A scene now ensued, highly characteristic of the age, and the occasion. The doleful procession at once assumed a festive character. Many of the soldiers dismounted, and called for drink. Their example was immediately imitated by the officers, constables, javelin men, and other attendants; and nothing was to be heard but shouts of laughter and jesting, — nothing seen but the passing of glasses, and the emptying of foaming jugs. Mr. Marvel, who had been a little discomposed by the treatment he had experienced on Holborn Hill, very composedly filled and lighted his pipe.
One group at the door attracted Jack’s attention, inasmuch as it was composed of several of his old acquaintances — Mr. Kneebone, Van Galgebrok, and Baptist Kettleby — all of whom greeted him cordially. Besides these, there was a sturdy-looking fellow, whom he instantly recognised as the honest blacksmith who had freed him from his irons at Tottenham.
“I am here, you see,” said the smith.
“So I perceive,” replied Jack.
At this moment, the landlord of the Crown, a jovial-looking stout personage, with a white apron round his waist, issued from the house, bearing a large wooden bowl filled with ale, which he offered to Jack, who instantly rose to receive it. Raising the bowl in his right hand, Jack glanced towards the balcony, in which the group of ladies were seated, and begged to drink their healths; he then turned to Kneebone and the others, who extended their hands towards him, and raised it to his lips. Just as he was about to drain it, he encountered the basilisk glance of Jonathan Wild, and paused.
“I leave this bowl for you,” he cried, returning it to the landlord untasted.
“Your father said so before you,” replied Jonathan, malignantly; “and yet it has tarried thus long.”
“You will call for it before six months are passed,” rejoined Jack, sternly.
Once again the cavalcade was in motion, and winding its way by St. Giles’s church, the bell of which continued tolling all the time, passed the pound, and entered Oxford Road, or, as it was then not unfrequently termed, Tyburn Road. After passing Tottenham Court Road, very few houses were to be seen on the right hand, opposite Wardour Street it was open country.
The crowd now dispersed amongst the fields, and thousands of persons were seen hurrying towards Tyburn as fast as their legs could carry them, leaping over hedges, and breaking down every impediment in their course.
Besides those who conducted themselves more peaceably, the conductors of the procession noticed with considerable uneasiness, large bands of men armed with staves, bludgeons, and other weapons, who were flying across the field in the same direction. As it was feared that some mischief would ensue, Wild volunteered, if he were allowed a small body of men, to ride forward to Tyburn, and keep the ground clear until the arrival of the prisoner.
This suggestion being approved, was instantly acted upon, and the thief-taker, accompanied by a body of the grenadiers, rode forward.
The train, meantime, had passed Marylebone Lane, when it again paused for a moment, at Jack’s request, near the door of a public-house called the City of Oxford.
Scarcely had it come to a halt, when a stalwart man shouldered his way, in spite of their opposition, through the lines of soldiery to the cart, and offered his large horny hand to the prisoner.
“I told you I would call to bid you farewell, Mr. Figg,” said Jack.
“So you did,” replied the prize-fighter. “Sorry you’re obliged to keep your word. Heard of your last escape. Hoped you’d not be retaken. Never sent for the shirt.”
“I didn’t want it,” replied Jack; “but who are those gentlemen?”
“Friends of yours,” replied Figg; “come to see you; — Sir James Thornhill, Mr. Hogarth, and Mr. Gay. They send you every good wish.”
“Offer them my hearty thanks,” replied Jack, waving his hand to the group, all of whom returned the salutation. “And now, farewell, Mr. Figg! In a few minutes, all will be over.”
Figg turned aside to hide the tears that started to his eyes, — for the stout prize-fighter, with a man’s courage, had a woman’s heart, — and the procession again set forward.
* * *
CHAPTER XXXII. THE CLOSING SCENE.
