EXTRAORDINARY SENTENCES
I owe my readers an apology for introducing this chapter, inasmuch as it
does not deal chiefly with my own experiences, but with two
extraordinary sentences recently given, and made public through the
press; though it is fair to say that I know something of the friends in
the one case and the victims in the other of the prisoners who received
those sentences. I have seen nothing during my personal experiences to
cause me any misgivings as to the administration of justice. I have not
seen people punished for crimes they had not committed, but I have seen
a large number of prisoners discharged about whose guilt there was no
moral doubt. It stands to the credit of our penal system that it is much
easier for a guilty man to escape than it is for an innocent man to be
punished. This is a just and safe position. I would like also to say
that among all the sentences that I have known imposed upon prisoners,
there have been very few--indeed, scarcely any--that I have thought did
not meet the justice of the case. I have, therefore, no sympathy with
the organized outcries that are from time to time raised against our
judges and magistrates and the police. Judges and magistrates are but
human, and that they will err sometimes in their judgments is certain.
We censure them sometimes because their sentences are too severe; we
blame them sometimes because they have been too lenient; but it is
always well to remember that judges and magistrates see and know more of
the attendant circumstances of a case than the press and the public
possibly can see or know. This knowledge, of course, cannot have any
bearing on the question of guilt or innocence; but it can have, and
ought to have, some effect upon the length of sentence imposed.
Within limits, then, judges and magistrates must be allowed latitude
with regard to degrees of sentence, for a cast-iron method allowing no
latitude would entail a tremendous amount of injustice.
Nine times out of ten, when a judge or magistrate errs in the imposition
of sentence, he errs on the side of leniency, and it is right that it
should be so. But an error on the side of mercy does not create a public
sensation; and this speaks well for the public, for it is good to know
that the community is better pleased to hear of leniency than of
severity. Nevertheless, an error on the side of leniency is an error,
and may be followed with results as disastrous as those that follow from
an error on the side of severity; for while those results are not so
quickly palpable, they may be more extensive.
I want, then, in this chapter to select two sentences--one given by a
judge, the other by a magistrate: the judge erring, in my opinion, on
the side of severity; the magistrate erring, in my judgment, on the side
of leniency.
Neither of these sentences seems to have attracted public attention,
though both are of recent date.
Let me quote from a letter received on June 4, 1907:
"DEAR SIR,
"I hope you will excuse me writing to you about my son, who is a
young man not twenty-three years of age.
"He is a carpenter and joiner, and has a good little business of
his own, with a shop and yard.
"On January 4, 1906, there was a burglary at the house next to
mine, and in a fortnight after my son was arrested on suspicion.
The people--very old friends of ours--being awake, heard voices,
but did not recognize one of the voices as that of my son.
"At the trial there was no evidence produced to prove that my son
was in the house. My wife and myself are prepared to say that he
went to bed at ten o'clock, and that we called him at seven o'clock
next morning.
"The jury brought my son in guilty, and the judge gave him
_fourteen years' penal servitude_. The whole court was shocked; no
one could understand it. I cannot understand it, for I have read
many instances of real old criminals, after committing robberies,
being sentenced to a few months or a year or so. But fourteen years
for a young man! Oh, sir, my family have lived in this old town
for nearly three hundred years, and no member of it had ever been
in a prisoner's dock till now. I have written to the Home
Secretary, and his answer was that he could not at present
interfere. I pray to Heaven that you will be kind enough to write
to him and beg of him to pardon my son. I am sending to you a paper
with a full account of the trial.
"I remain,
"Yours truly,
"X."
I have that paper now before me--the _Coventry Times_, dated Wednesday,
December 12, 1906. The trial took place on the previous Friday at
Warwick Assizes. Taylor was charged with breaking and entering, and
feloniously stealing twenty-four farthings, one gold locket, one metal
chain, and ten spoons; to make assurance doubly sure, he also was
charged with receiving the same property. Taylor had been in custody
since January 23, 1906. On December 7 of the same year he received his
extraordinary sentence, after being detained in prison nearly eleven
months. Everything seems extraordinary about this case--the long delay
before trial, the severe sentence, the trumpery character of the
articles stolen. I express no opinion about the prisoner's guilt. Some
of the articles were found in his possession, and it was proved that he
had been spending farthings. That the people whose house had been
entered did not suspect the prisoner was clear, as they sent for him
next morning to repair the door that had been broken. But, at any rate,
the jury believed Taylor guilty, for, without leaving the box, they
gave their verdict to that effect.
