CHAPTER I

A HISTORY OF

POLICE IN ENGLAND

BY

Captain W. L. MELVILLE LEE

M.A. Oxon.

"Qu'on examine la cause de tous les reláchemens, on verra

qu'elle vient de l'impunité des crimes et non pas de la modération

des peines."--"L'Esprit des Lois-Bk. VI.," cap. xxii.

METHUEN & CO.

36 ESSEX STREET W.C.

LONDON

1901

DEDICATED

BY PERMISSION

TO

The Right Hon. LORD ALVERSTONE, G.C.M.G.

LORD CHIEF JUSTICE

OF ENGLAND

CONTENTS

CHAP. PAGE

I. Anglo-Saxon and Norman Police 1

II. Watch and Ward 21

III. Justice and Constable 43

IV. Forest Police and Police in the

Fifteenth Century 60

V. Commercial Police and Police under

the Tudors 82

VI. Ecclesiastical Police and Police under

James I. 99

VII. Military Police and Police under

Charles II. 124

VIII. Bow Street Police and Magisterial

Reform 155

IX. Parochial Police of the Eighteenth

Century 176

X. Police at the Dawn of the Nineteenth

Century 196

XI. Pioneer Reformers 217

XII. "The New Police" 228

XIII. Public Opposition to the "New Police" 245

XIV. Police Reform in Boroughs 262

XV. Police Reform in Counties 279

XVI. Co-operative Police and the Suppression

of Riots 309

XVII. Police Statistics and Penology 335

XVIII. Detective Police and the Right of

Public Meeting 366

XIX. Conclusion 390

PREFACE

A title of convenient length, but one which shall exactly fit the

subject-matter in hand, is a desideratum that seldom lies within

an author's reach. The title selected for this book is open to the

objection that, though consisting of as many as six words, it is,

however, not quite explicit. The sense in which the word "police" is

used is explained in the Introductory Chapter, but it here remains to

be said that "England" must be taken to include the Principality of

Wales, and, incidentally, that by the employment of the indefinite

article an indication of the non-pretentious character of the work is

intended.

References have been but sparingly given throughout, and, in answer to

those critics who may possibly object that the array of authorities

quoted is too meagre, the author can only plead in extenuation that

opportunities for taking full advantage of good reference libraries

are often denied to dwellers in camps and barracks. In general the

plan adopted, or at least aimed at, has been to refer to all Acts

of Parliament mentioned in the text, to acknowledge the source of

_verbatim_ quotations, and to give the authority relied on in support

of any statement that may reasonably be held to verge on contentious,

or even on debatable, ground.

In amplification of the Criminal Statistics tabulated on page 337,

and in confirmation of the deductions there drawn, an encouraging

fact may be mentioned. Although the Census Returns for 1901 shew that

the population of England and Wales now exceeds thirty-two and a half

millions, the Judicial Statistics recently published by the Home Office

state that the number of persons brought to trial before the superior

criminal courts during 1899 (the last year for which such statistics

are available) was under eleven thousand, which is the lowest figure

yet recorded.

Before concluding these prefatory remarks I must express my thanks

to Lord Alverstone, who has been kind enough to find time to look

through my proof-sheets and to allow me to dedicate the book to him;

to H. W. Carless Davis, Esq., of All Souls' College, Oxford, who has

so generously brought an expert knowledge of Anglo-Saxon history to

bear upon my earlier chapters, and to those Chief Constables and other

officials who have helped me with information and advice. In particular

must I acknowledge my indebtedness to D. W. Rannie, Esq., of Oriel

College, Oxford, for it is not too much to say that without his

invaluable assistance and encouragement the following pages would never

have appeared.

