THE LATER SANCTUARY
The Sanctuary created and crossed by the Church for the refuge of those
who had fallen into temptation became, as we know, the resort of the
rogue, the murderer, and the habitual criminal. Within the precincts of
St.-Martin's-le-Grand were carried on with impunity all the trades and
methods of producing things counterfeit. The Sanctuary of Westminster
was a scandal and a disgrace. These places had been finally abolished
after much trouble: the City officers could march their rogues to
Newgate without fear of a rescue from St. Martin's. The people of
Westminster could lie down at night without fear of housebreakers from
Sanctuary. At the same time the custom of holding and seeking sanctuary
was too deep-rooted to be quickly abolished. Perhaps there was something
comfortable in the thought that there should be a place, however small,
where the officers of the law were not admitted, and where rogues should
be unmolested. It was a loophole for repentance, perhaps: it was a gleam
of sunshine on the path of the outlaw. So the custom was continued well
into the eighteenth century. In this chapter I am going to recall the
memory of these later Sanctuaries. As may be imagined, literature says
little about them. But it says enough to show that there were places
dotted about London which served all the purposes of the old sanctuaries
without the restraints of ecclesiastical government: in fact, there was
no government, except on purely democratic principles. In these places
lived rogues and villains of all kinds: here the thief-taker came to
find his man--observe that this functionary was admitted; the
thief-taker ventured where the sheriff's officer could not. Why was
this? Because the London rogue had a sense of justice: no man could
expect to go on for ever: when a man's time was up, let him give place
to his successor. The thief-taker, therefore, was a recognised official:
it was his duty to assign to every man his proper length of rope. This
allowance expended, it was the duty of the rogue to get up when he was
called, go away quietly with the thief-taker, and get hanged in due
course. Otherwise, there would have been no living to be made by the
rogues on account of the competition of numbers. The name of Alsatia had
been long forgotten, but the asylum still remained.
In the 'Fortunes of Nigel' we are made acquainted with the Alsatia of
Fleet Street. There were other places equally secure for rogues, besides
Alsatia. Such were Whetstone Park in Lincoln's Inn Fields; Fullwood's
Rents, Holborn; Milford Lane, Strand; Montagu Close, Southwark; and
others. All these were gradually extinguished; not by any summary
procedure; not by turning out the rogues and forcing them to scatter;
not by marching off the whole population to prison; but by the slower
and more gradual process of transformation. This process began when the
parts and places around became respectable. There is something chilling
and repellent to the common rogue about the proximity of respectability:
he does not like to be in its neighbourhood: in this way these
degenerate and unlawful sanctuaries gradually fell into decay. One alone
remained, when all the others had disappeared. It was in that part of
Southwark--that part which is still a slum--called Mint Street, nearly
opposite St. George's Church in the High Street. This street, with its
alleys and courts, was inhabited by as villainous a collection as even
the eighteenth century, which in point of villains was rich beyond its
predecessors, could not equal. They had retreated here from their
former haunt in Montagu Close, as to a last fortress, which was not yet
besieged. They lived in perfect safety here: no writ could be served on
them: no arrest could be made: the only person they had to fear was, as
said above, the thief-taker.
The annals of this Sanctuary were never, unfortunately, kept; it is
impossible to ascertain what illustrious criminals were here housed and
for how long. There are, however, one or two little histories of the
Mint which will serve to show us at once the public spirit, the courage,
and the immunity with which the people of the later Sanctuary lived and
acted.
The first story belongs to the year 1715. The case of Dormer _v._ Dormer
and Jones came on for hearing at Westminster Hall. It was a divorce
case, in which the co-respondent had been a footman in the plaintiff's
house. There seems to have been no defence, practically. The verdict of
the Jury was for the plaintiff, with 5,000_l._ damages. Now, consider
for a moment what that verdict meant. In these days, when a defendant
without any private means at all is mulcted in damages and costs,
whether of 5,000_l._ or of 100_l._, he simply smiles. He is not in the
least degree affected. Nothing worse than bankruptcy can happen to him,
and when a man has nothing bankruptcy presents few terrors. In Portugal
Street _subridet vacuus viator_--the insolvent pilgrim smiles
cheerfully. But in those days it was very different. To inflict damages
of 5,000_l._ meant simply that the Jury considered the case one in which
the defendant, who could not be tried in the criminal courts, could only
be adequately punished by being locked up for the whole of his remaining
days in a debtor's prison, where, since he was only a footman whose
relations were probably unable to assist him and certainly unable to
maintain him, he would speedily take his place on the common side, and
there he would be slowly done to death by insufficient food and
insufficient clothing, by privation, cold, fever and misery.
The Jury therefore gave this verdict with deliberate intention. It meant
prison and slow starvation and insufficient warmth, and so everybody
instantly understood, including Mr. Jones himself. In a moment the
officers would have laid hands upon the unhappy but undeserving footman.
