QUEEN ANNE
Few prisoners of any degree were committed to the Tower during the
reign of Anne, except during the first year of her rule, when the
Continental wars brought some French prisoners of war, who were
confined there. In 1712, however, the famous Sir Robert Walpole
was committed to the Tower “for high breach of trust and notorious
corruption.” Walpole’s committal was entirely due to political
intrigue, and his disgrace and imprisonment closely resembled that
of the Duke of Choiseul in the reign of Louis XVI., when half of the
French society of the day flocked to the fallen Minister’s house
at Chanteloup. Walpole’s apartment in the Tower was crowded all
day long with a succession of smart folk, among whom the Duke and
Duchess of Marlborough, with whom the Queen had broken off her former
great intimacy, were conspicuous; Godolphin, Somers, Sunderland, and
Pulteney, Earl of Bath, were also frequent visitors.
Three years after Walpole had left his rooms in the Tower they were
occupied by George Granville, Earl of Lansdowne—a nobleman of strong
Jacobite proclivities. He was a poet as well as a Jacobite, and finding
Walpole’s name written on the window of the room, he wrote beneath it
the following distich:—
“Good unexpected, evil unforeseen,
Appear by turns, as fortune shifts the scene;
Some, raised aloft, come tumbling down amain,
And fall so hard, they bound and rise again.”
It may be interesting at this place to recall some of the incidents
connected with the Mint in the Tower.
Few persons on reading the name of John Rotier, which is placed on the
commemoration brass tablet in the Chapel of St Peter’s in the Tower
bearing the names of the illustrious dead there buried, would probably
have an idea of his claims to distinction. So little artistic interest
is connected with the old fortress that Rotier’s name deserves more
than a passing mention.
John Rotier, or Roettier, belonged to a family of medallists, and was
the son of an Antwerp jeweller who had been of considerable assistance
to Charles II. during his exile. Rotier came over to England soon
after Charles returned, and, on the recommendation of the King, was
received into the Mint under Simon the chief medallist. In the year
1662, Rotier, with his two brothers, became the King’s medallist, with
quarters in the Tower. Pepys often came to see the three brothers at
work, and was much interested in 1667, when Rotier was engaged in
making a new medal for Charles, in which the figure of Britannia was
being taken from the beautiful face and form of Miss Stuart, one of
Charles’s mistresses, and afterwards Duchess of Richmond; this is the
same figure, with a little alteration, that appears on our copper pence
at the present day. Rotier had also made a Great Seal for Charles, and
on the accession of James he made that monarch’s coronation medal.
The King’s profile appears on the obverse of this medal, and on the
reverse is a trophy of armour, with ships in the background, and
the words “Genus Antu Antiquum” engraved above. It appears to be an
excellent likeness, the determined lines of obstinacy and self-will
which marked James’s face being admirably rendered. When William came
to the throne of his father-in-law Rotier fell into disgrace, being
supposed to be a Jacobite, a not unnatural supposition, seeing his
connection with both James and Charles. But what was more alarming
than any supposition of Jacobite sympathies was a rumour that the
exiled King had returned, and was lying concealed in Rotier’s lodgings:
he was promptly accused of stealing some dies from the Mint, and of
striking coins for the service of James.
[Illustration: _THE SOUTH-EAST PROSPECT OF THE CHAPEL ROYAL OF Sᵀ.
PETER IN THE TOWER._]
A Committee of the House of Commons sat on the poor medallist, its
decision being that “It is too great a trust and may be of dangerous
consequence for the said Roettier to have the custody of the dies, he
being a Roman Catholic and keeping an Irish Papist in his house, and
having the custody of the said dies, it lies in his power to let them
out when he pleases, or to coin false money in the Tower. That the Lord
Lucas has complained that the Tower is not safe while so many Papists
are entertained in Roettier’s house.” All Roetier’s dies and puncheons
were accordingly seized, and he himself was driven from the Tower.
