very St. Peter's
in a gown over a buff coat and scarf.
In the reigns of Henry III. and Edward I. the
chaplains of St. Peter's received 50s. per annum
from the Exchequer. Afterwards the chaplain was
turned into a rector, and given 60s. a year. In 1354
Edward III., however, converted the chapel into a
sort of collegiate church, and appointed three chaplains to help the rector, granting them, besides the
60s., a rent of 31s. 8d. from tenements in Tower
Hill and Petty Wales. Petty Wales was an old
house in Thames Street, near the Custom House,
supposed to be where the Princes of Wales used
to reside when they came to the City. The chaplains also received a rent of 5s. from the Hospital
of St. Katherine, and certain tributes from Thames
fishing-boats, together with ten marks from the Exchequer, 20s. from the Constable of the Tower,
10s. from the clerk of the Mint, 13s. 4d. from the
Master of the Mint, and 1d. per week from the
wages of each workman or teller of coins at the
Mint. The church was exempt from episcopal
authority till the time of Edward VI.
Several interesting discoveries of Roman antiquities within the Tower precincts encourage us to
the belief in the old tradition that the Romans built
a fortress here. In 1777, workmen digging the
foundations of a new office for the Board of Ordnance, after breaking through foundations of ancient
buildings, found below the level of the present
river-bed a double wedge of silver, four inches long,
and in the broadest part nearly three inches broad.
In the centre was the inscription, "Ex officinâ
Honorii." This ingot is supposed to have been
cast in the reign of the Emperor Honorius, A.D.
393, the Roman emperor who, harassed by the
Goths, in A.D. 410 surrendered Britain to its own
people, and finally withdrew the Roman troops.
The unhappy Britons, then overwhelmed by the
Picts and Scots, applied for assistance to the Saxons,
who soon conquered the people they had come to
assist. With this silver ingot were found three
gold coins, aurei, one of Honorius, and two of his
brother Arcadius. The coins of Arcadius were probably struck at Constantinople, the capital of the
Eastern empire. On these coins (reverse) there is
a soldier treading a captive under foot. In his left
hand the soldier holds the labarum; in the right,
a small figure of Victory. In the same spot was
also found a square stone, dedicated to the manes
of Titus Licinius, and a small glass crown.
In the year 1772 an elegant little open jewelled
crown was found near the east side of the White
Tower, leading from Cold Harbour. It seems to
have been the crown of some image, and was set
with emeralds, rubies, and pearls.
The Waterloo Barracks, a large modern Gothic
building, that will hold 1,000 men, used as a
barrack and armoury, and loopholed for musketry,
was completed in 1849, on the site of the Grand
Storehouse, burned down in 1841. The first stone
was laid in 1845 by the Duke of Wellington, a
stone statue of whom, by Milnes, stands near the
spot. North-east of the White Tower is another
modern castellated range of buildings, for the
officers of the garrison. South-eastward are the
Ordnance Office and storehouses. The area of the
Tower within the walls is twelve acres and five
poles, and the circuit outside the ditch is 1,050
yards. The portcullis of the Bloody Tower is one
of the last complete relics of feudalism, being the
only perfect and usable portcullis in England.
The Royal Mint had its offices in the Tower
till 1811, when the present building on Tower Hill
was completed. Stow speaks of the Tower as a
citadel to defend or command the City, a royal
palace for assemblies or treaties, a state prison for
dangerous offenders, the only place for coining in
England in his time, an armoury for warlike provisions, the treasury of the jewels of the crown,
and the storehouse of the records of the king's
courts of justice at Westminster. Many of our
poets have specially mentioned the Tower. Of
these, Shakespeare stands pre-eminent. In the
tragedy of Richard III. he shows us the two
princes' instinctive horror of the place in which
their cruel uncle, the Crookback, wished them to
spend the few days before the coronation of the
young Edward:—
"Prince. I do not like the Tower, of any place.
Did Julius Cæsar build that place, my lord?
Buck. He did, my gracious lord, begin that place,
Which since succeeding ages have re-edified.
Prince. Is it upon record, or else reported
Successively from age to age, he built it?
