NEWGATE IN THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY
(DOWN TO THE GREAT FIRE).
More Jesuit emissaries in Newgate--Richardson and others--Their
fate--Some escape--Greater favour shown them under Charles I.
through intercession of Henrietta Maria--But freedom not easily
procured--Case of Thomas Coo--Of John Williams--The Mayor of
Sudbury in Newgate--Also an alderman--Pardons and release still
given on condition of military service--Troubles with King fill
Newgate--Ship-money--Speaking ill of King’s sister entails
imprisonment in Newgate for life--Parliament growing more powerful
insists of execution of six Jesuits suffered to linger on in
Newgate--Irish rebels taken on high seas, in Newgate--Also
offenders against plague ordinances, and against religion or
morality--Strange news from Newgate--Interior of gaol--Condition of
prisoners--Fanatical conduct of keeper--Nefarious practices of
turnkeys--They levy black mail--“Coney catching” described--Several
cases of such swindling--Civil war reflected in prison
records--More Irish arrested at Devonshire--Sent to London and
lodged in Newgate for examination--Arbitrary imprisonment imposed
by House of Lords on Richard Overton--Case of Colonel
Lilburne--“Free born John”--Newgate annals record transfer of power
to Commonwealth--Royalists in gaol--Also prisoners of mark--The
Portuguese ambassadors’ brother in Newgate charged with murder, and
executed--Also Lord Buckhurst and others.
The disturbing elements of society continued much the same in the early
part of the seventeenth century as in the years immediately preceding.
There were the same offences against law and order, dealt with in the
same summary fashion. Newgate was perpetually crowded with prisoners
charged with the same sort of crimes. Bigotry and intolerance continued
to breed persecution. All sects which differed from that professed by
those in power were in turn under the ban of the law. The Romish priest
still ventured into the hostile heretic land where his life was not
worth a minute’s purchase; Puritans and Nonconformists were committed to
gaol for refusing to surrender their heterodox opinions: these last
coming into power were ruthlessly strict towards the openly irreligious
backslider. Side by side with these sufferers in the cause of
independent thought swarmed the depredators, the wrong-doers, whose
criminal instincts and the actions they produced were much the same as
they had been before and as they are now.
The devoted courage of the Jesuit emissaries in those days of extreme
peril for all priests who dared to cross the channel claims for them a
full measure of respect. They were for ever in trouble. When caught they
met hard words, scant mercy, often only a short shrift. Repeated
references are made to them. In the State Papers July 1602 is a list of
priests and recusants in prison, viz. “Newgate--Pound (already
mentioned), desperate and obstinate; ... in the Clink, Marshalsea,
King’s Bench, are others; among them Douce, a forward intelligence,
Tichborne, Webster, perverter of youth,” &c. They were ever the victims
of treachery and espionage.[49] “William Richardson, a priest of
Seville College (the date is 1603), was discovered to the Chief Justice
by one whom he trusted, and arraigned and condemned at Newgate for being
a priest and coming to England. When examined he answered stoutly, yet
with great modesty and discretion, moving many to compassionate him and
speak against the Chief Justice, on whom he laid the guilt of his
blood.” He was executed at Tyburn, hanged and quartered, but his head
and quarters were buried. “Such spectacles,” says the writer, Ant.
Rivers, to Giacomo Creleto, Venice, “do nothing increase the gospel....”
A further account says that William Richardson, alias Anderson, was
betrayed by a false brother, sent to Newgate, and kept close prisoner
over a week, no one being allowed to see him. The Chief Justice,
interrupting other trials, called for him, and caused him to be indicted
of high treason for being a priest and coming to England. All of which
he confessed, and there being no evidence against him, the Chief Justice
gave his confession in writing to the jury, who found him guilty. “He
thanked God and told the Chief Justice he was a bloody man, and sought
the blood of the Catholics. He denied that he was a Jesuit or knew
Garnet[50]....”
These priests were not very rigorously guarded. On the 27th November
1612 seven escaped from Newgate. They must also have been very
indifferently lodged. When a number of them were transferred for greater
security to Wisbeach Castle, they petitioned that they were unable to
provide themselves with bedding and other necessaries for their removal,
and begged that orders might be taken for their providing. The keeper
was closely watched lest he should be too easy with his prisoners.
Questions are suggested to be put to him, examining him as to his
connivance with recusants, and allowing them to escape or enjoy great
liberty. In 1611 Sir Thomas Lake writes to Lord Salisbury to the effect
that the king is resolved the keeper of Newgate shall be very severely
punished for allowing reverence to priests and masses to be said in the
prison.[51] It was evident they were permitted some license, although
contraband, for Secretary Conway issues instructions on May 13, 1626, to
the provost marshal of Middlesex directing him to search for popish
books, massing stuff, and reliques of popery in Newgate. Even in
Elizabeth’s time it appears that mass was said in Newgate, and one John
Harrison, when charged in 1595 with being in possession of certain
popish relics and papers, admitted that he had been married in Newgate
by an old priest then in prison with his (H.’s) wife and himself.
Somewhat better times dawned for the Roman Catholic ministers after the
accession of Charles I. His queen, Henrietta Maria, was able to help
them. Her favouring of papists was indeed one of the many causes of the
discontent which culminated in civil war. The king himself addresses the
keeper of Newgate to the effect that “at the instance of the queen we
have granted Pulteney Morse, lately indicted upon suspicion of being a
priest, and still prisoner at Newgate, to be enlarged upon security to
appear before the council when he shall be thereunto called. He has
given security to that purpose; we therefore command you to set him at
liberty.” The queen herself at times personally applied for the release
of prisoners confined in Newgate for matters of religion. Often priests
committed escaped incarceration, and were found to be at liberty after
arrest. But it was not always easy to obtain enlargement when once laid
by the heels. Here is the petition to the queen (State Papers, May 1634)
of Thomas Reynolds, a secular priest, who has been more than five years
in Newgate, “where by the unwholesomeness of the air, the strictness of
the imprisonment, and his great age he is fallen into many dangerous
infirmities. He now prays the queen to move the king to release him. His
application is backed up by a medical certificate signed by three
doctors that petitioner is affected with sciatica, colic, defluxion of
rheum, and the stone. He is fifty-eight years of age.” The result of the
petition is not given.
It was not only in the case of the religious prisoners that freedom was
difficult to compass. A very hard case is that of Thomas Coo, committed
to Newgate on grounds that are not traceable. He states, October 1618,
to Sir Julius Cæsar and Sir Fulk Greville that his loyal service in
preserving the life of his sovereign by discovering the London
insurrection has been rewarded with famine and a dungeon. He is resolved
to live no longer, leaving his son “to conceal his mystical
designs.”[52] Fifteen years later, but still in Newgate, he makes his
“submission from Newgate dungeon dunghill, almost famished;
acknowledging his contrition of heart, and stating his readiness to do
any penance the council may command, beseeches to know what his
punishment may be.” His long imprisonments in Newgate and elsewhere have
“stript petitioner, even of clothes from his back, and from that of the
bearer of the letter, his lame child.” He prays that he may be forthwith
either banished according to their order of the 28th October of the 5th
King Charles (1630), or be allowed close prisoner in some other place
where he may have some allowance to preserve him from starving. Six
years more pass, and again (1639) he petitions the council, stating that
there was neither legal warrant for his commitment to the Fleet eight
years, nor for his six years’ detention in Newgate, whither he was
thence removed. There were sent with him certain transcribed papers,
importing some orders and rules issuing out of the Star Chamber,
Chancery, and King’s Bench, in which courts the prisoner was never
defendant, convented, nor convicted. The only paper against him was a
supposed Inner Star Chamber order of voluntary banishment, to the effect
that the petitioner was to depart the kingdom within twenty days, dated
1629. “Gaolers,” says the poor prisoner, “are made his judges, and
jurors only give their verdict to whom his carcase belongs to be
interred.”
