CONCLUSION OF THE HISTORY OF JACOB SMITH.
"On my return to Earl Street, Seven Dials, which was at about three
o'clock in the morning, I found Old Death and Mrs. Bunce sitting up for
me, Toby having gone to bed. I related the adventures which I had met
with, but said not a word about the intrigue of the lady and the
baronet; for I could not help thinking that the kind treatment I had in
the first instance received from Mrs. Slingsby, deserved the reward of
secresy on that head. Old Death _very kindly_ permitted me to retain
five pounds out of the money which I myself had obtained; and I hurried
back to my lodging in St. Giles's. Peggy was in bed and fast asleep; and
I lay down by her side without awaking her.
"When I again opened my eyes, the sun was shining in the brightness of a
frosty air even through the dingy panes of my window; and I started up.
Peggy had already risen; and I supposed she had gone out to get things
for breakfast. But something like a suspicion arose in my mind—and I
felt uneasy. I searched the pockets of the ragged pair of trousers I had
purposely worn on the previous night, and the five sovereigns were gone.
Now I was really alarmed: Peggy had certainly decamped. A farther search
showed me that she had even carried off the few little articles of
decent wearing apparel that I had, leaving me only the miserable rags in
which I had appeared at Mrs. Slingsby's house. Yes—Peggy had run away
with all I possessed that was worth the taking; and now the question
naturally rose in my mind—'_Will she betray me?_' I thought her conduct
was so suspicious, that I determined not to give her a chance if I could
help it; particularly as I remembered the manner in which she took the
beating I gave her, and which now made me think that she had resolved on
being revenged. So I dressed myself in my tatters as quick as I could,
and got away from the house. But at the end of the street I met a
certain Mr. Dykes—the Bow Street runner, whom you happen to know, Mr.
Rainford—and though I endeavoured to dive into a narrow court, he
pounced upon me in a twinkling.
"In less than an hour I stood in the felons' dock at the police-court,
Bow Street, charged with a robbery committed by me in Bloomsbury Square,
in the disguise of a sweep. I was remanded for a week, and sent in the
meantime to Clerkenwell Prison. There I was placed in No. 12, Reception
Yard, where Mrs. Bunce, who pretended to be my aunt in order to get
admittance to me, visited me in the afternoon. She told me that Mr.
Bones could not possibly come to see me, but that he would do all he
could for me if I remained staunch and did not mention his name in any
way—not even to my fellow-prisoners. 'We are afraid that you will be
committed for trial,' said Mrs. Bunce; 'but all shall be done that can
be done to buy off the witnesses. If that won't succeed, such evidence
of former good character shall be given, that your sentence will be a
light one; and in the meantime you shall have as much money as you want
to live gloriously in prison. Mr. Bones has sent you up a sovereign for
the present, and I will bring you a good suit of clothes to-morrow, so
that you may go up swell before the beak next time. Be staunch, Jacob;
and Mr. Bones will never desert you. But if you only mention his name to
a soul in an improper way, he'll leave you to your fate, and you'll be
transported.'—Mrs. Bunce impressed all this on my mind; but I assured
her it was unnecessary, as I knew that I should not better my own plight
in any very considerable degree by nosing against Bones, whereas he
might be useful to me if I behaved well in the matter. She went away
satisfied; and I spent the rest of the day in jollification with my
fellow-prisoners, amongst whom my money raised me to the rank of a
hero.[19]
"That night I slept in the Receiving Ward; and next morning I was taken
to the bathing-room, a new suit of clothes having been already sent in
to me by Mrs. Bunce. But I found that I was to bathe in the same water
which had already served to wash the filthy bodies of several trampers
who had also been sent to prison the day before on a charge of robbery;
and I knew that when they entered they were covered with vermin. I
therefore gave the turnkey half-a-crown to allow me to dispense with the
bath, put on my new clothes, and was turned into the Felons' Yard. There
I found persons, who had committed all degrees of crime, huddled
together as if there was no difference in the charges against them. A
boy who had stolen a pound of potatoes, value _one penny_—myself, who
had stolen plate in a dwelling-house—a _gentleman_, who had wounded
another in a duel and could not get bail, but who was a very superior
person—a burglar—a coiner—and a man charged with _murder_, were all in
one room together! It did not strike me then—but it has often struck me
since—how wrong it was to put that boy who had stolen potatoes, along
with a burglar, a coiner, and a practised thief as I was,—how unjust it
was to put the gentleman with any of us,—and how shocking it was to put
a murderer along with prisoners whose hands were not at least stained
with blood. And what were the consequences? The boy, who had merely
stolen the potatoes because his mother was ill and starving, and who had
never done any thing wrong before, was entirely corrupted by the coiner,
and made up his mind to turn prig the moment he got out;—the gentleman
was worked up to such a pitch of excitement, by being in such society,
that he was removed to the infirmary, and died of brain fever, as I
afterwards heard;—the burglar helped the murderer to escape, and got
safely away with him!
