would need many volumes. As a selection has to be made, I have chosen
rather to take the older and less familiar incidents than to dwell on
those of the eighteenth century, already well known.
In telling the stories found in the old chronicles, I have refrained from
giving in my own version what I found adequately told by the old writers.
Thus, if I quote Stow, Hall, or Holinshed for events that happened long
before their time, it is, of course, not as first-hand authorities, but
because their rendering is certainly more interesting than any I could
give.
The reader will not fail to observe how extremely meagre are these annals
for the first centuries of Tyburn. For the first hundred years, 1177 to
1273, there appear here only eight cases. For this century and down to
the year 1535, I have, I think, given all the Tyburn tragedies recorded
by the old chroniclers. The explanation of this meagreness is, that the
chroniclers noted only executions arising out of political incidents
or out of social incidents of extraordinary interest: only in times
comparatively late do we get glimpses of the work done by the gallows
on small offenders. All through the long era of religious persecutions
we hear little of ordinary criminals: only now and again some number is
mentioned of those executed or tumbled into a pit together with a priest.
I may be asked how I arrive at the conclusion stated in the introductory
remarks, that a moderate estimate would place the number of those
executed at Tyburn at fifty thousand. As the gallows was at work for six
hundred years, this number would give an average of less than one hundred
a year. Four streams of victims converged on Tyburn. The gallows was fed
from the courts of Westminster and Guildhall (see, for example, cases in
these Annals under the years 1242, 1295, 1441, and 1495). But the great
purveyors of the gallows were the Middlesex Sessions and the Old Bailey
Sessions, the first for the county, the latter for the City and its
Liberties.
It appears that there are no records of the number of persons hanged in
pursuance of sentences passed at the Old Bailey Sessions: fortunately,
the case is different as regards the Middlesex Sessions. The labours of
Mr. John Cordy Jeaffreson[112] have placed us in possession of exact
accounts of the numbers hanged at certain periods for felonies committed
in the county of Middlesex. For ten years, 6th to 15th James I., these
number 704. Mr. Jeaffreson justly argues that the felonies committed in
the City and its Liberties must have exceeded in number those committed
in the adjacent county. But, taking them as only equal in number, we get
704+704=1,408, or a yearly average of over 140. He finds no reason to
suppose that executions were less frequent during the reign of Elizabeth.
On the assumption that the rates were equal and continuous through the
two reigns, we have a total for this period of 66 years of 9,240.
The returns for the reign of Charles I. are defective in respect of some
years. Even after making allowance on this account, the average for
Middlesex is not higher than 45. Doubling this as before, we get 90, as
against the Jacobean 140. Mr. Jeaffreson accepts this remarkable fall,
ascribing it to several causes: the spread of education, enabling more
persons to plead their clergy; a growing disposition on the part of
juries to convict of petty larceny only on evidence of grand larceny;
the larger number of reprieves; the greater readiness of juries to give
the prisoner the benefit of doubt; finally, the operation of the Act, 21
James I., c. 6, which in an indirect way put women on a level with men in
respect of clergyable offences.
The rate was exceeded, but not very greatly, during the Commonwealth.
We will take the average of 90 for the period covered by the reign of
Charles I. and the Commonwealth.
Under the years 1535-7, I have written at some length on the results of
the social convulsion produced by the dissolution of the monasteries and
the enclosures. In estimating the number of executions for the reign
of Henry VIII., we may take the Jacobean rate of 140 per annum for the
earlier years of the reign, from 1509-35—twenty-seven years. We shall
probably be well under the mark in quadrupling the Jacobean rate for the
remaining eleven years of this reign, and for the six years of the reign
of Edward VI. For the troubled reign of Mary we will double the Jacobean
rate. We may now tabulate the results of a calculation on the basis of
the foregoing assumptions:—
Assumed Yearly Average
Duration, of Executions at
Reign. Years. Tyburn. Total.