A light matter sufficed to secure committal to Newgate. John Williams in
a petition states that he was committed to Newgate for being one at the
depopulation of the forest of Dean. There he has remained for five
years, and now prays enlargement, not having wherewith to maintain
himself in prison with his wife and poor children, who were seemingly
incarcerated with him. The coachmen of even great people were committed
to Newgate for contravening the Star Chamber order as to the route they
should take to and from the playhouse in Blackfriars. Frequenters were
invited to go to and fro by water, but if they drove they were to be set
down by the west end of St. Paul’s Churchyard or Fleet Conduit. Again
Robert Coleman (1631), having found certain writings of the secretary
and other noble personages, and thinking they belonged to the Earl of
Dorset, went to the Old Bailey, where Lord Dorset was sitting on the
bench, to deliver them up. “One Barnes was to be tried,” states Coleman
subsequently in a petition, “and there was some one there to beg his
estate, whereupon the Earl of Dorset committed the prisoner (Coleman) to
Newgate, where he has been ever since detained, and could not bring the
writings to the secretary;” “prays that he may be allowed to come to him
for that purpose.” Christopher Crowe, a prisoner in Newgate, and another
victim to the oppression of a great noble, about the same date (1632)
petitions the council: “I am in great misery,” he says, “having no
friends nor means.” For six weeks he has had for his allowance but a
halfpenny in bread one day and a farthing’s worth the next. “Is heartily
sorry for his words spoken against the Marquis of Hamilton, and prays
enlargement.” Others in Newgate sought noble protection, and petitioned
the great peers to procure release. John Meredith petitions Henry Earl
of Holland, Captain of the Guard, reminding him that when he (Meredith)
and his wife were committed to Newgate, his lordship on their appeal had
sent an order for their discharge, which had been disregarded, and now,
“having lain in prison a fortnight, he prays that he and his wife may
forthwith be enlarged.” This has no effect, so Meredith and his wife
Joan petition the Earl of Manchester, Lord President. “They had now
remained in prison three weeks; pray for an enlargement from Newgate
gratis,[53] and that the sergeants who arrested them may be committed.”
Prisoners of still greater consequence languished often hopelessly in
Newgate Gaol. Now it is the wardens of divers city companies for not
making up their proportion towards the previous year’s provision of
corn; now a respectable freeman and stationer, William Cooke, who had
built a shed of timber in the open street in High Holborn adjoining
Furnival’s Inn. He was committed to Newgate till he should demolish the
same. But, as Inigo Jones and others represent to the council, “he lies
in prison, and the shed continues,” and they suggest an order to the
principals of Furnival’s Inn, or to the sheriffs of London, to take the
shed away. Next comes a greater personage, John Andrews, the Mayor of
Sudbury, who has unhappily fallen foul of a messenger of the Star
Chamber named Potter. This messenger came to Andrews with a warrant
claiming his assistance for the apprehension of certain unlicensed
dealers in tobacco in Sudbury, to which warrant he “gave due obedience.”
Potter was presently himself brought before the mayor, “accused of many
blasphemies and oaths,” and for compounding for money with the culprit
who had unlawfully trafficked in tobacco. Upon this the mayor told
Potter that he thought him worthy to be committed to prison. Potter then
fell to abusing the mayor in scoffs and threatening speeches, telling
him that he would have him set in the stocks, and that he cared not a
pin for the mayor’s authority. The exasperated Andrews committed Potter
to prison. But Potter’s threats were not without substantial
foundation, for Andrews’ action is deemed improper, and he is himself
committed to Newgate. From thence he humbly submits himself, and prays
discharge from that loathsome prison.
Even an alderman was not safe. Thomas Middleton in 1603, having been
duly elected alderman, refused to be sworn, whereupon he was committed
to Newgate by the Lord Mayor and court of aldermen, “according to their
oaths and the custom of the city.” For this they were sharply reproved
by the king, and ordered to release him immediately, “as he was employed
in important state service which privileged him from arrest.”
These were days of widespread oppression, when Strafford, Laud, the Star
Chamber, and ecclesiastical courts gave effect to the king’s eager
longings for arbitrary power. The following is from a half-mad fanatic
who has offended the relentless archbishop. “The petition of Richard
Farnham, a prophet of the most high God, a true subject to my king, and
a prisoner of my saviour Christ, in Newgate, to Archbishop Laud and the
rest of the high commissioners, whom he prays to excuse his plainness,
being no scholar.... Desires to know the cause of his being detained so
long in prison, where he has been kept a year next April without coming
to his answer. Thinks they have forgotten him. If he be a false prophet
and a blasphemer and a seducer, as most people report that he is, the
high commissioners would do well to bring him to trial. What he wrote
before he came into prison and what he has written since he will stand
to.... If he does not get his answer this summer he intends to complain
to the king, believing that it is not his pleasure his subjects should
suffer false imprisonment to satisfy the archbishop’s mind.” Of the same
year and the same character is this other petition from William King, a
prisoner in Newgate “for a little treatise delivered to Lord
Leppington.” Has remained in thraldom twenty-seven months; expresses
contrition and prays enlargement on bail, or that he may be called to
answer. Forty years more were to elapse before the passing of the Habeas
Corpus Act; but the forgoing will show how grievously this so-called
palladium of an Englishman’s liberties was required.
Pardons free or more or less conditional were, however, vouchsafed at
times. Release from prison was still, as before, and for long after,
frequently accompanied by the penalty of military service. This had long
been the custom. On declaration of war in the earlier reigns, it was
usual to issue a proclamation offering a general pardon to those guilty
of homicides and felonies on condition of service for a year and a day.
Even without this obligation prisoners in durance might sue out a pardon
by intercession of some nobleman serving abroad with the king. But later
on the release was distinctly conditional on personal service. The Lord
Mayor certifies to the king (1619) that certain prisoners in Newgate,
whose names and offences are given, are not committed for murder; so
they are reprieved, as being able-bodied and fit to do service in
foreign parts. Another certificate states that William Dominic,
condemned to death for stealing a purse value £4, is reprieved, “this
being his first offence, and he an excellent drummer, fit to do the king
service.” Again, the king requires the keeper of Newgate to deliver
certain reprieved prisoners to Sir Edward Conway, junior, to be employed
in His Majesty’s service in the Low Countries. Recorder Finch reports
that he has furnished “Conway’s son with seven prisoners fit for
service; sends a list of prisoners now in Newgate, but reprieved. Some
have been long in gaol, and were saved from execution by the prince’s
return [with Buckingham from Spain?] on that day. They pester the gaol,
which is already reported crowded, this hot weather, and would do better
service as soldiers if pardoned, ‘for they would not dare to run away.’”
