CHAPTER VI.Docks, Sailors, and Emigrants.

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

This torture was the rack.

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

The following is the conceit of a poor lover:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A little rule, a little sway—A sunbeam on a winter’s day—Is all the power the mighty haveBetween the cradle and the grave.”—Dyer.

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

“Even such is time, that takes on trustOur youth, our joys, our all we have,And pays us but with age and dust;Who in the dark and silent grave,When we have wander’d all our ways,Shuts up the story of our days.”

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

“This strange eventful history.”

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

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

“After life’s fitful fever, they sleep well.”

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

“Tells sad stories of the death of kings:How some have been deposed; some slain in war;Some haunted by the ghosts they have deposed;Some poison’d by their wives, some sleeping kill’d:All murdered!”

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

We conclude with the following extract from theIllustrated London Newsof January 1843:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

OUR rambles have now brought us to the Docks; but, before describing them, we must glance backward at the scenes which in former years met the eye on the very spots which these vast basins now occupy, for we shall include them all in this chapter.

There are people still living who can remember when Blackwall-Reach had for its landmarks grim gibbet-posts, on which the bodies of pirates bleached and blackened in the storm and sunshine, “making night hideous;” when the whole neighbourhood beyond the Tower, instead of being the home of mighty ships—that seem to sleep after their perilous voyages in the Docks—was a nest of ill-famed streets and dangerous alleys, unsafe even in the open noon of day, and at night trodden with dread by the peaceful passenger; when the Tower Hamlets disgorged their lawless inhabitants to witness an execution on Tower-hill, attack a press-gang, or rescue some sailor from the claws of justice, to be borne in triumph to the nearest tavern, and amid flip, fiddling, and dancing, bid defiance to every ‘Charley’ that for a mile around drawled out the passing hours. In those days it was not uncommon for the drum to beat an alarm, and a troop or two of soldiers to turn out of the Tower, to quell the brawls which arose between the land-lubbers and the sons of the salt sea; nor were the military always successful in putting down these midnight riots; for whether Jack hunted a Jew or unroofed a crimping house, he would not give in (unless overpowered) until he had chased down the one and demolished the other.

Ned Ward, in hisLondon Spy, describes the sailors he met with in his day in this neighbourhood, and says, “Sometimes we met in the street with a boat’s crew just come on shore, in search of those land debaucheries which the sea denies them; looking like such wild, staring, gamesome, uncouth animals, that a litter of squab rhinoceroses drest up in human apparel could not have made a more ungainly appearance.... Every post they came near was in danger of having its head broken; for every one as he passed by gave the senseless block a bang with his cudgel, as if they wished every post they met to be either the boatswain or the purser. The very dogs in the street shunned them with as much fear as a loitering vagrant would a gang of press-masters, being so cautioned against their ill usage by the stripes they had formerly received, that, as soon as ever they saw a seaman, away ran the poor curs, with their tails between their legs, to avoid the danger of the approaching evil. I could not forbear reflecting on the ‘prudence’ (?) of those persons who send their unlucky children to sea to tame and reform them.”

Even now, after all the alterations and improvements which have been made, there are places in the neighbourhood of St. Katherine and the London Docks which present almost the same features as they did a century or two ago, and such may be found within five minutes’ walk of the Docks we are describing. No contrast can be greater than that between the west and the east end of London; the very houses, dresses, and language of the inhabitants are different; for in the latter their talk is “all of ships.” Here, at the shop-doors dangle oil-case nor’-westers, with long fantails behind, telling that, unlike the hats in Bond-street, these are made to keep a billow that breaks over the head out of the nape of the neck; while the rough pilot-coats that hang like skins about the tent of a Russian bear-hunter, proclaim that they were never made to be worn in “a lady’s chamber,” but to be donned where the winds whistle, and the sea-gulls scream, and the big waves come roaring after each other like a thousand unchained hungry lions. There you see the gaudy handkerchief which Jack loves to leave a little out, that it may be seen from his blue jacket-pocket; those slops, in the whiteness of which he prides himself; and the checked shirt that he delights to throw open about his sun-browned throat, while he leaves the fringed corners of his black neckerchief to flutter like a pennon in the breeze. There is a forecastle-smell about the streets, a minglement of junk and rum, tar and biscuit, casks, ropes, and tobacco, not unpleasant to one who is proud of the wave-washed island on which he was born.

But the grandeur of this locality is its magnificent Docks—watery-squaressurrounded with high-piled warehouses, and filled with gigantic shipping, the tall masts of which tower proudly above the loftiest houses. Here you see keels that have ploughed up the stormy Atlantic—sails hanging idly in the breeze that have been filled with the spicy gales of India—figures ahead that have looked down into icy seas, or bent listlessly where the waves of the warm Mediterranean roll, and the arch-backed dolphins tumble. It makes the heart of a true-born Englishman, although he is not worth a groat, beat high when he enters the gates that open upon such a scene of naval grandeur; and we forgive those old sea-kings, while we gaze around, who all but conquered our country, and blended their Danish with our Saxon blood. Warriors of old, who guided their snorting seahorses along the road of the swans, and swept the stormy Baltic to stand face to face with Alfred the Great, and to be at last scattered like the ocean spray by the arm of the Island King. Peace to their manes! they were the first who taught our grey forefathers that England’s wooden walls are its safest bulwarks.