One of the objects of the burglary appears to have been the acquisition
of the silver teaspoons.
Mrs. Wilson, the prosecutor's wife, had been previously married to a man
named Vernon, and the spoons in question belonged to him. It was said
that the friends of Vernon wanted the spoons, and Mrs. Wilson admitted
that "they would like them; but they had let her alone for twenty
years."
These spoons disappeared. They were not found in Taylor's possession,
but someone had undoubtedly taken them. Mrs. Wilson stated in her
evidence that after the burglary there was a piece of paper left on the
parlour table, on which was written in pencil the words, "Mrs. Vernon,
after twenty years"; but this paper was missing, and the prisoner's
mother had been in the parlour and had seen the paper, which could not
be found after she left.
Whether Taylor committed a trumpery burglary, or whether he did the
thing out of mean spirit, or whether he was in collusion with others,
does not matter very much. Punishment he doubtless deserved, but
fourteen years for a young man for a silly offence seems beyond the
bound of credibility. But it is true; for in June, 1907, I approached
the Home Secretary, begging for a revision of the sentence, and received
a reply similar to that sent to the prisoner's father--that it was too
early a date for interference. It is only fair to assume that the judge
was in possession of knowledge that justified his words, if not his
sentence, for in addressing the prisoner he said: "You have been
convicted, and properly convicted; but I know the sort of man you are,
from this case and from the fact that there is another charge against
you in this calendar. Fourteen years' penal servitude!"
I am not surprised to read that "The prisoner appeared to be stunned
when he heard the sentence, and fell into the warders' arms who
surrounded him!" I am not surprised to read that the prisoner's father
and mother rose to their feet, and that the one shouted, "He is
innocent!" and that the other went into hysterics; but I am surprised to
read that an English judge could not allow something for parental
feelings, and that he said fiercely: "Take those people away!" and when
the prisoner's father shouted, "I can go out, but he is innocent!" that
the judge instantly retorted: "If you don't go out, I will commit you to
prison." Fourteen years for a young man of twenty-two! Fourteen years
for a first offender! It requires an effort to make oneself believe it,
but it is a fact.
I should like to know what was at the back of Mr. Justice Ridley's mind
when he gave that sentence. Surely he had some reasons that he, at any
rate, considered sufficient to justify it. It is difficult to imagine
what they were, for no personal violence had been offered, no firearms
had been carried, no burglar's tools had been discovered. Taylor was not
even suspected of connection with any professional criminals. It was,
moreover, the first time he had been in the hands of the police. Taylor
seems to have been industrious, for at twenty-two years of age he was
in business on his own account. I can't help thinking that there was
something wrong with Taylor, some mental twist or peculiarity; for,
admitting him to be guilty, he acted like a fool. To leave a piece of
paper, in his own handwriting, referring to matters of which only
intimate friends could have knowledge, was of itself an extraordinary
thing; but to go spending openly at public-houses stolen farthings was
more extraordinary still. So the responsibility for his conviction rests
largely with himself.
But fourteen years even for a fool is unthinkable, and the
responsibility for that rests with his judge.
This leads me to say that stupid and half-witted criminals are often
more severely dealt with than clever and dangerous rogues. The former
"give themselves away" in such sweetly simple fashion that they appear
hardened and indifferent, and are punished accordingly. I am afraid,
too, that sometimes judges and magistrates cannot attain to Pauline
excellence and "suffer fools gladly." Hundreds of times I have heard the
expression about someone who had received a severe sentence: "Well, he
deserved it for being such a fool!" Even the public is more prepared to
tolerate severe punishments for the men whose crimes savour of crass
folly, if not of downright idiocy, than it is for dangerous, clever
daring, and calculating rogues. My second example will tend to show that
magistrates are not exempt from this kind of feeling, but when led by
it, rush to the other extreme, and inflict no punishment whatever. The
hearing of the case I am about to relate took place at Tower Bridge
Police-Court in July, 1908.
A young married woman was charged with obtaining by false pretences £75
in cash and £15 worth of jewellery from an old woman who had been a
domestic servant, but who at the age of seventy had given up regular
work, and was hoping to make her little savings suffice for the
remainder of her days. The prisoner was also charged with obtaining by
fraud £10 5s. from a working man in whose house she had lodgings.
Evidence was given that the prisoner had an uncle abroad, but nothing
had been heard of him for a very long time. Two years ago the prisoner
spread a report that he had died immensely rich, and had left her
thousands of pounds. In order to pay legal expenses, she said, she
borrowed money from her aunt, an old woman of eighty. Having exhausted
her aunt's money, and leaving her to the workhouse authorities, the
prisoner then proceeded to draw upon the retired domestic, who parted
with every penny of her savings and her jewellery.