A warrant is made out June 5, 1629, to the sheriffs of London to deliver
to such persons as the Swedish ambassador shall appoint forty-seven
persons, of whom one was Elizabeth Leech--was she to be employed as a
sutler or _vivandière_?--being prisoners condemned of felonies, and
remaining in the gaols of Newgate and Bridewell, who are released “to
the end that they may be employed in the service of the King of
Sweden”--Gustavus Adolphus, at that time our ally. There are numerous
entries of this kind in the State papers. Sometimes the prisoners
volunteer for service. “John Tapps, by the displeasure of the late Lord
Chief Justice and the persecution of James the clerk and one of the
keepers,[54] has been kept from the benefit of the pardon which has been
stayed at the Great Seal. Begs Lord Conway to perfect his work by moving
the Lord Keeper in his behalf, and in the mean time sending some
powerful warrant for his employment as a soldier.” Certain other
convicted prisoners in Newgate, who had been pardoned in respect of the
birth of Prince Charles (Charles II.), petition that they are altogether
impoverished, and unable to sue out their pardons. They pray that by
warrant they may be transported into the State of Venice under the
command of Captain Ludovic Hamilton. This document is endorsed with a
reference to the Lord Chief Justice of the Common Pleas to certify
concerning these delinquents and their crimes. George Gardener, a
prisoner in Newgate, also petitions the king in March 1630, stating that
he was committed by the council on the information of James Ingram,
deputy warden of the Fleet, to prevent petitioner prosecuting the said
Ingram for his notorious extortions. He has remained in Newgate since
April previous, and by Ingram’s procurement was shut up amongst felons
in the common gaol, whereby he might have been murdered. “Prays that he
may be allowed to go abroad on security.” Here is another petition, that
of Bridget Gray to the council. She states (July 19, 1618) that her
grandson, John Throckmorton, is a prisoner in Newgate for felony, and
prays that he may be discharged, this being his first offence, and Sir
Thomas Smythe being ready to convey him beyond seas. Upon this is
endorsed an order that if the mayor or recorder will certify that
Throckmorton was not convicted of murder, burglary, highway robbery,
rape, or witchcraft, a warrant may be made for his banishment. The
certificate is forthcoming, and is to the effect that Throckmorton’s
crime was aiding in stealing a hat, value 6s., for which the principal,
Robert Whisson, an old thief, was hanged.
The gaol calendar reflects the vicissitudes of these changing, troublous
times. There were many London citizens who, sharing the patriotic spirit
of Hampden and Pym, found themselves clapped into prison for refusing to
submit to the illegal taxations of Charles I. In a long statement, 16th
April, 1639, from Edward Rossingham to Lord Conway he says that the Lord
Mayor labours hard to get in the ship-money. “Some pay and many refuse;
but such as do refuse he requires to enter into a recognizance of so
much money to attend the council. Three citizens stand committed to
Newgate, not because they refuse to pay ship-money, but because they
refuse to enter into bond to attend the Board to answer their not paying
the same. Divers others refused, and were sent to Newgate; but upon
better consideration they paid their money, and were released again.”
The temper of the Government as regards ship-money is further shown by
the arrest and trial of the keeper of Newgate for permitting a prisoner
committed for non-payment of this unlawful tax to go at large. It
appears that the offender, Richard Chambers, had been several times
remanded to the same custody, and had been allowed to escape.
It was highly dangerous to speak lightly of dignities in these ticklish
times. The State trials give an account of the hard measure meted out to
one Edward Floyde for scandalizing the princess palatine, Elizabeth,
James I.’s daughter, and titular Queen of Bohemia. Floyde was charged
with having said, while a prisoner in the Fleet, “I have heard that
Prague is taken, and goodman Palsgrave and goodwife Palsgrave
(Elizabeth) have taken to their heels and run away.” This puerile,
gossip seriously occupied both houses of Parliament, and eventually the
Lords awarded and adjudged that Edward Floyde be deemed an infamous
person, incapable of bearing arms as a gentleman, whose testimony was
not to be taken in any court or cause. He was also sentenced to ride
with his head to his horse’s tail from Westminster to the pillory in
Cheapside; after this to be whipped from the Fleet to Westminster, there
again to stand on the pillory. He was to pay a fine of £5000 to the
king, and imprisoned in Newgate during his life.
In 1642, according to a published document,[55] Newgate “hath not been
more replenished with prisoners these many years than now, there being
very nigh three hundred prisoners committed to that infamous castle of
misery.” It was still the mere gatehouse prison, and its accommodation
must have been of the most limited description. Chief among these
inmates were six Jesuit priests who had been condemned to die, but had,
no doubt through the powerful advocacy of Henrietta Maria, obtained a
reprieve. “Whereupon did arise a tumultuous mutiny among the other
prisoners, who refused to die without the Jesuits; but afterwards they
(the mutineers) were mitigated in a kind of pacified tranquillity.”
Parliament had also petitioned that “execution might be imposed upon”
these priests; but the king would not condescend thereunto till his
further pleasure, “whereupon they (the Jesuits) have continued secure in
Newgate ever since, one man being solely excepted, viz. Goodman, who
died last Good Friday, and at once deceived both Gregory[56] and
Tyburn.” But the Parliament was at this date too near its rupture with
the king to submit to be thus put off, and re-petitioned, stating “these
Jesuits were an obstacle to their assiduous proceedings;” and His
Majesty replied that if they were “the obstruction and hindrance of
reformation in the Church they might be forthwith executed without
further delay.” Henrietta Maria’s strong attachment to the Roman
Catholic faith is satirized in the old German print, which I have taken
from the Crowle ‘Pennant’s London’, and which represents the Queen doing
penance at Tyburn over the grave of some recently executed priests. It
is said that “the pore queen” walked afoot--some say barefoot--from St.
James to Tyburn in the dead of night. A state coach followed with
attendants, and her father confessor. The whole story is probably
apocryphal, but the print is interesting as one of the earliest
representations of Tyburn tree. The pilgrimage took place in 1628, but
the print is of a later date.
Other prisoners at this time were certain Irishmen suspected to be
rebels who had apparently been captured on the high seas, and eventually
committed to Newgate. When formally examined before the Parliament, the
servants, seamen, and soldiers were remitted; only the master of the
ship, the captain, lieutenants, and ancients were detained, “and still
continue in prison.” The court was to examine them further; but as this
did not come off, the Parliament would, it was thought, censure them.
These, found to be ten in number, five of them friars, four soldiers,
and one a pilgrim, were at length examined “before a committee in the
court of wards, who demanded of them their intents in coming over to
Ireland, and to what effect: four of which very peremptorily denied, and
said they came over with occasions of merchandize, but one of them
betrayed the rest, and affirmed that they were friars, and came over
into England to save souls for heaven.” The other five were carried down
unto
[Illustration: _Henrietta Maria doing penance at Tyburn._]
Westminster before the same committee. The master of the ship, being
called first, “did show a commission unto them for his going; they then
asked him whether he would take the oath of allegiance, which he was
willing to take. When asked as to the oath of supremacy, he replied that
he was an ignorant man, and did not understand what it meant.” Three of
the others could not speak a word of English, whereupon the master did
interpret what they spake. “It seems by the exposition of the master of
the ship that they have been in service under the Prince of Orange half
a year; they were taken captives at Flanders; they served in France two
years, and a half-year in Spain, and now come into their own country.”