[Illustration]
"Our amusements in gaol were chiefly gambling and drinking. Money
procured as much liquor as we could consume; and with such I was well
supplied. Cards and dice were not allowed, it is true; but we used to
play with bits of wood cut and marked like dominoes, or by chalking the
table into a draught-board, or by tossing halfpence. Then there was such
fighting, quarrelling, and bad language, that nothing could equal the
place! In the upper, or sleeping ward, things were much worse: the
prisoners robbed each other. The very first night the duellist-gentleman
was there, he lost his purse containing several sovereigns; and when he
threatened to complain, he was quietly informed by the burglar and the
murderer that if he did, he would be hung up to the bars of the window
with his own handkerchief the very next night, and his end would be
attributed to suicide.[20]
"At the end of the week I was had up to Bow Street once more; and the
evidence was so conclusive against me, that I was committed to Newgate
for trial. This I had expected, and cared but little for, as Mrs. Bunce
at each visit which she paid me at Clerkenwell Prison, assured me that
Mr. Bones would do all he could for me. And he kept his word—but more, I
suppose, for his own sake than mine. What a dreadful place I found
Newgate to be! Hardened as I was—acquainted with all degrees of
debauchery—and familiar with vice, I declare solemnly that I shrank from
the scenes I there witnessed. Fighting, quarrelling, gambling, thieving,
drinking, obscene talking, bullying, and corrupting each other,—all
those took place to a great degree in the Clerkenwell Prison; but in
Newgate they were carried out to an extent dreadful to think of, and
associated with other crimes impossible to mention.[21]
"I now seemed to awake, for the first time, from a long dream of
wickedness, and to become aware of the frightful precipice on which I
stood. My eyes were suddenly opened—and I shuddered. A man was hanged at
the debtors' door, while I was in Newgate: and I saw him pass from the
condemned cell to the kitchen, which is just within the debtors' door. I
experienced a sudden revulsion of feeling, and took a solemn oath within
my own breast that I would never thieve again. But as I knew nothing of
religion, and could not read or write, I was not likely to reform very
rapidly nor very completely. I still laughed and joked with my
fellow-prisoners, and appeared to enter into most of their fun, though I
really began to loathe them. But when the chaplain visited us, and the
other boys jeered and mocked him, I stood by and dwelt on every word of
gentle remonstrance that fell from his lips. Next Sunday I paid great
attention to his sermon, while pretending to be asleep: for if I had
been caught actually lending a patient ear to his discourse, my
fellow-prisoners would have led me no peace afterwards. I understood but
little—very little of that sermon: still I gleaned some notion of the
existence of a Saviour a belief in whom was the stepping-stone to
virtue. I also heard the happiness of heaven explained for the first
time: but I must confess that I was greatly puzzled when the chaplain
declared that the man who was hanged for a dreadful murder on the
preceding Monday, had gone to that place of joy, because he had repented
in his last moments—for I thought to myself, 'Well, then, a human being
is quite safe in leading as terrible a life as he chooses, as long as he
