Part 50

The road follows, with its double track, the direction of the streets; it curves, however, considerably, to such an extent, even, that in a distance of four English miles, mostly underground, it makes a curve, the diameter of which is six hundred and twenty-seven feet. The tunnels, constructed with an elliptic section, are about twenty-nine and one-half feet wide, and sixteen feet high. The walls are all twelve inches thick, and built of brick with hydraulic lime, on account of the moisture. The greatest ascent of the road is one foot per hundred, and the greatest depth under the surface of the earth, fifty-six feet. Good light and sufficient ventilation is not wanting, and the new locomotives, which consume their own steam and smoke, prove to be a perfect success. The stations of Baker street and Gower street, have a peculiar system of illumination. Fourteen enormous windows open on both sides of the immense, dark vaults. The daylight, which they allow to enter, falls on a perpendicular wall of white, polished tiles, and is reflected through the windows proper, sidewise in the halls. Nevertheless, the light is only feeble, gloomy, and vague. The real sun of London underground is gas. Even the passenger cars are provided with it. From six o’clock in the morning, till after midnight, a train goes up and down every twenty minutes, and the charges are less than those of the omnibuses. The road has cost about one million one hundred and twenty-five thousand pounds, for the construction proved to be a very difficult one, as well on account of the water-works, gas-works, etc., which of course had to be avoided, and which often suddenly presented themselves as obstacles, but also on account of the unstable nature of the soil, which necessitated very expensive constructions.

Lately, the underground railroad has been extended, and the new Aldgate station has been opened to the public.

[Sidenote: REMARKABLE ENGINEERING WORKS.]

Although this extension amounts to only half a mile in length, it has involved great expense, because of the remarkable engineering works that were required; for example, the walls of some of the immense tea warehouses of the St. Catharine Dock Company, eighty-six feet high, and four feet thick, had to be “underpinned,” and deeper foundations put in for them; but this work was successfully carried out without the slightest injury to the buildings. In spite of all obstacles, the diversion of nine great sewers, and the construction of a large sewer, five feet by three feet, beneath the rails along the whole length of the line, the works have been promptly completed. The excavations were just outside where the old City walls stood, and a few Roman relics were found. Outside the new station, twenty feet below the surface, was discovered an immense deposit of bullocks’ horns, cartloads of which were removed and sold. No other bones were with them, and how they came there in such numbers is a mystery.

There are plenty of openings for ventilation along the new line. Aldgate station is the lightest and airiest station along the line. The glass roof extends half the length of the platform; the other half length is covered by narrower roofs, supported on wooden pillars rising from the platforms themselves. The front of the station is in High street, Aldgate, a door or two from the old church of St. Botolph, and opposite to the Minories.

Entering the station-building on High street, the visitor passes by easy steps down the landing, thence by the stairs to whichever platform he desires to reach. The situation of the terminus is most convenient, and will bring the company a large amount of business. Within a short distance, are the London and the St. Catharine’s docks, Fenchurch and Leadenhall streets, the Commercial road, and the densely populated neighborhoods of Whitechapel and Towerhill. Thus the eastern extremity of the City, and the best business parts of the East End, will be brought within a few minutes’ journey of Holborn and the West End of London, the Great Northern, Great Western, Midland, and Chatham & Dover Railways. The increase in the fares to Aldgate will be only a penny per ticket. All the trains of the Metropolitan Railway Company will run through to the new station, except the Great Western mainline trains, which are few in number. A marble tablet in the Aldgate station records the fact that this extension of the Metropolitan Railway was commenced on March 1, 1876, and gives the names of Sir Edward Watkin, chairman of the company, and his fellow-directors; the general manager, Mr. Myles Fenton; Mr. Brady, the engineer; and Messrs. Lucas and Aird, contractors.

[Sidenote: RAPID-TRANSIT RAILWAY SYSTEM.]

During Sir Edward Watkin’s visit to New York, a few months ago, he gave some very interesting particulars concerning the operation of the rapid-transit railway system of London.

The London underground railroad companies, he said, already had about sixteen miles of road in operation, and in a few months they would have twenty miles of completed road. They were negotiating for a still further extension of their routes, and would in time burrow under the whole city of London. These roads had proved to be a greater convenience to the poorer classes than to wealthy persons. The average fare collected was five cents, and the rate per mile was reduced, by a system of commutation, to one penny. These roads carried seventy million passengers a year. Heavy locomotives were used, and one thousand trains per day, each having a carrying capacity for one thousand persons, were run over them. The rate of speed was very great. The cost was five million dollars per mile, of which about four-fifths was due to damages to real estate caused by cutting through blocks of buildings and tunneling under houses. In some places the roads ran under graveyards without disturbing the graves and the vaults above.

