DOI issue:
October 2, 1880
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.17764#0164
256
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
[October 2, 1880.
ROUND ABOUT TOWN.
The Toiver.
Seeing chat Mr. Secretary Childers had announced that he had
visited the Tower with “ so much pleasure and instruction that he
proposed giving even greater facilities to the Public to inspect the
National Collection,” I thought (wishing also to be amused and in-
structed) that I could not do better than follow the flight Honourable
Gentleman’s example.
I consequently arrived on a Saturday or Monday (at any rate, it was
a free day) at half-past ten o’clock, and took my place in an enor-
mous crowd which had been mar-
shalled by strong detachments of
the Police and the Military, with
the assistance of strong posts and
heavy chains, into a tail of about a
quarter of a mile long. We moved
up to the Entrance-Lc Ige by de-
tachments of thirty. The two or
three hours consumed in this slow
march gave ample time for the care-
ful inspection *of a huge chimney
in the precincts of the Tower, which
seemingly was supposed by the less
washed of our' njimber to be con-
nected with a, furnace used for
cremating Beef-Eaters. No doubt
the wish was father to the thought,
as Her Majesty’s Yeomen of the
Guard appeared to be on the worst
possible terms with certain members
of the Public.
On entering, I found that the Authorities, evidently foreseeing
the inner man would require nourishment after a three hours’ wait,
! had prepared a Refreshment-stall for me. The edibles consisted of
Bath-buns, sweet-stuff, and the cheap edition of Mr. Ainsworth’s
Tower of London ; the drinkables of several ginger-beer bottles in a
washing-tub, and two or three mysterious “wines,” one of which,
no doubt to honourably distinguish it from the rest, was proudly
labelled “Grape.” With a view, however, to discourage a wild
orgie before the Public had received instruction, and yet with a nice
feeling for the interests of trade, a placard over the counter bore the
inscription—“ Visitors can return for refreshment after visiting the
Armouries.” I had just made a note of this seductive invitation,
when I was carried by the stream out of the Lodge into the open
air, after a Warder who was wearing an undress uniform strongly
suggestive of a “ more-than-usually Pretty Page.”
“’E’s got on a Tam O’Shanter ’at,” whispered a Lady at my
elbow. Then she added, as she regarded, for the last time, the
' waiting and expectant multitude, “I see why they ’ave only two
free days in a week. The whole lot of ’em would shirk their work
and come if they ’ad more.”
The Warder gazed sternly at the would-be Protectress of the
Commerce of London, and pointed at the moat with his umbrella.
“ This,” said he, in a quick undertone, “ in times o’ war is filled
with water and mud! ” This piece of “ information ” was received
with a respectful “ Law ! ” and we hurried on. The Warder walked
rapidly a dozen paces, and brought us up with a jerk. “ Portcullis! ”
he said, sharply, and the visitors gazed about them hungrily, as if
they were looking for something good to eat. Immediately we were
on again. “ Bell Tower,” he jerked out—“ ’En-e-rx the Eighth
—Prison! ”
At this, some of the least wealthy of the Public for a moment
paused, and appeared rather ill at ease. Finding, however, that
they were not to be taken into custody, they plucked up courage and
I followed their guide, who was already out of sight.
I “Traitor’s Gate,” he was saying, as they came up with him.
“ Entrance to the Tower from the Thames. That’s the Thames! ”
W e were one and all delighted with this, and stared at the river
| as if we had never seen it in our lives before. The Warder turned
sharply round and said, with gusto, “This is the Bloody Tower,
| where the Royal children was murdered.”
The information was received with acclamation. Our guide
, stopped in the trot he had resumed, for a moment, to exclaim, ‘ ‘ See
| them ’inges—all that remains of the ’riginal gate.”
I We all fought to examine the “’inges;” but he was off again,
and before we could get breath to murmur “Jack Robinson,” we
were across a yard, up some stone steps, past a staircase, and into
the Horse Armoury. The Warder paused for a moment, but only
for a moment. Then he commenced a sort of disjointed lecture, in a
rapid mumble, of which I could only catch a word here and there,
although I listened most intently, However, I made out the names
of “the Earl of Hessex,” “ Kat-e-rhyne of Angeroo,” “ Count Odi
the Fiddler,” and one or two other equally rare historical personages.
