_PUT TO THE QUESTION._
Low, hidden in the very foundations of the Castle of Rougemont, was an
arched dungeon of considerable dimensions, which only the initiated
knew.
You descended into it by a winding staircase, excavated in the very
thickness of the wall, and entered, after a descent of thirty steps, on
opening a huge door of stone, which shut again with a resonant clang,
and struck horror into the heart.
It had no communication with other cells, neither had it any species of
window; so that those who were within, when the door was shut, were cut
off from all sight and sound of the external world.
Summer or winter, night or day, storm or calm, might reign above, all
was alike down there.
At one end was a platform of wood raised about a foot from the stone
floor; upon this stood an oaken table with writing materials, and
behind it a grand mediæval chair with the insignia of justice, the
sword and scales, carved thereon; and at the opposite end was an arched
recess concealed by a curtain, which hid both the executioners and the
implements of torture until they were needed, when some unhappy wretch
had to be “put to the question.”
But even in their most ruthless days, the dread ministers of English
justice only used torture as a last resource, to wring guilty secrets
from the criminal, when the welfare of the State appeared to sanction
the cruelty--they never descended to the fearful refinements of the
German dwellers on the Rhine in their robber castles, where fiendish
ingenuity was displayed in pushing agony to its utmost limits without
violating the sanctuary of life.[36]
On the third day solitude and silence having failed of their effect,
Cuthbert was brought down into this den.
At the table sat the governor of Rougemont, in his chair of state,
and by his side Sir John Redfyrne; a physician, clothed in a long dark
cloak, a clerk with pen and parchment, ready to take down the answers
of the prisoner, were the only other persons present, at least in
sight, when the two gaolers brought down the unfortunate youth.
“Thy name?” said the governor.
“Cuthbert Trevannion.”
“Hast thou always borne that name?”
“No, only a few years.”
“What other hast thou borne?”
“Cuthbert, only.”
“What then is thy real name?”
“I know not.”
“Who was thy father? What was he called?”
“I was a foundling, and cannot tell.”
“What is thy age?”
“I was found an infant in the wood of Avalon, on the 28th day of
December, in the year 1525.”
Sir John started at this announcement, and looked earnestly at the
speaker.
“At whose charge wast thou brought up?”
“That of the Abbot of Glastonbury.”
Sir John and the governor looked at each other as if this information
corresponded with their expectations.
“Wast thou not sometimes called ‘Hodge?’”
“After the yeoman who found me, and became my foster father.”
“How didst thou pass under the care of Sir Walter Trevannion?--men
of rank do not usually give the honour of their name to obscure
striplings.”
“I was commended to him by my benefactor, the late Abbot.”
“Thou wert, then, particularly dear to that trait----, I would say
Abbot?” said the governor, who throughout showed a desire to spare the
prisoner’s feelings, and was evidently discharging a painful task from
a sense of duty.[37]
“I was dear to him,” said Cuthbert, “but so were all his children.”
“But he trusted not all as he trusted thee?”
“I am not a fair judge of that.”
“He revealed his secrets to thee, I am told.”
“He would hardly make a mere boy the depository of many secrets; I was
hardly fourteen at his martyrdom.”
The officials all looked at each other as the last word was pronounced,
and the governor said mildly--
“‘Execution,’ thou would’st say, but we will not dispute the
subject,--dost thou remember the day when thou didst gain a silver
arrow at an archery contest?”
“I gained more prizes than one.”
“This was in the May of 1539, and Nicholas Grabber was thy competitor?”
“Yes, I remember it.”
“Well, in that same night the Abbot, as we are informed, gave thee the
honour of a private interview?”
“He often did.”
“But on this occasion, had he not a special object?”
“He would not be likely otherwise to send for me--his time was
valuable.”
“Thou evadest the question.”
“I do not comprehend it.”
“What was the _special_ object on this occasion?”
Cuthbert felt that the point was reached at last.
“I am not at liberty to disclose.”
“That is the matter at issue between us, but we hope thou wilt not
drive us to extremities, as we would fain spare thee, compassionating
thy youth. In plain words, did he not disclose to thee the mystery of
a secret chamber, where many documents of importance to the King be
concealed, and much treasure of the Abbey hidden from the royal owner,
to whom the nation hath given the property of the monasteries.”
“That is the very question I must decline to answer. If I know anything
it is not my secret, but one committed to me by the dead, under awful
sanctions.”
“A good citizen knows no higher sanction than the welfare of his
country, and our religion bids us honour and obey the King.”
