MusicSmiles.com
The
Worlds of Gilbert and Sullivan
|
MusicSmiles.com
|
      
|
Francis Drake's Story! :- Chapter XI: A View from The Tower! After our long and gruelling forced march we were once again trussed up and savagely hustled along by a group of makeshift soldiers, acting in the name of Queen Mary-Tudor. We were herded east through London, along the north bank of the Thames passing by the great Norman edifice of Saint Paul's Church. We peered up at the towering spire - the tallest spire of any Norman church in Europe. The church building, though, was showing clear signs of neglect in its decaying structure. Little did we know that a fire in a baker's shop in a hundred years time would devastate all this townscape and destroy the ancient church, a famous landmark on the London skyline. In
the middle distance Weary and distressed we were then imprisoned within this infamous Tower of London. A dreadful, awful-smelling and forbidding place that oozed evil and pain. It was filled with the screams of poor wretches being tortured by the Inquisition. We were destined to be confined in this venomously foreboding place for several weeks. Through our bars we witnessed on the green below hangings and beheadings by the dozen each day. These, we learned, were ordered by Bishops Gardiner and Pole, and Bishop Bonner of London. We were told that The Tower was so overcrowded that even Archbishop Cranmer and Bishops Ridley and Latimer were made to share the same cell whilst waiting for their outrageous punishments. They were eventually burned alive at the stake for Heresy; an ominous portent for all who were confined in this appalling place.
The
food and drink, when any was supplied, was totally inedible, and we survived by
eating rats which were trapped by Adam. (Sam and I chased them, and Adam
caught them with his bare hands!) Adam entreated us to waste nothing. We were urged to drink our own
urine and chew on our clothing and shoes to stem the excruciating pains of
starvation. Clothing was
also hung through the prison bars at night to trap the dew, wringing them into
a basin In the midst of all this uncertainty and insanity Adam proved to be a tower of strength! He constantly told us stories to raise our spirits. He also gave us advice on survival tactics; and plans that were destined to be tantalising but forlorn hopes of escaping from this hell-on-earth. Meanwhile Sam gathered bits of stone and ground them smooth on the hard floor. He then taught us many fascinating games to play with them (individually and competitively). These were excellent time fillers and even occasionally stimulated some fun and excitement. At the same time, and to our amazement, Francis calmly poured over a little book that Walt had given him on the subject of 'Navigation at Sea'. He spent hours and hours digesting this information. (Swot!) Now then Felix. (Well he was, wasn't he?) Papa in his inimitable style taught us to memorise and recite poems, stories and songs to relieve the mind-destroying anxiety and boredom. One day during one of these long, onerous periods the earth momentarily seemed to stand still! The perpetual anguish of the twenty-four-hours-per-day deprivation was suddenly diffused by the sounds of children's happy laughter percolating through our window from the green outside. I heard Francis take a sharp intake of breath. He immediately scrambled over and squinted down through our barred porthole to the area far below. The
customary repugnant scene was transformed from death and despair to one
of childish innocence and hope. Francis described how a small boy and a small girl were playing on the grass
area normally set aside for beatings and executions. The boy was playing soldiers with a
wooden sword, and the girl was picking wild flowers (daises I think) from
Occasionally, and to our intense surprise, we could hear the distant sounds of singing to a Lute. To a man we exclaimed "Louis". It was undoubtedly Domenico's music, and it reminded us of our visit to the school in Tonbridge. Those sweet sounds from a remote cell lifted our spirits considerably. The greatest wonder was that he was not silenced and his instrument confiscated. Our captors also presumably enjoyed the serenading. Contact with the outside world and its news was almost totally suppressed so any connection with kindred spirits was a godsend. However,
eventually fragments of information percolated through to us that Thomas Wyatt had suffered the
horrendous fate of traitors of the time. He was partly hanged, then drawn and quartered,
and after that beheaded. A terrible, slow, lingering death. Subsequently parts
of his body were displayed on spikes around the city as a macabre warning to
others. However, it seems he had the We had almost given up all hope in this totally inhuman, grim and degrading environment when suddenly we were collected from our filthy, freezing cell. First we were all manacled together and then our ankles were hobbled with chains. Then our guards bundled us out of the cell, along innumerable dark corridors and out on to the green. Here we were compelled to witness two more hangings and a beheading, which we took to be precursors of our own fate. During this gruesome experience we anxiously looked towards Adam; but we were all too weak and emaciated from hunger and privation, and no escape seemed possible. Nevertheless, by his demeanour he encouraged us to brace ourselves and stand defiantly erect - like soldiers. We apprehensively looked in the direction of the gallows, anticipating the worst and fully expecting that our turns had come. And we pondered the imponderable - WHY? As we glanced up at our prison we glimpsed a lovely lady's face with tears in her eyes, looking down at us from one of the cell gratings. (She might have been a future queen! Who knows in these shockingly volatile times?) At this point the
senior guard, a professional purveyor of evil, laughed vindictively and frog-marched us back into The
Tower. Once again we were driven back along the dank and malevolent
corridors to a room where three ostentatiously-robed and self-important-looking men sat facing us from behind
a large table. We were brutally lined up and forced to kneel before
'their lordships'. In one corner a huge, silent, hooded figure stood by a fiery
stove, littered with hot irons and other fearsome implements. At his side was a
sort of bed, with straps and screws and several more vicious-looking instruments of torture. One of
the judges brusquely asked who we were, where we came from, and why we were
in London. Papa and Adam answered the inquisitors and told them our story so far. Then,
after what seemed an eternity of conspicuous and penetrating silence, the senior inquisitor conferred in whispers with his associates,
and peremptorily Once again we were boisterously bustled along the interminable sinister corridors and down slimy stone steps. Down, down, down, taking us deeper into the bowels of The Tower. A sense of foreboding and the spectre of the gallows loomed larger and larger the further we descended. The cries and moans from the cells we passed added to our desolation. Finally we were herded into a large, empty, damp room (a cave really). The guards lined us up against a wall and unceremoniously threw pails of cold river-water over us. (To clean us, they declared.) They chattered to us about an assignation with the Traitors' Gate. Then we were driven down another layer and through a portcullis onto the river bank where a boat appeared to be tethered. In it sat another 'prisoner'. It was Louis with his lute . . . We were
then unceremoniously trundled headlong into the
boat. (At this point, and to our intense surprise, the senior guard gently picked
me up, stroked my head and carefully handed me to Francis. Wonders never cease!)