Tyburn was now at hand. Over the sea of heads arose a black and dismal object. It was the gallows. Jack, whose back was towards it, did not see it; but he heard, from the pitying exclamations of the crowd, that it was in view. This circumstance produced no further alteration in his demeanour except that he endeavoured to abstract himself from the surrounding scene, and bend his attention to the prayers which the ordinary was reciting.
Just as he had succeeded in fixing his attention, it was again shaken, and he was almost unnerved by the sight of Mr. Wood, who was standing at the edge of a raised platform, anxiously waving his hand to him.
Jack instantly sprang to his feet, and as his guards construed the motion into an attempt to escape, several of them drew their swords and motioned to him to sit down. But Jack did not heed them. His looks were fixed on his old benefactor.
“God in Heaven bless you, unhappy boy!” cried. Wood, bursting into tears, “God bless you!”
Jack extended his hand towards him, and looked anxiously for Thames; but he was nowhere to be seen. A severe pang shot through Jack’s heart, and he would have given worlds if he possessed them to have seen his friend once more. The wish was vain: and, endeavouring to banish every earthly thought, he addressed himself deeply and sincerely to prayer.
While this was passing, Jonathan had ridden back to Marvel to tell him that all was ready, and to give him his last instructions.
“You’ll lose no time,” said the thief-taker. “A hundred pounds if you do it quickly.”
“Rely on me,” rejoined the executioner, throwing away his pipe, which was just finished.
A deep dread calm, like that which precedes a thunderstorm, now prevailed amongst the assemblage. The thousand voices which a few moments before had been so clamorous were now hushed. Not a breath was drawn. The troops had kept a large space clear around the gallows. The galleries adjoining it were crowded with spectators, — so was the roof of a large tavern, then the only house standing at the end of the Edgeware Road, — so were the trees, — the walls of Hyde Park, — a neighbouring barn, a shed, — in short, every available position.
The cart, meantime, had approached the fatal tree. The guards, horse and foot, and constables formed a wide circle round it to keep off the mob. It was an awful moment — so awful, that every other feeling except deep interest in the scene seemed suspended.
At this terrible juncture, Jack maintained his composure, — a smile played upon his face before the cap was drawn over it, — and the last words he uttered were, “My poor mother! I shall soon join her!” The rope was then adjusted, and the cart began to move.
* * *
The next instant, he was launched into eternity!
Scarcely had he been turned off a moment, when a man with swarthy features leapt into the cart with an open clasp-knife in his hand, and, before he could be prevented, severed the rope, and cut down the body. It was Blueskin. His assistance came too late. A ball from Wild’s pistol passed through his heart, and a volley of musketry poured from the guards lodged several balls in the yet breathing body of his leader.
Blueskin, however, was not unattended. A thousand eager assistants pressed behind him. Jack’s body was caught, and passed from hand to hand over a thousand heads, till it was far from the fatal tree.
The shouts of indignation — the frightful yells now raised baffle description. A furious attack was made on Jonathan, who, though he defended himself like a lion, was desperately wounded, and would inevitably have perished if he had not been protected by the guards, who were obliged to use both swords and fire-arms upon the mob in his defence. He was at length rescued from his assailants, — rescued to perish, seven months afterwards, with every ignominy, at the very gibbet to which he had brought his victim.
The body of Jack Sheppard, meanwhile, was borne al
ong by that tremendous host, which rose and fell like the waves of the ocean, until it approached the termination of the Edgeware Road.
At this point a carriage with servants in sumptuous liveries was stationed. At the open door stood a young man in a rich garb with a mask on his face, who was encouraging the mob by words and gestures. At length, the body was brought towards him. Instantly seizing it, the young man placed it in the carriage, shut the door, and commanded his servants to drive off. The order was promptly obeyed, and the horses proceeded at a furious pace along the Edgeware Road.
Half an hour afterwards the body of Jack was carefully examined. It had been cut down before life was extinct, but a ball from one of the soldiers had pierced his heart.
Thus died Jack Sheppard.
