At the time of the tragedy at Whitehall, January 30, 164-⁸⁄₉, many of the king’s supporters were prisoners in the Tower, and some of the most illustrious of them shared his fate—the Duke of Hamilton, the Earl of Holland, Arthur Lord Capel. A brave old Welsh knight, Sir John Owen, who was also sentenced, made a low bow to the judges, and said they had “done honour to a poor gentleman of Wales to sentence him with such noble fellow-prisoners.” Ireton was so moved with this that he made a speech to the Commons pleading that whereas the rest had advocates to speak for them, plain Sir John Owen had none, and moved that he be pardoned. It was carried, and Sir John went back to Wales and died in peace in 1666. Another Lord Mayor, Sir Abraham Reynardson, was imprisoned and fined because he would not publish the parliamentary ordinance abolishing royalty. After the Restoration he was again Lord Mayor. There is a fine portrait of him in Merchant Taylors Hall. Christopher Love is another prisoner who claims mention. He was a Puritan minister, very eloquent, and attracted large congregations. In his horror at the execution of the king he turned royalist, and was beheaded for plotting for the Restoration. After the battle of Worcester in 1651 a great number of prisoners were brought hither—the Marquis of Worcester, Earls of Crawford, Lauderdale, and Rother; they remained until the Restoration. In July, 1656, a mandate was sent by Cromwell to the Lieutenant of the Tower for the release of Lucy Barlow and her child. She was otherwise named Lucy Walters, and was one of Charles II’s concubines. The child was afterwards Duke of Monmouth. She had been imprisoned for some time. Miles Syndercombe, who had been in Cromwell’s army, and in very intimate friendship with him, took affront at some slight and tried to assassinate him in 1657. He was sentenced to death, but committed suicide, and the body was dragged at a horse’s tail from the Tower to Tyburn, and there buried with a stake driven through it. Dr. John Hewitt was minister of the Church of St. Gregory by St. Paul’s, and Cromwell’s daughter, Elizabeth Claypole, was a regular member of his congregation. It is recorded that the Protector himself frequently joined her. This did not prevent Hewitt from raising forces in Kent and Sussex for the Restoration, and he was beheaded on Tower Hill, though Mrs. Claypole earnestly interceded for him. With him died Sir Henry Slingsby. There were very many others, and even after Cromwell’s death plotters were brought in, among them Henry Mordaunt, brother of the Earl of Peterborough, Lady Mary Howard, the Earl of Chesterfield, Lords Falconbridge, Falkland, De la Ware, Bellasis, Charles Howard and Castleton. They were subsequently released. When Cromwell died, and the nation was yet in uncertainty as to the course of events, the Tower became the object of much attention. There was the army on one side and the Parliamentary party on the other, and the latter arranged with Colonel Fitz, the Lieutenant, that Colonel Okey, with three hundred men, should appear at a given hour and demand and receive admittance. But this was divulged and the army sent Colonel Desborough with a force, which seized the lieutenant, and placed a fresh garrison. This fell to quarrelling, whereupon Lenthall, the speaker, sent another force, which took possession under Sir Anthony Ashley Cooper. Then came General Monk’s grand coup, and he seized the fortress in the name of King Charles.

The Restoration, as was probably inevitable, brought fierce reprisals on those who had been severe and unrelenting. Thomas Harrison had been one of the most eager of the regicides; he had afterwards been strenuous in support of Cromwell for a while, but, as an anabaptist, had become a Fifth Monarchy man, and had been twice sent to the Tower as such. Being released in 1659, he retired to his house in Staffordshire, and in May 1660 was arrested there, was brought to trial in October, drawn on a hurdle to Charing Cross, and there executed (October 13). So were Gregory Clement, a London merchant, Colonel John Jones, Thomas Scot, who had all taken part in the king’s trial. So were Colonels Axtel and Hacker, who had commanded the guard at the trial and at the execution. Sir Harry Vane, who had taken no part in the trial, was charged with having endeavoured to prevent the Restoration, and suffered on that charge. Some escaped, probably with the connivance of the guards. Three who had so escaped, and had reached Holland—Colonels Barkstead and Okey and Miles Corbet—were treacherously brought back and put to death at Tyburn in 1662. Some of the delinquents, e.g. Lord Monson, Sir H. Mildmay, Robert Wallop, were sentenced to be drawn on sledges from the Tower to Tyburn and back with halters round their necks, and then to suffer perpetual imprisonment. In contrast there were grand doings, and certainly not without national enthusiasm, in the coronation procession from the Tower to Westminster.

