Weekly Calaveras chronicle., 1868-03-21
CALAVERAS CHRONICLE.
Horrors of Nuremberg Castle.

tir Cofnn writes to the Boston Jour.
nat from Nuremberg, Bavaria, as fol-
lows:
Come with me to this old town, enter
some of these edifces and look upon
the administration of government as it
was in the 10th and 18th centuries.
We enter one of the castles, descend
five steps, and find ourselves iu muse
um, where are preserved the books of
records, giving history of the past
and not only books, but implsmen nts and
instruments which show more clearly
than written words the administi alton
of those days with which the govern
ment of the Unitnd States is now COM
pared. Here is post four feet high
in the center of the room, with two
curious fixtures on the top, having
some resemblance to gun locks.
What is this? The girl who acts as
our usher raises tue hammers, which
come up with click. She touches a
spring, and down they go, with snap
that startles you-forced down by strong
springs that would have crushed your
fingers to jelly had they been under
the hammer. This is the finger crush
er, delicate little instrument used to
extort confessions from reluctant wit
nesses or suspected criminals. Here
are bracelets for the wrists not of gold
or silver, but of iron, and the parts that
touch the wrists filled with needles.
Put them on your arms and turn 3
screw and they close upon the flesh,
the needles piercing through cords, ten
dons, flesh and bones. 1t is one degree
more exeruciating than crushing the
fingers.
Here is head dress-a crown which
has been worn by many men and wo-
men. 1t has sharp knives which cut
through the scalp to the skull. Here
are chains and weis hts, locks and keys,
handouts and clasps for the ankles,
stocks for the feet, weights to hold your
feet to the floor, and pulleys to draw
your head at the same time to the CELL
ing. Here is a bench of solid oak, a
corrugated surface, upon which men
have been laid, held down by cords, to
undergo the kneading process, and that
rolling pin, knotty and knobby, also of
oak, which lies upon the table, has been
rolled backward and forward over the
naked forms Of men and women,
kneading the live flesh to bloody dough.
Time and space would fail me were |
to enumerate the instruments of torture
here, or to set forth their uses. We
can only look at the cradle-a huge
trough of oak on rockers-the bottom
and sides thickly set with pins, in
which many victims have been rocked
to death. Think of lying on a bed of
oaken pins, rolling to the right to the
left-always against the pins-till the
flesh becomes livid jelly. Here is a
string of beads, each bead sixteen sided,
about as large as hickory nuts. This
WAS for saving off legs and arms.
Here is an instrument shaped like q
pear. 1t is of iron, but to all appear.
ance harmless thing. But just take
it for moment into your mouth and
let me give gentle pull at the string
attached to the stem Of the pear, and i.
will be no longer pear bit full blown
lily-an iron lily unfolding its leaves Sc
suddenly and violently that your jaws
are forced open until the joints crack in
their sockets, while the delicate petals
become pincers, which grasp you
tongue. No outcry now. No utteranc'
of words. No screaming to raise the
neighborhood. Means and sighs only
from the sufferer. One twitch of thu
string, aud the tongue is torn out BY
the roots.
We must leave the museum withou
mentioning the hundreds of curiosities
We go out into the court yard, stopping
moment to pluck leaf from lime
tree which was in full vigor seven hun
dred years ago, and then we enter
another door, descend long flight o
steps, to dark, dismal dungeons, where
no light ever falls except through mar
row, iron grated windows. Here are
ladders, with windlass and pulleys, OF
which victims were stretched till bone
snapped, till joints leaped from thei
sockets, and cords aud tendons wer,
torn asunder. Here are racks ant
wheels, pillories aud stocks, whips ant
manacles. This was the place of tor
ture. We leave these and creep through
narrow passage, through doorway afte
doorway, and reach, at last, far unde
ground, far beneath all sight and sount
of the world, darker dungeon. Thi
is the room of the Iron Maiden.
Here is the statue or image-a maid
en- with hood upon her head, an iroI
ruffie around the neck, enveloped in al
iron cloak. Suddenly the folds Of th
cloak are thrown apart, and by the din
light of the candle you see that tn
lining of the garment is set with shar]
spikes. Take one step forward and th
folds enclose you. Iron spikes pierce
your body, and into your eyeballs, clea
to the vertebre, they penetrate. No
quick embrace, but slowly you ar,
embodied, one turn of the screw, jus
enough to penetrate the flesh, jus
enoug II to touch the apple of the quiv
ering eye; then, after an age of an
guish, another turn and a hundre,
spikes reach little nearer to the nerves
and then heat, thirst and fever racl
the body, another gentle turn ant
another age of torture and then on
more advance of the spikes toward tn
vitals till death comes on. and then tn