Many a house had to be levelled with the earth, and many an old graveyard to be dug up, before these mighty Docks could be made; even the ancient hospital founded by Queen Matilda seven centuries ago was demolished; and where oft the Sabbath-bell had tolled, and the old Londoners paused to glance at the “narrow beds” where their fathers slept, or wore the stones hollow with their passing feet—all were doomed to be swept away, to make room for the “guardian giants that prowl around our coasts.” From this, good came; living London had not room enough for her dead, and the green hills that look down upon her glory were then turned into sepulchres; rural cemeteries sprang up, and thither her departed sons and daughters were borne; instead of pent-up city churchyards, our metropolis became surrounded with great gardens of graves, which look like true resting-places. Over such, a poet might fancy their peaceful spirits would linger, and look beyond to where the vast city gradually grows in length and breadth from year to year, until, as is not improbable, it may at last extend its foot to the edge of the open ocean.

St. Katherine’s, and the two adjoining London Docks—which alone cover a space of more than a hundred acres—will contain six hundred ships, and near half a million tons of goods. In the West India Docks, which lie nearer Blackwall, merchandise valued at twenty millions of money has at one time been deposited on the wharfs, in the warehouses, and in the vaults below. The wealth of London lies not in her gaudy shops: beyond the Tower stand her great storehouses. A stranger who passes on the river on his way to Greenwich or Gravesend sees but little of these enormous treasuries—the

MAST-HOUSE, BLACKWALL.MAST-HOUSE, BLACKWALL.

tops of the tall masts alone point out their “whereabouts.” These Docks are surrounded by high strong-built walls, so lofty, that it would be a puzzle to a most expert thief to scale them, on account of the finish of the coping; and if even this were accomplished, a greater difficulty would remain in getting over the bulky goods which are stored within. The walls which encircle the two London Docks were erected at a cost of sixty-five thousand pounds; and no less a sum than four millions was expended in completing this vast establishment. The East India Docks are at Blackwall, and our engraving is a view of the old Mast-House in the Export-Dock—one of the most prominent objects in the landscape, when the eye is turned in that direction, either from the summit of One-tree-hill in Greenwich Park, or as seen from the right of the Observatory.

It will be readily imagined that such improvements as these were not made without meeting with much opposition, for it is on record that the cargo of a large vessel often took up five or six weeks before it was delivered: for before the Docks were made, goods were put into lighters at Blackwall, and carried to the old-fashioned quays near London Bridge, and after a long delay, occasioned even by the Custom House authorities themselves, they were finally removed to the different warehouses in the City. In these good old times river robbery was a thriving trade; and we have more than rumour for asserting that many a fortune was made by this systematic plunder. No marvel that when the first inroad was made on these old vested rights, a clamour was raised by carmen, porters, lightermen, and all the shoal of waterside labourers, who benefited more or less by the very difficulties which attended the removal of merchandise, and that from Wapping to Westminster the whole aquatic populace raised their voices against the dock crusades. Even the Trinity House itself murmured about an invasion of interests, and contended that the Royal Dock at Deptford would be ruined. City limits and city privileges were all in all to these sticklers for old rights; nor have matters altered much even up to the present day, when a proposed improvement in the sewerage of the City seems to create as much alarm as if all its charters and privileges were about to be undermined and swallowed up. All these claims and demands had to be bought up, and thousands were expended in silencing their clamours before the Docks were commenced; for there were legal quays beside the river, and moorages within, and landing-places, that time out of mind had their little perquisites. And when all the Joneses, Smiths, and Tomkinses were satisfied, the mighty work began to proceed; and thus in time spread out and rose up these broad city basins and high-piled warehouses, which are the pride of England and the envy of so many surrounding nations.

But it is not the removal and storing of merchandise, in which as many as five thousand men are sometimes employed, that alone engrosses the eye of the observant stranger when he visits the Docks. There are other scenes of painful or pleasurable interest, which fall upon the eye and heart according to the humour of the man. One of those it is our province to portray. About a year ago we dined on board a large vessel in St. Katherine’s Docks which had been chartered to carry out emigrants to America; it was a few days before the ship was announced to sail. The owner was a worthy gentleman; the party who had hired the ship, needy adventurers, whose references had blinded all inquiries, and who were only found out when interference was of no legal avail. For days “hired vagabonds” had been “touting” at every wharf and public-house in the neighbourhood; and the call, although not so openly made as that of an omnibus conductor, only varied inasmuch as “America” was substituted for “Charing-cross” or “Paddington.” They took passengers for almost whatever they could get, paying no regard as to whether or not they had stores to last the voyage, or would starve before they were half over the Atlantic. “It was a sorry sight,” and the law had no power beyond that of making a few arrangements that would contribute to the comforts of the poor passengers.