This enormous cost for land would be wholly saved in New York, because here the railway lines would be longitudinal with and run directly under the main streets, without invading private property. But in London, owing to the formation of the city, the underground roads pass athwart the streets and cut through private property in all directions. The citizens of London have ascertained, by practical experience, that the underground system is the best, have invested in it upward of eighty millions of dollars, and are annually increasing the investment and extending the works.

Sir Edmund said that ninety-three per cent. of the passengers on the London underground roads traveled only short distances, and only seven per cent. of them were carried to the end of the various routes.

[Sidenote: OVERCROWDING THE CARS.]

The underground line is admirably managed, the only objection to it being the overcrowding of the carriages. A London man once said to us: “I can very seldom get a seat in a train, when I travel on it, not because I am so big, but because the other fellows take up all the room. This overcrowding is a great inconvenience to ladies, who use the railroad quite as much as the other sex. It serves them in their calling or on shopping expeditions, in lieu of cabs or omnibuses. The last report of the underground railroad presented to the shareholders shows that the number of passengers carried, during the last half year, was twenty-six million two hundred thousand, which seems an enormous number, nearly fifty-two million five hundred thousand per year. One would suppose that with such patronage the road must pay.

[Sidenote: RAILROAD UNDER WATER.]

The most remarkable feature of this new work is the fact that a considerable portion of the line is built under water. The commerce of the world may be said to float and navigate directly over a part of the roof of the tunnel, which extends southeasterly, from the Liverpool street station of the Great Eastern Railway, passing directly under the warehouses and water-basin of the London-docks, thence under the embankment, across and under the Thames river, to the New Cross station of the Southeastern Railway, thus connecting all the roads named, and also the London & Brighton and South London lines. At Shadwell and Whitechapel, magnificent stations, each four hundred and fifty feet in length, have been erected. The total cost of this new line, which is a little less than six miles in length, has been three million two hundred thousand pounds, or sixteen millions of dollars. Of the advantageous nature of this line to the public, the London papers say there is no doubt. That portion of the line under the Thames passes through the old Thames tunnel, built by the celebrated engineer, M. I. Brunel. This work, of which I spoke before, never proved of much value to the public until brought into use several years ago as a railway tunnel.

XLVI.

DUNGEONS.

LIFE IN THEM.—ANCIENT DUNGEONS.—THE PRISON OF ST. PAUL.—THE DUCAL PALACE.—“SOTTO PIOMBI.”—THE POZZI.—SHUT UP IN THE DARK CELLS.—A NIGHT OF HORROR.—A GUIDE’S BLUNDER.—DUNGEONS OF ST. PETERSBURG.—PETER THE GREAT TORTURING HIS SON.—A PRINCESS DROWNED IN PRISON.

A great many people have at some time in their lives been in dungeons; some of their own accord, and others much against their wills. Those who have gone there voluntarily rarely stay long, as their visits are made out of curiosity; and curiosity in regard to dungeons is very speedily satisfied. I have been in a fair number of dungeons, but I generally made my way out of them with very little delay. They are not very agreeable places of residence; and if one of them were assigned to me as a spot to dwell in, I should get out at the earliest moment, when it was in my power to do so.

A dungeon is an old-fashioned institution, but it is not altogether out of date. If the history of all the dungeons in the world could be written, there would be many startling tales narrated, and many volumes could be made concerning what has transpired within them.

In the days of the ancient Romans, every emperor of good and respectable standing kept a private dungeon for his own use; and he had a good many public ones lying round loose for his friends to occupy. Some emperors kept their dungeons well stocked at all times, with an assorted lot of humanity. They were not particular as to age or sex, as long as they could have their dungeons liberally patronized. Nero did a fine business in the dungeon line, and successfully rivalled many of his competitors. He displayed great ingenuity in starving his prisoners, and occasionally in putting them to death; and so did others of the Roman rulers. Nero was a festive old fraud, and did not mind putting his friends to a good deal of trouble in order to amuse himself. I have elsewhere alluded to his fine array of gridirons, toasting-forks, racks, and thumb-screws with which he used to get up exhibitions of a very select character.

[Sidenote: IN THE PRISON OF ST. PAUL.]

Many of the old dungeons are now closed, partly for want of business, and partly for the reason that their present proprietors have a delicate regard for the reputation of their ancestors, and do not wish any prominence given to these old prisons. Other dungeons are kept open to visitors, but nobody is confined in them. One of the most celebrated dungeons of Rome, for instance, is that in which St. Paul was involuntarily lodged during a part of his stay in Rome. There are two dungeons, one below the other: the upper one is not altogether uncomfortable, though its space is rather restricted, and does not afford much room for exercise.

