CHAPTER XI

THE CRIME OF COLONEL BLOOD

The Merry England of Charles II—An old man the sole custodian of the Crown Jewels—The Jewels in the Martin Tower—Colonel Blood’s plans—His disguise as a parson—Mrs. Blood is seized with “a qualme upon her stomack”—Parson Blood’s gratitude and present of gloves—A match arranged with old Edward’s daughter—The pious parson at dinner—Blood removes the pistols—An early call—The lovers to meet—Mr. Edwards stunned, gagged, and bound—The Crown bashed in and placed in a bag—The Orb and Sceptre—A surprise arrival from Flanders—In hot pursuit—The Captain of the Guard nearly killed in error—The burglars fight their way out—Reach the Iron Gate where horses awaited them—Captured—The Crown saved—King Charles rewards Colonel Blood.

THE Crown Jewels have been through many vicissitudes, and have chanced across many adventures. They have been in the midst of the fiercest and most historic battles, and they have lain inglorious in the shop of the pawnbroker. But only once have they been burglariously removed, and that in the open day, and from the midst of the strongest fortress in England.

This happened in the jovial reign of Charles II when, led by a prince who drank the wine of life to the full, the people of England were out to live the free and joyous life, after the horrors of civil war and the equally distasteful restraints of the Cromwellian era. England was Merry England again, and black shadows were put right behind the eastern horizon. Officials, even those the most responsible, caught the happy vein, and drowned the dismal past in flowing bowls of rich red wine. Amidst all this joyful living, who cared to be reminded of the chains on body and soul and conscience of the prim pernicious Puritans? That anybody would dream of attempting to steal the Crown of the beloved sovereign never occurred to the most imaginative visionary. It might be left all day and all night unguarded on the steps of St. Paul’s, and no one would touch it. In the Tower of London it was surely safe enough, without throwing extra guard duties on the garrison to supply even a single sentry. Such was the spirit and the general feeling in the air, which left the Crown Jewels in sole custody of one old man, whose age was well past the allotted span.

In former reigns, as we have seen, the Jewels were stored in some strong building closely guarded, but they were now placed only in a kind of recess in the wall with a wired front opening on hinges, situated in the basement floor of the Martin Tower. The chamber where the Jewels were had only one door, but no sentry was placed on this door. In the storeys above lived Talbot Edwards, the Assistant-Keeper of the Regalia, with his family. Talbot Edwards was then in his seventy-seventh year, as is testified by his tombstone, now let into the south wall of the Chapel of St. Peter ad Vincula, within the Tower, which records that he died three years later on September 30th, 1674, aged 80 years.

To a professional burglar, who after all only uses common sense, it would have appeared that the Crown Jewels lay in the Martin Tower simply asking to be taken by the first person enterprising enough to make the attempt. True, though the inner casket was weak, the outer safeguards were by tradition and superstition inviolable. Massive walls, a deep moat, and a battalion of the King’s Guards seemed to offer an impenetrable barrier to the escape of a prisoner, or of a burglar laden with spoil. Colonel Blood was no professional burglar, but he had learnt as a soldier of fortune to be resourceful, quick to seize an opportunity, and bold in the execution of a project, however seemingly impossible. His previous experiences, and also his observations in the Tower showed him that, besides the garrison numerous civilians, men and women, lived in the fortress, and came and went when known by sight to the guards with little hindrance; whilst known friends of those residing within might pass with almost equal freedom.

Amongst those who might expect perhaps easier passage in and out than others would be a parson, especially if he was on visiting terms with one of the officials quartered in the Tower. This plain fact commended itself to Colonel Blood, and he made his plans accordingly. With the aid of the Mr. Clarkson and Mr. Nathan of those days the soldier of fortune became an everyday-looking parson, and as such struck up a family friendship with old Talbot Edwards.

Talbot Edwards, though Assistant-Keeper on a fixed salary, had failed for years to draw this salary from an impoverished Exchequer. When this was represented to King Charles by Sir Gilbert Talbot, that happy-go-lucky monarch remarked that if there was no money in the Exchequer naturally Talbot Edwards could get nothing out of it, but, he added, the old man might exhibit the Crown Jewels to the public, charging them such fees as he thought that each visitor might be inclined to pay. Amongst this paying public came Parson Blood, accompanied by a respectable-looking female who passed as Mrs. Blood. But just going in and looking at the Jewels, and paying a fee, would not further Blood’s designs. He would be on no more intimate terms with the Assistant-Keeper than hundreds of others; moreover, there would be no reasonable excuse for coming a second time to see the Crown Jewels. This being so, the temporary Mrs. Blood whilst viewing the Jewels had the misfortune to be suddenly seized with “a qualme upon her stomack,” and in faint tones called upon the distressed Mr. Edwards for some spirits. This the old man hastily procured, and the invalid found herself so far recovered as to be able to go upstairs and lie down for further recuperation on Mrs. Edward’s bed.