Inner Temple Library

_August 1901_

INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER

Introducing himself to his readers at the close of the eighteenth

century, Dr Colquhoun wrote: "Police in this country may be considered

as a new science." A full generation later, or to be more precise,

in the year of Queen Victoria's accession, one of the leading

magazines of the day found occasion to remark as follows: "The art of

preventing offences is unbeaten ground--has hardly had a scientific

teacher. On laws and general legislation, on the theory of crimes and

punishments, on prison discipline, on the execution of offenders,

and all the ulterior proceedings of delinquency, we have treatises

without number; but on the institutions of police we have not a single

work, except perhaps the matter-of-fact publication of the late Dr

Colquhoun."[1] Since this paragraph was first printed a period of

unparalleled literary activity has been witnessed, a period so prolific

of book-making that the thirty-nine miles of shelves with which the

main building of the British Museum is furnished have not sufficed

to contain the ever-increasing accumulation of volumes that must be

housed. It is true that in modern melodrama the detective has been

found an almost indispensable property, nor has he been altogether

neglected by the modern novelist; there are scores of blue-books

containing evidence collected by Parliamentary Committees on the

subject of police, and there is no lack of excellent manuals wherein

the constable's duty is defined and explained; but at the dawn of the

twentieth century, and in spite of the over-crowded state of our public

libraries, we are still waiting for the advent of the teacher who will

investigate and expound for us the police sciences.

In the following pages some attempt will be made to approach this

strangely neglected subject, not indeed by the avenue that a scientist

would use, but simply to trace in outline the story of English police,

keeping in view the underlying principles that have directed, as well

as those political and other considerations that have controlled, its

evolution. Previous neglect is not however the only reason why the

institution of police calls for historical treatment. On three other

grounds in particular can the subject claim recognition; it deserves

notice on account of its interest, on account of its antiquity, and on

account of its importance.

The history of any national institution should not be totally devoid

of interest; and amongst all our institutions it would be hard to find

one so eminently characteristic of our race, both in its origin and in

its development, or one so little modified by foreign influences, as

the combination of arrangements for maintaining the peace, which we

call "police." Police questions touch each one of us so intimately in

our daily life, in our personal liberty and in our self-respect; the

character of a nation is so profoundly influenced by the nature of the

control to which it is subjected, that a due appreciation of the scope

of police functions, a proper knowledge of the origin and extent of the

powers and duties delegated to our constabulary forces, must possess a

more than academic interest. Continental gendarmeries, framed for the

most part on the Latin model, have been imposed--often ready-made--on

various nationalities, without heed to their racial peculiarities,

and careless of local tradition or circumstance. Our English police

system, on the other hand, rests on foundations designed with the full

approval of the people, we know not how many hundreds of years before

the Norman conquest, and has been slowly moulded by the careful hand of

experience, developing as a rule along the line of least resistance,

now in advance of the general intelligence of the country, now lagging

far behind, but always in the long run adjusting itself to the popular

temper, always consistent with local self-government, and even at its

worst, always English.

When a people emerges from the savage state its first care is the

institution of some form of civil government. To this there is no

exception, it is, in the words of Macaulay, "as universal as the

practice of cookery." Martial law may co-exist with, and at times

obscure, the civil machinery; but depending essentially, as it does, on

local and temporary causes, must in the end inevitably be superseded,

and whenever there arises a conflict between the two, the civil

administration will invariably outstay the other by virtue of the

inertia of its everlasting necessity. The penal department of any form

of civil government must principally consist of two closely allied

branches, the judiciary that interprets the law and exacts penalties

for its infraction, and the police whose duty it is to enforce the

legal code as laid down by the judges, it being in the nature of things

that judicial functions cannot exist independently of police functions.

Webster defines "police" as "the organized body of civil officers in a

city, town or district, whose particular duties are the preservation of

good order, the prevention and detection of crime, and the enforcement

of the laws." Blackstone goes further when he says that "the public

police and economy" must be considered as "the due regulation and

domestic order of the kingdom, whereby the individuals of the State,

like members of a well-governed family, are bound to conform to the

rules of propriety, good neighbourhood and good manners, to be decent,

industrious and inoffensive in their respective stations." As used in

this book, the term "police" approximates to the definitions of both

these authorities; in general merely a synonym for "constabulary," it

also embraces all the various expedients employed by society to induce

its members to acquiesce in the arrangements that tend to promote

public security, including such measures as the compulsory education

of children, the reformation of criminals, the observance of sanitary

and hygienic conditions, the control of the liquor traffic, and the

prevention of cruelty to children and animals. In this latter sense the

object of police is not only to enforce compliance with the definite

law of the land, but also to encourage a general recognition of the

unwritten code of manners which makes for social progress and good

citizenship.