I heard one sentence, however, in its entirety. “ This Prince,” said
he, “died about eighteen, although he was not in battle,”—which
seemed to imply that the favourite infantile complaint of the Fifteenth
Century (when the croup and “teething” were unknown), wa3 a
malignant attack of warfare.
For the rest, the Golden Rule of our guide, in dealing with any
perplexing article of historical interest, seemed to be, ‘ ‘ When in
doubt, say it was found in
the Spanish Armada.” But
it is only just to admit that
he was very conscientious on
one point. He never passed
a suit of mail without point-
ing at it with his umbrella,
and telling us to an ounce
the weight of the armour.
This being the case, it was
only natural that the Public
should take in one idea
firmly. This idea (I am
afraid it was the only one)
found expression at the con-
clusion of the discourse upon the Horse Armoury, in a universal
murmur, “ Oh lawks ! Ain’t they ’eavy ! ”
And now we had pulled up, exhausted, to examine the instruments
of torture. Here the Warder became more intelligible, and gave us
quite a little Polytechnic lecture upon the working of the thumb-
screws, with practical illustrations. But the appearance of another
party with another Warder, at the other end of the gallery, started
him off again like a frightened hare. We hurried past Queen
Elizabeth, sneering at us from a wooden horse, rushed by some
assegais, tumbled up a staircase, and were brought to anchor in a
longv narrow passage. The Warder, having distanced his rival,
smiled triumphantly, and appeared quite communicative.
“That,” said he—and we all turned our heads eagerly in the
direction indicated by his umbrella—“ is a door ! ”
Immensely pleased at the “instruction,” we pursued him once
more (now in single file) as he galloped away amongst a perfect forest
of small-arms. He paused in this pleasant game of “Follow my
Leader ” to point at a sort of quaint chandelier made of bayonets.
“ An exact reproduction of the Prince o’ Wales’s wedding-cake,”
he observed in an awe-stricken under-tone. Reflecting that the
Nuptial Confection of Royalty must have been unusually indiges-
tible, we were off again at the double. Our race grew faster and
faster. Down here, up there, over a bridge, under a window, by a
staircase, through a passage, with a “ hi ho, and tantivy ! ” into the
open air I Surely one of the finest runs of the Season ! At the end
of it, our guide told us to go into the Beauchamp Tower, where we
should find another Warder to take his place.
And now we came to the greatest curiosity in the whole collection
—the angriest Beef-Eater in the World! As we entered a small
room, this person from behind his bars (for he fortunately was railed
off from the lhiblic), absolutely trembled with passion. He com-
manded himself, however, sufficiently well to say, “Guide-Books
Sixpence.” The suggestion meeting with no response, he cried,
fiercely, “ Give me your attention for about two minutes!” Then
he galloped through a “lecture,” of which literally I could only
catch the words, “five sons of the Duke of Northumberland.” I
should not have heard even these had he not brought them out
“smartly,” in a defiant tone. At last he stopped before a win-
dow. He was a little softened—he had found a joke! He pointed
to an inscription on the wall
of “ Thomas ” above a rough
sketch of a bell.
“ See,” said he, in a milder
tone, but still sternly —
“ Thomas—a bell' Thomas
Able ! ”
No one laughed. This
seemed to lash him into un-
governable fury.
“ I shan’t tell yer any
more!” he shouted. “I
haven’t time—there’s a _ lot
more of yer waiting ! I mixes
yer up altogether ! Be off! ”
We were so completely taken by surprise by this sudden dismissal
that we immediately tumbled out of the room through a stone stair-
case, into the open air. Here our retreat was covered by a fresh batch
of visitors, who, all unconscious of their impending fate, smilingly
hastened to fill the apartment we had just quitted.
But I was quite unnerved. I have but a faint impression of what
followed. I believe I saw some jewels. I am almost sure I was
invited by a nymph to take some “ grape ” wine as I staggered away
completely unmanned. But of this I am certain. Not all the
“ information ” in the world shall ever make me submit again to a
“ Committal to the Tower ” on a Free Day !
