WHITECROSS-STREET PRISON.
A cold drizzling rain was falling, as Chichester proceeded along the
streets leading to the debtors' prison. The noise of pattens upon the
pavement; the numbers of umbrellas that were up; the splashing of
horses' feet and carriage-wheels in the kennels; the rush of cabs and
the shouting of omnibus-cads, were all characteristic of a wet night in
a crowded metropolis.
Chichester shivered--more through nervousness than actual cold; and he
felt an oppressive sensation at the bottom of his stomach, as well as at
the chest.
The officer endeavoured to console him, by observing that "it was lucky
he had been taken so close to the prison on such a rainy night."
The ruined young man envied many a poor wretch whom he passed on his
way; for he knew that it was far easier to get into a debtors' gaol than
to get out of it.
At length they arrived at the prison.
It was now nine o'clock; and the place, viewed by the flickering light
of the lamp at the gate of the governor's house, wore a melancholy and
sombre appearance. The prisoner was introduced into a small lobby, where
an elderly turnkey with knee-breeches and gaiters, thrust a small loaf
of bread into his hand, and immediately consigned him to the care of
another turnkey, who led him through several alleys to the staircase
communicating with the Receiving Ward.
The turnkey pulled a wire, which rang a bell on the first floor.
"Who rings?" cried a voice at the top of the stairs.
"Sheriffs debtor--Arthur Chichester--L. S.," replied the turnkey, in a
loud sing-song voice.
Chichester afterwards learnt that he was mentioned as a sheriff's
prisoner, in contra-distinction to one arrested by a warrant from the
Court of Requests; and that L. S. meant _London side_--an intimation
that he had been arrested in the City of London, and not in the County
of Middlesex.
Having ascended a flight of stone steps, Chichester was met at the door
of the Receiving Ward by the steward thereof. This steward was himself a
prisoner, but was considered a trustworthy person, and had therefore
been selected by the governor to preside over that department of the
prison.
The Receiving Ward was a long low room, with windows secured by bars, at
each end. There were two grates, but only one contained any fire. The
place was remarkably clean--the floor, the deal tables, and the forms
being as white as snow.
The following conversation forthwith took place between the new prisoner
and the steward:--
"What is your name?"
"Arthur Chichester."
"Have you got your bread?"
"Yes."
"Well--put it in that pigeon-hole. Do you choose to have sheets to-night
on your bed?"
"Certainly."
"Then that will be a shilling the first night, and sixpence every night
after, as long as you remain here. You can, moreover, sleep in the inner
room, and sit up till twelve o'clock. Those who can't afford to pay for
sheets sleep in a room by themselves, and go to bed at a quarter to ten.
You see we know how to separate the gentlemen from the riff-raff."
"And how long shall I be allowed to stay up in the Receiving Ward?"
"That depends. Do you mean to live at my table? I charge sixpence for
tea, the same for breakfast, a shilling for dinner, and four-pence for
supper."
"Well--I shall be most happy to live at your table."
"In that case, write a note to the governor, to say you are certain to
be able to settle your affairs in the course of a week; and I will take
care he shall have it the very first thing to-morrow morning."
"But I am sure of not being able to settle in a week."
"Do as you like. You won't be allowed to stay up here unless you do."
"Oh! in that case I will do so at once. Can you oblige me with a sheet
of writing-paper?"
"Certainly. Here is one. A penny, if you please."
Chichester paid for the paper, wrote the letter, and handed it to the
Steward.
He then cast a glance round the room; and saw three or four tolerably
decent-looking persons warming themselves at the fire, while fifteen or
sixteen wretched-looking men, dressed for the most part as labourers,
were sitting on the forms round the walls, at a considerable distance
from the blazing grate.
The Steward, perceiving that the new prisoner threw a look of inquiry
towards him, said,--"Those _gentlemen_ at the fire are Sheriff's
Debtors, and live at my table: those _chaps_ over there are Court of
Requests' Men, and haven't a shilling to bless themselves with. So, of
course, I can't allow them to associate with the others."
"How many prisoners, upon an average, pass through the Receiving Ward in
the course of one year?"
"About three thousand three hundred as near as I can guess. All the
Debtors receive each so much bread and meat a-week. The prison costs the
City close upon nine thousand pounds a year."