Police, therefore, occupies a position of vital importance in the

commonwealth; it is not too much to assert that the restraining

influence exerted by a good police system is as necessary to the

welfare of society as are self-imposed moral and physical restraints to

the health of the individual. To the superior judges fall the duties

of solving abstruse legal problems, and of determining the weightiest

legal issues, but it is the police magistrate who is in daily contact

with the criminal and with the aggrieved person, it is he who applies

the law in the first instance, and to him the large majority of the

people look for decisions upon which their liberty or their property

may depend. "There is scarcely a conceivable case," said a London

magistrate in 1834,[2] "arising particularly among the lower orders,

which may not immediately or indirectly come under the notice of the

Police Offices. It is most important, therefore, that every means

should be adopted for upholding their reputation, and so extending and

increasing their moral influence." Only second in importance to the

magistracy comes the constabulary, "the primary constitutional force

for the protection of individuals in the enjoyment of their legal

rights,"[3] designed to stand between the powerful and the weak, to

prevent oppression, disaster and crime, and to represent the cause of

law and order at all times and in all places. In every court and alley

the policeman stands for good citizenship, he is a reality that the

most ignorant can comprehend, and upon his impartiality, efficiency,

and intelligence depends the estimation in which the law is held by the

masses.

There is no doubt that this country is well policed, and fortunately

for us, there is equally no doubt that we are not over-policed. However

numerous and outrageous may be the theoretical imperfections of our

method for maintaining the peace, its practical superior has yet to

be discovered. A police system does not only need to be efficient, it

must be popular; that is to say, it must conduct its operations with so

scrupulous a regard to the susceptibilities of the people that public

sympathy and approval are not alienated. The problem of devising an

engine of sufficient power and mechanical ability to compel subjection

to a rigid standard of uniformity is not a matter of great difficulty,

but there is little credit and no comfort in the indiscriminate tyranny

of a Juggernaut that mangles its suicidal votaries. Government cannot

be exercised without coercion, but the coercion employed ought to be

reduced to the lowest possible limit consistent with safety, the ideal

police force being the one which affords a maximum of protection at

the cost of a minimum of interference with the lawful liberty of the

subject. The real difficulty of the police problem is therefore to

fix the limits where non-interference should end, and where coercion

should begin. Mill enunciated the maxim that "all restraint qua

restraint is an evil," and Bentham taught that only those preventive

measures are sound the application of which involves no injury to the

innocent; but there is one limit which cannot be disregarded if police

is to be a blessing rather than a curse, and that is, that the plan

adopted for the prevention of crime must never become more intolerable

than the effect of the crime itself.

English police, however, is not the creation of any theorist nor the

product of any speculative school, it is the child of centuries of

conflict and experiment. Simple pecuniary compensation to the injured,

sumptuary laws for the removal of temptation, torture in lieu of legal

process, the payment of blood-money to informers, martial law enforced

by puritan zealots, an amateur constabulary spasmodically supported by

soldiery, the wholesale execution or banishment of offenders, these

and many other expedients have all in their turn been grafted on the

parent stock, tried, and found wanting. Are our present methods for the

maintenance of the peace, for the suppression of crime, and for the

encouragement of social virtue, perfect or nearly so? We can hardly

suppose that posterity will answer these questions in the affirmative,

but we can at least congratulate ourselves that the people of England,

no longer living under a barbarous criminal code, enjoy to-day no

small measure of security for their property and persons, without

having to submit to a host of meddlesome restrictions and unreasonable

formalities.

CHAPTER I

ANGLO-SAXON AND NORMAN POLICE

In the days before the attainment of English unity, the maintenance

of the peace was the care of certain local institutions and bodies,

the nature of which need not here be specified. The Anglo-Saxon period

of our history being one of continual change and gradual development,

the maintenance of the peace cannot be treated as a homogeneous whole

before the various arrangements which secured it had been consolidated,

and, for the first time reduced to a system, by Edgar. From this time

onwards, however, the whole of the now united England may be said to

have enjoyed a general guarantee for public order under the name of

the "King's Peace," so called because the king guaranteed, or at least

promised, to his subjects, a state of peace and security in return for

the allegiance which he demanded from them.[4]

