Old Newgate.
At the beginning of the twelfth century,--whether in the reign of Henry
the First, or Stephen is uncertain,--a fifth gate was added to the four
principal entrances of the city of London; then, it is almost needless
to say, surrounded by ramparts, moats, and other defences. This gate,
called _Newgate_, "as being latelier builded than the rest," continued,
for upwards of three hundred years, to be used as a place of
imprisonment for felons and trespassers; at the end of which time,
having grown old, ruinous, and "horribly loathsome," it was rebuilt and
enlarged by the executors of the renowned Sir Richard Whittington, the
Lord Mayor of London: whence it afterwards obtained amongst a certain
class of students, whose examinations were conducted with some
strictness at the Old Bailey, and their highest degrees taken at
Hyde-park-corner, the appellation of Whittington's College, or, more
briefly, the Whit. It may here be mentioned that this gate, destined to
bequeath its name--a name, which has since acquired a terrible
significance,--to every successive structure erected upon its site, was
granted, in 1400, by charter by Henry the Sixth to the citizens of
London, in return for their royal services, and thenceforth became the
common jail to that city and the county of Middlesex. Nothing material
occurred to Newgate, until the memorable year 1666, when it was utterly
destroyed by the Great Fire. It is with the building raised after this
direful calamity that our history has to deal.
Though by no means so extensive or commodious as the modern prison, Old
Newgate was a large and strongly-built pile. The body of the edifice
stood on the south side of Newgate Street, and projected at the western
extremity far into the area opposite Saint Sepulchre's Church. One small
wing lay at the north of the gate, where Giltspur Street Compter now
stands; and the Press Yard, which was detached from the main building,
was situated at the back of Phoenix Court. The south or principal front,
looking, _down_ the Old Bailey, and not _upon it_, as is the case of the
present structure, with its massive walls of roughened freestone,--in
some places darkened by the smoke, in others blanched, by exposure to
the weather,--its heavy projecting cornice, its unglazed doubly-grated
windows, its gloomy porch decorated with fetters, and defended by an
enormous iron door, had a stern and striking effect. Over the Lodge,
upon a dial was inscribed the appropriate motto, "_Venio sicut fur_."
The Gate, which crossed Newgate Street, had a wide arch for carriages,
and a postern, on the north side, for foot-passengers. Its architecture
was richly ornamental, and resembled the style of a triumphal entrance
to a capital, rather than a dungeon having battlements and hexagonal
towers, and being adorned on the western side with a triple range of
pilasters of the Tuscan order, amid the intercolumniations of which were
niches embellished with statues. The chief of these was a figure of
Liberty, with a cat at her feet, in allusion to the supposed origin of
the fortunes of its former founder, Sir Richard Whittington. On the
right of the postern against the wall was affixed a small grating,
sustaining the debtor's box; and any pleasure which the passer-by might
derive from contemplating the splendid structure above described was
damped at beholding the pale faces and squalid figures of the captives
across the bars of its strongly-grated windows. Some years after the
date of this history, an immense ventilator was placed at the top of the
Gate, with the view of purifying the prison, which, owing to its
insufficient space and constantly-crowded state, was never free from
that dreadful and contagious disorder, now happily unknown, the
jail-fever. So frightful, indeed, were the ravages of this malady, to
which debtors and felons were alike exposed, that its miserable victims
were frequently carried out by cart-loads, and thrown into a pit in the
burial-ground of Christ-church, without ceremony.
Old Newgate was divided into three separate prisons,--the Master's Side,
the Common Side, and the Press Yard. The first of these, situated a the
south of the building, with the exception of one ward over the gateway,
was allotted to the better class of debtors, whose funds enabled them to
defray their chamber-rent, fees, and garnish. The second, comprising the
bulk of the jail, and by many degrees worse in point of accommodation,
having several dismal and noisome wards under ground, was common both to
debtors and malefactors,--an association little favourable to the morals
or comforts of the former, who, if they were brought there with any
notions of honesty, seldom left with untainted principles. The last,--in
all respects the best and airiest of the three, standing, as has been
before observed, in Phoenix Court, at the rear of the main fabric,--was
reserved for state-offenders, and such persons as chose to submit to the
extortionate demands of the keeper: from twenty to five hundred pounds
premium, according to the rank and means of the applicant, in addition
to a high weekly rent, being required for accommodation in this quarter.
Some excuse for this rapacity may perhaps be found in the fact, that
five thousand pounds was paid for the purchase of the Press Yard by Mr.