"Nine thousand a-year, spent to lock men up, away from their families!"
exclaimed Chichester. "That sum would pay the debts of the greater
portion of those who are unfortunate enough to be brought here."
"You may well say _that_," returned the Steward. "Why, half the
prisoners who come here are poor working-men, snatched away from their
labour, and obliged to know that their wives and children will starve
during their absence. That man over there, with the little bundle tied
up in a blue cotton handkerchief, is only arrested for 8d. The costs are
three and sixpence."
"He is actually a prisoner, then, for four and two-pence."
"Exactly. The man next to him is arrested for 3d., the balance of a
chandler's shop debt; his costs are five shillings. But the case of that
poor devil who is crying so up in the corner, is the worst. It appears
that he had an account at a tally-shop, and paid one shilling a-week
towards its liquidation. He was in full work, and earned eighteen
shillings a week; and so he regularly gave his wife the money every
Saturday night to put away for the tally-man. But the woman is fund of
tippling, and she spent the money in gin. Well, the tally-man takes out
a _summons_ from the Court of Requests: the wife receives it, and is
afraid to tell her husband. Next week comes the _Rule_: this the woman
also hides, hoping, somehow or another, to get together the debt and
costs, and settle it unknown to her husband. But no such thing: so this
morning, as the poor fellow was going home to dinner, he was arrested
for four shillings debt, and six shillings costs."
"This was cruel indeed," observed Chichester, to whom all these details
were perfectly new.
"Yes," continued the Steward; "but that is nothing to the things that I
have heard men tell up in this room. Loan-Societies, Tally-Shops, and
the low pettifogging lawyers, keep this place well-filled."
It was now a quarter to ten; and the poor wretches who could not afford
to pay for sheets, were huddled off to bed. Chichester, and the
"_gentlemen who boarded at the Steward's table_," remained up, smoking
cigars and drinking ale, until twelve.
Chichester was then introduced into a large room, containing ten or a
dozen beds, whose frame-work was made of iron. One miserably thin
blanket, a horse-cloth, and a straw mattress and pillow, were all
provided for each couch, by the Corporation of the City of London!
Oh! how generous--how philanthropic--how noble; to tear men away from
their homes and give them straw, wrapped up in coarse ticking, to sleep
upon!
On the following morning Chichester awoke early, and rose with every
bone aching from the hardness of his bed. He performed his toilette in a
species of scullery attached to the Receiving Ward; and the enjoyment
of this luxury was attended with the following disbursements:--Towel.
2d.; Use of Soap, 1d.; Loan of Razor and Lather-box, 1d.
[Illustration]
Breakfast, consisting of coffee and dry toast, was then served up.
Those who boarded with the steward sate down and commenced a desperate
assault upon the provisions: and those who fancied an egg or a rasher of
bacon with their meal, paid twopence extra. The conversation was
entirely associated with the prison affairs; it appeared as if those men
when once they set foot in the prison, discarded all thoughts of the
great world without, from which they have been snatched away. Even when
the morning newspaper came in, attention was first directed, by a
strange kind of sympathy, to the list of Bankrupts and to the Law
Notices, the latter of which afforded them the pleasing and interesting
intelligence of who were that day to appear before the Commissioners of
the Insolvent Court.
At five minutes past nine, a violent ring at the bell called the Steward
in haste to the door. This was the summons of a turnkey who came to
remove the new prisoners to the respective departments of the
establishment to which they belonged. Thus they were classified into
Middlesex Sheriffs' Debtors, London Sheriffs' Debtors, and City Freemen
who were also Sheriffs' Debtors; and London Court of Requests' Debtors,
and Middlesex Court of Requests' Debtors.
Chichester was ordered to remove to the Poultry Ward, on the London
side, the governor declining to comply with the request contained in his
letter.
It will be seen from what we have already said, that Whitecross-street
prison is essentially different from the Bench, descriptions of which
have been given in so many different works, and the leading features of
which are so familiar to a large portion of the community, either from
hearsay or experience. If a man cannot muster four or five pounds to
transfer himself from the custody of the Sheriffs to that of the Judges,
by a _habeas corpus_ writ, he must remain in Whitecross-street prison,
while the more wealthy debtor enjoys every luxury and privilege in the
Bench. And yet, we are constantly assured that there is the same law for
the poor as there is for the rich!