Henry VIII. 27 140 3,780}
Ditto 11 560 6,160} 9,940
Edward VI. 6 560 3,360
Mary 5 280 1,400
Elizabeth 44 140 6,160
James I. 22 140 3,080
Charles I. 24 90 2,160
Commonwealth 11 90 990
--- ------
150 27,090
It is, of course, not claimed that this table presents more than the
results of reasonable conjecture—with the data available we cannot get
beyond conjecture. The table shows 27,090 executions at Tyburn in 150
years, leaving fewer than 23,000 to be made up in the remaining 450 years
to the conjectured number 50,000. This gives a yearly average of less
than 52, which is certainly very low.
During the last hundred years of the existence of Tyburn, political
executions become more and more rare; the interest of Tyburn becomes
more and more a social interest. The salient feature of this period is
furnished by the exploits of highwaymen: it might almost be called the
era of the knights of the road. Apart from this, the striking feature of
the later history of Tyburn, say from the accession of William III., is
the constantly increasing ferocity of the laws. The reign of William saw
passed the infamous Act inflicting the punishment of death for stealing
in a shop to the value of five shillings. Through succeeding reigns Acts
were heaped on Acts, making this and that crime a capital offence. No
opportunity was lost of loading the Statute Book with these odious Acts,
till, as has been estimated, the law of England reckoned two hundred
capital offences. Children were hanged or burnt, according to sex; nor
did even this satisfy the ferocity of the governing classes. Theorists
advocated a return to the barbarous punishments of rude times: the State,
by diminishing the time accorded for repentance, sought to pursue its
victims beyond the grave. The heaping up of death-punishments continued
beyond the time when Tyburn ceased to uphold the majesty of the law.
In the year 1786 an Act was passed imposing duties, denoted by stamps,
on perfumery and the like—the duties ranged from one penny upwards. To
counterfeit such a stamp was DEATH, so that to defraud the State of one
penny put an offender in jeopardy of his life.
All honour to those who, like Fielding, Mandeville, Meredith,
Basil Montague, Bentham, Romilly, laboured to bring home to their
fellow-citizens a sense of the iniquity of these murderous laws. Nor
should we forget their predecessors. Sir Thomas More stated once for all
the true view of the case: “This punyshment of theues passeth the limites
of Iustice, and is also very hurtefull to the weale publique. For it is
too extreame and cruel a punishment for thefte, and yet not sufficient
to refrayne and withold men from thefte. For simple thefte is not so
great an offense, that it owght to be punished with death.” We owe also
grateful mention to Samuel Chidley, who, in the time of the Commonwealth,
wearied not in protesting against “this over-much justice in hanging men
for stealing.”
=1177.= The first recorded execution which can be referred to Tyburn
occurred in this year. It is probable that Tyburn was the place of
execution, but, leaving this case aside for the time, we come to the
execution of William Fitz Osbert, or “Longbeard,” expressly stated to
have been carried out at Tyburn.
=1196.= William Fitz Osbert, or Osborn, popularly known as “Longbeard,”
was a citizen of London, described as skilled in the law. He is first
made known to us by the story of a vision seen by him and a companion on
board a ship, one of the fleet of Richard Cœur de Lion, on its way to the
Holy Land.
In a great storm at sea there appeared to them three times St. Thomas of
Canterbury, who said to them, “Fear not, for I and the Blessed Martyr
Edmund, and the Blessed Confessor Nicholas have taken charge of this ship
of the King of England. And if the men of this ship will eschew evil and
seek pardon for past offences, God will give them a prosperous voyage.”
Having thrice said this, he vanished and the storm ceased. This was in
1190. Richard, on his return, was captured and held to ransom by the
emperor. The raising of the ransom proved very grievous to the people.
There was trouble in the City of London as to the way of assessing the
burden. The poorer sort claimed that the citizens should not be called on
to pay so much per head, whether rich or poor, but that the assessment
should be according to means. William Longbeard took the part of the
poor citizens: it came to be a matter to be fought to the death between
the magnates and Longbeard. Moreover, Longbeard had accused of extortion
Hubert, Archbishop of Canterbury and Justiciar. An armed band was told
off to arrest Longbeard. He resisted, slew two chiefs of the band, but
was compelled to fly for protection to the church of St. Mary-le-Bow.