Pitt, the then governor of Newgate. This gentleman, tried for high
treason, in 1716, on suspicion of aiding Mr. Forster, the rebel
general's escape, but acquitted, reaped a golden harvest during the
occupation of his premises by the Preston rebels, when a larger sum was
obtained for a single chamber than (in the words of a sufferer on the
occasion) "would have paid the rent of the best house in Saint James's
Square or Piccadilly for several years."
Nor was this all. Other, and more serious impositions, inasmuch as they
affected a poorer class of persons, were practised by the underlings of
the jail. On his first entrance, a prisoner, if unable or unwilling to
comply with the exactions of the turnkeys, was thrust into the Condemned
Hold with the worst description of criminals, and terrified by threats
into submission. By the old regulations, the free use of strong liquors
not being interdicted, a tap-house was kept in the Lodge, and also in a
cellar on the Common Side,--under the superintendence of Mrs. Spurling,
formerly, it may be remembered, the hostess of the Dark House at
Queenhithe,--whence wine, ale, and brandy of inferior quality were
dispensed, in false measures, and at high prices, throughout the prison,
which in noise and debauchery rivalled, if it did not surpass, the
lowest tavern.
The chief scene of these disgusting orgies,--the cellar, just referred
to,--was a large low-roofed vault, about four feet below the level of
the street, perfectly dark, unless when illumined by a roaring fire, and
candles stuck in pyramidal lumps of clay, with a range of butts and
barrels at one end, and benches and tables at the other, where the
prisoners, debtors, and malefactors male and female, assembled as long
as their money lasted, and consumed the time in drinking, smoking, and
gaming with cards and dice. Above was a spacious hall, connected with it
by a flight of stone steps, at the further end of which stood an immense
grated door, called in the slang of the place "The Jigger," through the
bars of which the felons in the upper wards were allowed to converse
with their friends, or if they wished to enter the room, or join the
revellers below, they were at liberty to do so, on payment of a small
fine. Thus, the same system of plunder was everywhere carried on. The
jailers robbed the prisoners: the prisoners robbed one another.
Two large wards were situated in the Gate; one of which, the Stone Ward,
appropriated to the master debtors, looked towards Holborn; the other
called the Stone Hall, from a huge stone standing in the middle of it,
upon which the irons of criminals under sentence of death were knocked
off previously to their being taken to the place of execution, faced
Newgate Street. Here the prisoners took exercise; and a quaint, but
striking picture has been left of their appearance when so engaged, by
the author of the English Rogue. "At my first being acquainted with the
place," says this writer, in the 'Miseries of a Prison,' "the prisoners,
methought, walking up and down the Stone Hall, looked like so many
wrecks upon the sea. Here the ribs of a thousand pounds beating against
the Needles--those dangerous rocks, credulity here floated, to and fro,
silks, stuffs, camlets, and velvet, without giving place to each other,
according to their dignity; here rolled so many pipes of canary, whose
bungholes lying open, were so damaged that the merchant may go hoop for
his money," A less picturesque, but more truthful, and, therefore, more
melancholy description of the same scene, is furnished by the shrewd and
satirical Ned Ward, who informs us, in the "Delectable History of
Whittington's College," that "When the prisoners are disposed to
recreate themselves with walking, they go up into a spacious room,
called the Stone Hall; where, when you see them taking a turn together,
it would puzzle one to know which is the gentleman, which the mechanic,
and which the beggar, for they are all suited in the same garb of
squalid poverty, making a spectacle of more pity than executions; only
to be out at the elbows is in fashion here, and a great indecorum not to
be threadbare."
In an angle of the Stone Hall was the Iron Hold, a chamber containing a
vast assortment of fetters and handcuffs of all weights and sizes. Four
prisoners, termed "The Partners," had charge of this hold. Their duty
was to see who came in, or went out; to lock up, and open the different
wards; to fetter such prisoners as were ordered to be placed in irons;
to distribute the allowances of provision; and to maintain some show of
decorum; for which latter purpose they were allowed to carry whips and
truncheons. When any violent outrage was committed,--and such matters
were of daily, sometimes hourly, occurrence,--a bell, the rope of which
descended into the hall, brought the whole of the turnkeys to their
assistance. A narrow passage at the north of the Stone Hall led to the
Bluebeard's room of this enchanted castle, a place shunned even by the
reckless crew who were compelled to pass it. It was a sort of
cooking-room, with an immense fire-place flanked by a couple of
cauldrons, and was called Jack Ketch's Kitchen, because the quarters of
persons executed for treason were there boiled by the hangman in oil,
pitch, and tar, before they were affixed on the city gates, or on London
Bridge. Above this revolting spot was the female debtor's ward; below it
a gloomy cell, called Tangier; and, lower still, the Stone Hold, a most
terrible and noisome dungeon, situated underground, and unvisited by a
single ray of daylight. Built and paved with stone, without beds, or any
other sort of protection from the cold, this dreadful hole, accounted
the most dark and dismal in the prison, was made the receptacle of such
miserable wretches as could not pay the customary fees. Adjoining it was
the Lower Ward,--"Though, in what degree of latitude it was situated,"
observes Ned Ward, "I cannot positively demonstrate, unless it lay
ninety degrees beyond the North Pole; for, instead of being dark there
but half a year, it is dark all the year round." It was only a shade
better than the Stone Hold. Here were imprisoned the fines; and,
"perhaps," adds the before-cited authority, "if he behaved himself, an
outlawed person might creep in among them." Ascending the gate once more
on the way back, we find over the Stone Hall another large room, called
Debtors' Hall, facing Newgate Street, with "very good air and light." A
little too much of the former, perhaps; as the windows being unglazed,
the prisoners were subjected to severe annoyance from the weather and
easterly winds.