In the great fire of 1666 the Tower was largely indebted for its escape to the energy of the king, who had the buildings contiguous to the moat and the entrance blown up with gunpowder. Pepys was an eyewitness of this measure, and declares that as the White Tower was the powder magazine, “it would undoubtedly not only have beaten down and destroyed all the bridge, but sunk and torn the vessels in the river, and rendered the demolition beyond expression for several miles about the country.”

There were many committals in the early years of Charles II’s reign, on charges of “seditious practices” and dangerous designs, but few of any abiding interest. Thomas, Lord Buller, of Moor Park, was sent for challenging the Duke of Buckingham, and the Marquis of Dorchester for “using ill language” about the same noble, and in 1667 the duke himself was shut up here, and not for the first nor second time. There is no need here to discuss the character of George Villiers, second Duke of Buckingham. Dryden’s character of him as “Zimri” appears to be as true as it is masterly. He was an infant when his father was assassinated, and was brought up with the children of Charles I, and served them after the king’s death, fighting for the younger Charles at Worcester. But in Holland he quarrelled with the queen-mother and Clarendon, returned to England and married Fairfax’s daughter, for which he was sent to the Tower in 1658. Released at the Restoration, he was again admitted to royal favour and was an influential member of the Cabal ministry, but in 1668 seduced the Countess of Shrewsbury, killed her husband in a duel, was consequently treated with coldness by the Duke of York, and joined the Whigs; was again sent to the Tower for intriguing, but apparently his ribald conversation got him into favour again with Charles II, and he was restored to Court favour. From that time he kept out of politics and wrote verses. His clever play, the Rehearsal, holds its place in English literature.

We turn aside a while to record a most daring and sensational crime, namely Colonel Blood’s attempt to carry off the regalia from the Tower. He was a brutal ruffian, said to have been Irish born, half sailor, half highwayman, who had served under Cromwell, and for that reason styled himself Colonel. After the Restoration he became a spy of the Government, and if he could have had his way would have sent some innocent persons to death.

In 1671 Sir Gilbert Talbot held the post of “Master of the Jewel House.” His pay had been lowered, and by way of compensation he was allowed to admit visitors to his treasures and to charge. One day in April, 1671, came an intensely clerical-looking personage to the Martin Tower, with a long cloak, cassock and girdle, accompanied by a woman whom he represented as his wife, who was very anxious to see the regalia. The glorious dazzle made her faint, and the old curator, Talbot Edwards by name, whom Sir Gilbert had placed in charge, called his wife to attend to the sick lady. The restoratives administered were so efficacious that the couple went off overflowing with gratitude and promising to return. And soon the “cleric” came again, bringing a pair of gloves to Mrs. Edwards in return for her kindness to Mrs. Blood. During this visit he announced that he had a nephew just come back from abroad after some prosperous ventures, and that he had set his heart on this nephew marrying Edwards’s daughter, and the negotiations so far advanced that he was invited to bring the nephew to dinner. At dinner he said a long grace with much emotion, and afterwards announced that he should bring two friends next day, who were leaving London, and very anxious to see the crown first. And next day (May 9) they came, all with concealed daggers and pocket pistols, and rapiers hidden in their canes, and directly they were shown into the room Edwards was effectually gagged, enveloped in a thick cloak, and told that if he attempted to give an alarm they would kill him. He could not cry out, but he struggled manfully, and they beat him on the head with a wooden mallet, stabbed him, and left him for dead. Then they turned their attention to their quarry. Blood hid the crown under his cloak, one companion put the orb in his breeches pocket, and another began to file the sceptre in two pieces, as it was too long to carry away without being seen. At this moment advancing steps were heard; Edwards’s son had unexpectedly come back from Flanders, and he heard his father endeavouring to give the alarm. The thieves ran downstairs; young Edwards, accompanied by his brother-in-law, Captain Beckman, who had arrived with him, hurried in pursuit. They had crossed the drawbridge leading to the wharf, Blood firing two pistols as he ran. There were horses waiting for them, but Beckman rushed at him, a fierce struggle followed, in which Blood was worsted and captured, as were his companions. When he dropped the crown some of the gems fell out but were recovered, as was a ruby which was found, having belonged to the sceptre. In fact the treasures were uninjured, but poor Edwards, who was eighty years old, died in a few days. Blood cynically remarked when he was brought a prisoner to the White Tower that “it was a brave attempt, for it was for a crown.”