The system of imprisonment for debt is in itself impolitic, unwise, and
cruel in the extreme:--it ruins the honest man, and destroys the little
remnant of good feeling existing in the heart of the callous one. It
establishes the absurd doctrine, that if a man _cannot_ pay his debts
while he is allowed the exercise of his talents, his labour, and his
acquirements, he _can_ when shut up in the narrow compass of a prison,
where his talents, his labours, and his acquirements are useless. How
eminently narrow-sighted are English legislators! They fear totally to
abolish this absurd custom, because they dread that credit will suffer.
Why--credit is altogether begotten in confidence, and never arises from
the preconceived intention on the part of him who gives it, to avail
himself of this law against him who receives it. Larceny and theft are
punished by a limited imprisonment, with an allowance of food; but
debtors, who commit no crime, may linger and languish--and _starve in
gaol_.
The Poultry Ward was a long, dark, low room, with seven or eight barred
windows on each side, sawdust upon the stone floor, and about a dozen or
fourteen small tables arranged, like those of a coffee-house, around the
walls. The room was full of debtors of all appearances--from the
shabby-genteel down to the absolutely ragged. Here a prisoner was
occupied in drawing up his schedule for the Insolvent Debtors'
Court;--there an emaciated old man was writing a letter, over which he
shed bitter and scalding tears;--at another table a young farmer's
labourer-looking man was breakfasting off bread and cheese and onions,
which he washed down with porter;--close by was a stout seedy-looking
person with grey hair, who did not seem to have any breakfast at
all;--in this nook a poor pale wretch was reading a newspaper;--in that
corner another individual was examining a pile of letters;--several were
gathered round the fire in the scullery or kitchen attached to the Ward,
preparing their breakfasts;--and others were lounging up and down the
room, laughing and talking over the amusements of the preceding night up
in the sleeping rooms.
The steward of the Poultry Ward had just finished his breakfast when the
turnkey introduced Mr. Chichester.
"Well, Mr. Thaynes," said the Steward, quite delighted to see the new
prisoner, "I began to think we should have had none down this morning.
Pray take a seat, sir."
This invitation was addressed to Chichester, who sat down accordingly.
The Steward, after exchanging a few observations with the turnkey,
produced a book from a drawer in the table, and, addressing himself in a
semi-mysterious tone to Mr. Chichester, said--"These are our rules and
regulations. Every new member is required to pay an entrance fee of one
pound and sixpence; and this goes towards the fund for paying the
officers and servants of the ward, providing coals, and administering
generally to the comforts of the place."
"I am quite satisfied with the justice of the charge," said Chichester;
and he paid it accordingly.
"I suppose you will live at my table?" enquired the Steward. "Same
charges as upstairs in the Receiving Ward."
"Oh! certainly," answered Chichester. "Have you any body here of any
consequence at all?"
"Not particularly at this moment. Lord William Priggins stayed a couple
of days with us, and went over to the Bench yesterday morning."
"Who is that gentleman walking up and down the narrow court outside?"
enquired Chichester, glancing towards the window, through which might be
seen a tall slim young man, with black moustachios, a long faded cotton
dressing gown, a dingy velvet skull cap, and pantaloons hanging low and
loose, because the owner had forgotten his braces.
"Oh! that is Count Pichantoss--a celebrated Russian nobleman, who was
cleaned out some weeks since at a West-end Hell, and got put into prison
for his hotel bill."
"And who is that respectable old gentleman with the bald head, and
dressed in black?"
"That is a clergyman, the Rev. Henry Sharpere: he is an excellent
preacher, they say--and the best securer of a die that I ever saw in my
life."
"And that very sickly pale-faced youth, who seems to be scarcely
twenty?"
"He is only twenty-one and a month. He was arrested the day after he
came of age for blank acceptances which he had given, during his
minority, to the tune of three thousand pounds, and for which he never
received more than three hundred."
"And that quiet-looking old gentleman, at the table opposite?"
"He is a Chancery prisoner--committed for contempt. It appears that he
was one morning walking by the Auction Mart, and saw large posting-bills
announcing the immediate sale of an estate, consisting of thirteen
houses, somewhere in Finsbury, under a decree of the Court of Chancery.
