Homes and Haunts of the Most Eminent British Poets, Vol. 2 (of 2)Howitt, William
General
Homes and Haunts of the Most Eminent British Poets, Vol. 2 (of 2)
Howitt, William
Literary landmarks -- Great Britain; Poets, English -- Homes and haunts
But the most extraordinary scene in the whole place is an iron cage in
the lobby of the keeper's house, containing the irons of the most
signal malefactors, and the weapons with which they committed their
murders. There are Dick Turpin's shackles, with a massy bar of iron,
about two feet long, and more than twenty-eight pounds' weight, which
were put on his legs when he had twice escaped out of the castle; and
a girdle of iron to put round his waist, with chains and iron
handcuffs for his hands. There is the most horrid collection of
hedge-stakes, huge and knotted pieces of rails, of pokers, and
hammers, of guns, and knives, and razors, with which murders have been
perpetrated, each of which the jailer relates. There is a huge piece
of a spar and a heavy stone with which one murderer destroyed his
victim. The stakes with which three men knocked out the brains of
another in a wood. There is a stone, I suppose ten pounds' weight, at
least, hanging by the cord which a mother put round the neck of her
infant, and sunk it to the bottom of a pond. There is a piece of the
skull of Daniel Clarke, murdered, as it is said, by Eugene Aram; and
hats battered in, or shot through by the assassin. There are iron
bludgeons terminated with knobs of lead, to conceal under coats; and
crowbars bent at the end, to force open doors. These, with the casts
of the heads of some of the most noted murderers, form a sufficiently
horrible spectacle. It is a history of human ferocity and guilt,
actually written in iron and in blood, which still dyes the dreadful
instruments of its perpetration with its dismal rust of death.
Escaping from this exhibition, I did not do as one of the visitors
said he must go and do--get a stout glass of brandy to rid him of his
queerness,--but I did as Montgomery did on escaping from the
prison,--went and walked along the footpath by the Ouse, under the
noble elms which he had so often seen waving in their greenness from
his cell.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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