When I visited this place the guide pointed out several of its peculiar features: one of them is an impression of a human face in the solid rock, at the side of the staircase; and he related, with great solemnity, that while St. Paul was being led down the stairs his keeper pushed him, and pressed his face against the stone. An ordinary face, he explained, would have been injured by the operation, but a miracle was performed, in the instantaneous softening of the rock, so as to receive the visage of the apostle without injury. The impression thus made remains to this day.

Another curious feature is the spring of water from which St. Paul baptized one of his jailers. It is related that one of the jailers became converted, and desired Paul to baptize him. No water was at hand for the purpose; but a miracle was performed, by the opening of the rock in the floor of the dungeon and the appearance of a spring of water. This spring remains at this day, and contains water apparently fresh and sweet. The keeper of the place dipped a quantity of the water from the spring, and offered it to our party for drinking.

We were about to drink, when the guide who accompanied us shook his head, and intimated that the liquid was not good. We did not taste it; and therefore I cannot speak positively as to its character. A picture has been painted, and is preserved in the room above, showing the miraculous opening of the floor, the water rising like a fountain from the rock, and the apostle engaged in the act of baptizing the jailer, who is kneeling before him.

In the middle ages every owner of a feudal castle had a dungeon about his premises, though it was not always under ground. Sometimes it was hewn out of the solid rock which formed the foundation of the edifice, and sometimes it was in a high tower placed at one corner, where the occupant could look out and enjoy the scenery, though he was debarred from any practical knowledge of it other than what he could obtain through his eyes. Many a person has lived and suffered for years, shut up in a high tower where he could look out on the world around him with the consciousness that he was never more to enjoy his liberty.

[Sidenote: “SOTTO PIOMBI.”]

The Ducal Palace of Venice was well provided in the dungeon line. There were prisons under the roof of the palace which were known amongst the Italians as the “Sotto Piombi,” or “Under the Leads.” They were so named from their position, directly under the roof. They were hot as ovens in summer, and as cold as refrigerators in winter, and they were connected with the room where the famous Council of Ten used to sit. From these prisons persons accused of crimes against the republic were taken before the Council, whose members sat with their faces covered with masks, and their bodies wrapped in cloaks and mantles, so that it was utterly impossible to identify them. To be dragged before the Council was equivalent to a sentence of death; and generally the trial of an offender would be very brief.

Any one could make an accusation against a person, who would be speedily arrested and taken to trial. He never knew who were his accusers; and very often he did not know what testimony was to be given against him.

[Sidenote: THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS.]

From the Council Chamber he was generally taken to execution, though not always; in either case he was led across the famous Ponte di Sospiri, or Bridge of Sighs; and according to tradition the bridge received its name because prisoners, weeping and sighing, were led across it for execution, or were taken from the prison for trial before the Council of Ten.

Byron has written,—

“I stood in Venice by the Bridge of Sighs, A palace and a prison on either hand.”

Between the Ducal Palace and the prison proper of Venice there is a narrow canal. The bridge is elevated far above the water, and has two passages, each about four feet in width. In regard to these passages traditions differ: one tradition is, that the two were designed, one for noble prisoners, and one for plebeians, while another says that they were used indifferently, patrician or plebeian being allowed either passage without regard to the rank or position he held. The reader can accept whichever explanation suits him best.

Down beneath the palace was a real dungeon: it could never have been an inviting place, and it is very far from being so at this day. No effort is made to keep it in fine condition: it is not carpeted; its walls are not painted, neither are they frescoed. I remember on my first visit that, after we had wandered through the palace, our guide descended a series of stairways, and finally brought us to a place below the level of the water which surrounds Venice. “Here,” said he, “are the dungeons; and here is where many state prisoners, who offended the laws of Venice, passed the portion of their lives immediately preceding their deaths. You can enter them, gentlemen, and see how you would like them.”

[Sidenote: IMPRISONED IN THE LOWEST DEPTH.]

Torches were lighted, and we told the guide that we preferred to follow him. On we went, where not a ray of light from the outer world could reach us. Had our torches been extinguished we should have been in darkness as deep as that of the lowest and most elaborate mine in the world. It did not require a vivid imagination to roll back the centuries, and bring before us the thousands and thousands of men who had lain there, day after day, without hope, until led to trial, and thence to execution. What a world of mystery lies concealed in these prisons! Here is the cell where Marino Faliero was confined; and here is the cell where Jacopo Foscari passed the days preceding his execution; and here is the cell where dozens of men of noble birth and gentle rearing were kept day after day, till they died of starvation and for want of fresh air. The cells are little boxes, some of them not more than six or eight feet square, and not high enough to allow a tall man to stand erect. One cell is only four feet high; and it was said that a healthy man confined in this cell generally died on the sixth day, owing to the dampness and impurity of the air he was compelled to breathe.