repents at the end.' And, again, I was bewildered when I heard the
clergyman say these words, which made so great an impression on me that
I have never forgotten them, and never shall:—'_As I stood with that
penitent man on the drop, last Monday morning_, I ENVIED HIM HIS FATE,
_because I knew that his soul was about to ascend to heaven_!'[22]
"The day of my trial came; and I was placed in the dock before the
Common Serjeant of London. The clerk of the Court asked me, '_How will
you be tried—by God and your country?_'—I knew not what reply to make,
and was actually on the point of saying 'that I would rather not be
tried at all this time, since it seemed to be left to my own choice; and
that I would faithfully promise never to thieve again,'—when the turnkey
who had charge of me, whispered in my ear, 'You damned young fool, why
don't you speak? Say '_By God and my country_,' damn you.'—I did as I
was directed; and the trial commenced. The charge against me was fully
proved; and a verdict of _Guilty_ was recorded. The Common-Serjeant
asked if I had ever been convicted before. The keeper of Newgate, who
was present, said I had not. The counsel who had been retained for me by
Old Death, then requested to be allowed to call witnesses to character.
This was permitted; and three or four tradesmen, who I well knew were
Old Death's friends, got up one after the other, and swore that I had
been in their service (each one of course giving different periods of
time), and that I was an honest, hard-working, and industrious lad,
until I fell into bad company and got into trouble. Dykes, the runner,
was then questioned about me; and he said that I was not known as a
thief—although he knew the contrary perfectly well. But Old Death had
kept his word, and had not spared his gold. My offence was, however, a
grave one—robbing in a dwelling-house; and there were two or three other
indictments of the same kind against me, though the prosecutors did not
come forward. Old Death had made it right with _them_ too. I was
accordingly condemned to seven years' transportation, with a hint that
this sentence would be commuted to two years' imprisonment at the hulks.
"I was but little more than eleven when my career of crime was thus
interrupted; and I was glad that it _was_ so interrupted—for I resolved
that it should not be renewed when I regained my liberty. This was
scarcely a resolution produced by moral considerations, but by fear; and
it therefore required strengthening. Whether it was, or not, I shall
soon inform you.
"A few days after the sessions terminated, I was removed with several
other boys to the _Euryalus_ Convict-Hulk at Woolwich. This vessel has
three decks: the upper is appropriated to lads convicted the first time,
the second to the next grade of juvenile criminals, and the third, or
lowest, to the worst kind of offenders. I was assigned to the upper
deck, where there were about sixty of us. On being received on board we
were first sent to the wash-house, where we were bathed and well
cleansed; and we then received the suit of dark grey that denotes the
felon. Our employment was to make clothes for the entire establishment:
that is, shirts, jackets, waistcoats, and trousers. The person who
taught us was a convict-boy, who had been a tailor: the cutters-out
belonged to the second deck, and visited our department as often as
their services were required.