Having recovered both from the qualme and the potency of the spirits, the loving couple departed, profusely thanking their kind hosts. Having thus paved the way, Parson Blood came again three or four days later bringing four pair of white gloves—a very handsome present in those days, and indeed in these—from the temporary Mrs. Blood to the permanent Mrs. Edwards. With the gloves came overflowing messages of gratitude which Blood delivered. Indeed, so grateful was he that he made repeated visits to renew his protestations. Blood thus became a familiar figure in the Tower, and a well-known and honoured visitor of the Assistant-Keeper.

When, however, this theme of eternal gratitude was in danger of becoming tiresome, Blood conceived a new device for continuing and accentuating the friendship. Apparently the temporary Mrs. Blood had spent her nights and days in trying to devise some means for requiting Mr. and Mrs. Edwards for the potent and healing draught supplied by them, as well as for the heavenly slumber as a result enjoyed on their connubial couch. After severe and constant wrestling with the spirit, this worthy lady had now come to the conclusion that as Mr. Edwards had “a pretty gentlewoman to his daughter,” whilst she herself had (an entirely imaginary) nephew with a fortune of two or three hundred a year, a match might well be arranged between the two.

Both Mr. and Mrs. Edwards thought this an exceedingly good plan, and Miss Edwards like a good girl had not the least doubt about it. Parson Blood was therefore asked to dinner so that the project might be more fully discussed. At this meal he impressed his hosts by the piety and devotion with which he said grace, though to more critical souls it may have seemed strange that in addition to the usual benedictions he wandered off into long prayers for the King, the Queen, and all the Royal Family.

But with all this by-play Blood did not lose sight of the main object in view, which was to purloin the Crown Jewels. Therefore in the room upstairs, noticing a handsome pair of pistols on the wall, he concluded that it would be just as well if these were out of the way on the auspicious day. Thereupon promptly inventing a young Lord to whom he was most anxious to present exactly such a handsome case of pistols as these, he purchased them off Mr. Edwards and carried them away. On leaving he blessed the company in the best canonical manner, and fixed a day and hour on which he was to bring the opulent but fictitious nephew to be introduced to his future wife.

The day fixed was May 9th, 1671, and the hour 7 a.m. This was a very suitable hour for Blood’s real purpose, but why Mr. Edwards and still less his daughter should consent to so untimely an hour for the first meeting of two lovers is not quite clear. On the destined day, therefore, and at the time arranged, a clerical gentleman accompanied by three friends made their way into the Tower, and passing under the Bloody Tower left the White Tower on their right, and crossing the parade ground knocked at the door of the Martin Tower. Had the guard suspected and searched these early visitors they would have found a rapier blade in each walking-stick, a dagger in each belt, and a couple of pistols in the pockets of each.

Old Mr. Edwards was up and ready to receive his guests and met them at the door, but Miss Edwards esteemed it more modest to remain in the upper regions till the impatient lover demanded her descent. She, however, sent down her maid to take stock of the gallant and to bring her up news of his general appearance and bearing. Blood with two of his companions entered with Mr. Edwards, leaving the third on some excuse or other as a look-out at the door. The look-out man, being the youngest and comeliest of the band, was at once conceived by the maid to be the suitor, and having cast a brief but critical eye on him she dashed upstairs to tell her mistress what a fine fellow he was.

Whilst awaiting the appearance of the ladies Blood suggested to Edwards that he might fill the interval by showing his friends the Crown Jewels. The old man readily consented, and unlocking the door of the treasure chamber ushered in his guests, and then in accordance with his standing orders locked the door behind him. This was exactly the situation which Blood had so carefully worked up to. A locked isolated chamber, with three able-bodied men fully armed on one side, a feeble unarmed man nearly eighty years old on the other, and the Crown Jewels of England the spoil of the victor in this unequal contest. Without wasting further time they knocked Mr. Edwards on the head with a wooden mallet brought for that purpose amongst others, gagged him, and left him lying on the floor for dead. Though only stunned Edwards pretended to be dead, but heard or saw most of what followed.

The Jewels were in a recess in the solid walls, having a strongly caged door in two parts opening outwards. Inside were the two crowns, the Crown of England and the King’s State Crown, the Sceptre and Orb, as well as several pieces of valuable plate, including the State salt cellar lately presented to Charles II by the City of Exeter. Blood, who knew from his previous visits exactly what was there, naturally had made his plans to carry off the portions of the Regalia which were at the same time the most portable and the most valuable. The Crown of England was large and heavy, and was set with stones of considerable value, but the King’s State Crown was lighter and more easily compressed, and had set in its front the great and priceless ruby of the Black Prince, and was also rich with diamonds and lesser gems. Both crowns had been made for Charles II by Sir Robert Vyner, and both, it may be mentioned in passing, survive to this day, though in curiously different surroundings. The Crown of England is in the Tower of London, and the shell of Charles II’s State Crown, bereft of all its precious stones, came into the possession of the late Lord Amherst of Hackney. Blood, therefore, selected the King’s State Crown for his prey.