That night a grave was dug in Willesden churchyard, next to that in which Mrs. Sheppard had been interred. Two persons, besides the clergyman and sexton, alone attended the ceremony. They were a young man and an old one, and both appeared deeply affected. The coffin was lowered into the grave, and the mourners departed. A simple wooden monument was placed over the grave, but without any name or date. In after years, some pitying hand supplied the inscription, which ran thus —
* * *
THE END
THE TOWER OF LONDON
First serially published in 1840, this novel concerns the short-lived reign of Lady Jane Grey as Queen of England and her execution. During 1840, Ainsworth was busy writing the novel, while also writing Guy Fawkes and planning to start his own magazine. Both novels began their publication on January 1840, with The Tower of London being published on its own until December 1840. Ainsworth celebrated the conclusion of The Tower of London with a large dinner party near the printers of his works, Bradbury and Evans, at the Sussex Hotel. As with many of his early works, it was illustrated by George Cruikshank.
The narrative begins with Lady Jane Grey, wife of Guilford Dudley and daughter-in-law to the Duke of Northumberland, entering the Tower of London on 10 July 1553. Prior to her entrance into the Tower, she ruled as Queen of England for nine days after she and her husband were put on the throne by the Duke of Northumberland. Soon after, Mary I was able to take control of England, sending the Duke to be executed. Dudley, to gain back the kingdom, formed a rebellion, which resulted in failure and the imprisonment of both himself and his wife. After the imprisonment, Simon Renard, the Spanish Ambassador to England, arranged a marriage between Mary and Philip of Spain, bringing a Catholic take over of England.
The events of the novel alternate between historical background and the plot of Lady Jane. In Book II, incidents throughout the history of England from William the Conqueror to the 1820 Cato Street conspiracy are referenced. The novel returns to Lady Jane composing herself with prayer as she awaits her execution with her only hope for freedom the choice of becoming a Catholic. There are conspiracies over Mary’s rule of England, which come from those who supported the imprisoned Lady Jane and also those who wish to put Elizabeth, the Protestant daughter of Henry VIII, on the throne. However, neither of these two sides succeed before the novel ends and Lady Jane is executed.
The main focus of the novel is three aspects of the Tower of London. To further this focus, Ainsworth depicts two crownings, a wedding, executions, and even a siege of the Tower. Lady Jane has her first night at the Tower as the Queen of England and she visits St John’s Chapel, located in the White Tower. Later, she is kept as the Tower’s prisoner. Overall, the Tower has gothic elements, as well as possessing a connection to the Catholic Church in its architecture. The Tower, in its style, also represents the sublime and a connection to the divine. With these various dimensions there are parallels between The Tower of London and Victor Hugo’s Notre Dame de Paris in how the emphasis on architecture with history is adopted by both novelists.
How the novel originally appeared in serial format
CONTENTS
VOLUME I.
PREFACE
BOOK THE FIRST.
CHAPTER I.
CHAPTER II.
CHAPTER III.
CHAPTER IV.
CHAPTER V.
CHAPTER VI.
CHAPTER VII.
CHAPTER VIII.
CHAPTER IX.
CHAPTER X.
CHAPTER XI.
CHAPTER XII.
CHAPTER XIII.
CHAPTER XIV.
CHAPTER XV.
CHAPTER XVI.
CHAPTER XVII.
BOOK THE SECOND: MARY THE QUEEN
CHAPTER I.
CHAPTER II.
CHAPTER III.
CHAPTER IV.
CHAPTER V.
CHAPTER VI.
CHAPTER VII.
CHAPTER VIII.
CHAPTER IX.
CHAPTER X.
CHAPTER XI.
CHAPTER XII.
VOLUME II.
CHAPTER XIII.
CHAPTER XIV.
CHAPTER XV.
CHAPTER XVI.
CHAPTER XVII.
CHAPTER XVIII.
CHAPTER XIX.
CHAPTER XX.
CHAPTER XXI.