The sailors then hastily cast off and headed for midstream. The boat travelled down
river with The boatswain (He means the bosun!) - Now Felix! (Well not everyone knows how to pronounce it). Alright: The bosun confirmed this and directed our bow across river towards the North Kent bank. He told us that some ladies had defended our case and had pleaded successfully for our release. As we neared the bank we saw a little knot of people waiting to welcome us. Among them we were overwhelmingly delighted to see Mama, the children and Liz. They told us about their own
imprisonment; and their release when they were recognised by
one of the Queen's officers who remembered them from the Crowndale Estate in Devon. The
Devonshire families had apparently been loyal to the Queen
during the uprising and our release
was something of a reward. The ladies had also procured the release of Louis as
our personal minstrel. And as proof of his being one
of our party, they Before we left the river bank we all implored Papa to say a prayer of thanksgiving for our safe deliverance. Papa had a remarkable talent for communication and for pastoral work which was appreciated by all present. He was generous in his praise of us all, particularly Louis for his encouraging music, Sam for his unquenchable good-humour, and Adam who had fortified us during the terrifying ordeal. As we prepared to depart for Chatham comforted by our loved ones we recalled the trek through Kent; the enforced hauling of the rebels' cannon and the 'accident'; and then the battles throughout our journey and in London. Finally we remembered the horrors of The Tower and what a miraculous escape we had had. However, it was Mama who quietly expressed our heartfelt sentiments in her comment: "Freedom is bliss". Now, with Louis leading our singing and dancing with his lute, there was a glimmer of hope; and we faced our future once again with renewed confidence . . .
Click the vessel's
forward rigging to continue the exciting Francis Drake's Story! :- Chapter XII: Down the Thames & Up the Medway!
|
( Click number to view statistics > > >). Scribe thanks all our 223,547 MusicSmiles visitors up to beginning of September, 2010. You may find our special effects work best with Microsoft Internet Explorer |
we could make out a large dark mass. In fact a series of dark masses. When they
sighted these buildings our captors grew more animated. They talked about the
coveted jobs of warders in the ancient Norman fortress. They spoke in awe of the
several towers housed in the complex, particularly the 'Bloody Tower'. They were
somewhat deprecating about the gaudy new uniforms of the Tower Warders, whom they
referred to as Beefeaters. But they were probably envious of these guardians of
the City treasures and Crown prisoners. And they taunted us with
stories of punishments carried out on Tower Green and Tower Hill.
the
lawns. Both were engrossed in their childhood pursuits to the total exclusion of
all the horrors around them. Eventually the girl hung a daisy-chain, like a
garland, around the boy's neck. They then scampered off oblivious to what had gone
before and what was inevitably to follow on that sinister turf. (I swear I
saw the Adam's Apple relocate in Francis' throat as he recalled his own recent childhood in Devon).
Just then a sepulchral drum-beat sounded and a heart-rending parade of shackled prisoners was led
(dragged) through the gates on to the green. There the gallows and block stood
ominously waiting: eagerly anticipating the Inquisition's regularly pledged orgy of diabolical cruelty
to assuage their insatiable appetites . .
.
said, Liz had produced a sketch she had made of him while playing his lute when we
were in Tonbridge. Mama and Liz then produced some food and drink they had prepared,
which we ravenously consumed. We frantically tried to heed Adam's resolute advice to eat
slowly and in small portions until our constitutions had recovered sufficiently
to digest food properly. But in our desperation this was almost an impossibility.
However Mama and Liz had obviously considered this and cut up tiny portions and
handed them out piecemeal!