As "the highest maintainer of the peace," the king claimed an actual

police supremacy, and was not content with a mere title. Moreover,

by virtue of his position as Commander-in-Chief, he had the power of

enforcing compliance with the rules of the peace, of which he was

the chief guardian and exponent. An English king was not only the

hereditary ruler of his people, he was their chosen chief magistrate

also. The idea that the peace and orderliness of the kingdom intimately

depended upon the personality of its ruler was so deeply rooted that,

at his death, the "King's Peace" was held to have lapsed, and, on their

accession, English sovereigns were wont to make proclamation afresh

of "general peace orders," an example which was followed by William

the Conqueror and his successors.[5] Referring to the death of Henry

I., a chronicler writes: "The king died on the following day after St

Andrew's mass day, in Normandy, then there was tribulation in the land,

for every man that could, forthwith robbed another ... a good man he

was, and there was great awe of him. No man durst misdo against another

in his time. He made peace for man and beast."[6]

The King's Peace was of two kinds: there was the public peace of the

realm, common to all men; and there was the private peace proper to the

king himself, designed to safeguard his person, to uphold his dignity,

and to secure his interests in every way. This royal peace, as it may

be called, was especially concerned with certain places, seasons, and

individuals; a special measure of protection was accordingly extended

to the king and his nobles, to nuns, widows and clergy; whilst breaches

of the peace which occurred on Coronation days, on Fast days, and the

like, or which were committed in the vicinity of the royal palaces or

upon the "King's Highway," received exemplary punishment from the royal

judges. The public peace, on the other hand, afforded protection to all

alike, to the exclusion only of the "unfrith," as those men were called

whose crimes placed them without the pale of society, or who, holding

no land, yet failed to enrol themselves in a "tything."

The police system which, under the king, maintained the peace was

partly organised on the basis of land tenure. As in the Sudan to-day

the Omdah is held responsible for the robberies committed in his

district, and as in China the head of a family may legally be called

upon to answer for the transgressions of his kinsfolk, so King Alfred

looked to the thane[7] to produce the culprit or satisfy the claim.

The plan adopted counted on the assistance of self-interest for its

complete success; the thane being a landed proprietor and consequently

unable to dispose of his property secretly, was security to the king

for all the members of his household--if any of them broke the law,

his over-lord the thane was careful to bring him to justice. Yet

poverty brought no exemption to the landless freeman. He too had to

find a guarantee for his good behaviour; if he was unable to attach

himself to some thane, he was compelled to combine with others in the

same position as himself, in order that their joint goods or aggregate

credit should provide sufficient bail for the shortcomings of any

member of the society: the penalty incurred by those who could not,

or would not, thus find the required security was that they were

forbidden to possess cattle, and were no longer under the protection

of the law. Freemen, therefore, who had no freehold, banded themselves

together into "tythings": a tything consisted of the inhabitants of

ten homesteads, and the members elected one of their number to be

their "headborough,"[8] who thus became their representative, and was

responsible for the community.

The police organisation which we are considering is generally spoken of

as the "Frankpledge system," frankpledge signifying the guarantee for

peace maintenance demanded by the king from all free Englishmen, the

essential properties of this responsibility being, that it should be

local, and that it should be mutual. As we trace the history of police

in England we shall see that these two qualities have survived through

the successive stages of its evolution, and seem to be inseparable from

our national conception of police functions.

The development of this system led to the institution of the

Hundred,[9] which, as its name implies, was a group of ten tythings,

under a responsible head. Hundreds as well as tythings had definite

police functions to perform: when a crime was committed, information

had to be at once given to the hundred-men and tythingmen of the

district, and it was their duty to pursue, arrest, and bring to justice

all peace-breakers. In the event of the non-appearance of a culprit at

the court of justice to which he was summoned, his nine fellow-pledges

were allowed one month in which to produce him, when, if he was not

forthcoming, a fine was exacted, the liability falling, in the first

place, on any property of the fugitive that might be available, in the

second place, on the tything, and,--should both these sources prove

insufficient to satisfy the claim,--on the Hundred.[10] Furthermore the

headboroughs were required to purge themselves on oath, that they were

not privy to the flight of the offender, and to swear that they would

bring him to justice if possible. On the other hand, if any member of a

tything was imprisoned for an offence, it was not customary to release

him without the consent of his fellow-pledges, even though the fine had

been paid.[11]

The practice of levying police fines from hundreds and tythings was

an old one, and the limits of its application were clearly defined by

Edgar: "and let every man so order that he have a surety, and let the

surety then bring and hold him to every justice: and if anyone do wrong

and run away, let the surety bear that which he ought to bear. But if

it be a thief, and if he can get hold of him within twelve months, let

him deliver him up to justice, and let be rendered unto him what he

before has paid."[12]

The fines[13] that were exacted, called respectively fightwitt,

grithbryce, and frithbrec, differed in character, and varied in amount.

