The Tower of London 12

The Tower of London 12

In this strain he continued for some time, when a sound arose which drowned even his vehemence. Overcome with drowsiness, the three giants, who for a short time vainly endeavoured to attend to the discourse of the Gospeller, had now sunk into a comfortable slumber--and the noise which they made was tremendous. In vain Underhill endeavoured to rouse them by thumping the table. Gog gazed at him for an instant with half-shut eyes, and then leaning on Og's shoulder, who, with head dropped back and mouth wide open, was giving audible proof of his insensible condition, he speedily dropped asleep again. Such was the astounding din, that the Gospeller could not even make himself heard by the dwarf, who, perched on Og's knee at a few paces' distance, stared in amazement at his gesticulations.

 

More than an hour having passed in this manner, the Hot-gospeller, whose energies were wholly exhausted, came to a pause;

 

and after menacing his insensible audience with proportionate punishment in the next world--especially the idolatrous prisoner, whom he threatened with gesture as well as with word--he closed his volume, and prepared to depart. With some difficulty the three giants were awakened ; and it was only by the assistance of Xit, who tweaked their noses and plucked their beards, that this could be accomplished.

 

Just as Master Underhill was taking his leave, Dame Trusbut arrived in the greatest tribulation. The fair Cicely was nowhere to be found. Her husband had been to the palace. Nothing could be heard of the young esquire ; nor could Lawrence Nightgall be met with. In this emergency, she had come to entreat the giants to aid her in her search. They agreed to go at once--and Xit was delighted with the prospect of such employment. Accordingly, the door was locked upon the prisoner, and they set forth with the distracted dame.

 

As soon as he was left alone, Gilbert surveyed the chamber to sec if there was any means by which he might effect his escape. An idea speedily occurred to him : by the help of one of the halberts he contrived to free himself from his bonds, and then clambered up the chimney.

 

VII.--HOW CUTHBERT CHOLMONDELEY WAS THROWN INTO A DUNGEON NEAR THE DEVILIN TOWER; AND IIOW A MYSTERIOUS FEMALE FIGURE APPEARED TO HIM THERE.

 

 

 

|On recovering from the stunning effects of the blow he had received, Cuthbert Cholmondeley found himself stretched on the floor of a gloomy vault, or dungeon, for such he judged it. At first, he thought he must be dreaming, and tried to shake off the horrible nightmare by which he supposed himself oppressed. But a moment's reflection undeceived him ; and starting to his feet, he endeavoured to explore the cell in which he was confined. A heavy chain, which bound his leg to the floor, prevented him from moving more than a few paces ; and, convinced that escape was impossible, he sank upon the ground in despair.

 

Unable to assign any cause for his imprisonment, and wholly at a loss to imagine what offence he had committed, he taxed his brain as to everything that had recently happened to him. This naturally directed his thoughts to the fair Cicely--and with her gentle image came the recollection of the malicious countenance and threatening gestures of Lawrence Nightgall. Remembering what Magog had told him of the jealousy and vindictive nature of this person, and remembering also that he had heard him described as the chief jailer, he felt that he need seek no further for the motive and the author of his imprisonment.

 

The assurance, however, which he had thus gained, afforded him no consolation, but rather tended to increase his disquietude. If he had been a prisoner of state, he might have hoped for eventual release ; but placed in the hands of so remorseless and

 

unscrupulous an enemy as Nightgall had shown himself, he felt he had little to hope. This consideration filled him with anguish, which was heightened as he thought of the triumph of his savage rival, who by some means--for he seemed desperate enough to have recourse to any expedient--might possess himself of the object of his passion. Fired by this thought, Cholmondeley again sprang to his feet, and strove with all his force to burst his bondage. But the effort was fruitless ; and by lacerating his hands, and straining his limbs, he only added bodily torture to his mental suffering. Exhausted at length, he sank once more upon the floor.

 

By this time, having become habituated to the gloom of the place, he fancied he could make out that it was an arched cell of a few feet in width, and corresponding height. The only light admitted was from the entrance, which appeared to open upon a passage branching off on the left, and upon a further range of dungeons extending in the same direction.

 

Not altogether unacquainted with the prisons of the Tower, Cholmondeley felt against the walls to try whether he could find any of those melancholy memorials which their unfortunate inmates delighted to bequeath to their successors, and which might serve as a clue to the particular place of his confinement. But nothing but the smooth surface of the stone met his touch. This circumstance, however, and the peculiar form of the cell, induced him to think that it must be situated beneath, or at no great distance from the Devilin Tower, as he had heard of a range of subterranean dungeons in that quarter : and, it may be added, he was right in his conjecture.