Neglect of the stringent ordinances passed to protect life during the
constant visitations of that fearful scourge the plague brought down the
one universal penalty, committal to Newgate, upon offenders. Here is a
long story about Stephen Smith, a fishmonger, whose door was by the
sufferance of the warder broken open, and William Fenn, servant to
Smith, who had already been indicted for offences committed during the
several infections of that house, entered the house and brought a
quantity of salted fish to the door for sale. Yet all the time Susan
Wheelyer, a maid-servant of Smith’s, was shut up in the house infected
with the plague. Smith had unlawfully abandoned his house. Fenn was
apprehended and shut up with the late infected servant under a better
guard. “I have committed the warder,” says Sir William Slingsby, who
makes the report, “and commanded the fish to be carried in again, and
the doors locked and guarded.... These proceedings I suspect to be done
by the private directions of Smith.” The orders of the council on the
above were prompt and severe. Stephen Smith was at once committed to
Newgate, “there to be kept under strong bolts until further orders,”
while William Fenn was sent to the pest-house, and a weight of iron
placed on his heels to keep him safe and quiet there. It was ordered
further, that the warders for their great neglect be put in the stocks
before Smith’s house.
Newgate, during the last great plague epidemic, received all offenders
against the sanitary rules. These were enforced by the Middlesex
justices, who were directed to be most careful for the relief of the
citizens and for the prevention of the spreading of infection. Diligent
circumspection was to be used to prevent the removal of goods or persons
from London or Westminster to other towns and villages, or up and down
the Thames; also to put pressure upon those belonging to infected
families who refused to shut themselves up. Refusal to obey or neglect
of these orders was to be visited with committal to Newgate and
indictment at the next sessions.
Offences against morality and religion were met with the same penalty of
imprisonment. Incontinence and loose living were high misdemeanours. In
an extract from the register of the High Court of Commission we find
that Nicholas Slater of Royden, Essex, a married man, had run off with
Blanche Cowper, another man’s wife. Defendants lived together in various
places. “Slater, like a vagabond, without license had wandered up and
down the kingdom professing physic and surgery, and carried Blanche
about with him from place to place.” Slater was committed close prisoner
to Newgate, there to remain during pleasure, and Blanche to Bridewell.
There was added penance in Ware and Stepney, while Slater was fined
£1000 and Blanche £100 to His Majesty. The last part of the sentence
points to Charles’s shifts to raise money. This was in 1638. Another
story of the same kind, but with a different issue, is of the same date.
George Harrison in Newgate petitions the Archbishop of Canterbury and
the Lords of the High Commission Court for enlargement. A certain John
Cock had, it appears, discovered the incontinent life of John Thierry
and Ursula Baythorpe. The latter offered Cock £27 to be silent, which he
was willing to accept, and went with the petitioner Harrison to a
tavern, the place appointed for the handing over of the money. But they
fell into a trap, and were arrested at the tavern; thence they were
carried to the Compter and committed to Newgate. Afterwards at a
sessions they were indicted, and, on the testimonies of the merchant and
the said Ursula’s sister and her husband, were whipped three times to
the pillory, where they stood eleven hours. They were not suffered to
come down till they had asked Thierry’s and Ursula’s forgiveness before
all the spectators, and so were three times whipped back again. “By the
extremity of which execution petitioner lost his speech and almost his
understanding, and Cock was carried home dead in the cart. By which
cruelty and disgrace petitioner, who was formerly well respected, is now
utterly undone.” Thierry must have had good friends at court. But the
informer seems to have been right in his denunciation, for both the
accused were subsequently “detected to the court,” and it was proved
that the said poor men had only suffered for “meddling with the truth.”
Petitioner now prays that the merchant (Thierry) may be ordered to give
him and his poor children relief and restitution for their sufferings.
A quaint pamphlet entitled ‘Strange News from Newgate,’ dated 1647,
states that on the 10th January, “being the blessed sabbath, at
Botolph’s Church near Bishopgate, in sermon time, there arose a great
disturbance by one Evan Price, a tailor, who stood up and declared
himself to be Christ, which words much amazed the people, and divers
timorous spirits into a great fear.... Whereupon he was immediately
apprehended and carried before the Right Honourable the Lord Mayor,
where he was examined seriously and at length, although no doubt a
religious lunatic.” He was asked whether he had worked miracles, whether
he was married, ... “with divers other arguments objected against him,
which he was not able to answer, but remained obstinate in his devilish
and satanical opinion.” But after some time spent upon his examination,
“as he still remained in his hell-bred opinion, not hearkening to any
advice or counsel whatsoever,” it was ordered that he should be
committed to Newgate, which was accordingly performed. “Five days later
he was arraigned at the Old Bailey, and coming to the bar, was examined
by the judges, but seemed resolute not to make any confession.” The
pamphlet ends abruptly, and does not give the result of his trial.
It must have been consequent on some conflict with the ecclesiastical
authority that Edward Powell, alias Anderson, was sent from Ely as a
prisoner to Newgate. The story rests on a report from Bishop Wren of Ely
to the council, dated 5th June 1638. Powell had been apprehended upon a
riot committed by an assemblage which went by the name of Anderson’s
Camp, but was not imprisoned for his share therein, but for his
misdemeanours and foul speeches at the time of arrest. He was accused of
being an abettor of the riot, although not present at it. When he had
been at Newmarket the previous Lent, Powell paid the town-crier twopence
to proclaim a gathering of the people to go to the king with a petition
about their fens; “for the losing of the fens would be the losing of
their livelihood.” Upon this Powell was summoned before Mr. Justice
Goodrick, but denied the charge. Next day Mr. Goodrick, going into the
market-place, found a crowd there with cudgels in their hands, and
Powell with them. Powell, interrogated, asked whether the king’s market
was not open to all, and rejoined his company. As the result of these
disturbances, Powell was arraigned and sentenced to a fine of £200, and
to be imprisoned, and “now lies in execution for the same. Since his
removal from the prison at Ely to Newgate, the poor people are very
quiet and in good order.” Powell from his captivity addresses his
“loving friends and neighbours in the city of Ely, and others,” in
letters which were seized. In these he expresses a hope of deliverance
when the king comes to London, and that he has refused to give up his
friends’ names, whereby they might be fined and imprisoned, although
daily urged to do so by fair offers and large promises, and also by
threatening language, terrible speech, and protestation of perpetual
imprisonment. He then asks these friends to make a collection for him
and his family, and gives a dark picture of his prison--“this loathsome
gaol, in which we are accompanied with noisome stinks, cold, lousy to
dying, and almost all other miseries.”
There is nothing especially remarkable in the purely criminal cases of
this period; offences have a strong family likeness to those of our own
day. Culprits are “cast” for “taking a chest of plate out of a house;”
for “taking £100 from a gentleman,” and so forth. Now and again appears
a case of abduction, a common crime in those and later days. Sarah Cox
prays the king’s pardon for Roger Fulwood, who was convicted of felony
for forcibly marrying her against her will. But she begs at the same
time her protection for person and estate from any claims in regard to
the pretended marriage. Knights of the road have already begun to
operate; they have already the brevet rank of captain, and even lads of
tender years are beguiled into adopting the profession of highway
robber. Counterfeiting the king’s or other great seals was an offence
not unknown. A Captain Farrar is lodged in Newgate (1639), accused of
counterfeiting His Majesty’s signature and privy signet. His method of
procedure was simple. Having received a document bearing His Majesty’s
privy seal for the payment of a sum of £190, he removed the seal and
affixed it to a paper purporting to be a license from the king to levy
and transport two hundred men beyond seas. This he published as a royal
license. When arraigned he admitted that the charge was true, but
pleaded that he had done the same according to the king’s commands. He
was reprieved until further orders.