"We were divided into sections, each having at its head a boy selected
as the chief on account of his good conduct when in prison. I will
describe the routine of the day—taking the period when the summer
regulations are in force. At five o'clock in the morning all hands were
called, the ports were opened, the hammocks were lowered and lashed up,
and we washed ourselves for chapel. At half-past five the signal was
given for prayers; and we went to the chapel in sections, or divisions,
taking our seats in profound silence. The morning hymn was sung: the
schoolmaster read the prayers; and we returned to our wards on the upper
deck. There we stood in ranks till six o'clock, when breakfast was
served. The steward of the ship superintended the giving out of the
provisions, and saw that each boy had his fair allowance of bread and
gruel. This being done, the steward ordered each rank, one after the
other, to approach the tables, hold up the bread, say grace, and then
sit down and eat. At half-past six, we were marshalled on the
quarter-deck, in divisions; and the officers of the hulk were then
prepared to hear any complaints or receive any reports that might have
to be submitted to them. Such complaints were noted down for after
investigation. Some of the boys were kept above to wash the
quarter-deck, and the remainder were sent down to cleanse their own
deck. At eight o'clock we were all set to work at tailoring, a strict
silence being preserved. At nine o'clock the report upon the complaints
was received from the commander of the hulk, and the punishments awarded
were made known:—such as a good thrashing with a cane, stopping the
dinner, or solitary confinement on bread and water. At twelve o'clock
the dinners were served out, the steward superintending. The
quartermasters and guards were also present, to see that one boy's
allowance was not taken from him by another. From half-past twelve to
half-past one we were allowed to take air and exercise on the
quarter-deck, but without making any noise. At half-past one we were
marched down again to our work. At two, a section of one-third of us was
sent into the chapel, where we were taught reading and writing by the
schoolmaster. At five we left off work or schooling, cleaned the wards,
and then washed ourselves. This being done, supper was served out; and
we went on the quarter-deck again for air and exercise till seven, when
we were once more marched to the chapel for evening prayers and the
catechism. At eight o'clock we returned to our own deck, where the
signal was given for getting out the hammocks and slinging them up. At
nine profound silence was ordered; and the whole ship was then as quiet
as if there was not a soul on board,—this deep tranquillity being only
broken by the striking of the bell and the cry of '_All's well!_' every
half-hour.
"Such was the life led on board the _Euryalus_ convict-hulk. But I was
happier—much happier there than I had ever been before. The schoolmaster
was an excellent man, and took a delight in teaching those who were
anxious to learn. I was of this number, and my improvement was rapid. I
quite won his regard, and he devoted unusual pains to instruct me; so
that at the end of a year he obtained leave for me to give up the making
of clothes and assist him as an usher. This was an employment that
pleased me greatly, and allowed me plenty of time to read the books lent
me by the worthy schoolmaster. So fond was I of reading, that I used to
take a book with me on the quarter-deck at those times devoted to air
and exercise; and sitting apart from the others, I would remain buried
in study until it was time to go below again. I examined how books were
written and how I was accustomed to speak: that is—I compared the
language of those books with my own; and I was shocked to find how
wretchedly ignorant I had hitherto been in respect to grammar. This
ignorance I strove hard—oh! very hard to surmount; and the good
schoolmaster assisted me to the utmost of his power. I read and studied
the Bible with avidity; and the more I became acquainted with it, the
more fixed grow my determination to avoid a relapse into the ways of
crime when I should be released.
"During the two years that I passed at the hulk, Mrs. Bunce came very
often to see me, passing herself off as my aunt; but relations were not
allowed to speak to us except in the presence of a guard, and so the
name of Old Death was never mentioned by either of us. But Mrs. Bunce
used to tell me that 'my _uncle_ would give me a home when my time was
up;' and I supposed by this, that she meant her husband Toby. I knew
that Old Death was the person who had directed these assurances to be
given me; and often and often did I lay awake of a night, deliberating
within myself what I should do when I was set free, to earn an honest
livelihood and avoid the hateful necessity of returning to the service
of Mr. Benjamin Bones.
"At length the day of liberation came—and I had no plan of proceedings
settled. My clothes were given to me, and a shilling was put into my
hand by the steward. The old schoolmaster was absent at the time; and I
was sorry that I had not an opportunity of thanking him for all his
kindness and imploring his advice how to proceed. It struck me that I
would appeal to the commander of the hulk. I did so, and solicited him
to counsel me how to get an honest livelihood. He burst out laughing in
my face, exclaiming, 'I suppose you think I am to be deceived by your
humbug, and that I shall put my hand into my pocket and give you
half-a-guinea to see your way with. No such thing, my lad! I used to do
so when I was first here; but those I assisted in that way were always
the first to come back again.'—And he turned on his heel, leaving me
quite astounded at the reception my sincerity of behaviour had
experienced. But a few moments' reflection showed me that I could
scarcely blame him for his conduct; and I quitted the ship in tears.
