Police—Dr. Colquhoun’s book—The old Watchmen—Their inadequacy
admitted—Description of them—Constables—“First new mode of
robbing in 1800”—Robbery in the House of Lords—Whipping—Severe
sentence—The Stocks—The Pillory—Severe punishment—Another instance.
THE POLICE authorities very seldom attempted to interfere with these
duels; indeed, practically there was no police. There were some men
attached to the different police courts, and there were the parochial
constables with their watchmen; but, according to our ideas, they were
the merest apology for a police. Indeed, our grandfathers thought so
themselves, and Dr. Colquhoun wrote a book upon the inefficiency of
the police, which made a great stir. It was felt that some better
protection was needed, as may be seen from two contemporary accounts:
“Two things in London that fill the mind of the intelligent observer
with the most delight, are the slight restraints of the police, and the
general good order. A few old men armed with a staff, a rattle, and
a lantern, called watchmen, are the only guard throughout the night
against depredation; and a few magistrates and police officers the only
persons whose employment it is to detect and punish depredators; yet
we venture to assert that no city, in proportion to its trade, luxury,
and population, is so free from danger, or from depredations, open or
concealed, on property.”
[Illustration: WATCHMEN GOING ON DUTY—1808.]
“The streets of London are better paved, and better lighted than those
of any metropolis in Europe; we have fewer street robberies, and
scarcely ever a midnight assassination. Yet it is singular, where the
police is so ably regulated, that the watchmen, our guardians of the
night, are, generally, old decrepit men, who have scarcely strength
to use the alarum which is their signal of distress in cases of
emergency.”
[Illustration: WATCH-HOUSE. MARYLEBONE—1808.]
Thus we see that even contemporaries were not enthusiastic over their
protectors; and a glance at the two accompanying illustrations fully
justify their opinion. “The Microcosm of London,” from which they are
taken, says: “The watch is a parochial establishment supported by a
parochial rate, and subject to the jurisdiction of the magistrates: it
is necessary to the peace and security of the Metropolis, and is of
considerable utility: but that it might be rendered much more useful,
cannot be denied. That the watch should consist of able-bodied men,
is, we presume, essential to the complete design of its institution,
as it forms a part of its legal description: but that the watchmen are
persons of this character, experience will not vouch; and why they
are so frequently chosen from among the aged, and incapable, must be
answered by those who make the choice. In the early part of the last
century, an halbert was their weapon; it was then changed into a long
staff; but the great coat and the lantern are now accompanied with more
advantageous implements of duty—a bludgeon, and a rattle. It is almost
superfluous to add, that the watch-house is a place where the appointed
watchmen assemble to be accoutred for their nocturnal rounds, under
the direction of a Constable, whose duty, being taken by rotation,
enjoys the title of Constable of the night. It is also the receptacle
for such unfortunate persons as are apprehended by the watch, and where
they remain in custody till they can be conducted to the tribunal of a
police office, for the examination of the magistrate.
[Illustration: CONSTABLES—1805.]
The following little anecdote further illustrates the inefficiency
of these guardians of the peace—_Morning Herald_, October 30, 1802:
“It is said that a man who presented himself for the office of
watchman to a parish at the West-end of the town, very much infested
by depredators, was lately turned away from the vestry with this
reprimand: ‘I am astonished at the impudence of such a great, _sturdy_,
_strong_ fellow as you, being so _idle_ as to apply for a _Watchman’s_
situation, when you are capable of labour!’”
Part of their duty was to go their rounds once every hour, calling out
the time, and the state of the weather, and this was done to insure
their watchfulness, but it must also have given warning to thieves.
This duty done, they retired to a somewhat roomy sentry box, where,
should they fall asleep, it was a favourite trick of the mad wags
of the town to overturn them face downwards. Being old and infirm,
they naturally became the butts and prey of the bucks, and bloods, in
their nocturnal rambles; but such injuries as they received, either to
their dignity, or persons were generally compounded for by a pecuniary
recompense.
The Constable, was a superior being, he was the _Dogberry_, and was
armed with a long staff.
Crime then was very much what it is now; there is very little new under
the sun in wickedness—still, the _Morning Post_ of February 3, 1800,
has the
“FIRST NEW MODE OF ROBBING
in 1800.
“A few days past, a man entered a little public-house, near Kingston,
called for a pint of ale, drank it, and, whilst his host was away,
put the pot in his pocket, and, without even paying for the beer,
withdrew. The landlord, returning, two other men, who were in the
room, asked him whether he knew the person who had just left the
house? ‘No,’ he replied. ‘Did he pay for the ale?’ said they. ‘No,’
answered the other. ‘Why, d—n him,’ cried one of the guests, ‘he put
the pot in his pocket.’ ‘The devil, he did!’ exclaimed the host, ‘I
will soon be after him.’