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
[October 2, 1880.
ROUND ABOUT TOWN.
The Toiver.
Seeing chat Mr. Secretary Childers had announced that he had
visited the Tower with “ so much pleasure and instruction that he
proposed giving even greater facilities to the Public to inspect the
National Collection,” I thought (wishing also to be amused and in-
structed) that I could not do better than follow the flight Honourable
Gentleman’s example.
I consequently arrived on a Saturday or Monday (at any rate, it was
a free day) at half-past ten o’clock, and took my place in an enor-
mous crowd which had been mar-
shalled by strong detachments of
the Police and the Military, with
the assistance of strong posts and
heavy chains, into a tail of about a
quarter of a mile long. We moved
up to the Entrance-Lc Ige by de-
tachments of thirty. The two or
three hours consumed in this slow
march gave ample time for the care-
ful inspection *of a huge chimney
in the precincts of the Tower, which
seemingly was supposed by the less
washed of our' njimber to be con-
nected with a, furnace used for
cremating Beef-Eaters. No doubt
the wish was father to the thought,
as Her Majesty’s Yeomen of the
Guard appeared to be on the worst
possible terms with certain members
of the Public.
On entering, I found that the Authorities, evidently foreseeing
the inner man would require nourishment after a three hours’ wait,
! had prepared a Refreshment-stall for me. The edibles consisted of
Bath-buns, sweet-stuff, and the cheap edition of Mr. Ainsworth’s
Tower of London ; the drinkables of several ginger-beer bottles in a
washing-tub, and two or three mysterious “wines,” one of which,
no doubt to honourably distinguish it from the rest, was proudly
labelled “Grape.” With a view, however, to discourage a wild
orgie before the Public had received instruction, and yet with a nice
feeling for the interests of trade, a placard over the counter bore the
inscription—“ Visitors can return for refreshment after visiting the
Armouries.” I had just made a note of this seductive invitation,
when I was carried by the stream out of the Lodge into the open
air, after a Warder who was wearing an undress uniform strongly
suggestive of a “ more-than-usually Pretty Page.”
“’E’s got on a Tam O’Shanter ’at,” whispered a Lady at my
elbow. Then she added, as she regarded, for the last time, the
' waiting and expectant multitude, “I see why they ’ave only two
free days in a week. The whole lot of ’em would shirk their work
and come if they ’ad more.”
The Warder gazed sternly at the would-be Protectress of the
Commerce of London, and pointed at the moat with his umbrella.
“ This,” said he, in a quick undertone, “ in times o’ war is filled
with water and mud! ” This piece of “ information ” was received
with a respectful “ Law ! ” and we hurried on. The Warder walked
rapidly a dozen paces, and brought us up with a jerk. “ Portcullis! ”
he said, sharply, and the visitors gazed about them hungrily, as if
they were looking for something good to eat. Immediately we were
on again. “ Bell Tower,” he jerked out—“ ’En-e-rx the Eighth
—Prison! ”
At this, some of the least wealthy of the Public for a moment
paused, and appeared rather ill at ease. Finding, however, that
they were not to be taken into custody, they plucked up courage and
I followed their guide, who was already out of sight.
I “Traitor’s Gate,” he was saying, as they came up with him.
“ Entrance to the Tower from the Thames. That’s the Thames! ”
W e were one and all delighted with this, and stared at the river
| as if we had never seen it in our lives before. The Warder turned
sharply round and said, with gusto, “This is the Bloody Tower,
| where the Royal children was murdered.”
The information was received with acclamation. Our guide
, stopped in the trot he had resumed, for a moment, to exclaim, ‘ ‘ See
| them ’inges—all that remains of the ’riginal gate.”
I We all fought to examine the “’inges;” but he was off again,
and before we could get breath to murmur “Jack Robinson,” we
were across a yard, up some stone steps, past a staircase, and into
the Horse Armoury. The Warder paused for a moment, but only
for a moment. Then he commenced a sort of disjointed lecture, in a
rapid mumble, of which I could only catch a word here and there,
although I listened most intently, However, I made out the names
of “the Earl of Hessex,” “ Kat-e-rhyne of Angeroo,” “ Count Odi
the Fiddler,” and one or two other equally rare historical personages.