It is an absolute mystery why Charles II sent for him forthwith, and not only pardoned him, but conferred a pension of £500 a year on him and certain Irish estates. Evelyn, in his diary, expresses his amazement. Some think that Charles, wanting money, had commissioned Blood to steal the treasures and pawn or sell them in Holland, and divide the spoil with him; others suppose that Blood knew some awkward secrets about the king and threatened to reveal them. He often appeared at Court, and returned kindness which the Duke of Buckingham had shown him by a peculiarly atrocious attempt to blackmail him, for which he was fined £10,000. He died in Bowling Street, Westminster, August 24, 1680. His likeness in the National Portrait Gallery quite confirms Evelyn’s description of him, “a villainous unmerciful face, a false countenance.”

Yet even his rascality grows dim beside that of Titus Oates, whose horrible concoction of lies concerning a pretended Popish plot sent nearly forty men to the scaffold. The execution of William Lord Stafford on Tower Hill, December 29, 1680, on the charge sworn to by Oates that he planned to kill the king and place the Duke of York on the throne, was the turning-point in the agitation. When it began Oates was half deified by the excited populace as the deliverer of the country; but as time went on men shook their heads, doubtfully at first, then strongly. Lord Stafford on the scaffold declared his absolute innocence, and the spectators cried out with tears, “We believe your lordship.” Oates had made too rich a harvest to give up his devilish business, but after this he found no more believers. But that there was good reason to expect an endeavour to restore the Roman faith no one doubted. As far back as 1670 the Duke of York had given his adhesion to it, and therefore the “country party,” as it was called, were eager to prevent his accession to the throne. The struggles over the Exclusion Bill need not detain us here; but the failure of that Bill, owing to the “trimming” of some of its chief supporters who loved the favour of royalty, led to a secret project of the earnest Whigs to avert what they held to be a calamity. The leader of this party had been Anthony Ashley, first Earl of Shaftesbury. “Of these the false Ahithophel was first,” wrote Dryden in his great satire. He was joined by Lord William Russell, the Duke of Monmouth, Algernon Sidney, the Earl of Essex, son of Lord Capel, who was beheaded in the early days of the Commonwealth, John Hampden, grandson of the great Parliamentary leader, and Lord Howard. Shaftesbury had been sent to the Tower in 1677 for agitating against the king’s high-handed proceedings against the Corporation of London, but had been released on submission. He now protested against the king holding a Parliament at Oxford and was again lodged in the Tower, but the Whig grand jury threw out the charge. But he soon found that his friends would not take such energetic measures as he called for, so he retired to Holland, where he soon died. His companions formed new projects of insurrection, but could not agree; Sidney and Lord Essex were for a Commonwealth, Monmouth hoped for the crown for himself. Russell and Hampden were attached to the old constitution, and sought for “redress of grievances.” And whilst they were discussing, the “Rye House Plot” was formed by some inferior conspirators of the same way of thinking. The Rye House lay on the road to Newmarket. The owner, Rumbold, was an old Republican, and a plan was formed to kill the king on his way to Newmarket races. It was made known to the Government, and though it was shown that some of the greater men had held meetings at the Rye House in support of their general views, it was also clear that neither Russell, Essex nor Sidney were parties to the assassination scheme. The trial of Lord Russell, and the devotion of his wife furnish a pathetic chapter in history. He was beheaded in Lincoln’s Inn Fields July 21, 1683. On the same day Lord Essex was found in the Tower with his throat cut. Some held that he had been murdered by the king and the Duke of York, but the coroner’s jury brought in a verdict of suicide, and Gardiner and Green both consider this as the most probable view. Sidney followed. He was in principle a republican, though he had refused to accept a seat among the judges of Charles I. He was now condemned on the sole evidence of his companion, Lord Howard, who had turned king’s evidence to save his own life, and on that of some letters of his in which he upheld the lawfulness of resisting tyrants. Jeffreys, who was now Chief Justice, tried him, and persuaded the jury to convict. He was beheaded on December 7.