The condition of the prisoners within Newgate continued very deplorable.
This is apparent from the occasional references to their treatment. They
were heavily ironed, lodged in loathsome dungeons, and all but starved
to death. Poor Stephen Smith, the fishmonger,[57] who had contravened
the precautionary rules against the plague, petitions the council that
he has been very heavily laden with such intolerable bolts and shackles
that he is lamed, and being a weak and aged man, is like to perish in
the gaol. “Having always lived in good reputation and been a liberal
benefactor where he has long dwelt, he prays enlargement on security.”
The prison is so constantly over-crowded that the prisoners have “an
infectious malignant fever which sends many to their long home. The
magistrates who think them unfit to breathe their native air when living
bury them as brethren when dead.” All kinds of robbery and oppression
were practised within the precincts of the gaol. Inside, apart from
personal discomfort, the inmates do much as they please. “There are
seditious preachings by fifth monarchy men at Newgate,” say the records,
“and prayers for all righteous blood.” Some time previous, when the
Puritans were nominally the weakest, they also held their services in
the prison. Samuel Eaton, a prisoner committed to Newgate as a dangerous
schismatic, is charged with having conventicles in the gaol, some to the
number of seventy persons. He was, moreover, permitted by the keeper to
preach openly. The keeper was petitioned by one of the inmates to remove
Eaton and send him to some other part of the prison, but he replied
disdainfully, threatening to remove the petitioner to a worse place. He,
the keeper himself, attended the conventicles, “calling it a very fair
and goodly company, and staying there some season.” Besides this, he
gave license to Eaton to go abroad, to preach, contrary to the charge of
the High Commission (1638). Another complaint made by the petitioner is
that the keeper caused petitioner’s sister to be removed out of the
prison contrary to the opinion of a doctor, and that she died the very
next day. Her chamber after her removal was assigned to Eaton, it being
the most convenient place in the prison for holding his conventicles.
This keeper may be condemned as a fanatical partizan at worst. But he
had predecessors who were active oppressors, eager to squeeze the
uttermost farthing out of their involuntary lodgers. The bar kept within
the prison must have been a cause of continued extortion, although those
who pandered to the cupidity of the bar-keepers occasionally got into
trouble. Sir Francis Mitchell, we read, was sent on foot and bareheaded
to the Tower on account of his patent for ale-houses. “He is a justice
of Middlesex, and had a salary of £40 a year from Newgate prison on
condition of sending all his prisoners there,” ... no doubt to drink the
liquor supplied to the prison bar.
But still worse was the conduct of the under-strappers. An instruction
to the Lord Mayor and sheriffs in the State Papers (Dec. 1649) directs
them to examine the miscarriages of the under officers of Newgate who
were favourers of the felons and robbers there committed, and to remove
such as appear faulty. The nefarious practices of the Newgate officers
were nothing new. They are set forth with much quaintness of diction and
many curious details in a pamphlet of the period, entitled the ‘Black
Dogge of Newgate.’ There was a tavern entitled the ‘Dogge Tavern in
Newgate,’ as appears by the State Papers, where the place is indicted
by an informer for improper practices. The author of the pamphlet
pretends that the dog has got out of prison and leapt into a sign-board.
“‘What the devil’s here?’ quoth a mad fellow going by, seeing the black
cur ringed about the nose with a golden hoop, having two saucer-like
eyes, and an iron chain about his neck. The public-house must be a
well-customed house where such a porter keeps the door and calls in
company.” The writer enters it and describes the scene. He finds
“English, Scottish, Welsh, Irish, Dutch, and French in several rooms;
some drinking the neat wine of Orleans, some the Gascony, some the
Bordeaux. There wanted neither sherry sack nor charnico, paligo nor
Peter Seeme, amber-coloured canary or liquorish Ipocras, brown beloved
Bastard, fat Alicant, or any quick-spirited liquor that might draw their
will into a circle....” Not desiring to mix with such company, the
writer sat himself and called for his “whole pint” alone. Presently he
was joined by a “poor thin-gut fellow with a face as red as the gilded
knobs of an alderman’s horse-bridle, who as it seemed had newly come out
of limbo.” The two treated each other, and then exchanged opinions as to
the sign of the tavern, wondering how it came first to be called the
Black Dog of Newgate; and the writer maintained that he had read in an
old chronicle “that it was a walking spirit in the likeness of a black
dog, gliding up and down the streets a little before the time of
execution, and in the night while the sessions continued.” From this
archæological exercise they pass on to discuss the prison and its
officers. This part of the pamphlet sheds a strong light upon the
evil-doings of the turnkeys, who appear to have been guilty of the
grossest extortion, taking advantage of their position as officers of
the law to levy black-mail alike on criminals and their victims. Of
these swindling turnkeys or bailiffs, whom the writer designates
“coney-catchers,” he tells many discreditable tales, one or two of which
may be worth transcribing.
The term coney-catching had long been in use to define a species of
fraud akin to our modern “confidence trick,” or, as the French call it,
the _vol à l’Americain_. Shakespeare, in the ‘Merry Wives of Windsor,’
makes Falstaff call Bardolph, Nym, and Pistol “coney-catching rascals.”
The fraud was then of but recent introduction. It is detailed at length
by Robert Greene in his ‘Notable Discovery of Cozenage,’ published in
1591. He characterizes it as a new art. Three parties were needed to
practise it, called respectively the setter, the verser, and the
barnacle; their game, or victim, was the coney. The first was the decoy,
the second was a confederate who plied the coney with drink, the third
came in by accident should the efforts of the others to beguile the
coney into “a deceit at cards have failed.” In the end the countryman
was completely despoiled. Later on there was a new nomenclature: the
setter became the beater, the tavern to which the rogues adjourned was
the “bush,” and the quarry was the bird. The verser was the retriever,
the barnacle was the pot-hunter, and the game was called bat-fowling.
Greene’s exposure was supposed to have deprived the coney-catchers of a
“collop of their living.” But they still prospered at their nefarious
practices, according to the author of the ‘Black Dogge,’ to whom I will
now return.
This was their plan of procedure. Two coney-catchers enter a tavern
together, and there find a gentleman drinking wine. They note his
appearance, his weapons, his good cloak and his neat apparel, and are
clear that he has a good store of money; so they make up to him. The
three become friendly, and the gentleman stands treat. After two or
three pottles of wine are disposed of one of the rogues says to their
entertainer, “I pray you heark in your ear. Thus it is; my fellow hath a
warrant to take you, therefore in kindness I pray you draw your purse
and give him an angel to spend in drink, and I will undertake we will
not see you at this time.” The stranger, however, would not be imposed
upon, and said they were coney-catching knaves, and that they should not
wrong him in any respect. “Whereupon the two sent for a constable, and
charged the other with felony. The constable, recognizing the two as
officials, took the stranger into custody and deprived him of his
weapons. Then the two told the constable they would be answerable for
his prisoner, and took charge of him. Now mark what followed. As these
two knaves were bringing the party charged with felony to Newgate, one
of them offered yet xx shillings to set him free, of which, when the
party had considered, knowing though he was clear of that he was
charged, yet if he lay in prison till the Sessions it would be greater
charges. When he was on Newgate stairs ready to go into the gaol, he was
content to leave his cloak, what money he had in his purse, and his
weapons, which were in the constable’s hand, in pawn for the xx
shillings, which the coney-catchers took, and discharged the prisoner
without any more to do.”