When several persons had participated in a common crime the fine was

payable by all who had a hand in it; an infraction of the peace by

seven associates constituted a riot, and if thirty-five persons were

concerned, the breach amounted to a rebellion.

Distinct from the official police societies, created by the central

government for the general security, there also existed certain private

and voluntary associations called peace-guilds, entered into by the

inhabitants of London and other towns for their own protection. Each

guild consisted of members arranged in ten groups under ten headmen,

one of whom acted as chief of the guild and treasurer, the remainder

forming a kind of consulting committee to discuss and advise upon the

various interests of the associations at their monthly gatherings.

The object of these guilds was simply mutual assurance, and each

member had to pay fourpence to a common fund, out of which subscribers

were compensated for any loss they might sustain through theft, the

treasurer being authorised further to contribute a sum not exceeding

one shilling towards the apprehension of delinquents.

The military and police systems were closely allied: the national

militia was organised in tythings and hundreds, and had a place to fill

in the complete design of peace maintenance; its embodiment was not

only resorted to in time of war, it was also liable to be called out

by "summons of the array" if disturbances were feared, or even for the

pursuit of a single fugitive from justice, but its members could not

be called upon to serve beyond the limits of their respective shires

except to repel invasion. Every free Englishman between the ages of

fifteen and sixty (the clergy and infirm only excepted) was liable to

be called upon to perform three public services[14] for the peace of

the commonwealth; he was bound to assist in repelling invasions, in

crushing rebellions, and in suppressing riots. The Sheriffs therefore

who were responsible for the conservancy of the peace in the hundreds

were enabled to muster the _posse comitatus_, or whole available

police force of the shire, in case of emergency. All men went armed

in those days, and since the members of a tything were obliged on the

summons of a headborough to join in the pursuit, the cry of "Stop

thief" was a formidable weapon in the hands of the local executive.

The Anglo-Saxon conception of police functions is thus clearly

intelligible: the internal peace of the country was held by them to be

of the first importance, and every free man had to bear his part in

maintaining it; theoretically all men were policemen, and it was only

for the sake of convenience that the headborough (or tythingman as he

came to be more generally called) answered for those of his neighbours,

on whom he had to rely in case of necessity. The word "peace" was

used in its widest possible meaning, and a breach of the peace was

understood to include all crimes, disorders, and even public nuisances.

The principle on which the police system was based was primarily

preventive. "The conservancy of the peace," says Lambard, "standeth

in three things: that is to say, first, in foreseeing that nothing be

done that tendeth either directly or by means to the breach of the

peace; secondly, in quieting and pacifying those that are occupied in

the breach of the peace; and thirdly, in punishing such as have already

broken the peace." Our Saxon ancestors did not spend much time in

"quieting" or "pacifying"--a lawbreaker was at war with the community

and received no quarter--but in other respects Lambard's definition

applies.

It was assumed that all but a small minority of the king's subjects

were, to use a modern phrase--good citizens--and personally interested

in keeping the king's peace inviolate; and that they might therefore

safely be trusted to do everything in their power to preserve it,

without any necessity arising for the use of coercion. Had all men

been equally trustworthy in this respect no police measures would have

been required and none devised; but there existed on the fringe of

Anglo-Saxon society, as will occur with all societies, a certain number

of delinquents perpetually on the look-out for opportunities of preying

on their fellows, and the decennary system of police, as it may be

called, was an attempt to hold in check this lawless minority without

having to raise and permanently support an expensive or elaborate force

for its suppression.

The design was to group all honest men into convenient companies,

excluding therefrom and from the benefits that civil government could

then confer, not only those men who were living in open defiance of

the rules laid down by society for its protection, but those men also,

whose reputation for honesty and fair dealing did not stand high enough

in the estimation of their neighbours to induce a sufficient number

to accept a share of responsibility for their defaults. By this means

a fence was set up which divided with a fair degree of accuracy the

law-breaking section of society from the law-abiding, the problem

of peace-maintenance being much simplified thereby; it was not the

declared enemy nor the recognised outcast that was feared; the former

might be met with superior force, and the latter could be kept down

like vermin, it was the danger of the wolf within the fold that alarmed

our ancestors. The dread of secret crime is a deeply-seated national

characteristic, and accounts for the savage treatment served out to

witches and Egyptians (as gypsies used to be called) through the middle

ages and almost up to our own times. Alfred the Great reflected this

feeling when he drew a distinction between cutting down a neighbour's

tree with an axe and burning it with fire, the latter offence being

declared the more heinous of the two, not as one might suppose, because

of the danger of the fire spreading to other trees, but because of the

clandestine character of the deed, it being open to the offender if

detected to declare the burning to be accidental, a plea that he could

not advance if the axe was used.