“In all things lawful, but this is not lawful to me.”
“I grieve over thee, poor youth,” said the governor, “and over the
measures I _must_ take; but the orders of council are explicit, are
they not, Sir John?”
“They are, there is no alternative.”
“Gaoler, draw back the curtains.”
The curtains separated in the middle, and were drawn back to the
wall--the mystery of the arched recess was laid bare.
There stood two brawny men, beside a brazier of glowing coals, wherein
were two pincers heated to a red heat; hard by was the rack, with its
cords and pulleys, ready for working; manacles and chains hung on the
wall; scourges and thumb-screws; there was the huge iron band, with a
hinge in the middle and a padlock in front, which was placed around
the bodies of wretches condemned to the stake; all the implements known
to the English torture chamber, happily so seldom used, were there;
_seldom_, we say, but comparatively _often_ in this reign of terror.
This _coup d’oeil_ was intended to frighten, there was no intention
to bring the full resources of the chamber into very active use; the
thumb-screw alone they thought would be sufficient for a young beginner.
“Thou seest thy fate--be wise in time. Believe me, my poor youth, thou
wilt not be able to endure what is in store for thee if thou continuest
in obstinacy; be wise, therefore, and yield with grace what thou canst
not retain, and our best efforts shall be used for thy free pardon
for all laid to thy charge, only remember we cannot allow a divided
allegiance in this realm--it were death to us; thou must obey the King,
or die the death; thou hast read the ancients:--
“‘Cuncta prius tentanda, sed immedicabile vulnus
Ense recidendum est, ne pars sincera trahatur.’”[38]
“My lord,” said the poor lad, “I know I am weak, but I must do my best.
You will do your duty, and I will try to bear, which is mine.”
“Apply the thumb-screw.”
Cuthbert was told to place his thumbs together; resistance would have
been useless and unseemly, therefore he quietly complied, and the
horrid little instrument of torture was made to take them both at
once; the turning of a screw brought a sharp little bar across the
bones which compressed them until it seemed to burn the flesh like
fire, causing exquisite agony; the screw was secured by a lock, and a
chain attached to it might, if there were need, be used to attach the
prisoner to a staple in the wall, where he might be left until the
agony broke his spirit.[39]
Huge drops of sweat stood on the sufferer’s brow.
“Thou feelest a portion of what is due to thee if thou confessest not.”
“In te Domine speravi,” breathed the poor prisoner.
Minute after minute passed by, during which the struggle between bodily
pain and will continued.
At last, Sir John looked at the governor and whispered.
“Another turn!” said the latter, reluctantly.
Another turn was given to the screw, and the prisoner fainted, his
sensitive frame could bear no more.
They poured cold water over him, but it was long before he showed signs
of consciousness, and when he did so, the governor said to Sir John--
“It is useless, we can go no further to-day.”
“But you will succeed _to-morrow_, the dread will be greater now he
knows what pain is, and he _will_ yield, I predict, when brought down
once more; we shall not need a fresh application of the torture.”
“God grant it, for it is a pitiful sight, and I would sooner stand on
the field of battle; one feels a man there, and not a brute.”
“Let the poor lad be taken to his cell and all kindness shewn him,”
added the governor.
So the pleasant party broke up.
FOOTNOTES
[36] Witness their Oubliettes, which the writer has seen, shaped like
a bottle, the only opening the neck, wherein, when torture had done
its worst and no more revelations were to be hoped of the criminal,
he was dropped, to perish of his injuries in unseen agony, in cold,
hunger, and filth. Witness, too, the recent discoveries at Baden
Baden--the statue of the Virgin, which the victim was told to kiss,
whereupon a concealed trap-door, on which he stood, fell, and dropped
him upon wheels set with revolving knives. Such refinements appal the
imagination, and constrain us to ask what manner of men invented such
atrocities?
[37] Unless the reader can comprehend the intense way in which
obedience and loyalty to the King, right or wrong, swayed the people of
England in that day, he cannot comprehend the history of Bloody Harry,
and why he was permitted to work his will. The anarchy of the preceding
century, when the Wars of the Roses had drenched the country in blood,
and helped to foster the sentiment, and to make the throne the central
pillar of the edifice, the supposed bulwark of the nation.
[38]
All things should first be tried, but an incurable wound
Must with the sword be cut out, lest the sound part be affected.
[39] In John Knox’s house at Edinburgh the writer examined a similar
implement, as also at Sir Walter Scott’s house at Abbotsford.