A little later the same victim is again encountered, with a companion,
in a tavern without Bishopgate, where he “had spoke for supper.” In came
the swindling turnkeys, whereat the other set on the best face he could,
and bade them welcome. The coney-catchers accepted the invitation, and
ate and drank merrily. Supper being ended, the reckoning was called for,
the shot paid, and, all things discharged, the coneys would fain have
been gone. “But one of the knaves said nay: ... thus it is, such a man
was robbed within this week, and hath got out a warrant for you by name.
He hath lost £10; now, if you will restore the money, and bestow xx
shillings on us two to drink for our pains, we will undertake to satisfy
the party and be your discharge. If not, we have a warrant, and you must
answer it at Newgate. This back reckoning is something sharp, but there
is no remedy; either pay so much money, or else must a constable be sent
for, and so to Newgate as round as a hoop.”
“To be short, this was the conclusion: the coney put down £10, every
penny whereof was to be paid to the man in the moon, for I dare take it
upon my death neither of these coneys did offend any such man in manner
these knaves had charged them.”
A favourite hunting-ground for these swindlers was at Westminster Hall
during term time. Their method was to send confederates in among the
thickest of the crowd, where the cut-purses were likely to be busiest,
and there “listen if any purse were cut that day.” The coney-catchers
themselves were posted, one by the water stairs, the other at the gate,
where they could not fail to intercept the cut-purse who had committed
the theft. Presently they recognize him, accost and stop him. The
cut-purse, anxious to curry favour, offers to stand both wine and a
breakfast, but the coney-catcher will not tarry. He declares with an
oath that he is really sorry to have met the cut-purse that day, “for
there is a mischief done, and he fears some one will smoke for it.” At
this time the cut-purse is afraid, but for that time he scapeth their
fingers. After this the swindler makes it his business to seek out the
victim of the robbery, and on discovering him, promises that if he will
only be guided by him he will help him to most of his money again. The
honest fellow, a countryman, delighted, offers “at first word” one half
to get other half back, the whole amount being ten pounds. “Then away
goeth the coney-catcher to a justice,” from whom he obtains a warrant to
take up all suspected persons. The warrant obtained, the coney-catcher
is as “pleasant as a pie,” and with his countryman spend some time
drinking a pottle of wine, after which the turnkey takes leave of his
client, who goes to his lodging, and “the coney-catcher about his
faculty.” Now, woe to the cut-purses we may meet, for they must to
Newgate on his warrant; but although he apprehends twelve or sixteen,
the real culprit is certainly not among them. “The honest company of
cut-purses being all in Newgate, H. (the coney-catcher) goes presently
and certifies the justice what a set of notable thieves he has taken,
and desiring the justice to examine them about the theft, warning him
that they will confess nothing, which indeed the justice findeth true.”
They are remanded to Newgate, and _en route_ beg H. to stand their
friend, “assuring him of their innocency; yet rather than be in prison
one offereth ten shillings, some more, some less, as they are of
ability, with promise of more if H.’s good words gain them their
release.”
“Now the coney-catcher hath the matter as he would wish it, and taking
their money, first he goeth presently to the justice and certifieth him
that these which he had apprehended did none of them cut the purse, and
for that he hath gotten knowledge who did, he desireth that they may be
bailed.” The justice, glad to hear the culprit is known, yields ready
assent, and the captive cut-purses are set free.
H.’s next business is to hunt up the real thief, and meeting him,
“spareth not to tell him how sore the justice is against him, and how
earnestly the countryman will pursue the law; and further, he sweareth
that some of those that were in Newgate told the justice plainly that he
cut the purse. This peal ringeth nothing well in the cut-purse’s ears,
who can find no favour but to Newgate.” So he entreats the coney-catcher
to stand his friend, who promises at length to do any good he can, at
the same time cautioning the cut-purse to confess nothing, “what proof
soever come against him,” assuring him further, that the man who lost
the money, although sore bent against, “yet he will partly be ruled by
him, H.” But the arrest is made; the thief is conveyed to Newgate, and
there, by way of welcome, a good pair of bolts and shackles are clapped
upon his legs. Then H. sends for the countryman, telling him the good
news that the thief is taken and in limbo; and together they go before
the justice, to whom H. “signifieth how the case standeth, railing
mightily against the cut-purse,” whose guilt can easily be proved, and
begging his worship to summon the thief. The cut-purse is sent for, and
“having taken out his lesson,” doggedly refuses to confess, upon which
the justice returneth him to Newgate, there to abide till the next
sessions. The countryman is bound over to give evidence, but he,
“dwelling far from London, and it being long to next Law Day, allegeth
he cannot be in the city at that time, for he is a poor man, and hath
great occasion of business.”
On leaving the justice H. returns to Newgate, and assures the cut-purse
that he has laboured hard “with him who had his purse cut to take his
money again, and not to give evidence against him; that if he may have
his money again he will presently go out of town.” The cut-purse, taking
H.’s hand (as witness) that no man shall give evidence against him at
the sessions, doth presently send abroad to his friends for the money;
which as soon as it cometh he delivereth to H., and withal a large
overplus, because he will be thus sure of H.’s favour.
“This done, H. goes to the countryman and tells him he got no more but
six or seven pounds, of which, if he will accept, and proceed no further
against the party, he hath it to pay him; marry he will not be known to
the countryman, but that he had that money of some friend of the
cut-purse’s, who upon the former condition is willing it should be paid,
if not, to have his money again.
“The countryman, having haste out of the city, is glad to take it, out
of which sum, if it be seven pounds, H. must have half; so that the poor
man, of ten pounds hath but three pounds ten shillings, whereas the
coney-catcher by this account hath got at one hand and another very near
forty marks. The money shared, the countryman takes horse and away he
rides. Again H.’s mouth is stopt, and the next sessions the cut-purse is
quit by proclamation, no man being there to give evidence against him.”
Plain symptoms of the approaching struggle between the king and the
commons are to be met with in the prison records. Immediately after the
meeting of the Long Parliament, orders were issued for the enlargement
of many victims of Star Chamber oppression. Among them was the
celebrated Prynne, author of the ‘Histriomatrix,’[58] who had lost his
ears in the pillory; Burton a clergyman, and Bastwick a physician, who
had suffered the same penalties, all came out of prison triumphant,
wearing ivy and rosemary in their hats. Now Strafford was impeached and
presently beheaded; Laud also was condemned. The active interference of
Parliament in all affairs of State extended to the arrest of persons
suspected of treasonable practices. A curious document issues from
Newgate in 1642, where several supposed rebels and others have been
imprisoned. It is a petition[59] which was presented to Parliament by
Colonel Goret, who had commanded some of them in France. The petition
sets forth that Daniel Dalley, master of a small barque, of “Kinsaile in
Ireland,” had been freighted, about the 10th November, 1641, out by two
gentlemen, merchants of Kingsale, with beef, tallow, and hides for “St.