A detected criminal was either fined, mutilated, or killed, but

punishment, as we now understand the term, was seldom inflicted; that

is to say, the dominant idea was neither to reform the culprit nor to

deter others from following in his footsteps. If a man was killed it

was either to satisfy the blood-feud or to remove him out of the way

as a wild beast would be destroyed; if a man was mutilated by having

his forefinger cut off, or branded with a red-hot iron on the brow, it

was done, not so much to give him pain, as to make him less expert in

his trade of thieving, and to put upon him an indelible mark by which

all men should know that he was no longer a man to be trusted; if

fines were levied, it was more with a view to the satisfaction of the

recipients of the money or cattle or what not, than with the intention

of causing discomfort or loss to the offender.

The distinction that we now make between remedial and legal justice was

theoretically held by the Anglo-Saxons, that is to say, repayment in

money or kind for a civil offence, and death or some less punishment

for an offence against the criminal code was recognised in their penal

administration; but at the same time fines to expiate criminal injuries

were also allowed, both in the shape of amercements to the Crown and of

compensation to the injured. Homicides rendered themselves liable to a

triple penalty, which, it appears, was the same whether the killing was

wilful or whether it was accidental--one third part, called "Maegbote,"

being assigned to the next-of-kin to compensate him for the death of

a relative; a second portion, or "Manbote," reconciling the thane to

the loss of his vassal; and the remaining share, known as "Wite,"

passing to the king on account of the violence done to his peace.[15]

Only offences of a particularly heinous description were "bootless"

(bote-less), as those crimes for which no compensation was permitted

were called--of such a nature were murder when committed in a church,

and the slaying of a man asleep.

The fines payable by the aggressor in cases where minor personal

injuries had been inflicted were carefully graduated; thus, for a cut

one inch long on the face, the sum of two shillings had to be paid; if

the wound was underneath the hair only half that sum was exacted; but

should the victim have suffered the loss of an ear, he was compensated

to the extent of thirty shillings, and so on.[16]

It would offend our modern ideas of justice if a murderer were allowed

to go free on payment of a sum of money to the relatives of his

victim, still more so if a portion of the fine went to the Sovereign;

but the practice is common amongst semi-civilised communities, to

whom the complex and costly methods we now employ would be at once

unintelligible and impracticable.

When it came to a question of proof, reliance was placed, in the

absence of any surer method of discovering the truth, upon the oath of

the interested party or parties; and just as the security of a thane

was sufficient, where that of a landless freeman had to be supplemented

by the contributions of his neighbours, so would the oath of a man of

fortune and position prevail in cases where that of a common man had to

be fortified by the corroborating oaths of his fellows.[17]

No matter what his station in life might be a man could always

strengthen his case in this way: the more numerous the oath-helpers

the greater the value of their evidence, and this held good even if

it was clear that none of them were acquainted with the circumstances

under consideration, because it was commonly believed that divine

interference would prevent any considerable number of persons from

perjuring themselves _en bloc_. The various ordeals, by combat, by

fire, by water and many others, were conceived in the same spirit.

The principle of making every man responsible for his own actions,

and to some extent answerable for the doings of his neighbour, has

much to commend it, and its application would produce an almost ideal

state of social security if its practical employment was not marred

by two inherent weaknesses; in the first place it can only be applied

with success to an agricultural community that is content to live

always in the same spot, or whose migratory instincts the authorities

are prepared to suppress; and, in the second place, such a system puts

a premium both on the concealment of crime, and on the commission of

perjury, since a tything had every inducement to forswear itself in

order to escape the infliction of a fine or to save one of its members

from punishment.