Besides the Crown there were two other regal emblems portable and set with precious stones. These were the King’s Sceptre and Orb. Both are now in the Tower of London, the Orb much as it was in those days, and the Sceptre the same except that the great Star of Africa has been since introduced into its head. These three then, the State Crown, the Sceptre, and the Orb, were the settled project of the raid. Mr. Edwards having been satisfactorily disposed of, Blood seized the Crown, and using the same wooden mallet as had been used on the custodian’s head, battered in the arches of the Crown and flattened in the band, that it might thus fit into a bag made for the purpose which he wore under his parson’s gown. This rough treatment naturally disturbed the setting of the stones, and some of these, including the Black Prince’s ruby, fell out, but were hastily gathered up and put into their pockets by the worthy trio. To the second marauder, Parrett by name, was assigned the custody of the Orb. This was quite a simple matter; he just thrust it as it was into the slack of his breeches, and dropped the folds of his cloak so as to hide the protuberance.

The third accomplice was to carry off the Sceptre, but as this could not conveniently be concealed about his person, he was provided with a file wherewith to file the Sceptre in two so that it might fit into a bag which he carried for the purpose under his cloak. He was busily engaged on this job when a most dramatic event occurred.

Old Mr. Edwards had a son who had served as a soldier in Flanders with Sir John Talbot, and having landed in England, obtained leave to visit his father at the Tower. By an extraordinary coincidence he happened to arrive at this very moment, and strode at once to the Martin Tower.

Outside the door of his father’s residence he found a young man standing, who asked him his business, and who he wished to see. As this was an unusual greeting to receive at the front door of one’s own home, young Edwards concluded that the stranger himself was seeking an interview, and passing through said he would see if he could be received. The young man at the door, who was in fact Colonel Blood’s sentry, as young Edwards went upstairs, immediately warned his confederates in the treasure chamber below, and they made haste to depart, taking the Crown and Orb, but leaving the Sceptre as it had not yet been filed in two.

Old Mr. Edwards was not bound, so that directly Colonel Blood and his accomplices fled he pulled the gag out of his mouth, and yelled with good heart and lungs, “TREASON! MURDER!” Miss Edwards hearing these alarming shouts ran downstairs, and seeing her father wounded and the disorder in the Jewel House, rushed out on to the parade ground by the White Tower and shrieked, “TREASON! The CROWN is stolen!” This gave the alarm to all and sundry, and amongst others to young Edwards and Captain Beckham who were still upstairs. Captain Beckham was married to one of old Mr. Edwards’ daughters, and was one of the party invited to be present at the betrothal. Blood and Parrett, followed by the other two, had pushed along without suspicious haste, but on hearing the alarm raised were seen to nudge each other. However, they passed unchallenged under the Bloody Tower where was then the main guard, guarding the only gate giving egress from the inner fortress, and thence were making their way along Water Lane towards the Byward Tower.

Beyond the Byward Tower was a drawbridge, now replaced by a permanent structure, at which a yeoman stood on duty, and to him the pursuers shouted to stop the clerical party ahead. The yeoman, who was armed only with a halbert, came to the ready and ordered the fugitives to halt. Blood, however, drew a pistol, and firing at close range knocked the man over.

Thus gaining free access to the drawbridge the party hastened over. On the far side, where stands the Middle Tower, was the Spur guard with its sentry posted. The man on duty at this moment was named Sill, a Cromwellian soldier now enlisted in the Royal Army. Cromwellian or no, he was not for being shot in cold blood, and seeing the warder fall, tactfully stepped aside and allowed the marauders to pass unhindered. Sir Gilbert Talbot thought he had been previously bribed by Blood, and this is not an unlikely explanation. Anyway, the chief obstacles had been overcome and the Crown and Orb were outside the main fortress. From the Middle Tower, Blood and his companions instead of going out of the Bulwark Gate a few yards off, doubled on their tracks, so to speak, and hastened along the wharf in an easterly direction towards the Iron Gate. This was a tactical error which proved fatal, for the wharf is some three hundred yards long and in full view throughout of the sentries standing on the battlements of the outer ballium wall.

By this time there seem to have been a considerable number of people on the wharf, some pursuing from behind, and some just entered through the Iron Gate on their ordinary business. These latter, seeing a commotion and hearing cries of treason and murder, with great zeal and promptitude, incited and directed by Blood, fell on the pursuers, and nearly murdered Captain Beckman, whom the worthy parson pointed out as the arch culprit.