Mallowes in France.” There these commodities had been “vended,” and the
same merchants laid out their money in wine and fruits to freight the
vessel home again. “All being done, and they ready to set sail, the
governor (of St. Mallowes) sent a command to Daniel Dalley the master,
that he should take nine gentlemen with him, which should pay for their
passage.” “By reason of the troubles,”[60] the master refused; but
Dalley was obliged to take them on board, under threat of committal to
gaol, and by the governor’s warrant and command. He then set sail, and
two days after he had gone to sea a storm rose at south and S. S. W.,
which drove them into Saltcombe in the west country, “where the
passengers went ashore and took lodging till it would please God to send
fair weather.” However, notice of their landing came to Captain Foskew,
“one that had command of a fort of his majesty’s there,” who summoned
them before him and examined them. Finding they could not give a good
account of their designs, he committed them, with the merchants and the
ship’s company, until he communicated with Parliament. In reply the
Parliament sent for them to London, and lodged them in Newgate. There
they lay from day to day expecting to be called up by Parliament, but
this being so long delayed, they petitioned for enlargement.
On the Parliament side it appeared that information had been given the
House of Commons that certain mariners and commanders were proceeding
from France to Ireland to take part in the rebellion, they having a
commission about them for the purpose. Also that one Captain Foskew had
taken and stayed the said mariners and sea captains. “The honourable
assembly,” therefore, as well out of their pious and grave consideration
for the better satisfaction of the kingdom, as for the prevention of
such dangers as might follow from their landing in Ireland, made an
order to bring the prisoners to London for examination. This was done
with all proper precaution. Each sheriff saw to their safe conduct in
his own county, “not suffering them to go together, but the commanders
to be kept away from the rest.” By virtue of the Speaker’s (Lenthall)
warrant, they were delivered by the sheriff of Devon to the next
sheriff, and so from county to county, until they came to Middlesex,
where they were received by the sheriffs of Middlesex, and committed to
Newgate, the county gaol, “where they were with much care imprisoned and
strictly kept, some of them being placed in the master’s, others in the
common side.”
The petition already mentioned set forth that the said captains, “being
all strangers and destitute of acquaintance, except with a few persons
of this town. They declared that they were his majesty’s true and loyal
subjects, most of them born within the king’s realm of Ireland, all
strictly obliged and most ready to defend his rights and privileges to
the utmost of their power. Being ‘necessitated in their native country,’
they repaired three years previously to France, where they served in
martial affairs under Colonel Goret, till they were disbanded, and
resolved to return home. They were, however, detained at Saltcombe, in
the county of Devon, where they were imprisoned and their goods seized.
Since then they had lain in Newgate, ‘where they are liable to remain in
great misery, to their loss of time, and utter destruction and ruin.’
They begged, therefore, that they might be ‘forthwith convented before
the honourable assembly to answer their charge,’ and having proved their
loyalty, might be restored to their former liberty and fortunes.” The
answer to this petition is not recorded, except that the prisoners hoped
daily to be sent for, a committee of the House having been appointed to
examine them. Meantime they carried themselves civilly in the gaol, and
with patience looked for the time when they should be called for their
answer. They were conscious of innocence; they denied “all intentions of
assisting the rebels in Ireland, or any act which might tend to their
disloyalty,” the true cause of their return home being a want of
employment in France.
There are other cases of imprisonment more or less arbitrary in these
troubled times. Another petition may be quoted, that of Richard Overton,
“a prisoner in the most contemptible gaol of Newgate,” under an order of
the House of Lords. Overton tells us how he was brought before that
House “in a warlike manner, under pretence of a criminal fact, and
called upon to answer interrogations concerning himself which he
conceived to be illegal and contrary to the national rights, freedoms,
and properties of the free commoners of England, confirmed to them by
Magna Charta, the Petition of Right, and the Act for the Abolishment of
the Star Chamber.” Overton was therefore emboldened to refuse subjection
to the said House. He was adjudged guilty of contempt, and committed to
Newgate, where he was seemingly doomed to lie until their lordships’
pleasure shall be further signified, which “may be perpetual if they
please, and may have their wills, for your petitioner humbly conceiveth
that he is made a prisoner to their wills, not to the law, except their
wills may be a law.” On this account he appealed to the Commons “as the
most sovereign Court of Judicature in the land,” claiming from them
“repossession of his just liberty and freedom, or else that he may
undergo the penalty prescribed by the law if he be found a
transgressor.” Whether Overton was supported by the Commons against the
Lords does not appear, but within three years the Lower House abolished
the House of Peers.
Here is yet another petition from a better known inmate of Newgate, the
obstinately independent Colonel Lilburne, commonly called “Freeborn
John.” Lilburne was always at loggerheads with the government of the
city. In 1637, when following the trade of bookseller, he was convicted
by the Star Chamber for publishing seditious libels, and sentenced to
the pillory, imprisonment, and a fine of £5000. In 1645 he falls foul of
the Parliament, and writes a new treatise, calling in question their
power. For this, although he had already done good service to the
Parliamentary cause and had earned the grade of Lieutenant-Colonel in
the field, he is first questioned, then sent to Newgate. He dates from
thence, in 1646, a letter to Mr. Wollaston, the keeper of Newgate, or
his deputy. He states that he has seen a warrant commanding the keeper
to produce him before the House of Lords, but that the warrant expresses
no reason why he should “dance attendance before them,” nor does he know
any reason why he should, or any law that compels him thereto. The Lords
had already endeavoured illegally to try him, a commoner, before their
bar, for which, under hand and seal, he protested to their faces against
them as violent and illegal encroachers upon his rights and liberties,
and appealed to the proper tribunal, the Commons, for which appeal he
was arbitrarily committed to gaol. Lilburne goes on to say,--
“Sir, I am a freeman of England, and therefore I am not to be used as a
slave or vassal by the Lords, which they have already done, and would
further do; I also am a man of peace and quietness, and desire not to
molest any, if I be not forced thereunto, therefore I desire you, as you
tender my good and your own, take this for an answer, that I cannot,
without turning traitor to my liberty, dance attendance to their
lordships’ bar, being bound in conscience, duty to God, myself, thine,
and my country, to oppose their encroachments to the death, which, by
the strength of God, I am resolved to do. Sir, you may, or cause to be
exercised upon me some force or violence to pull and drag me out of my
chamber, which I am resolved to maintain as long as I can, before I will
be compelled to go before them; and therefore I desire you, in a
friendly way, to be wise and considerate before you do that which, it
may be, you can never undo.
“Sir, I am your true and fair-conditioned prisoner, if you will be so to
me,
“JOHN LILBURNE.
“From my cock-loft in the press-yard of Newgate, 23rd June, 1646.”
Lilburne was eventually banished by the Rump Parliament; but in 1653 he
returned to England, and threw himself upon the tender mercies of the
Protector. Cromwell would do nothing, and left him to the law. Lilburne
was then arrested, and committed to Newgate. At the next sessions he was
arraigned, but refused to plead unless furnished with a copy of his
indictment. He managed to put off his trial by various expedients till
the next sessions, when he was acquitted by the jury. In Thurloe’s State
papers it is stated that “John Lilburne was five times at his trial at
the Sessions House, where he most courageously defended himself from Mr.