"The moment I stepped from the boat that landed me in Woolwich, I met
Mrs. Bunce. She threw her arms round my neck, and called me her '_dear
Jacob_,' in such a loving manner that one would really have believed her
to be my aunt, or even my mother if she had chosen to represent herself
so. Then, pointing to a public-house at a little distance, she said,
'Your good and kind friend Mr. Bones is there; and he will be so
delighted to see you. He has ordered a nice steak and some good ale, and
we mean to let you enjoy yourself.'—The idea of having such a glorious
repast after being kept on short commons on board the _Euryalus_, made
my mouth water; but then I remembered all the influence Old Death had
been accustomed to exercise over me—and I knew that if I once again
entered within its range, I should never have the moral courage to
withdraw from it. So my mind was made up; and suddenly darting down a
bye-street, I was beyond Mrs. Bunce's view in a twinkling. I heard her
shrill, screaming voice call after me; but I heeded it not—and hurried
onward, as if escaping from a wild beast.
"Presently I relaxed my speed, and at length entered a public-house,
where I called for a pint of beer. Two or three soldiers and as many
young women were sitting at another table, drinking, and indulging at
the same time in the most filthy discourse. Suddenly one of the females
started up, advanced towards me, and, after considering me for a few
moments, exclaimed with a terrible oath, 'Well, I thought it must be my
old fancy cove Jacob:'—and she offered to embrace me. I however repulsed
her with loathing; for in the miserable, tattered, sickly wretch before
me, I had already recognised Peggy Wilkins. She seemed ashamed of
herself for a minute; then, recovering her impudence, she said, 'Damn
and blast you for a sulky, snivelling hound! Who the devil are you that
you can't treat me civilly? Do you think I don't know all that's
happened to you? Why, you've only this moment left the hulks—and you
can't deny it.'—The soldiers, hearing this, demanded if it was true;
and, without waiting for my answer, thrust me out of the place. I had
reached the end of the street, when I recollected that I had not
received the change for my shilling, which I had tendered in payment of
the beer. I therefore went back to ask for it; but the pot-boy who had
served me, swore that I never gave him a shilling at all; and the
landlord evidently believed that I was a vagabond endeavouring to
swindle his servant. So I was kicked out—penniless!
"I was for some time before I could muster up courage to adopt any plan
for my support. Indeed, I sate down in a retired nook and cried
bitterly. I even regretted having left the hulk, so miserable did I
feel. At last hunger compelled me to act; and I entered a shop to
inquire if a boy was wanted. The man behind the counter said he did not
require the assistance of a lad, but that a neighbour of his would
probably hire me. I went to the place pointed out to me, and, having
explained my business, was asked for testimonials of good character. I
candidly confessed that I had just been discharged from the _Euryalus_,
but that I thought the schoolmaster on board would recommend me. The man
flew into a dreadful passion, and rushing round from behind the counter,
would have kicked me out of the shop, if I had not run away of my own
accord.
"I am sure that I tried twenty different shops that day in Woolwich. At
some I explained my position—at others I carefully concealed the fact of
my late ignominious punishment. But character—character—character! where
was it? Even for a starving lad who only asked a fair trial—who promised
to work from sunrise to sunset, and to be content with a morsel of bread
to eat and a cellar to sleep in, as a recompense for his toils,—even to
one who offered so much and required so little in return, _character_
was necessary! Night came—I was famishing and in despair. At length a
charitable baker gave me a roll; and my hunger was appeased. It struck
me that the tradesmen at Woolwich were perhaps more cautious than people
elsewhere how they engaged the services of young lads, in consequence of
that place being a station for the convict-hulks; and I therefore
resolved to try my luck in another quarter. I set out for Greenwich,
which I reached at midnight, and slept till morning in a shed near some
houses that were being built. Cold, famished, and dispirited did I
awake; and with a sinking heart I commenced my rounds. Before noon I had
called at a hundred shops, public-houses, or taverns, without success.