CHAPTER XXII.
CHAPTER XXIII.
CHAPTER XXIV.
CHAPTER XXV.
CHAPTER XXVI.
CHAPTER XXVII.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
CHAPTER XXIX.
CHAPTER XXX.
CHAPTER XXXI.
CHAPTER XXXII.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
CHAPTER XXXV.
CHAPTER XXXVI.
CHAPTER XXXVII.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
CHAPTER XXXIX.
CHAPTER XL.
CHAPTER XLI.
CHAPTER XLII.
The Tower of London, as seen from the River Thames
Lady Jane Grey (c. 1536/1537-1554)
‘The Execution of Lady Jane Grey’ by Paul Delaroche, 1833
VOLUME I.
PREFACE
IT has been, for years, the cherished wish of the writer of the following pages to make the Tower of London — the proudest monument of antiquity, considered with reference to its historical associations, which this country or any other possesses, — the groundwork of a Romance; and it was no slight satisfaction to him, that circumstances at length enabled him to carry into effect his favourite project, in conjunction with the inimitable Artist, whose designs accompany the work.
Desirous of exhibiting the Tower in its triple light of a palace, a prison, and a fortress, the Author has shaped his story with reference to that end; and he has also endeavoured to contrive such a series of incidents as should naturally introduce every relic of the old pile, — its towers, chapels, halls, chambers, gateways arches, and drawbridges — so that no part of it should remain un-illustrated.
How far this design has been accomplished — what interest has been given to particular buildings — and what mouldering walls have been informed with life — is now to be determined: — unless, indeed, it may be considered determined by the numbers who have visited the different buildings, as they have been successively depicted by pen and pencil, during the periodical appearance of the work.
One important object the Author would fain hope his labours may achieve. This is the introduction of the public to some parts of the fortress at present closed to them. There seems no reason why admission should not be given, under certain restrictions, to that unequalled specimen of Norman architecture, Saint John’s Chapel in the White Tower, — to the arched galleries above it, — to the noble council-chamber, teeming with historical recollections, — to the vaulted passages — and to the winding staircases within the turrets — so perfect, and so interesting to the antiquary. Nor is there stronger reason why the prison-chamber in the Beauchamp Tower, now used as a mess-room, the walls of which, like a mystic scroll, are covered with inscriptions-each a tragic story in itself, and furnishing matter for abundant reflection should not likewise be thrown open. Most of the old fortificatio
ns upon the inner ballium-wall being converted into private dwellings, — though in many cases the chambers are extremely curious, and rich in inscriptions, — are, of course, inaccessible. But this does not apply to the first-mentioned places. They are the property of the nation, and should be open to national inspection.
It is piteous to see what havoc has already been made by alterations and repairs. The palace is gone — so are many of the towers — and unless the progress of destruction is arrested, the demolition of others will follow. Let us attempt to preserve what remains.
Opposite the matchless White Tower — William of Orange by the side of William the Conqueror, — is that frightful architectural abomination, the Grand Store-House. It may not be possible to remove this ugly and incongruous structure. It is not possible to take away others that offend the eye at every turn. It is not possible to restore the Tower to its pristine grandeur. But it possible to prevent further mutilation and desecration. It is possible to clear the reverend and massive columns of Saint John’s Chapel, which look like giants of departed days, from the thick coat of white-wash in which they are crusted, — to sweep away the presses, with which its floors are cumbered, and to find some other equally secure, but less interesting — less sacred, in every sense, depository for the Chancery rolls. It is possible to render the same service to the magnificent council-chamber, and the passages leading to it, — it is possible to clear the walls of the Beauchamp Tower, — and it is, also, possible and desirable, that the public should be admitted to these places, in which they have so strong an interest. The visitor to the Tower sees little-and can see little — of its most curious features. But it is the hope of the writer, that the day is not far off, when all that is really worth seeing will be accessible. In this view, the present publication may not be without use.
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 115