My gentleman hadn't a guinea in his pocket, nor the means of raising one
at the time. Nevertheless he walked into the Mart as bold as brass,
strode up stairs to the auctioneer's rooms, and bid for the estate.
There were plenty of competitors; but he didn't care--he bid away; and
at last the estate was knocked down to him for four thousand three
hundred pounds. When sales are effected under an order of the
Chancellor, no deposit-money is required. This may seem strange to you;
but it is not the less a fact. So off walks my gentleman, quite rejoiced
at his bargain. The first thing he does is to go and collect all the
arrears of rent he can from the tenants of the houses, and to distrain
upon those who couldn't or wouldn't pay. Lord! what a game he did play,
to be sure! He called into request the services of half the brokers in
Finsbury, and made the tenants cash up to the very last farthing that
was due. Well, the lawyers employed for the sale of the estate, drew up
the deeds of conveyance and the abstract of the title; but my gentleman
never meant paying--so at last, the Chancery Court, getting tired of his
excuses, and finding that he would not disgorge the amount he had
already received for rents, nor yet come down with a shilling towards
the purchase-money, clapt him into limbo under some form or
another;--and so here he is."
In this manner did the steward of the Poultry Ward render the new
prisoner familiar with the leading characters of that department of the
prison. In addition to the few instances of flagrant dishonesty, or
culpable extravagance which were pointed out to Chichester, information
was given him of many--very many cases of pure and unadulterated
misfortune. The churchyard has known no sorrow--the death-chamber has
known no anguish equal to that acute and poignant suffering which many
an inmate endures within the walls of that prison. If he be an
affectionate father, he thinks of his absent little ones, and he feels
shocked at the cold cruelty of the rules which only permit children to
visit their incarcerated sire twice a-week--on Wednesday and Sunday--and
then only for three hours each time. If he be a kind husband, and
possess a tender and a loving wife, he dreads the fatal hour of five of
the evening, which is the signal for all strangers and visitors to leave
these walls. Misery--lank, lean, palpable misery--is the characteristic
of Whitecross Street prison.
The legislature says--"We only allow men to be locked up in order to
prevent them from running away without paying the debts they owe."--Then
why treat them as felons? Why impose upon them rules and regulations,
the severity of which is as galling to their souls as the iron chains of
Newgate are to the felons' flesh? Why break their spirits and crush
their good and generous feelings, by compelling them all to herd
together--the high and the low--the polite and the vulgar--the temperate
and the drunkard--the cleanly and the filthy--the religious and the
profane--the sedate and the ribald?
O excellent legislators! do you believe that a man ever went out of the
debtor's gaol more moral and better disposed than he was when he went
in? The answer to this question will, in one word, teach you the
efficacy of Imprisonment for Debt.
Chichester walked out into a large stone-paved court attached to his
ward, and bearing the attractive but somewhat illusive name of the
"Park." At twelve o'clock the beer men from the public-houses in
Whitecross Street were allowed admittance; and then commenced the
debauchery of the day. The seats round the "Park" were soon crowded with
prisoners and visitors, drinking, smoking, laughing, and swearing.
Many poor wretches, who could not boast of much strength of mind, but
who were in reality well disposed, took to this occupation to _kill
care_.
And who will blame them? Not you, proud peer, who bury your vexations in
crystal goblets sparkling with the choicest juice of Epernay's
grape--nor you, fine gentleman, who seek in gaming at your club a relief
from the anxieties and petty troubles which now and then interrupt the
otherwise even tenure of your way!
In the course of the day Mr. Chichester wrote a very penitent letter to
his father, the pawnbroker, lamenting past follies, and promising future
good conduct. The postscript contained an intimation that prison was bad
enough when one possessed plenty of money; but that it was ten thousand
times worse when associated with empty pockets.
This precious epistle succeeded in inducing the "old gentleman," as
Chichester denominated his father, to loosen his purse strings, and
remit a few pounds to supply immediate wants.
Chichester was thus enabled to live at the Steward's table, and smoke
his cigars and drink his ale to his heart's content. In a small
community like that of a ward in Whitecross Street, as well as in the
great world without, he who has the most money is the most "looked up
to"--which is a phrase perfectly understood, and almost synonymous with
"respected;" and thus Mr. Chichester very speedily became the "star" of
that department of the prison to which he had been assigned.