Few required the service of boys; and those people who did, demanded
references. I begged a piece of bread of a baker, and then set off for
London.
"So slow did I walk, and so often was I compelled to rest, that it was
evening before I reached the Blackfriars Road. There, again, did I
endeavour to procure honest employment—but in vain! I remember that when
one shopkeeper—an old man—listened to me with more attention than the
rest, I burst into tears and implored—besought—prayed him to receive me
into his service, if it was only _to save me from becoming a thief_! I
did not tell him I had already been one. But he shook his head, saying
sorrowfully, 'If you have already thought of turning thief, your morals
must be more than half corrupted.'—He gave me a few halfpence, and I
went away.
"I balanced for some minutes between the cravings of my stomach and the
fatigue of my limbs—that is, whether I should spend those halfpence in
food or on a bed. I decided in favour of the food, and having satisfied
my hunger, crept into a timber-yard on the bank of the Thames, and slept
there till morning. I awoke at sunrise, and crossed Blackfriars Bridge.
My limbs shivered with ague, and my clothes were damp with the dews of
night. I knew not what to do—which way to turn. Hope had deserted me.
There was I, a poor—wretched—houseless—friendless—starving being,
anxious to remain honest, yet impelled by circumstances towards a
relapse into the career of vice. I prayed as I went along the
streets,—yes, I prayed to God to save me from that dreadful—that last
resource. But no succour came. All day long did I rove about: night
arrived again—and for twenty-four hours I had eaten nothing. I dragged
myself back to the timber yard; but there was a great dog prowling
about—and I dared not enter. I sought shelter elsewhere, for the rain
began to descend in torrents; but I was wet through before I could even
find the entrance of a court to screen me. I never slept a wink that
night: I was afraid to lie down on the cold stones—they were so chill.
Morning came again—and I was now so weak that I could hardly put one
foot before another. I was moreover starving—yes, _starving_! I passed a
baker's shop and saw the nice hot bread smoking in the windows, and I
went in to implore a stale crust. But I was ordered out; and then the
idea struck me that in a few minutes I might obtain money to buy a good
breakfast—not only bread, but meat and tea! That was by picking a
pocket! The idea, however, assumed a horrible aspect a moment
afterwards—and I recoiled from it. No: I would sooner plunge into the
river and end my woes there—than steal again!
"To the river's brink I hurried—dragging myself slowly no more—but
running, yes—absolutely running fast to terminate my wretchedness by
suicide. It was near Westminster Bridge that I was on the point of
throwing myself into the Thames, when my collar was suddenly grasped
from behind, and I was drawn back. I turned—and saw Old Death!
"Then I uttered a scream, and struggled dreadfully to get away, that I
might still accomplish my purpose; but he held me tight, saying, 'Silly
boy! why do you fly from life, since it may yet have many pleasures for
you?'—'No!' I cried: 'I will never become a thief again!'—'And I will
never ask you to do so,' he replied. 'But come with me, and let us talk
over your prospects.'—'Prospects!' I repeated in a hysterical manner;
and then I followed him mechanically to an early breakfast-house close
by. He ordered a plentiful meal; and I ate ravenously. The food and hot
coffee cheered me; and I began to feel grateful to Bones for having
supplied the means to appease the hunger that was devouring me.
Moreover, one looks with quite a different eye upon suicide after a good
meal; and I could not do otherwise than regard him as the saviour of my
life. I was therefore already prepared to listen to him with attention;
and when he proposed that we should repair to Bunce's, where we could
converse without fear of being overheard, I willingly agreed to
accompany him. But during our walk to Seven Dials, I constantly repeated
within my own breast the most solemn vows not to yield to any threats or
representations—menaces or coaxings—to induce me to become a thief
again!