He appears to have returned, however, in 1703, just after a visit he
had received from Sir Godfrey Kneller, who had been sent to him by
Queen Anne to execute a medal of her Majesty, which, however, the old
medallist was unable to perform; he died shortly afterwards, and was
buried in St Peter’s Chapel.
In an interesting article by Mr W. J. Hocking in the _Gentleman’s
Magazine_ for March 1895, entitled “Money-making in the Tower,” there
is some curious information respecting the Mint once established in
the Tower. Mr Hocking says that coining operations have been carried
on in the Tower in every reign since the Conquest, save in those of
Richard I. and Edward V. It is even possible that the Romans struck
their money in the Tower, for Constantine had a mint working in London,
the treasurer of which bore the title of Praepositus Thesaurorum
Augustinium. In Edward the Third’s reign it was enacted that all
moneys, wherever coined, should be made in the same manner as in the
Tower. James I. was present at the trial of the Pix in the Tower, and
“diligently viewed the state of his money and mint.”
Money was coined in fifteen places at least, besides the Tower, in the
reign of Charles I. It was during his tenure of the crown that Nicholas
Briot, a French engraver, worked at the Tower, the money then turned
out being said to be the finest in the world.
After the Restoration small steel rolling-mills were set up in the
Tower driven by horse and water power, the cost of striking one year’s
coinage being £1400. The new milled coinage was a great improvement
on the old hammered coins. It was at this time that the great English
medallist Simon’s “Petition Medal” was produced. This came from a
competition, between him and Roetier; the latter won the competition,
and consequently made the puncheons and dies for the new coinage. Simon
was infuriated by his defeat and spoke some hasty words which, being
repeated to Charles, caused his dismissal. Some twenty of Simon’s
“petition medals” were struck, with the legend round their edges as
follows:—“Thomas Simon most humbly prays your Majesty to compare this
his tryall piece with the Dutch (Roetier’s), and if more truly drawn
and embossed, more gracefully order’d and more accurately engraven, to
relieve him.” For one of these medals as much as £500 has been given by
a firm of London coin-dealers, so rare is the piece.
The punishment meted out to coiners and clippers of coins in this
reign was incredibly barbarous. In those so-called “good old times”
in one day seven men were hanged and a woman burned for clipping and
counterfeiting the current coin.
A Coinage Act was passed by Parliament in 1696, and under its
provisions all the old hammered money was called in, melted in furnaces
near Whitehall, and sent in ingots to the Tower, to reappear in the
new milled form. That wonderful man, Sir Isaac Newton, was made
Master of the Tower Mint, and the number of mills being increased
by his advice, in a few months, owing to his energy, a time of great
commercial prosperity ensued. In 1810 the new Office of the Mint was
opened on Little Tower Hill, where it still remains.
[Illustration: _The Beauchamp Tower_]
The following is taken from Mr Hocking’s article on the Tower Mint:—
“On the morning of December 20th, 1798, James Turnbull, one Dalton,
and two other men were engaged in the press-room swinging the fly of
the screw-press, while Mr Finch, one of the manager’s apprentices, fed
the press with gold blank pieces, which were struck into guineas. At
nine o’clock Mr Finch sent the men to their breakfast. They all four
went out; but Dalton and Turnbull returned almost directly. And while
the latter held the door, Turnbull drew a pistol and advanced upon Mr
Finch, demanding the key of the closet where the newly-coined guineas
were kept. Finch, paralyzed with fear and surprise, yielded it up. An
old gentleman who was in the room expostulated; but both were forced
into a sort of passage or large cupboard and locked in. Turnbull then
helped himself to the guineas, and managed to get off with no less
than 2308. For nine days he effectually concealed himself in the
neighbourhood, and then, while endeavouring to escape to France, was
apprehended. He was tried, convicted, and sentenced to death. In his
defence he cleared Dalton from any willing complicity in the crime.”
Turnbull was executed at the Old Bailey.