We went down the hold, which was fitted up with berths—if such a name may be given to the tiers of unplaned deal boards, which resembled large hen-coops piled one above another; and stretched on mattresses upon these wooden gridirons we saw many of the emigrants waiting wearily for the appointed hour that was fixed for sailing. It made the heart sicken to picture that hold, when out at sea with the hatches battened down, and the vessel driving through a storm. There were then little children running about, and playing at hide and seek among the bales and casks—fair-haired, red-cheeked, blue-eyed beauties, whose sun-burnt arms and necks told that they had had the run of the open village-green; and such we found had been the case when we inquired. Both father and mother were fine specimens of English peasantry: the grandfather and grandmother were also there. They had fixed up the very clock in the hold, which had for years ticked in the old familiar cottage, and brought a few choice flowers in pots, which they hoped to plant about their new home in a foreign land. An antique oak table, that had been in the family for many generations, was also doomed to bear them company in their long voyage. The old grandfather, whose countenance would have enraptured an artist, sat in a deep Rembrandt-like shadow at one corner of the hold, with the family Bible upon his knee. They appeared to be well provided for the voyage, and were full of “heart and hope.”

Another corner was occupied by a wretched-looking Irish family. All excepting the old countryman and his family seemed to regard this miserable group with an eye of suspicion more than of pity; for it was whispered that a few biscuits and a little oatmeal were all the provisions they had made for the voyage. The captain, however, who had had some experience, considered that they were amply provided, and he made the strictest inquiry. A bag of coarse bread, which had been cut into slices and then browned in the oven, had that morning, he said, been sent on board to assist them—it was the gift of a few poor Irish people who lived in the borough of Southwark. This bread, he said, with a little suet, would make excellent puddings; and he promised that Pat should not lack the latter ingredient. It appeared that there were many little things which a willing hand might do on board a ship, and, as he said, “We never yet allowed one to starve; but this is a queer lot.” If we remember rightly, the number of passengers was not sufficient to call for the interference of the Emigration Commissioners. The ship had been chartered to carry a cargo, a part of which, from some cause or other, was withheld; so the speculators endeavoured to make up the loss by passengers. Our attention was too much engrossed in conversation with those who were about to quit their native country, it might be for ever, to enter fully into these legal matters, although we believe the number at last became sufficient to call for this interference.

To our feelings there was something very revolting in married and single, young and old, being thus placed together in the hold of a ship, which was never intended for the accommodation of passengers; and we think that government might be worse employed than in applying a remedy to these evils. We fear that many who leave our shores with refined and delicate feelings, who, however humble may be their station in life, are gifted with that innate love of modesty which in no country has a more natural growth than in our own,—that many such are doomed to quit England, and through circumstances over which they have no control, land great losers in this never-to-be-recovered gift.

A voyage to America in the hold of a vessel fitted up temporarily as we have described, is a scene not likely to fall under the eye of a popular author: it can only be sketched by getting the information from some unfortunate fellow who has been bumped and thumped against those huge beams which run inside the berths, and rolled about like a barrel, and has been lucky enough to outlive all such pitching and tossing. A state-cabin, in the roughest gale, must be a palace compared with such a place in a moderate calm; and a common steerage, rendered as comfortable as circumstances will permit, a perfectelysium. Picture those who have never in all their lives encountered a stronger gale than needed a safe hand to keep on the hat, turning all sorts of imaginable somersaults, and who never heard any noise louder over their heads than when some relative fell down drunk upon the chamber-floor at a feast-time, first listening to the tramp, and thunder, and hurly-burly on deck, when the ship is struck by a heavy sea, and every timber groans again in its deep agony. No regular steward to assist—no servant to attend—berth moaning to berth—child squealing against child—one praying here, another cursing there—the hold all but dark, and where a glimmering of light is seen, the sea rushing in like a cataract—and over all, the wind howling like a raging demon, and every wave knocking at the ship’s side, and demanding admittance; and if such is not a picture of a certain nameless place under the earth, it would convey no bad idea of one upon the sea.

And those dear children nestled together, with their little arms encircling one another in their cheerless berths, their mother incapable of comforting them! It gave one the heart-ache to think of what they were destined to endure. We pictured them in their restless slumber, murmuring like bees—dreaming of their cottage, then far away—or dizzy with the rocking of the ship, recalling the swing which hung between the apple-trees in the garden, and unconscious of the danger with which they were surrounded. Then we remembered Him who “tempereth the wind to the shorn lamb”—

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