Charles II and his brother James are said not to have visited the Tower for fifteen years before they came thither at the time of Essex’s death. When Charles died, February 6, 168-⁴⁄₅, the Tower may be said to have ceased to be a royal residence. At the coronation of James II, the usual procession from thence to Westminster was omitted, and has never since been revived. But it continued to be a state prison. There is no need to tell how the unhappy son of Charles II and Lucy Walters, James, Duke of Monmouth, took up arms to obtain the crown, and how he was defeated at the battle of Sedgemoor, the last battle fought on English ground, July 6, 1685. He was captured and brought to London on the 13th, and being allowed an interview with the king, with abject cries supplicated in vain for his life. He was sent to the Tower, and two days later, a bill of attainder having been previously passed against him, he was beheaded on Tower Hill. The Bishops of Ely and Bath and Wells (Turner and Ken) accompanied him to the scaffold, where his head was hacked off after five blows.

But a memorable time was reached in the history of the Church and Nation when “the Seven Bishops” were brought hither as prisoners. The king announced his intention of repealing by his own personal act the Penal Laws against Roman Catholics and Dissenters. The leading Dissenters in reply—Baxter, Howe, Bunyan—rejected such “indulgence,” which they said should be by Act of Parliament, not by an absolute overruling of the law. They saw, of course, clearly what his aim was. He was, as usual, obstinate, published the “Declaration of Indulgence,” which all the clergy were commanded to read in church. Four only did it in London, and when they began the congregations walked out, and a similar spirit was shown in the country. The Archbishop, Sancroft, summoned his brother bishops to Lambeth, and the six who were able to obey him, namely Lloyd of St. Asaph, Ken of Bath and Wells, Turner of Ely, Lake of Chichester, White of Peterborough, and Trelawney of Bristol, joined in a temperate protest, in which they told the King that the declaration was illegal, and asked him to withdraw it. In anger he sent them all to the Tower for “uttering a seditious libel.” They were carried to Traitors’ Gate, the banks of the river thronged with cheering spectators; the very sentinels knelt for their blessing and the soldiers drank their healths. The narrative of their trial in Westminster Hall is perhaps the most splendid chapter in Macaulay’s History. On June 29 they were acquitted, although the jury had been packed and the judges were tools of the Crown, and the roof of Westminster Hall cracked at the tremendous applause which followed the verdict.

A curious episode occurred in the last days of James’s reign. Bevis Skelton was English minister in the Netherlands, and warned James of the designs of the Duke of Orange, whereupon the latter pressed for his recall. James sent him then to Versailles, and he moved Louis XIV to oppose William’s schemes. But King James resented his interference, recalled him, and sent him to the Tower; and then finding that the danger from Orange was imminent, made Skelton governor of the fortress in which he had been a prisoner. When James fled, the keys of the Tower were taken from Skelton and confided to Lord Lucas, who held them for the Prince of Orange. Skelton followed the king across seas and died in his service.

Lucas had not long held his office before he was entrusted with the custody of Judge Jeffreys. That this extraordinary man was violent of temper no one questions; he was also a man of strong convictions; he never in his subservience to his royal master showed any yielding to that master’s faith; he had great natural ability; and as we read of his unrelenting cruelty in his progress through Dorset and Somerset to try the rebels after the Sedgemoor campaign, it is also impossible not to see how skilfully he produced evidence against his prisoners. In that “Bloody Assize” 350 rebels were hanged, more than 800 were sold into slavery beyond sea, and a yet larger number were whipped and imprisoned. Even loyal subjects were appalled at the cruelty, and he was regarded with horror and disgust. James made him Lord Chancellor, and when James fled, Jeffreys knew that his own fall was imminent. He heard the mob shouting his name and disguised himself as a collier, and hid himself in a little house at Wapping until such time as he could escape beyond sea. He was recognized, whilst looking out of window, by a clerk that he had bullied from the bench, was seized and conveyed first to the Mansion House, then to the Tower. And here he died, on April 19, 1689. He was only forty-one years old. He is buried in the chancel of St. Mary, Aldermanbury.