Then the archbishop did a thing unheard of. He, a churchman, bound by
every consideration to guard the privileges of the church, set at nought
the right of sanctuary, kindled a fire, and drove Longbeard out of the
church. In his attempt to escape Longbeard was wounded by the son of one
of those whom he had killed in trying to escape arrest. He was hurried to
trial: the great men of the city and the king’s officers joined in urging
the justiciar to inflict the severest punishment on the offender. This
was the punishment: His upper garments were taken off, then his hands
were bound behind his back, and, attached by ropes to a horse, he was
dragged from the Tower through the City to Tyburn, and there hanged alive
by a chain.
What was he, unscrupulous demagogue or martyr in the cause of the poor?
Each view was held by his contemporaries. He seems to have behaved very
badly to his elder brother, whose care for him during his youth he
repaid by bringing against him a charge of treason. On the other hand,
it is clear that Longbeard’s enemies had against him a case which it
was necessary to strengthen by baseless accusations. He was charged
with blaspheming the Virgin Mary, and with taking his concubine into
Bow Church. The last charge seems disproved by the circumstances in
which Longbeard fled to the church for refuge. It was also set about
that he was put to death for “heresy and cursed doctrine,” whereas it is
obvious that his offence was political. Be this as it may, his enemies
triumphed; Longbeard was drawn and hanged with nine of his fellows. But
“the simple people honoured him as a Martyre, insomuch that they steale
away the gibbet whereon he was hanged, & pared away the earth, that was
be-bled with his blood, and kept the same as holy reliques to heale sicke
men.” Hubert, the archbishop, drove them away. But two years later the
monks of Canterbury presented to the Pope charges against Hubert. The
first is that he had violated the peace of the Church of Bow by forcing
out Longbeard and his fellows. The Pope advised Richard to remove Hubert
from the office of justiciar, and not to employ churchmen in secular
offices. Hubert resisted for a while, but in the end accepted his
dismissal.
Stow, in his “Survey” (ed. Thomas, p. 96), says that Longbeard was hanged
at “the Elms in Smithfield,” but there is no authority for this.
The evidence that “The Elms” of Tyburn was the place of execution is
full: “Ad furcas prope Tyburnam,” Chronicle of Ralph de Diceto, ed.
Stubbs, ii. 143; “ad furcas prope Tiburcinam,” Roger of Wendover, ed.
Coxe, iii. 95, ed. Hewlett, i. 244; Gervase of Canterbury has “ad Ulmos,”
ed. Stubbs, i. 533-4; “ad Ulmetum,” Matthew Paris, Chron. Maj., ed.
Luard, ii. 419; Hist. Anglor., ed. Madden, ii. 57-8.
Diceto, Dean of St. Paul’s, is believed to have died about 1202; Roger of
Wendover died in 1236: their evidence is, therefore, first-hand.
=1177.= From the accounts of the execution of Longbeard it is quite
clear that in 1196 Tyburn was established as the place of execution; in
the detailed accounts given there is no hint that this was the first
execution carried out here. It has been shown that gallows existed
here as early, probably, as 1170. When, therefore, we find mention of
an execution of a date earlier than that of Longbeard, taking place at
London, for a crime of which the royal court would necessarily have
cognisance, it is at least highly probable that Tyburn, though not
expressly mentioned, was the place of execution.
The crime of 1177 is one of those few social crimes, as distinguished
from political offences, of which the chroniclers make mention; the story
reveals a strange picture of the manners of the time.