Stale, the recorder’s, violent assaults with his old buckler, Magna
Charta, so that they have let him alone.” “Freeborn John” was so popular
with malcontents of all shades of opinion, that the authorities, from
Oliver Cromwell downward, were really afraid of him. Oliver professed to
be enraged against him, and anxious for his punishment, yet he privately
paid him a pension equal to the pay of a Lieutenant-Colonel, and, as
Thurloe says, “thought the fellow so considerable, that during the time
of his trial he kept three regiments continually under arms at St.
James’.” The jury which acquitted Lilburne were summoned to answer for
their conduct before the Council of State. Yet there is little doubt
that the court was overawed by the mob. For Thurloe says there were six
or seven hundred men at the trial, with swords, pistols, bills, daggers,
and other instruments, that, in case they had not cleared him, they
would have employed in his defence. The joy and acclamation was so great
after he was acquitted, that the shout was heard an English mile.
The mob had been turbulent enough to give cause for alarm on a previous
occasion. Four or five years previously the puritanical zeal of the
Lords had produced a stringent ordinance against tippling and gaming on
the Lord’s Day. This occasioned a great tumult, which originated in
Moorfields, and agitated the metropolis for a couple of days. It is said
that, but for the vigorous action of Fairfax, the Government would have
been overthrown. The people mastered a part of the trainbands, seized
their drums and colours, beat up for recruits, then forming into
something like military order, they surprised Newgate and Ludgate in the
night, and seized the keys. The rioters divided into two parties: one
marched upon Whitehall, but were discomfited _en route_; the other
ranged the city, possessing themselves of ordnance, arms, and
ammunition. Prompt measures were, however, taken at a council of war,
and Fairfax, entering the city at the head of two regiments, put several
to the sword, took many prisoners, and dispersed the rest.
The transfer of power to the Commonwealth is significantly recorded in
the annals of Newgate. A whole batch of warrants are to be found in the
State papers about 1649, ordering the committal of persons charged with
being in arms against the Parliament--the offenders are mostly military
officers. Thus the keeper of Newgate, Richard Dicke by name, is
commanded to receive Lieutenant-Colonel Clarke, Major Wright, and
Captain Wescott; also Lieutenant Gage, Robert Wood, pilot, and Robert
Parker, taken in a man of war, all charged with levying war. Again, the
Commonwealth directs W. Roberts to be sent to Newgate for being an agent
of the proclaimed King of Scotland. Later on, Colonel Clarke, already
mentioned, was released on his signing the test, and finding securities
for good behaviour. Captain Matthew Harrison is committed for bearing
arms against the Parliament, and “drinking a health to Charles, the late
king’s son, by name King Charles II.” The recorder is directed to
examine Colonel Jones concerning Captain Harrison, and to see that he be
proceeded against according to law. A declaration is made before the
Council of State as to Charles Pullen, “lately a prisoner in Newgate,”
committed there for being found in the Hart frigate. Pullen had escaped
from prison, and was liable to the penalty of death if recaptured; but
the council remit the penalty in order to exchange Pullen for Ensign
Wright, a prisoner at Jersey. In Nov. 1650 John Jolfe is committed to
Newgate for carrying the Roebuck out of the Commonwealth. Royalist
sympathizers find but scant comfort. The keeper of Newgate is ordered to
receive and imprison one Pate, and hold him in safe custody, for aiding
Lieutenant-General Middleton to escape from the Tower; and a similar
warrant is made out against Mitchell for being accessory to the escape
of Colonel Edward Massey from the same place.
All this time prisoners of great mark were at times confined in Newgate.
That noted royalist, Judge Jenkins, was among the number. His crime was
publishing seditious books, and sentencing to death people who had
assisted against the Parliament. He was indeed attainted of high treason
under an ordinance which started in the House of Commons, and was
ultimately passed, and sent to the House of Lords. A committee was sent
from “the Commons’ House to Newgate, which was to interview Judge
Jenkins, and make the following offer to him--viz. that if he would own
the power of the Parliament to be lawful, they would not only take off
the sequestrations from his estates, amounting to £500 per annum, but
they would also settle a pension on him of £1000 a year.” His reply was
to the following effect: “Far be it from me to own rebellion, although
it was lawful and successful.” As the judge refused to come to terms
with them, he remained in Newgate till the Restoration.
People of still higher rank found themselves in gaol. The brother of the
Portugal ambassador, Don Pantaleon Sa, is sent, with others, to Newgate
for a murder committed by them near the Exchange. It was a bad case.
They had quarrelled with an English officer, Gerard, who, hearing the
Portuguese discoursing in French upon English affairs, told them they
did not represent certain passages aright. “One of the foreigners gave
him the lie, and all three fell upon him, and stabbed him with a dagger;
but Colonel Gerard being rescued out of their hands by one Mr. Anthuser,
they retired home, and within one hour returned with twenty more, armed
with breastplate and head-pieces; but after two or three turns, not
finding Mr. Anthuser, they returned home that night.”[61] Don Pantaleon
made his escape from prison a few days later, but he was retaken.
Strenuous efforts were then made to obtain his release. His trial was
postponed on the petition of “the Portugal merchants.” The Portugal
ambassador himself had an audience of Cromwell, the Lord Protector. But
the law took its course. Don Pantaleon pleaded his relationship, and
that he had a commission to act as ambassador in his brother’s absence;
this was disallowed, and after much argument the prisoners pleaded
guilty, and desired “to be tried by God and the country.” A jury was
called, half-denizens, half-aliens, six of each, who, after a full
hearing, found the ambassador’s brother and four more guilty of murder
and felony. Lord Chief Justice Rolles then sentenced them to be hanged,
and fixed the day of execution; “but by the desire of the prisoners it
was respited two days.” This was the 6th July, 1654. On the 8th, Don
Pantaleon Sa was reprieved, or more exactly, his sentence was commuted
to beheading. On the 10th he tried to escape, without success, and on
the same day he was conveyed from Newgate to Tower Hill in a coach and
six horses in mourning, with divers of his brother’s retinue with him.
There he laid his head on the block, and “it was chopt off at two
blows.” The rest although condemned were all reprieved, except one, an
English boy concerned in the murder, who was hanged at Tyburn.[62]
Other distinguished inmates, a few years later, were Charles Lord
Buckhurst, Edward Sackville, and Sir Henry Bellayse, K.B., who, being
prisoners in Newgate, petitioned the Lord Chief Justice, March 10th, to
be admitted to bail, one of them being ill of the small-pox. They were
charged seemingly with murder. Their petition sets forth that “while
returning from Waltham to London, on the 8th February, they aided some
persons, who complained that they had been robbed and wounded in pursuit
of the thieves, and in attacking the robbers wounded one who has since
died.” Sir Thomas Towris, Baronet, petitions the king (Charles II.) “not
to suffer him to lie in that infamous place, where he has not an hour of
health, nor the necessaries of life. He states that he has been four
months in the Tower, and five weeks in Newgate, charged with
counterfeiting His Majesty’s hand, by the malice of an infamous person
who, when Registrar Accountant at Worcester House, sold false
debentures.” Sir Thomas “wished to lay his case before His Majesty at
his first coming from Oxford, but was deceived, and the way to bounty
stopped.”