Condescending to be his own cicerone in the case, he conducted the rustic band from one place to another, until—greatly wondering at everything they saw—they had traversed nearly the whole premises. At last, just when they had come to that part of the Castle Moat, over which a lofty bridge communicated with the Keep,[291] he invited them to pause, and examine the scene at leisure.
“Now, at this point,” says Bayly, “Lord Herbert had lately contrived certain water-works, which, when the several engines and wheels were set agoing, vast quantities of water through the hollow conveyances were to be let down from the top of the high tower.” All being ready for action, a signal from the Marquess brought down through these a deluge of cataracts, which, by their roaring, hissing, and foaming through the hollow tubes, produced such a hideous and deafening noise, that every echo from the buildings around was roused into imitation; while the visitors themselves, suddenly enveloped in a magic circle of roaring cataracts, knew not what to think, nor which way to turn. Describing the effect in his own graphic style, the Chaplain writes:—
“Such was the roaring, as if the mouth of hell had been thrown wide open, and all the devils had been conjured up, that the poor silly men stood so amazed, as if they had been half dead; and yet they saw nothing!”
At last, as the plot was contrived, up comes a man in great haste and affected trepidation; and staring wildly at the half-petrified rustics, cried out as he passed them—“Look to yourselves, my masters; look to yourselves; for, by’r Lady, the lions are all broke loose!” Hereupon the rustic “arms-searchers” fell into such a dancing fit of ague, that, in their attempts to escape the lions’ jaws, they tumbled so over one another as they scampered down stairs, that it was feared one half of them had broken their necks. Nor did they once look behind them, until they found themselves a full mile beyond the gates of the castle.
By this ruse, the Marquess completely succeeded in warding off any second party disposed to make a similar experiment. The demand for arms was not repeated; the roar of Worcester’s “lions” kept all intruders at bay; and the recent adventure, which had lost nothing by telling, did more for a time to insure the tranquillity of Raglan Castle, than could have been accomplished by a regiment of cavalry.
View from the Keep.—The Donjon Tower, where the above adventure occurred—and which has been already described in these pages—commands a magnificent view over the surrounding country, particularly to the south-west, where the landscape—broken into verdant masses of vegetation—gradually swells into a mountain range, which limits the view, and depicts its own bold outline on the distant horizon. In describing this view, we shall be as particular as our limits will permit; for it is one of the finest in the county. The ascent, as usual in such buildings, is by a tourniquet staircase, which opens at each of the five different stories into the ancient, and, in the present case, lofty apartments; to which, in cases of imminent danger, the family could retreat as to an inviolable sanctuary. But this was an extremity to which—so far as we are informed—none of the Worcester family were ever compelled to resort. So that there are no dramatic incidents associated with the tower, upon which a romantic story of siege and storm might be founded.
Of this view, however, all visitors of taste in landscape-painting speak in terms of admiration; and, having made the experiment on a beautiful evening in September, we are bound, from the enjoyment it afforded us, to recommend to all visitors a tour of the battlements, closing with a view from the top of the Keep. In this view, as shown in the accompanying engraving, is comprehended a wide panorama, enriched and embellished with all the characteristic features of English landscape, from the green valley and fertile wheat-field to the bleak pastoral uplands that partly enclose the scene. All the foreground is occupied by smiling cottages and cultivated farms, half buried, as Mr. Thomas[292] has described them, in the umbrageous and many-coloured foliage that enriches the scene, and in which the melancholy yew-tree is conspicuous. The appearance of the ruins in this bird’s-eye view is particularly striking. Every tower, arch, and battlement—here diverging into distinct form and outline, and there grouped in picturesque confusion—strike the spectator with mixed feelings of surprise and amazement; for it is only from this elevation that he is enabled to form any correct estimate of the beauty, variety, and extent of a building, that seems every way fitted to have been the residence of a regal court.
The following table, as recommended by Mr. Thomas,[293] will assist the curious visitor in discovering the various hills and landmarks which are generally visible from the Tower of Gwent. Ranging from east to south, the prominent features of the landscape appear in the following order: namely—the Kymin, a conical hill overlooking the town of Monmouth, and crowned with its pavilion. The next is Troy Park, the favourite seat of the Ducal family; Craig-y-Dorth, the scene of a famous battle between Henry IV. and Owen Glendower; then the Trellig range of hills, particularly Beacon Hill—so called
View from the Battlements.