During a council held at London the brother of the Earl of Ferrers was
murdered in his inn, the body being afterwards thrown into the mud of the
street. When the king heard of this he was greatly moved, and swore that
he would visit the crime heavily upon the citizens of London. For it was
said that a hundred and more of the sons and relatives of the nobles of
the City were in the habit of breaking into the houses of wealthy men for
the purpose of robbery. And if they found any one going by night about
the streets they forthwith murdered him without pity, so that for fear
of them few dared to go about the City by night. So it came about that
in the third year before this, the sons and nephews of certain nobles of
the City, meeting together by night, for the sake of plunder broke into
the stone house of a certain rich man of London, using iron wedges for
the purpose of making an opening, by which they entered. But the head of
the house had been warned beforehand of their intent, wherefore he put on
a leather cuirass, and had with him several nobles and trusty servants
also protected by armour, sitting with him in a corner of the house. And
when he saw one of those thieves, by name Andrew Bucquinte, pressing on
in front of the others with glowing face, he brought forward a pot full
of live coals, and hurriedly kindled some wax tapers which he carried in
his hand, and rushed upon him. Which beholding, the said Andrew Bucquinte
drew his knife from its sheath and struck the master of the house; but
he failed to wound him because the blow fell upon the cuirass. And the
master of the house quickly drawing his sword from its sheath, returned
the blow, and lopped off the right hand of the said Andrew Bucquinte,
crying with a loud voice, “Thieves, thieves!” and hearing this all fled
except him who had lost his hand, he being held by the master of the
house. And when day broke he took him to Richard de Lucy, the king’s
justice, who threw him into prison. And the thief, on promise of life
and limb, gave up the names of his companions, many of whom were taken,
though many also escaped. Among those taken was a certain very noble and
very rich citizen of London, by name John Senex, who being unable to
clear himself by the ordeal of water, offered to the king five hundred
marks of silver for his life. But as he was condemned by the ordeal of
water, the king refused to accept the money, and ordered that judgment
should be done upon him, and he was hanged.[113]
=1222.= In one of the ancient records of the City of London, the “Liber
de Antiquis Legibus,” there occur two short notices:—
A.D. 1197, Constantine Fitz-Athulf and Robert le Bel (as
Sheriffs).
A.D. 1221. In this year Constantine Fitz-Athulf was hanged, and
that without trial.
The story of the execution without trial of one who had been sheriff of
the great and powerful City compels attention. It is thus told by the
chroniclers, the date assigned being 1222 or 1223:—
In this year, on the feast of St. James the Apostle, July 25, the
inhabitants of London and those of the neighbouring country, having
challenged one another to a wrestling match, met near the hospital of
Queen Matilda, outside the City (St. Katherine’s Hospital, near the
Tower) to decide who were the stronger in this sport. The contest was
long, and after great efforts on both sides, the citizens of London had
the best of the contest, to the chagrin of their adversaries. He who took
the defeat most to heart was the seneschal of the abbat of Westminster,
who devised means to avenge the defeat of his party. Having formed in
his mind a plan of vengeance, he issued a fresh challenge for the feast
of St. Peter’s Chains (August 1st), and sent word for everyone to come
to Westminster to wrestle, promising a ram as a prize. That being done
the said seneschal got together strong and practised wrestlers, so
that the victory might be thus gained. The citizens of London, wishing
to distinguish themselves a second time, came in great numbers to the
appointed place. The contest began, those on one side and the other
trying to throw their opponents to the ground, but the seneschal of whom
mention has been made, having brought up people from the neighbourhood
and from the country, turned the contest into a fight which would satisfy
his revenge. He took up arms without provocation and furiously charged,
not without bloodshed, the unarmed citizens of London. The citizens,
wounded and insulted, fled in disorder to the City. There ensued a great
tumult: the common bell was rung and brought the people together. The
story went about, every one gave his opinion, and proposed his plan of
revenge. At last the Mayor, Serle, a man prudent and peaceful, advised
that complaint should be made to the abbat of Westminster, and said that
if he would consent to make suitable reparation, every one should then
be satisfied. But Constantine, who had great power in the City, declared
amid great applause that it would be better to throw down all the
houses belonging to the abbat of Westminster, as well as the seneschal’s
house. Forthwith an order was drawn up, enjoining the immediate
execution of Constantine’s project. A blind multitude, a mad populace,
entrusted Constantine with this civil war, flung itself in a tumult on
the possessions of the abbat, demolished several houses, and did great
damage. In the midst of this scene was Constantine, continually reciting
the order, and crying with all his might, “Montjoie! Montjoie! God and
our lord Louis be our help!”
This cry, more than anything else, provoked the king’s friends, and
made them determine to exact punishment for this sedition, as we will
now tell. The facts soon got about, and came to the ear of Hubert de
Burgh, the justiciar, who, having got together a number of knights, put
himself at their head and went to the Tower of London, from which he sent
a message to the elders to come to him without delay. When they were
before him he asked who were the principal movers in the sedition; who
were they who had dared to trouble the royal city, and break the king’s
peace? Then Constantine, constant in his presumption and pride, answered
otherwise than was either becoming or prudent. “It is I,” he said, “what
wilt thou?” He declared that he was protected by treaty, that he could
justify what he had done, which was even less than he ought to have done.