Of the women felons' rooms nothing has yet been said. There were two.
One called Waterman's Hall, a horrible place adjoining the postern under
the gate, whence, through a small barred aperture, they solicited alms
from the passengers: the other, a large chamber, denominated My Lady's
Hold, was situated in the highest part of the jail, at the northern
extremity. Neither of these wards had beds, and the unfortunate inmates
were obliged to take their rest on the oaken floor. The condition of the
rooms was indescribably filthy and disgusting; nor were the habits of
the occupants much more cleanly. In other respects, they were equally
indecorous and offensive. "It is with no small concern," writes an
anonymous historian of Newgate, "that I am obliged to observe that the
women in every ward of this prison are exceedingly worse than the worst
of the men not only in respect to their mode of living, but more
especially as to their conversation, which, to their great shame, is as
profane and wicked as hell itself can possibly be."
There were two Condemned Holds,--one for each sex. That for the men lay
near the Lodge, with which it was connected by a dark passage. It was a
large room, about twenty feet long and fifteen broad, and had an arched
stone roof. In fact, it had been anciently the right hand postern under
the gate leading towards the city. The floor was planked with oak, and
covered with iron staples, hooks, and ring-bolts, with heavy chains
attached to them. There was only one small grated window in this hold,
which admitted but little light.
Over the gateway towards Snow Hill, were two strong wards, called the
Castle and the Red Room. They will claim particular attention hereafter.
Many other wards,--especially on the Master Debtor's side,--have been
necessarily omitted in the foregoing hasty enumeration. But there were
two places of punishment which merit some notice from their peculiarity.
The first of these, the Press Room, a dark close chamber, near
Waterman's Hall, obtained its name from an immense wooden machine kept
in it, with which such prisoners as refused to plead to their
indictments were pressed to death--a species of inquisitorial torture
not discontinued until so lately as the early part of the reign of
George the Third, when it was abolished by an express statute. Into the
second, denominated the Bilbowes,--also a dismal place,--refractory
prisoners were thrust, and placed in a kind of stocks, whence the name.
The Chapel was situated in the south-east angle of the jail; the
ordinary at the time of this history being the Reverend Thomas Purney;
the deputy chaplain, Mr. Wagstaff.
Much has been advanced by modern writers respecting the demoralising
effect of prison society; and it has been asserted, that a youth once
confined in Newgate, is certain to come out a confirmed thief. However
this may be now, it was unquestionably true of old Newgate. It was the
grand nursery of vice.--"A famous university," observes Ned Ward, in the
London Spy, "where, if a man has a mind to educate a hopeful child in
the daring science of padding; the light-fingered subtlety of
shoplifting: the excellent use of jack and crow; for the silently
drawing bolts, and forcing barricades; with the knack of sweetening; or
the most ingenious dexterity of picking pockets; let him but enter in
this college on the Common Side, and confine him close to his study but
for three months; and if he does not come out qualified to take any
degree of villainy, he must be the most honest dunce that ever had the
advantage of such eminent tutors."
To bring down this imperfect sketch of Newgate to the present time, it
may be mentioned, that, being found inadequate to the purpose required,
the old jail was pulled down in 1770. Just at the completion of the new
jail, in 1780, it was assailed by the mob during the Gordon riots,
fired, and greatly damaged. The devastations, however, were speedily
made good, and, in two years more, it was finished.
It is a cheering reflection, that in the present prison, with its clean,
well-whitewashed, and well-ventilated wards, its airy courts, its
infirmary, its improved regulations, and its humane and intelligent
officers, many of the miseries of the old jail are removed. For these
beneficial changes society is mainly indebted to the unremitting
exertions of the philanthropic HOWARD.