That the system above described was effectual in dealing with any crime

that may have existed in England at the time cannot be doubted, and

Gneist,[18] in his review of the period, says, "The insular position

of the country, and the pre-eminently peaceable character of the later

Anglo-Saxon times, developed the maintenance of the peace to such a

perfection, that the chroniclers give an almost Arcadian picture of the

peacefulness and security of the land in the time of Alfred the Great,

and at some subsequent periods." Lord Coke[19] too declares that before

the Conquest, whilst this ancient constitution remained entire, a man

might ride through England with much money about him and run no risk of

molestation, though armed with no other weapon than a white wand.[20]

If it is allowable to estimate the efficiency of a police system by

the measure of the security enjoyed by those under its protection (nor

is it easy to conceive of a fairer or more comprehensive test), it may

then be asserted with confidence that the Anglo-Saxon model, crude as

it undoubtedly was in many respects, compares not unfavourably with the

various preventive agencies which the wisdom of succeeding generations

has been able to produce. This comparative superiority survived, as we

shall see, until the advent of the admirable system of police, not yet

a century old, under which we have the good fortune to live to-day.

After the Conquest, the national police organisation was retained by

the Normans, the headborough becoming the "præpositus," and the joint

guarantee being known as "mutual security"; but the old forms which had

weighed lightly on the people hitherto, were now harshly administered

by the conquerors, whose officials, unaccustomed to the system,

and indifferent to the susceptibilities of the native population,

arbitrarily exacted the police fines, and did so in a manner that

whilst proper investigation was rare, violence was common.

Of these officials the worst offender was the "vicecomes," the

successor to the shire-reeve (_i.e._ sheriff), who under the

Anglo-Saxon régime had controlled the police administration of the

county.[21] The Vicecomes went on circuit each Michaelmas, to hold

an ambulatory police court, called the Court of the Tourn, to deal

with petty offences in the provinces, to bring capital crimes to the

cognisance of the superior courts, and to make an annual revision of

the frankpledge, _i.e._ an inspection of the police societies, with the

object of ensuring that all the tythings were full. The visit of the

Norman sheriff generally resolved itself into a demand for the payment

of heavy fines, that might, or might not, be legally due, and which too

often were heavier than the people could bear, for whereas the English

shilling had been worth about fivepence, the Norman shilling was

equivalent to twelve pence, and yet amercements were still calculated

on the old scale without any allowance being made for the change in

the value of the coin. Even in the rare cases where extortion was not

practised the local character of the police administration, which had

always been one of its most prominent features, was to a certain extent

destroyed by the interference of the alien Tourn.

The object of the Vicecomes being to collect as many fines as possible,

and to return to the king with some substantial evidence of his zeal,

he was not over particular as to details, but fined a whole township or

borough, and left the community to settle the incidence of the burden

amongst the individuals composing it.

A representative and well-known example of the harsh control that then

obtained, may be instanced; an enactment of William the Conqueror

ordained that any hundred within whose boundaries a Norman was found

murdered, should pay forty-six marks[22] unless the murderer was

delivered up within five days; and the sheriffs threw the burden of

proof of the victim's nationality on the hundred; in other words, the

corpse was assumed to be Norman and had to be paid as such, unless the

contrary was proved to their satisfaction; it is almost unnecessary

to add that in nine cases out of ten, acceptable proof could not be

produced in the specified period of time.

Another unpopular institution was that of Curfew Bell, introduced by

the Conqueror ostensibly as a protection against fire, but in reality

intended as a check upon the Saxons, to prevent them from meeting after

dark, and discussing the shortcomings of their oppressors, or for

other political purposes. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle gives a pathetic

account of the severity and injustice meted out by the Normans. "A.D.

1124. This same year after St Andrew's Mass, and before Christmas, held

Ralph Basset and the King's thanes a 'géwitenemote' in Leicestershire,

at Huncothoe, and there hanged more thieves than ever were known

before, that is, in a little while, four and forty men altogether:

and despoiled six men of their eyes and mutilated them. Many true men

said that there were several who suffered very unjustly; but our Lord

God Almighty, who seeth and knoweth every secret, seeth also that the

wretched people are oppressed with all unrighteousness. First they are

bereaved of their property and then they are slain. Full heavy year

was this." And again, "then was corn dear, and cheese, and butter,

for there was none in the land: wretched men starved with hunger: some

lived on alms who had been erewhile rich: some fled the country, never

was there more misery, and never heathen acted worse than these. The

earth bare no corn, you might as well have tilled the sea, for the land

was all ruined by such deeds."