I heard one sentence, however, in its entirety. “ This Prince,” said
he, “died about eighteen, although he was not in battle,”—which
seemed to imply that the favourite infantile complaint of the Fifteenth
Century (when the croup and “teething” were unknown), wa3 a
malignant attack of warfare.
For the rest, the Golden Rule of our guide, in dealing with any
perplexing article of historical interest, seemed to be, ‘ ‘ When in
doubt, say it was found in
the Spanish Armada.” But
it is only just to admit that
he was very conscientious on
one point. He never passed
a suit of mail without point-
ing at it with his umbrella,
and telling us to an ounce
the weight of the armour.
This being the case, it was
only natural that the Public
should take in one idea
firmly. This idea (I am
afraid it was the only one)
found expression at the con-
clusion of the discourse upon the Horse Armoury, in a universal
murmur, “ Oh lawks ! Ain’t they ’eavy ! ”
And now we had pulled up, exhausted, to examine the instruments
of torture. Here the Warder became more intelligible, and gave us
quite a little Polytechnic lecture upon the working of the thumb-
screws, with practical illustrations. But the appearance of another
party with another Warder, at the other end of the gallery, started
him off again like a frightened hare. We hurried past Queen
Elizabeth, sneering at us from a wooden horse, rushed by some
assegais, tumbled up a staircase, and were brought to anchor in a
longv narrow passage. The Warder, having distanced his rival,
smiled triumphantly, and appeared quite communicative.
“That,” said he—and we all turned our heads eagerly in the
direction indicated by his umbrella—“ is a door ! ”
Immensely pleased at the “instruction,” we pursued him once
more (now in single file) as he galloped away amongst a perfect forest
of small-arms. He paused in this pleasant game of “Follow my
Leader ” to point at a sort of quaint chandelier made of bayonets.
“ An exact reproduction of the Prince o’ Wales’s wedding-cake,”
he observed in an awe-stricken under-tone. Reflecting that the
Nuptial Confection of Royalty must have been unusually indiges-
tible, we were off again at the double. Our race grew faster and
faster. Down here, up there, over a bridge, under a window, by a
staircase, through a passage, with a “ hi ho, and tantivy ! ” into the
open air I Surely one of the finest runs of the Season ! At the end
of it, our guide told us to go into the Beauchamp Tower, where we
should find another Warder to take his place.
And now we came to the greatest curiosity in the whole collection
—the angriest Beef-Eater in the World! As we entered a small
room, this person from behind his bars (for he fortunately was railed
off from the lhiblic), absolutely trembled with passion. He com-
manded himself, however, sufficiently well to say, “Guide-Books
Sixpence.” The suggestion meeting with no response, he cried,
fiercely, “ Give me your attention for about two minutes!” Then
he galloped through a “lecture,” of which literally I could only
catch the words, “five sons of the Duke of Northumberland.” I
should not have heard even these had he not brought them out
“smartly,” in a defiant tone. At last he stopped before a win-
dow. He was a little softened—he had found a joke! He pointed
to an inscription on the wall
of “ Thomas ” above a rough
sketch of a bell.
“ See,” said he, in a milder
tone, but still sternly —
“ Thomas—a bell' Thomas
Able ! ”
No one laughed. This
seemed to lash him into un-
governable fury.
“ I shan’t tell yer any
more!” he shouted. “I
haven’t time—there’s a _ lot
more of yer waiting ! I mixes
yer up altogether ! Be off! ”
We were so completely taken by surprise by this sudden dismissal
that we immediately tumbled out of the room through a stone stair-
case, into the open air. Here our retreat was covered by a fresh batch
of visitors, who, all unconscious of their impending fate, smilingly
hastened to fill the apartment we had just quitted.
But I was quite unnerved. I have but a faint impression of what
followed. I believe I saw some jewels. I am almost sure I was
invited by a nymph to take some “ grape ” wine as I staggered away
completely unmanned. But of this I am certain. Not all the
“ information ” in the world shall ever make me submit again to a
“ Committal to the Tower ” on a Free Day !