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.
[Illustration: COLONEL BLOOD WHO ATTEMPTED TO STEAL THE CROWN AND ORB IN
THE REIGN OF CHARLES II (_From the National Portrait Gallery_)]
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.
[Illustration: COLONEL BLOOD STEALING THE CROWN AND ORB]
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.
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