Only a short walk from Bell loom up the frowning walls of Beauchamp Tower, than which there is no more interesting place in the entire enclosure. Its architecture is of the reign of John and Henry III. Its name is derived from Thomas De Beauchamp, Earl of Warwick, imprisoned here during the reign of Richard II. This tower is in the center of the western side of the inner ward, and in a half circle projects from the strong ballium walls, and is two stories in height. Its walls are covered with inscriptions made by different prisoners; some indicative of their mental agony during their captivity; many, indeed the most, expressing Christian fortitude and pious resignation to their hard lot.
The first name noticed is that of Marmaduke Neville, near the entrance. He was one of the Nevilles, Earls of Westmoreland, and was implicated in a plot to place Mary Stuart upon the throne during Elizabeth’s reign. In the southern recess is shown an inscription in old Italian: “Dispoi che voie la fortuna che la mea speranza va al vento pianger, hovolio el tempo per dudo; e semper stel me tristo, e disconteto. Wilim: Tyrrel, 1541.” The mournful burden of which comes like a sigh of despair from out the past, “Since fortune hath chosen that my hope should go to the wind to complain, I wish the time were destroyed; my planet being ever sad and unfavorable.” Alas, unhappy one! Your words no doubt were but the echo of many sad hearts that found the times were indeed out of joint.
Over the fireplace is a beautiful and touching inscription: “Quanto plus afflictionis pro Christo in hoc sæculo, tanto plus gloriæ cum Christo in futuro. Arundell, June 22, 1587,” which being interpreted is, “The more affliction for Christ in this world, the more glory with Christ in the next.”
This was written by Philip Howard, Earl of Arundel, whose devotion to the Romish church during Elizabeth’s reign, brought so much odium upon him, and made for him so many enemies that he at last resolved to leave his country, friends, and his wife, to whom he was devotedly attached, and go into voluntary exile for his better safety. He informed the Queen in a most pathetic letter of his intention, designing she should not receive it until he was well out of way, but by some freak of fortune, the letter fell into the hands of his foes, and he was seized as he was setting sail from the coast of Sussex. He was sent to the Tower and kept a close prisoner for forty years, when worn out with his long and cruel confinement and sorrow he died, realizing at the end, we hope, the truth of the touching words he traced upon his prison walls.
There are several interesting inscriptions made by Arthur and Edmund Poole, great-grandsons of the Duke of Clarence. These young gentlemen were also accused for conspiring for Mary Stuart, adjudged traitors, and pined away their lives in hopeless captivity. Well might the White Rose of Scotland have said with Helen of Troy:
“Many drew swords and died; where’er I came,
I brought calamity.”
One inscription reads:
“IHS. A passage perillus maketh a port pleasant. Ao. 1568. Arthur Poole, Æ sue 37, A. P.”