In due time she was penniless also, and had again to seek work, at
seventy years of age, having no friends to help her. The prisoner then
turned her attention to her landlord, and obtained £10 5s. from him; but
he became suspicious, and wanted to see some documents or solicitors.
She gave him the address of her solicitors in Chancery Lane. Then he
insisted upon her accompanying him to see them; he compelled her to go,
and, on arriving, found the address to be a bank. The landlord then
communicated with the police, and she was arrested. The prisoner
admitted that the whole story was false, and that she was very wicked.
It was stated in evidence that the prisoner had an illegitimate child,
which she said was the child of a gentleman, and that she had persuaded
a young man to marry her by promising him £300 from the child's father,
when the wedding took place; but the young husband had never received
the money.
The lady missionary told the magistrate that she had received a letter
from the prisoner, whilst under remand in Holloway Prison, expressing
her deep sorrow, and promising to work hard and pay the money back.
Mr. Hutton bound the prisoner over under the Probation Act! I wonder
what was at the back of Mr. Hutton's mind when he practically discharged
her.
If the Probation Act is to bring us such judgments as this, it would
have been well if we had never heard of it.
I can imagine no more heartless and cruel series of frauds than those
perpetrated in this case.
The prisoner seems to have pursued her victims with unerring instinct
and skill: the old aunt was robbed and ruined; the old domestic, after a
long life of hard work and economy, was robbed and ruined; then, with
confidence in her own powers, she proceeded to rob her landlord. A
continual succession of lies, deceptions, and frauds, extending over
years! And then bound over! Herein is a problem: If ten teaspoons, one
metal chain, and one gold locket are equal to fourteen years' penal
servitude, what are some hundreds of pounds, obtained by two years'
fraud, and entailing the ruin of two decent old women, equal to?
The answer, according to the magistrate, is, Nothing! A great deal has
been said, and not without some show of justice, about there being one
law for the rich and another for the poor. In this case it is positively
true, though in an opposite sense to the generally accepted meaning of
the words.
I have no hesitation in saying that if the prosecutors had been in more
influential circumstances, and had employed a solicitor to put their
case, the law would not have been satisfied by accepting the prisoner's
recognizances. Are we to accept the principle that punishment must be in
inverse ratio to the seriousness of the offence? It appears so!
The innocent young man she decoyed into marriage has not received his
£300--he never will--but he received what he might have expected, and at
least he got his deserts.
I ask my readers to ponder this decision: Bound over! I ask them to
ponder this sentence: Fourteen years' penal servitude! There is an
eternity between the two sentences; the one is permitted to go on her
guileless way. The other is sent to confinement, monotony, and
degradation for fourteen years. The latter was at the worst a foolish,
clumsy rogue; the other was a consummate and accomplished artist in
deception.
Whether the old women would have received any benefit from the
imprisonment of the younger woman is beside the question. I am sure they
will receive no benefit from her liberty, though she says she will work
hard and repay them!
On what principle can she be called a first offender? If rogues are to
be imprisoned at all, by what process of reasoning can it be argued that
she ought to go free?
Surely the time is come when other people as well as prisoners must be
considered. What will be the effect of a judgment like this? It can have
but one effect: it will encourage similar young women in their lives of
deception and fraud.
I may here stop to ask whether a young _man_ charged with similar
offence would have been dealt with at Tower Bridge Police-Court, or at
any other court, in a similar way. My own conviction is that he would
not have been so dealt with.
This raises the question whether there is or ought to be equality, or
something approximating to equality, of punishment for the sexes.
This being the day of women's rights, I would say that certainly there
ought to be something like equality even in the imposition of sentences;
but the law and its administrators do not hold this view. I do not
remember any case of a man and woman being jointly charged, both being
jointly and equally guilty, in which the man did not receive much the
heavier sentence.
I can understand it in the case of husband and wife, for the law
considers husband and wife as one; but, unfortunately for the husband,
it considers the male person as that particular one. But, with regard to
unmarried couples, I can see no general reason for severity to the man
and leniency to the woman.
At the risk of appearing ferocious, I must say that I was taken aback
at the Tower Bridge Police-Court decision, for I confess that I would
have preferred the magistrate giving the prisoner six months' hard
labour, or sending her for trial before judge and jury. Not that I want
either men or women to be detained in prison--I hate the thought of
it--but I happen to hate something else much more, and that is the idea
that plausible and crafty young women can rob and ruin decent old women
with impunity.