During the twelve years’ joint reign of William and Mary there was only one political execution, namely that of Sir John Fenwick, who was beheaded on Tower Hill, January 28, 1697, for conspiring to assassinate King William. He was a man of irregular life, and there is no doubt of his guilt. But the Tower was constantly receiving fresh captives, partisans of the House of Stuart. Thus in 1690 “Francis Cholmondeley, Esquire, a member of the House of Commons, was committed for refusing to take the oaths of allegiance; and Matthew Crosse, otherwise Long, Colonel John Butler, Major George Matthews, Lieutenant-Colonel Knyvet Hastings and the Earl of Yarmouth, in the same year, ‘for abetting and adhering to their Majesties’ enemies.’ To these may be added Charles Halton, Esquire, for publishing a treasonable libel; Bernard Howard, Esquire; Lord Ross; Arthur, Earl of Torrington; Sir John Gage and Sir Walter Vavasour, for various political offences amounting to high treason. Mr. Stafford, the Earls of Newburgh, Clancarty and Tyrone; with Thomas, Lord Morley and Monteagle; Henry, Earl of Clarendon; George, Lord Dartmouth; Major-General Maxwell; Lord Cahire; Major-General Dorrington and Mr. Maxwell were also prisoners, but the specific charges under which they were committed are unascertained” (Britton).

In 1692, John, Earl of Marlborough, was imprisoned on a charge “of abetting and adhering to their Majesties’ enemies,” as were also Lord Brudenell, the Earl of Huntingdon, Sir Robert Thorold and Colonel Langston. They were, after two months’ confinement, released on bail to reappear if called upon. Charles, Lord Mohun, was also a prisoner in the same year, for having killed William Mountford, the celebrated comedian, in a quarrel on account of Mrs. Bracegirdle, an eminent actress. Readers of Esmond will remember the story. “In February, 1692, Lord Viscount Falkland and Henry Guy, Esquire, suffered a short confinement in the Tower for having, as Members of Parliament, received bribes; and, at various intervals during the year, Colonel John Parker; Bartholomew Walmesley, Esquire; Sir Thomas Stanley; Caryl, Lord Viscount Mollineux; Sir Rowland Stanley; Sir Thomas Clifton; Sir William Gerard; Peter Leigh and William Dicconson, Esquires, were immured in the same prison on charges of adhering to the enemies of the Government, and levying war against their Majesties.”

“In 1696, Charles, Earl of Monmouth, ‘for having spoken disrespectfully of the king,’ and Henry Buckley, Esquire; Thomas, Earl of Ailesbury; Sir Philip Constable; Arthur, Lord Forbes; and Sir John Fenwick were imprisoned here on various charges of sedition and treason. Thomas, Lord Kerry, and Brigadier Richard Ingoldsby were committed, in the following year, for having challenged the Lord Chancellor of Ireland; as were, likewise, John Knight and Charles Duncombe, Esquires, members of the House of Commons, the former for having falsely endorsed exchequer bills, and the latter for aiding and assisting in his illegal practices. Two years afterwards, Sir Richard Levin was lodged in this fortress for aspersing the characters of four of the commissioners of Irish forfeitures; as were also Charles, Lord Mohun, and Edward, Earl of Warwick and Holland, on a charge of murdering Richard Coote, Esquire; but those noblemen were unanimously acquitted by their peers.”

The largeness of the number of prisoners is shown by a paper in the handwriting of Sir C. Wren in 1695. He was directed to examine the Bloody and Beauchamp Towers to see what additions could be made for the reception of prisoners, apparently with special reference to the arrivals from Ireland. He replies, “I have also viewed the place behinde the Chappell, and considered and do approve the annex’d draught proposed to be built wch I take to be as Large as ye place will afford containing 15 square and if it be well built in 3 storeys, Cellars and garretts it will cost £600. As to the number of Prisoners the place may hold I can only report wt number of rooms each place contains. Beauchamp Tower hath a large Kitching 2 large rooms and 2 small servants rooms. Bloody Tower hath a kitching one room and one closet. The new building may contain 9 single rooms, besides cellars and garrets and a kitching, all wch is humbly submitted.”

In the early years of Queen Anne’s reign there were a good many sent to the Tower, taken in the French wars, but no state prisoners. But in 1712 a notable attempt was made on a famous public man, Sir Robert Walpole. He had been in Parliament since the queen’s accession, and had displayed such brilliant ability as a financier as to induce the Duke of Marlborough to give him office in the Government. But his Whiggism, moderate as it was, offended Harley and Mrs. Masham, who gained continually more ascendency over the queen, and Harley intrigued shamefully against him, and brought a vague charge of breach of trust in office and of corruption. It was a thoroughly unjust charge, but on the strength of it he was sent to the Tower and expelled from the House of Commons. But public opinion was roused by the injustice, and largely withdrew its confidence from the Tory ministry. Whilst he remained in the prison he was visited by great people, and his constituency (King’s Lynn) returned him again as its member. He remained in confinement from February to July, and employed his time in writing political pamphlets.