But he was too quick for them: he turned: he fled: he hurled himself
down Westminster Hall through the crowd of lawyers, witnesses,
booksellers, glovesellers, and visitors: he tore across New Palace Yard,
now pursued by the officers: he made for the 'Bridge,' that is, the pier
so called, for as yet there was no Bridge: he jumped into the first boat
and shoved off. When the bailiffs arrived breathless at the Stairs, they
saw their prisoner already half way across the river. They too jumped
into a boat: for some reason or other--one knows not why--it was most
unlucky--their boat took a long time to get off: something was wrong
with the painter: the ropes were knotted: the stretchers wanted to be
set right: the oars were on the wrong sides: the men were slow in
getting off their coats: finally, when she was cast loose the boat
proved to be another Noah's Ark for creeping slowly over the face of the
waters. Jones therefore got safely ashore on the other side, and the
bailiffs turned back with a good deal of cursing. Once ashore, the
fugitive made straight to Mint Street, as to a Levitical City which was
also a City of Refuge. I know not what became of him afterwards. It was
a hive where all the bees were busy. Jones could not eat the bread of
idleness: he therefore, one may certainly conclude, became a rogue by
profession and in due course met his fate bravely with white ribbons
round his cap, an orange in one hand, a Prayer-book in the other, and a
large nosegay in his shirt front.
Here is another story of the same Eighteenth Century Sanctuary. It will
seem incredible that the Executive should have been so incapable, but
the story is literally true.
[Illustration: MINT STREET, BOROUGH]
Things being in so satisfactory and settled a condition, the Law being
so triumphantly defied, at the Mint in Southwark, some of the residents
or collegians naturally desired to go farther afield, and to establish
more Sanctuaries or Law-defying colonies on the other side of the
river, which was reported to be ripe for these settlements. No reports
of Meetings, Proceedings, and Resolutions held and passed on the subject
have come down to us. However, that matters very little. Every great
movement, we know, is the work of one man. Therefore there arose a
Prophet--the Prophet as Rogue. He perceived, understood, and presently
began to preach that a 'long felt want'--call it rather a
'need'--existed, which it was his duty to supply. The old Sanctuaries of
North London, he pointed out, had fallen into decay. Alsatia was
deplorably respectable: bailiffs had been seen in Milford Lane: the
trade of counterfeit rings was no longer carried on in St. Martin's.
And, though there were certainly taverns in Clerkenwell which bailiffs
regarded with a useful respect, it could not be denied that London
needed a new Sanctuary. This need he called upon his friends and
fellow-residents in the Mint to supply. He set before his hearers with
burning eloquence--I am sure it was burning--a Vision of a New London,
Purged; Purified; without honesty; without morals; without law; with
neither gallows, pillory, whipping post, or stocks: a City entirely in
the hands of Rogues who would compel all the conquered City to work for
them: would seize on all property and would live triumphantly happy with
complete control over all the Prisons. To make a beginning of this
Millennium, he proposed, by means of colonies from the Mint, to plant
all London with Sanctuaries until, in fulness of time, the City should
become one huge Sanctuary, where debts would never be collected, and
robbery and murder would never be punished.
They chose for their new settlement a piece of ground on the east of
Tower Hill, where Cable Street is now. They laid down their boundaries:
they called the place the New Mint: they said, 'Within these limits
there shall be no arrest.' This new law they communicated fairly and
plainly, because everything was above board, to all the catchpoles. They
then sat down as in an impregnable fortress. Remember, that if there
were no police, such as we now understand by the word, they were close
to the soldiers of the Tower, who might have been called in to disperse
this lawless establishment. However, nothing at all was done. They sat
down triumphant. Presently--I know not how long afterwards--a bailiff
was actually found to disregard the warning. You will hardly believe
that this rash and audacious person ventured to arrest a New Minter
within the Precincts!
Then the colonists arose and formed into column: they called for music:
preceded by a band of what used to be called the Whifflers, they marched
in a procession, four abreast, quietly, calmly, but with settled purpose
in their gallant and resolute faces: they carried a banner, yea, the
Flag of Unrighteousness: they marched straight to the house of the
offender, who, for his part, was so foolish as not to run away. It is,
however, a weakness common to Catchpoles that they always put their
trust in the Law. They arrested that Catchpole: they led him to the
place where he had offended: and there they made an example of him. They
tore away every shred of clothing from him: they flogged him all over
with brooms and thorny brambles: they gave him a thousand lashes, so
that there was not a whole inch of skin left upon him: they dragged him
through filthy ponds and laystalls: they took him out and flogged him
again: they tried to flog the life out of the poor wretch but failed,
for he survived: then they dragged him again through the filth: at last
they suffered him, bleeding and naked, to crawl home as best he might. I
am sorry to say that I have no information as to the end of the New Mint
adventure; but it certainly appears that no one was punished for this
outrage, and that no attempt even was made to punish anyone. Perhaps the
memory of that gallant deed still lingers in Cable Lane: but I have not
ventured to inquire of the still rude and independent freemen, its
present residents.