"When we reached the house in Earl Street, Mrs. Bunce received me with
more kindness than I had expected to meet at her hands, after the trick
I had played her a few days before at Woolwich. But she did not treat me
thus without a motive; for when once she and Old Death got me between
them, they endeavoured to the utmost of their power to persuade me to
resume my old avocations. I was faithful to my vow, and assured them
that they might kill me sooner than I would again do any thing to risk
imprisonment in that horrible Newgate. It was not the hulk I so much
dreaded—nor yet transportation, because I knew nothing of it; but I
shrunk from the mere idea of going through the ordeal of Newgate a
second time. Old Death saw that I was not to be moved—at least then; and
he gave up the point. 'But,' said he, 'you must do something to get a
living: you can't starve; and _we_ won't maintain you in idleness. If
you like, I'll take you into my service to run on errands, look after
people that I want to learn any thing about and make yourself useful in
that way; and I'll give you a shilling a-day.'—I agreed—for I could not
starve.
"Now, of course it is as plain to you as it was even then to me, that
Old Death was playing a deep game with me. I was the cleverest thief
that ever served him; and he had received ample—ample proofs that he
could trust me. He knew that he was safe with me. I was therefore too
useful a person to lose; and he thought that by throwing me again
amongst my old companions, and keeping me on very short allowance, the
disagreeable impressions of gaol would soon wear away, and I should
relapse into my old habits. He was quite mistaken. I don't pretend that
any particular idea of virtue made a great change in me; but I had been
in Newgate—_and there I had seen a man going out to be hanged_; and I
thought that if I got into that dreadful gaol _a second time_, I should
become hardened, _and that I also should go out some day to be hanged_!
So I resisted all temptation—and lived as well as I could on the
shilling a day, without increasing my means by theft or villany.
"This mode of life on my part did not suit Old Death. A few weeks
passed, and when he found that I was resolved not to return to my former
ways, he stopped my allowance altogether. I was now steeped to the very
lips in wretchedness and misery: but somehow or another I managed to get
a crust here and there just to keep body and soul together—although I
oftener slept in the open air than in a bed. Mrs. Bunce showed me a
little kindness now and then, but quite unknown to Old Death; and, to my
surprise, she did not urge the necessity of my returning to the career
of theft. For several weeks I saw nothing of Mr. Bones; but at last he
fished me out in some low place, and told me I might return into his
service if I liked, and that he should pay me according to the use I
proved myself to be to him. To glean information for him—run on
errands—dog and watch persons—or even loiter about in police-courts to
hear what cases came up before the magistrates,—these were my chief
duties; and badly enough they were paid. But I was now permitted to get
my breakfast and tea regularly at the Bunces'; and that was something.
As for my lodging, if I got together a few pence to enable me to hire a
bed, or a part of a bed, in one of those low houses that I have already
described to you, I was contented,—for I always had this consolation,
that I could walk about the streets without being afraid of meeting a
Bow-Street runner."
Jacob paused—for his tale was told.
"Well, my boy," said Tom Rain, "you have gone through much, and seen
enough to form a good stock of experience. I commend your resolution
never to put yourself within reach of the law again; for that's just my
determination also. You have got money in your pocket now; and I will do
something more for you before I leave England."
"Ah! Mr. Rainford," exclaimed Jacob, much affected, "how I wish that I
had met with such a friend as you earlier in life! And how I wish, too,
that I could go with you—wherever you are going—and be your servant—your
slave!"
"Well—well, Jacob, we will talk of that another time," said Tom. "Rest
assured I will not desert you. Call at Tullock's on Monday evening, and
you will either see me there or find a note from me."