“Saying this, he ran to the door, and the two men with him. ‘There,
there, he’s going round the corner now!’ said one, pointing. Upon
which the landlord immediately set off, and, cutting across a field,
quickly came up to him. ‘Holloa! my friend,’ said he, ‘you forgot to
pay for your beer.’ ‘Yes,’ replied the other, ‘I know that!’ ‘And,
perhaps you know, too,’ added the host, ‘that you took away the pot?
Come, come, I must have that back again, at any rate.’ ‘Well, well,’
said the man, and put his hand into his pocket, as if about to return
the pot; but, instead of that, he produced a pistol, and robbed the
ale-house keeper of his watch and money.
“This might seem calamity enough for the poor man; but, to fill up his
cup of misfortune to the brim, he found, on reaching his home, that
the two he had left behind, had, during his absence, plundered his
till, stolen his silver spoons, and decamped.”
One of the most audacious robberies of those ten years, was one which
took place on September 21, 1801, when the House of Lords was robbed
of all the gold lace, and the ornaments of the throne, the King’s arms
excepted, were stripped, and carried away. Nor was the thief ever found.
For minor offences the punishments were, Whipping, the Stocks, and the
Pillory; for graver ones, Imprisonment, Transportation, and DEATH.
As a specimen of the offence for which Whipping was prescribed, and
the whipping itself, take the following—_Morning Post_, November 4,
1800: “This day, being hay-market day at Whitechapel, John Butler,
pursuant to his sentence at the last General Quarter Sessions, held at
Clerkenwell, is to be publicly whipped from Whitechapel Bars, to the
further end of Mile End, Town, the distance of two miles, for having
received several trusses of hay, knowing them to have been stolen, and
for which he gave an inferior price.”
The Stocks were only for pitiful rogues and vagabonds, and for very
minor offences; but the Pillory, when the criminals were well known,
and the crime an heinous one, must have been a very severe punishment;
for, setting aside the acute sense of shame which such publicity must
have awoke in any heart not absolutely callous, the physical pain, if
the mob was ill-tempered, must have been great. As a proof, I will give
two instances.
The first is from the _Morning Herald_, January 28, 1804: “The
enormity of Thomas Scott’s offence, in endeavouring to accuse Capt.
Kennah, a respectable officer, together with his servant, of robbery,
having attracted much public notice, his conviction, that followed
the attempt, could not but be gratifying to all lovers of justice.
Yesterday, the culprit underwent a part of his punishment; he was
placed in the pillory, at Charing Cross, for one hour. On his first
appearance, he was greeted by a large mob, with a discharge of _small
shot_, such as _rotten eggs_, _filth_, and _dirt_ from the streets,
which was followed up by dead cats, rats, &c., which had been collected
in the vicinity of the Metropolis by the boys in the morning. When he
was taken away to Cold Bath Fields, to which place he is sentenced for
twelve months, the mob broke the windows of the coach, _and would have
proceeded to violence_[79] had the Police Officers not been at hand.”
[Illustration: PILLORY. CHARING CROSS.]
The other is taken from the _Annual Register_, September 27, 1810:
“Cooke, the publican of the Swan, in Vere Street, Clare Market, and
five others of the eleven miscreants convicted of detestable practices,
stood in the pillory in the Haymarket, opposite to Panton Street. Such
was the degree of popular indignation excited against these wretches,
and such the general eagerness to witness their punishment that by ten
in the morning, all the windows and even the roofs of the houses were
crowded with persons of both sexes; and every coach, waggon, hay-cart,
dray, and other vehicle which blocked up great part of the streets,
were crowded with spectators.
[Illustration: THE PILLORY.]
“The Sheriffs, attended by the two City marshals, with an immense
number of constables, accompanied the procession of the prisoners from
Newgate, whence they set out in the transport caravan, and proceeded
through Fleet Street and the Strand; and the prisoners were hooted
and pelted the whole way by the populace. At one o’clock, four of the
culprits were fixed in the pillory, erected for, and accommodated to,
the occasion, with two additional wings, one being allotted to each
criminal. Immediately a new torrent of popular vengeance poured upon
them from all sides; blood, garbage, and ordure from the slaughter
houses, diversified with dead cats, turnips, potatoes, addled eggs, and
other missiles to the last moment.
“Two wings of the pillory were then taken off to place Cooke and
Amos in, who, although they came in only for the second course, had
no reason to complain of short allowance. The vengeance of the crowd
pursued them back to Newgate, and the caravan was filled with mud and
ordure.
“No interference from the Sheriffs and police officers could restrain
the popular rage; but, notwithstanding the immensity of the multitude,
no accident of any note occurred.”
[Illustration]
[Illustration]