If we may accept this as a true version of the condition of England

and the English, it is abundantly clear that the system of police

by decennary societies was inevitably doomed to failure after the

Conquest. The two nations, who had little in common, who were in fact

animated by bitter racial animosity, could not combine for any common

purpose; and it is obvious that the "mutual security" plan can only be

successful amongst a community bound together by the ties of family or

friendship.

The sheriff's court never won the confidence of the people, and

gradually certain neighbourhoods, or, more correctly speaking, certain

lords more favoured than the rest, obtained the royal consent to the

substitution of local police courts, under a steward nominated by the

Lord of the Manor. These "courts of the leet" not only had the power to

"inquire of and punish all things that may hurt or grieve the people in

general, in their health, quiet, and welfare," but were authorised to

abate or remove public nuisances.[23]

Courts Leet became so popular, and proved so successful, that we soon

find them established, not merely in a few privileged places, but all

over the country; before long the Sheriff's Tourn became the exception

and the Court Leet the rule, the struggle for survival only coming

to an end when the sheriff altogether ceased to trouble the village

communities with his annual visit of inspection.

The rise of the Court Leet marks an important stage in the development

of English police. The decennary system could only be of value as long

as its strictly local character could be preserved, and the power of

interference possessed by the Vicecomes was foreign to the national

idea of police administration. Although the creation of the sheriff's

court must only be considered as an ill-advised and novel attempt at

centralisation, and its discontinuance a return to first principles, it

was not to be expected that the Tourn, when once established, would be

allowed to disappear until there was an alternative institution ready

and able to take its place. On this account the appearance of the Court

Leet was well timed, for the moment and indispensable for the future,

to act as a link between ancient principles and modern practice.

When Henry II. returned from the Continent in 1170 he found it

necessary to investigate the complaints that were persistently made

against the sheriffs, who were said to have been guilty of oppression

and extortion. The charges were well founded, and the result of his

inquiry was that several were dismissed from their office, whilst a

few years later the Assize of Northampton considerably reduced the

authority of the remainder. In the years that follow we find evidence,

over and over again, of the abuse of their power by the sheriffs, whose

importance steadily declined in consequence; the decay of their office

was gradual at first, but proceeded more rapidly, as we shall see,

after the institution of "Conservators of the Peace" by Richard I. At

the Council of Northampton provision was also made for holding assizes

in the different counties of England. For this purpose the kingdom was

divided into six circuits, and three judges, subsequently known under

the title of "justices itinerant," were assigned to each circuit.

Notwithstanding the recent friction between the two nationalities (now

happily on the wane), and all the evils which had accompanied it,

hundreds and tythings continued to perform their executive functions as

best they could, and not altogether without success; but the levying of

amercements, which was essential to the system, was so liable to abuse

at the hands of royal officers, and the fines grew so out of proportion

to the offences for which they were exacted, that advantage was very

properly taken of King John's humiliation in 1215 to insist that they

should only be enforced in future "on oath being made by the worthy

men of the district," and steps were taken to confine amercements to

their proper limits. By Magna Carta police fines were henceforward

to correspond in amount to the magnitude of the crime for which they

were incurred, and might not be enforced except with _beneficium

competentiæ_ _i.e._ every man had a right to his bare living, the

merchant to his merchandise, and the villein to his agricultural

implements.[24]

In the following reign an attempt was made to put fresh life into the

police administration that for more than a hundred years had been

deteriorating; it was therefore ordained[25] that a view of frankpledge

should be made every Michaelmas, and tything be kept as in the old

days; the effort, however, was not a success, and before long the

prestige of the institution was irrevocably damaged by the relief

granted to the Baronage and Clergy by the Statute of Marlborough, which

excused them from attendance at the Court, unless they received special

orders to be present. In any case a return to the past was impossible,

the country had outgrown the method of control that had once been

efficacious, and altered conditions had completed the wreck of the

decennary system that racial differences had commenced. From this time

onwards, when frankpledge is spoken of, it must be understood to mean

only the general principle that was the basis of the indigenous system;

that is to say, a recognition of the bounden responsibility of every

citizen to take his part in the duty of maintaining peace in the state;

or, in other words, the liability that all men share to render police

services when called upon to do so.