I hold--though in this I may be wrong--that if the law cannot compel
fraudulent persons to restore their ill-gotten gains--and in the case of
the prisoner at Tower Bridge this was, of course, impossible--then at
least it ought to administer in such cases a decent amount of
punishment. But the course adopted did not uphold the dignity of the
law; it did not in the least help those that have suffered; it did not
punish the prisoner; neither did it serve to act as a warning to others.
But while, as I have previously said, justice is, on the whole, fairly
administered, there is still a wide difference in the sentences given
for like offences. The demeanour of a prisoner before the magistrate may
easily add to or lessen the length of his sentence; crocodile tears and
a whining appeal for mercy generally have an opposite effect to that the
prisoner wishes.
A scornful, defiant, or violent attitude is almost certain to increase
the length of sentence. The plausible, cunning, and somewhat clever man,
who cross-examines with the skill of an expert, is sure to be hardly
judged and appraised when sentence is given; but the devil-may-care
fellow, who bears himself a bit jauntily, and who, moreover, has
considerable humour and a dash of wit, is almost sure by a few witty or
humorous quips to partially disarm justice and secure for himself more
lenient punishment. I suppose we all have a sneaking kindness for the
complete vagabond; we instinctively like the fellow who can make us
laugh; we do not want to believe that the man who is possessed of humour
is altogether bad, and when we have to punish him we let him off as
lightly as possible. But the stubborn thick-head does not excite either
our risible faculties or our heart's sympathy; nevertheless, that
thick-head may be far less guilty than the complete vagabond--in truth,
he is often a far better fellow--but his thick-headedness is against
him, and we punish him accordingly. And here I draw upon my own
experiences, for I have known complete vagabonds that were also absolute
scoundrels, who, by their apparent candour, jollity, and flashes of
humour, continually saved themselves from anything approaching long
sentences.
One fellow in particular took at least twelve years in qualifying for
penal servitude, though he was a thorough rogue and a vagabond
absolutely. He was a printer and a clever workman; but he never
worked--not he! He would steal anything. Several times he had called on
clergymen, and while conversing with them in their halls had
appropriated their best silk umbrellas. On one occasion he had gone away
without booty, but he returned five minutes afterwards, and rang the
bell, which, being answered by the servant, he said: "I am very sorry
to trouble, but I forgot my umbrella. Ah! here it is." And he went away
with the parson's best.
"Give me another chance," I have heard him say. "You know you like me: I
am not a bad fellow at heart." He saved himself from penal servitude
many times, but he got it at last, after several narrow escapes.
One winter night I was told he was at my front-door, where he had been
many times, for I never asked him in: I am sure he would have robbed me
if I had. "Well, old man, how are you?" he said, for he always
patronized me in a delightful manner. "Oh, it is you, Downy, is it?"
"Ah, it is me. I say, Holmes, I am starving!" "There is some comfort in
that," I said. "Bah! you don't mean it; you are too good-hearted. Give
us a cup of tea." I declined his invitation, and told him that I had no
umbrellas to spare. "Well, that's a bit thick," he said; "I did not
expect that from you. Well, I'm off." Then, as an afterthought, he said:
"What's the time?" "Five minutes past six," I said. "Why, I have been on
this doorstep quite five minutes." "Quite ten minutes," I said.
Away he went to the parish clergyman, who did not know him, and
delivered some imaginary messages from myself. He got two shillings and
a meal from the clergyman.
To my surprise, I saw him in the dock next day, charged with stealing a
valuable fur-lined overcoat. He had called at a gentleman's house to ask
for employment. The servant had admitted him, and left him standing in
the hall while she summoned the master. It was dark, but he discovered
the valuable coat and put it on. There was no work for him, and the
gentleman, who knew Downy well, showed him out promptly. He afterwards
missed his coat, and quickly gave information to the police. Downy was
as light-hearted as usual, denied his guilt, and closely examined the
prosecutor as to the exact time he (Downy) called on him. The
magistrate, having had depositions taken, was about to commit him for
trial, when the prisoner said: "I have a witness to call." "You can call
him at your trial," the magistrate said. "Who is your witness?" "Mr.
Holmes." "What can he prove?" "That I was at his house at exactly the
same time that it is said I was at the prosecutor's." I declined to give
evidence, for I believed the fellow had the overcoat, though he was
without a coat when I saw him. He was duly committed for trial, but
before leaving the dock he turned to the magistrate and said: "You have
made up your mind that I am to get five years, but you are mistaken this
time: no jury will convict on the evidence." The grand jury threw out
the bill, so I was saved the pleasure of giving evidence for him. In a
few days he appeared at the court desiring to speak to the magistrate.