 

The cell in which he was thrown was part of a series of such dreadful receptacles, contrived in the thickness of the ballium wall, and extending from the Beauchamp Tower to the Devilin Tower. They were appropriated to those prisoners who were doomed to confinement for life.

 

Horrible recollections then flashed upon his mind of the dreadful sufferings he had heard that the miserable wretches immured in these dungeons underwent--how some were tortured--some destroyed by secret and expeditious means--others by the more lingering process of starvation. As the latter idea crossed him, he involuntarily stretched out his hand to ascertain whether any provisions had been left him ; but he could find none.

 

The blood froze in his veins as he thought of dying thus; his hair stiffened upon his head ; and he was only prevented from crying out to make his lamentable case known to the occupants of any of the adjoining cells, by the conviction of its utter futility. But this feeling passed away, and was succeeded by calmer and more consolatory reflections. While in this frame of mind, Nature asserted her sway, and he dropped asleep.

 

 

 

[Ill 0081]

 

 

 

How long he remained thus, he knew not ; but he was awakened by a loud and piercing scream. Raising himself, he listened intently. The scream was presently repeated in a tone

 

so shrill and unearthly, that it filled him with apprehensions of a new kind. The outcry having been a third timo raised, he was debating within himself whether he should in any way reply to it, when he thought he beheld a shadowy figuro glide along the passage. It paused at a short distance from him. A glimmer of light fell upon the arch on the left, but the place where the figure stood was buried in darkness. After gazing for some time at the mysterious visitant, and passing his hand across his brow to assure himself that his eyesight did not deceive him, Cholmondeley summoned courage enough to address it. No answer was returned ; but the figure, which had the semblance of a female, with the hands raised and clasped together as if in supplication or prayer, and with a hood drawn over the face, remained perfectly motionless. Suddenly, it glided forward, but with a step so noiseless and swift, that almost before the esquire was aware of the movement, it was at his side. He then felt a hand cold as marble placed upon his own, and upon grasping the fingers they appeared so thin and bony, that he thought he must have encountered a skeleton. Paralysed with fright, Cholmondeley shrunk back as far as he was able ; but the figure pursued him, and shrieked in his ear--"My child, my child !--you have taken my child !"

 

Convinced from the voice that he had a being of this world to deal with, the esquire seized her vestment, and resolved to detain her till he had ascertained who she was and what was the cause of her cries ; but just as he had begun to question her, a distant footstep was heard, ands uttering a loud shriek, and crying--"He comes!--he comes!"--the female broke from him and disappeared.

 

Fresh shrieks were presently heard in a more piteous tone than before, mixed with angry exclamations in a man's voice,which Cholmondeley fancied sounded like that of Nightgall. A door was next shut with great violence ; and all became silent.

 

While he was musing on this strange occurrence, Cholmondeley heard footsteps advancing along the passage on the left, and in another moment Lawrence Nightgall stood before him.

 

The jailer, who carried a lamp, eyed the captive for a few moments in silence, and with savage satisfaction.

 

"It is to you, then, I owe my imprisonment, villain," said Cholmondeley, regarding him sternly.

 

"It is," replied the jailer ; "and you can readily conjecture, I doubt not, why I have thus dealt with you."

 

"I can," resumed the esquire ; "your jealousy prompted you to the deed. But you shall bitterly rue it."

 

"Bah!" exclaimed Nightgall. "You are wholly in my power. I am not, however, come to threaten, but to offer you freedom."

 

"On what terms ?" demanded Cholmondeley.

 

"On these," replied the jailer, scowling--"that you swear to abandon Cicely."

 

"Never !" replied the esquire.

 

jJiUiij) ni] n "i_ ,ii|j jui in nine'll iiiMii uiiiim;

 

t: pi j.iiiiMi'.tdil}' jl]j in] u i^utninjut] j) puujqra \)

 

 

 

 

 

[Ill 0083]

 

 

 

"Then your fate is sealed," rejoined Nightgall. "You shall never quit this spot."

 

"Think not to move me by any such idle threat," returned Cholmondeley. "You dare not detain me."

 

"Who shall prevent me ?" laughed the jailor, scornfully. "I, alone, possess the key of these dungeons. You are their sole occupant."

 

"That is false," retorted the esquire. "There is another captive,--a miserable female,--whom I, myself, have seen."

 

"Has she been here?" cried Nightgail, with a look of disquietude.

 

"Not many minutes since," replied the other, fixing a scrutinizing glance upon him. "She came in search of her child. What have you done with it, villain ?"

 

Cholmondeley had no particular object in making the inquiry. But he was astonished at the effect produced by it on the jailer, who started and endeavoured to hide his confusion by pulling his cap over his brows."She is a maniac," he said, at length, in a hoarse voice.