To have a practical realization for a few moments of the horrors of imprisonment, we entered one of these cells, and told the guide to take away the torches and not to return for five minutes, whether we called him or not. He went away; the air had been chilly, damp, and disagreeable; and it seemed ten times more so as the light disappeared. The darkness was of the intensest blackness; we could not distinguish anything. With our faces turned towards the door of the cell it seemed the same; the finger held an inch before the eye was no more visible than if it had been cut off and buried a hundred feet deep in the earth.

One minute was quite enough of this sort of thing, and we were inclined to shout for the guide, when we remembered that we had told him to get out of hearing, and not to return even if we called.

I almost expected the ghost of one of the departed occupants to rise before me, and add to the discomfort of the occasion. A ghost is bad enough anywhere; but I always prefer to encounter him above ground, and where there is, at least, enough light to enable me to see him. Had one of those gentlemen made his appearance, it would have been necessary for him to bring a lantern, or rub his unearthly limbs with phosphorus, to enable us to see him.

But no ghost made his appearance, possibly for the reason that the body in the flesh had had quite enough of that place, and had no wish to send his shadow back again. The five minutes’ absence of the guide seemed at least an hour, and when he returned we welcomed him with all the enthusiasm with which we would have welcomed a brother from whom we had been separated a dozen years. We told him that we thought he had been away much longer than the time stipulated, but he assured us he had not.

On narrating this incident afterwards to a party of gentlemen in Paris, I was told of a similar experience, only a great deal more so, of a couple of travellers, one an Englishman and the other an American, who tried the experiment which we did. It seems that the men wished for a little taste of imprisonment, and sent away their guide for half an hour.

It happened to be near the close of the day. Their guide was a stupid fellow, and thought he would improve his thirty minutes by retiring to a _Trattoria_ to indulge in a bottle of cheap wine. So he came out of the palace and crossed the Piazzetta San Marco to a restaurant near the corner of the piazza. He took his wine, indulged himself for about twenty minutes, and then started on his return. He had not observed the hour of his departure from the palace, and when he returned to the entrance he found it closed. It was the time for closing, and the persons in charge of the premises had shut the doors and gone away.

[Sidenote: SHUT UP ALL NIGHT.]

Here was a predicament. He had left the two gentlemen down in the dungeon in total darkness, where he could not reach them, and where their shouts could not be heard. He tried to obtain an entrance to the palace, and to explain the matter, but the porters were obstinate, and did not believe his story. Italians are very suspicious, and the custodian of the palace suspected that he wished to get inside in order to steal something; so they turned him away, and he walked off sorrowing.

It was during the time Venice was under the rule of Austria. The Austrian officers were never inclined to show any favors to the Italians, and consequently the appeals of the guide to those in charge of the city were of no avail. So, finally, with Italian resignation to what could not be very well helped, he went home, wrapped himself in the bosom of his family, and slept the sleep of the innocent and conscientious.

[Sidenote: MAKING A NIGHT OF IT.]

Meantime the two travellers were having a good time of it down below. They stood it for a while very well, but the half hour appeared to them three or four times what it really was. Very soon the thing ceased to be a joke. They were well aware that the time might seem long to them, but they thought it was stretching itself out altogether too much for comfort. They were in a cell where they could not walk around, and where there was no chance to kill time by turning summersaults or playing leap-frog. They stood a while and talked; then they stood a while and swore; and then they had another period of standing still and shouting. The facilities for standing still were unlimited, but those for doing anything else were very much restricted.

They shouted themselves hoarse, and obtained no response. The result of their swearing was pretty nearly the same. They began to grow hungry and thirsty, but there was nothing to eat, and there were no materials at hand for quenching their thirst. The half hour extended to an hour, and then to two hours, and then they concluded to sit down and wait for the fellow to come back. They had no means of knowing how time was passing, as their watches were not of that peculiar kind that strikes the hours, and tells you how you are getting along.

They listened and listened, and finally they heard sounds; but they were not welcome ones, as they were caused by the rats that ran about the place. The rats seemed to have a fondness for the dungeon. They did not make much noise, and could only be heard when the strangers were perfectly still; but there they were in goodly numbers, and their presence was not consoling to the travellers.