He trusted to the oath taken by the king as well as by Prince Louis, by
the terms of which the friends and partisans of one or the other were to
be left in peace.
The justiciar, hearing this avowal of Constantine, detained him and two
of his abettors, without exciting any disturbance. The next morning he
sent Fawkes de Bréauté (known to him as a man ready for any cruelty) with
an armed force to carry Constantine by way of the Thames to be hanged
at The Elms. Quickly and secretly they carried him thither, and when
Constantine had the rope round his neck, he offered fifteen thousand
marks of silver if his life might be spared. To whom answer was made that
never more should he get up a riot in the king’s city. Hanged therefore
he was, together with Constantine, his nephew, and a certain Geoffrey,
who had proclaimed the order in the City.
Thus was the sentence on Constantine carried out unknown to the citizens,
and without disorder. That done, the justiciar made his entry into
London, with Fawkes and the armed men who had gone with him. He arrested
all known to have taken part in the riot, threw them into prison, and
let them out only when he had caused their feet or hands to be lopped
off. Numbers fled and never returned. The king took sixty citizens as
hostages, and deposed the magistrates and put others in their room.
Moreover, he ordered that a great gallows should be set up.[114]
=1236.= About this time some bold but rash nobles in England, seduced
by we know not what spirit, conspired together, and entered into an
execrable alliance to ravage England like robbers and night-thieves.
Their design, however, became known, and the chief of the conspiracy—to
wit, Peter de Buffer, one of the king’s doorkeepers—was taken prisoner,
and by him others were accused. In order to whose execution a dreadful
machine, commonly called a gibbet, was set up in London, and on it two
of the chief conspirators were hanged, after having engaged in single
combat. One of them was killed in the fight, and was hanged with his head
cleft open, and the other, hanged alive, breathed forth his wretched life
on the same gibbet amid the lamentations of the assembled multitude.[115]
=1239.= A certain messenger of the king, named William, had been
convicted of manifold crimes, and lay in prison under sentence of death.
He brought accusations of treason against several nobles; he also made a
criminal charge against Ralph Briton, a priest and canon of the Church of
St. Paul’s, London, who had for some time been a familiar friend of the
king, and had held the office of treasurer. On this coming to the king’s
ears he by letter ordered the Mayor of London, William Gromer (or Gerard
Batt), to seize Ralph and imprison him in the Tower of London, and the
Mayor obeying the king rather than God, at once carried the king’s orders
into effect. He dragged the said Ralph with violence from his house near
St. Paul’s, and imprisoned him in the Tower, securing him with chains,
commonly called rings. The Dean of London, Master G. de Lucy, informed
of this, took counsel with his fellow canons (the bishop being absent),
and pronounced a general sentence of excommunication against all the
presumptuous perpetrators of this enormity, and placed St. Paul’s Church
under an interdict. The king, however, although warned by the bishop, did
not amend his faults, but continued with threats to heap evils on evils,
so that the bishop was about to place the whole of the City of London,
which was subject to him, under an interdict: but when the archbishop
of Canterbury, as well as the legate, the bishop of London, and many
other prelates, were prepared to lay a heavy hand on the City, the
king, although unwillingly, ordered the said Ralph to be released, and
allowed to depart in peace. But when the king sought to add the condition
that Ralph should be so kept as to be ready to give an explanation when
the king required it, the churchmen replied that they would not on any
account keep him in this manner, like an imprisoned man, but that the
church should receive him as absolutely free, just as when the king’s
attendants tore him by force from his house. In this manner then was
Ralph released.
Not long afterwards, the before-named villain, who had, as above stated,
calumniated the nobles and the aforesaid Ralph, was ignominiously hanged
outside the City of London, on that instrument of punishment called a
gibbet: and when he saw that death was certain, he, although late, openly
confessed before the people and his executioners that he had made the
aforesaid accusations only for the purpose of prolonging his life.[116]