Jacob was overjoyed at the species of promise thus held out to him; and,
as it was now midnight, Rainford intimated his intention of taking his
departure from the public-house where he had passed the evening with the
poor lad.
When they had issued from the door, the highwayman bade Jacob "Good
night;" and they separated—pursuing different roads.
In fact, Jacob went towards Leather Lane, while Tom Rainford repaired in
the direction of the lodgings which he at present occupied in Gray's Inn
Lane—he having removed to that locality from his former abode in Lock's
Fields.
-----
Footnote 19:
The discipline of criminal prisons was particularly lax at the time of
which Jacob Smith is supposed to be speaking.
Footnote 20:
This dreadful state of things continued in the New Prison,
Clerkenwell, up to the year 1838.
Footnote 21:
The Report of the Prison Inspectors of the Home District contains
these observations upon the state of Newgate:—"The association of
prisoners of all ages, and every shade of guilt, in one indiscriminate
mass, is a frightful feature in the system which prevails here; the
first in magnitude, and the most pernicious in effect. In this prison
we find that the young and the old—the inexperienced and the practical
offender—the criminal who is smitten with a conviction of his guilt,
and the hardened villain whom scarcely any penal discipline can
subdue, are congregated together, with an utter disregard to all moral
distinctions, the interest of the prisoners, or the welfare of the
community. In such a state of things, can it be a matter of wonder
that the effects should be such as have been described? Every other
evil is aggravated by this; and it would be worse than idle to attempt
a remedy for the rest, while this demoralising intermixture of
criminals of all ages and degrees of guilt is suffered to frustrate
the very ends of Prison discipline, and to give tenfold violence to
all their mischievous inclinations, and passions, upon which it is
incessantly operating, and which is the design of justice to
discourage and repress. Apart from higher considerations, sound policy
demands that such a system should be instantly rectified, for so long
as it continues, society is nursing a moral pestilence in its bosom,
and maintaining an institution in which are forged those weapons that
are destined to be wielded with fatal dexterity against the community
itself. Every device by which the fences of property may be overcome
is here framed, and divulged to ready agents. Every fraudulent
artifice, every successful trick, every ingenious mode of
over-reaching the cautious, or of plundering the unguarded, is
perfected here, and communicated to those who had not hitherto been
initiated in the mysteries of crime.
"But the most distressing circumstance connected with this system, is
the cruel indifference with which it regards the condition and
necessities of those on whom the extreme penalty of the law is doomed
to fall. Prisoners actually awaiting the execution of the awful
sentence of death are placed, by the evil influence of companionship,
in the most unfavourable circumstances for self-reflection. Religion
and humanity combine to point out the imperative necessity of
providing men, brought by the sentence of the law to the verge of
eternity, with the means of spiritual improvement and consolation; but
the system of Prison Discipline in Newgate practically defeats every
such merciful design. No human authority has a right thus to trifle
with the eternal interests of a dying criminal. Against this serious
evil the chaplain has repeatedly and loudly protested; and it is in
evidence that the unhappy victims themselves have earnestly implored
the officers to deliver them from a situation in which it was
impossible for them to devote the few remaining hours that the law
allowed them to reflection and prayer. The companions in guilt of
these wretched men become further hardened by the influence of this
association. The indulgence of thoughtless apathy, unfeeling mirth, or
revolting ribaldry, are productive of incalculable mischief to the
minds of those who are subjected to their influence. The prisoner who
witnesses with levity or indifference the last moments of a culprit in
Newgate, comes forth a greater villain than when he went in. In him
the evil principle has done its work, and the very exhibition of
terror which justice designed for the reclaiming of the survivors, by
a perversion of moral influence, irremediably hardens the heart which
it was intended to soften and amend. If human ingenuity were tasked to
devise means by which the most profligate of men might be rendered
abandoned to the last degree of moral infamy, nothing more effectual
could be invented than the system now actually in operation within the
walls of the first metropolitan prison in England!"
Footnote 22:
Fact.