Buck. Upon record, my gracious lord."
And in another passage, in Richard II., the poet
seems to hint at a similar association:—
"This is the way
To Julius Caesar's ill-erected Tower."
Gray, in his "Bard," speaks of—
"Ye towers of Julius, London's lasting shame,
With many a foul and midnight murder fed."
Before tearing ourselves from the Tower, we
may mention a few nooks and corners of interest
not generally known to visitors. In the northeastern turret of the White Tower was the observatory of that great astronomical rival of Newton,
John Flamstead. Here often he "outwatched the
bear." The Ordnance Office gave him £100
a year. The roof of this tower was a promenade
for prisoners. In 1708 there were 3,000 barrels of
gunpowder stored close to the White Tower. The
Record Tower, or Hall Tower, was formerly called
the Wakefield Tower, from the Yorkist prisoners
confined there after that great battle of the
Roses.
The most terrible cells of the fortress, such as
those over which Mr. Harrison Ainsworth threw a
blue fire, are in the Bowyer Tower, where there
is a ghastly hole with a trap-door, opening upon
a flight of steps. In the lower chambers of the
Devereux Tower are subterranean passages, leading
to St. Peter's Church. In the Beauchamp Tower a
secret passage has been discovered in the masonry,
where spies could cower, and listen to the conversations and soliloquies of poor unsuspecting
prisoners. One torture-chamber was called, says
Mr. Hewitt, "Little Ease," because it was so small
that a prisoner could not stand erect, or even lie
down at full length. Other cells are said to have
been full of rats, which at high water were driven
up in shoals from the Thames. Hatton, in 1708,
describes the Tower guns as sixty-two in number;
they were on the wharf, and were discharged on all
occasions of victories, coronations, festival days,
days of thanksgiving, and triumphs. They are now
fired from a salutation-battery facing Tower Hill.
The prisoner's walks in the Tower, spots of many
a mournful hour of regret and contemplation, are
specially interesting. There is one—a passage on
the leads between the (alarm) Bell Tower and the
Beauchamp Tower. The walls are carved with
names. In the Garden Tower are also leads where
prisoners used to pace; and Pepys, visiting the
Tower, March 11, 1669, in order to see Sir W.
Coventry, they visit what was then called "My
Lord of Northumberland's Walk;" at the end of it
there was a piece of iron upon the wall with his arms
upon it, and holes to put in a peg for every turn
made upon the walk. Mrs. Hutchinson especially
mentions that her husband was confined in the
room of the Bloody Tower where it was said the
two princes were murdered. The room that led to
it was that in which, it is popularly believed, the
Duke of Clarence was drowned. "It was a dark,
great room," says the amiable and faithful wife,
"with no window in it, and the portcullis of a gate
was drawn up within it, and below there sat every
night a court of guard."
The council-chamber of the Lieutenant's lodgings, where Guy Fawkes was examined, and perhaps
tortured, is said to be haunted, and the soldiers
of the Tower have a firm belief that a ghost, in
some ambiguous and never clearly-defined shape,
appeared on one occasion to a drunken sentry near
the Martin Tower, the old Jewel House. It is
said that upwards of 1,000 prisoners have been
groaning together at one time in the Tower. The
person who believes in the Tower ghost can swallow
this too. Bayley mentions that the bones of an
old ape, which had hidden itself and died in an
unoccupied turret, were set down in his time as
those of the two murdered princes.
During the Spa Fields riot some of the rioters,
including Thistlewood, afterwards the desperate
leader of the Cato Street conspirators, came to the
Tower walls and tried to persuade the soldiers to
join them, offering them £100 each, but failed to
win over even a single recruit. A few years ago
the population of the Tower, including the garrison,
was 1,488.
In old times, says Mr. Dixon, in his book on
London Prisons, whenever it was found necessary
to carry a prisoner through the streets, the sheriffs
received him from the king's lieutenants at the
entrance to the City, gave a receipt for him, and
took another on delivering him up at the gates of
the Tower. The receipt of the Governor of the
Tower for the body of the Duke of Monmouth—his living body—is still extant.