Having disentangled himself from this awkward misconception, the gallant captain raced on along the wharf and came up with Blood just as he was getting to horse. Blood turned short and point blank fired his second pistol at Beckman’s head. But a pistol in those days took some time to go off, which gave the captain time to duck his head and, charging low, to seize the reverend gentleman. A severe struggle then took place. The captain thinking more of the Crown itself than of the man who held it, instead of overpowering him tried to snatch the Crown from him. Blood resisted lustily but Beckman prevailed, and thus roughly handled he secured it. But naturally the stones being much loosened by the previous hammering, several here also fell out, though eventually all with a few comparatively insignificant exceptions were recovered.

Blood and Parrett were now overpowered and captured, whilst Hunt, who was Blood’s son-in-law, though he got to horse, in galloping off hit his head against a pole sticking out from a laden wagon, and being dismounted was also captured. The three were immediately placed in the securest dungeons in the Tower, and word was sent to Sir Gilbert Talbot, the Keeper of the Jewel House, who at once informed the King. Those looking for a lurid and sanguinary end to this story will be disappointed. Considering the time and the penalties which were exacted on such comparatively venal offences as the stealing of sheep, one is naturally prepared to hear that Colonel Blood and his accomplices were at the shortest notice drawn on hurdles to Tyburn and there hanged, drawn, and quartered. But Fate plays curious tricks with the lives of men. The Merry Monarch, instead of being in the least annoyed with this audacious attempt which so nearly lost him his regal emblems, roared with laughter and ordered that the chief culprit should be sent for judgment to the highest court in the realm, the King himself.

What the King said to Blood, or what Blood said to the King, as variously chronicled, may be passed over, but the net result was that Blood instead of being executed was given a post amongst the bodyguard of His Majesty, and also granted a salary of £500 a year for life. As money was then five times the value it was in 1914 and ten times the value it is in 1920, we may estimate this as a very handsome income. Several reasons have been given for Charles II’s liberality, and each may be accepted with equal caution. The wits and scandal-mongers of the time declared that the explanation of the King’s leniency was due to one of two causes. The first was that being as usual short of cash, His Majesty conceived the novel expedient of stealing his own Crown, and in a roundabout way put up Blood to execute the project. The second was more sporting than venal, and averred that the King in one of his genial after-dinner moments had declared that no one would, after the horrors of the past, deprive him of his Crown, and had backed his opinion by a bet. This, so the story went, having come to Blood’s ears, he determined to take up the bet literally and steal the actual emblems of royalty. These, though interesting explanations, may in the absence of proof be relegated to unconfirmed gossip. However, the most charitable version is little less astonishing. We are invited to believe that the King believed Blood’s fairy tale, which was that he had laid out in the reeds close to the place where the King was wont to bathe intending to shoot him, when he had assumed the primitive garb of his ancestor Adam, but that when the moment came to pull the trigger, this hardened old soldier was so overcome with the glory of the King’s royal body _in statu natura_ that his finger absolutely refused to work.

Charles II, though jovial, was by no means an idiot; indeed he was one of the astutest monarchs who has sat on the throne of England. We may therefore perhaps brush aside all these interesting stories and arrive at the plain conclusion that the King, knowing from recent experience how precarious in those days was the life of a King, decided that his best policy was to take into his service a quondam and potential enemy, thereby turning a spear that threatened him into a defensive javelin. That shrewd lesson in statescraft has been followed, perhaps unwittingly, by the British Empire in its expansion. Times out of number in Asia, Africa, and America, the foes of one day have been on the next enrolled under the standards of the King of England, and alongside men of his own blood have fought the battles of the Empire.

Blood, contrary to the report that he was a mere burglar, the son of a blacksmith, and so forth, was in fact a man of good family residing at Sarney, Co. Meath, and was himself at the early age of twenty-two made a Justice of the Peace, itself a proof of his social standing. His grandfather was Edmund Blood of Kilnaboy Castle, Co. Clare, who was at one time M.P. for Ennis.

Perhaps the best estimate of Colonel Blood is that he was a hot-headed and fearless Irishman, who found it difficult to live quietly, and must ever work off his boundless energy on some new and often desperate enterprise. He was the Charles O’Malley of an earlier century, and demonstrated his Irish exuberance with rapier and pistol rather than in the hunting field.

_Note._—The account of Colonel Blood’s attempt on the Crown is taken from an ancient MS., written in 1680 at the dictation of Sir Gilbert Talbot, the Keeper of the Jewel House at the time, which is now in possession of Mrs. Lowndes, of Chesham, Bucks. A copy of the same document is also owned by General Sir Bindon Blood, G.C.B., together with other interesting records of Colonel Blood, which he has kindly placed at the writer’s disposal.