When given the chance, he said: "Well, I'm here again. I thought you
might be pleased to know that no true bill was found against me; my case
did not go to the jury. You haven't done with me yet." "I am sorry,"
said the magistrate. "But you will not be disappointed many more times.
You will get your five years." "Probably, but not at your suggestion.
Good-morning!"
He was on my doorstep again that evening. "Come to see you again,
Holmes, my boy. Lend us half a crown!" I declined. "Ha!" he said, "you
would lend it me soon enough if you knew what a lark I have had. I can't
help laughing. Why, I have been to old ---- and offered to give him back
his fur coat for a quid." And the rascal roared at the thought of it.
"What did he say to you?" "Well, he rather hurt my feelings, for his
language was not polite." "I suppose you have not restored it?" "What do
you think?"
But Downy got his five years within a few weeks. He removed a big marble
clock from the bar of a public-house, and got away with it, too, in
broad daylight; but Fate tripped him at last, and he got his well-earned
five years. As he is still under forty years of age, I have no doubt but
that in prison his talent will be developed. Not that he has much to
learn, but even Downy may gather a few wrinkles when given proper
opportunities.
Now, Downy represents a very numerous class of men and women, though few
of them have his cool assurance and originality, but, like him, live to
a large extent by thieving and general dishonesty. These people can
seldom furnish _bona-fide_ addresses, or give any proof that they have
been doing honest work. Yet they go on from year to year, in and out of
prison, undergoing small sentences--first a few days, then a few weeks,
followed by a few months, then committal to trial, when sentences of one
or two years are passed upon them. Some of them, though their lives are
devoted to criminality, never arrive at the dignity of penal servitude.
With due respect, there is, I submit, even now room for improvement
with regard to the infliction of sentences. A large amount of latitude
must be allowed, for judges and magistrates ought not, must not, be
automatic; a certain amount of liberty must be granted to them. But when
that latitude includes the right and the power to give fourteen years'
penal servitude to a young man of twenty-two for a trumpery offence, and
that his first offence; when it includes the right and the power to
practically discharge a clever and dangerous woman who has lived by
fraud, and whose frauds brought untold suffering upon innocent and aged
victims--when this latitude allows cool and calculating rogues to
continue interminably their lives of roguery, alternated with very small
and insufficient sentences, it is evident that the liberty and latitude
allowed require in some way to be circumscribed.
Judges and magistrates are human, and I for one would keep them human,
with the power to sympathize and the power to laugh, for these things
are altogether good, and to a reasonable extent it is right that these
wholesome qualities should exercise some influence; but even these
faculties require some restraint, or injustice instead of justice will
be done. I am afraid there is some truth in what many discharged
prisoners have told me--that the length of sentence depends on the whim
of the judge, and that on some days it appears evident that a crumb of
undigested cheese impairs the temper and judgment, and adds appreciably
to the length of the sentences given.
If this is in the least degree true, it is a matter for profound
regret. In spite of temper, pain, or indigestion, the balance of justice
ought to be fairly held. I am glad to think that I have sometimes known
pain and suffering to have the opposite effect when judgment has been
given. A magistrate of my acquaintance, noted for good temper and
courteous urbanity, was one morning in a very unpleasant frame of mind.
Everything went wrong with him, and, as a consequence, with everyone who
had to deal with him. He was cross, peevish, and rude. The police knew
it, for he was not civil to them; witnesses knew it, for he was rough
with them. On one occasion when he had been at his worst he caught my
eye. After the court was over he said to me: "You thought me very
ill-tempered this morning?" "Indeed I did, your Worship, for you were
rough to everyone." "Ah!" he said, "I have neuralgia frightfully; I have
had no sleep all night." I said: "I am very sorry, your Worship; but I
noticed another thing." "What was that?" "Why, you let all the prisoners
down lightly." "Oh," he said, "you noticed it, did you? I had to let
myself go sometimes, for I could hardly bear it, so I let go when it did
not matter very much; but I kept a tight hand over myself when it came
to sentences. I was determined that the prisoners should not suffer for
my neuralgia."
He was wise, and he did nobly. It would be well if all our judges and
magistrates kept a tight hand on themselves when it comes to sentences;
for everyone must admit a cruel wrong is done when prisoners are awarded
heavier sentences because the judge is either in ill-health or out of
temper.