CHAPTER XIII

CRIME AND PUNISHMENT

In Saxon London we have to consider the amazing ferocity of the punishments, and the severity of the penance ordered (though evaded), but in this era we may be surprised at the comparative mildness of the mediæval punishments. Criminals were hanged, it is true, with greater frequency than at present. They were also sometimes sentenced to have their right hands lopped off, but the Alderman was generally present, and ready to pardon the offenders on submission; chiefly we read of pillory and stocks; if a second or third offence, pillory with banishment from the City. The stocks were also a favourite form of punishment, being a kind of pillory; they were for the most part movable stocks—just two beams laid alongside each other with holes for the feet; sometimes there was a ducking stool; sometimes a rogue was clapped in prison—a noisome, stinking place, full of fever; in extreme cases, he was put on penance, that is bread and water, until he died. Of burning there were few examples until the reign of Henry V. Margaret Jourdain, the witch, who assisted Eleanor Cobham, was burned. Murder, burglary, and highway robbery were punished by hanging. Runaway labourers were branded; sacrilege or rape was punished by hanging; child-stealing—a common offence,—scolding, and other offences of women, were punished by the stocks. The punishment of women by drowning was practised in very early times by the ancient Germans and Anglo-Saxons. It was continued down to the middle of the fifteenth century, when it was finally, but not formally, abolished. But women were drowned on the Continent in the eighteenth century. Among the Anglo-Saxons, women who were convicted of theft were thrown over a cliff into the sea, or submerged in any piece of water—stones being tied round the neck. The London places of execution were the Thames and the pools of St. Giles, Smithfield, St. Thomas Watering, and Tyburn. Sometimes the criminal was sewn up in a sack with a snake, a dog, an ape—but where did they get that ape?—and a cock. In the tenth century a woman was thrown from London Bridge into the Thames. In the year 1200 a woman of Southfleet was drowned for stealing cloth, and in the year 1244 one, Ann of Lodbury, was drowned in St. Giles’ Pool.

In the reign of Henry III. the penalty of drowning began to be changed for that of hanging. One woman, Ivella de Balsham, in that reign was pardoned because, although hanged on Monday at the ninth hour, she was found living on Tuesday at sunrise. It was thought a great innovation when women were first hanged at Paris, and when it was begun, in the reign of Charles VII., a great concourse of people, especially of women, flocked together to witness it. “La dite femme pendue toute deschevelee revestue d’une longue robe ceinte d’une corde sur les deux jambes jointe ensemble au dessous de genoux.”

In Burgundy they suffocated the adulterous woman in mud. At Hastings and Winchelsea they had no other form of capital punishment. Burying alive was sometimes, but seldom, practised. On one occasion a party of English soldiers, at the siege of Meaux by Henry V., were cut off, and they were all killed except one man, who escaped by flight. The King caused him to be buried alive with his dead companions. At Sandwich there was a place called Thieves’ Down, where criminals were formerly buried alive.

Treason has always, in every country, been punished by death; no crime, indeed, has ever affected men’s minds with so much horror and indignation. The English method is well known. The criminal was first hanged by the neck, but not until he was dead; in many cases he was only allowed to swing to and fro once or twice, and was then taken down, before he was insensible, to undergo the more terrible part of his punishment. He was stripped naked, and lines were marked, or pricked, over his body as a guide to the hangman’s knife. The first cut of the knife deprived him of his manhood; the next slashed open his body; his bowels were then taken out and burned before his eyes—if the poor wretch had any longer eyes to see; his heart was torn out; he was then dismembered and his head taken off; head, limbs, and trunk were set up in different places. In one case on record, a pardon arrived just in time when the men had already been hanged, cut down, stripped naked, and pricked all over for the hangman’s knife, and were lying in a row waiting for the last agonies. The hangman refused to give them back their clothes, and they walked home as they were.

The debtors’ prison for citizens and freemen of the City was Ludgate. Thither were sent those debtors sentenced to prison by the Mayor, Aldermen, Sheriffs, or Chamberlain. It appears that they were to stay in prison until they paid their debts. Ludgate was assigned by charity to the poor freemen of the City; it was thought that they would be more happy by themselves than with “strangers” in Newgate. At one time, however, the debtors made a bad use of this clemency by conspiring together to invent charges against innocent men—they accused Aldermen, for instance, of treason and other things. Instead of taking measures to prevent these practices by the punishment of the malefactors, King Henry V. was advised to abolish the prison altogether, and to remove the prisoners to Newgate. There so many of them died that in the same year the survivors were all taken back again to their old quarters. The fact that they were prisoners for life appears in the ordinance for abolishing the prison. It says that the prisoners ought to dwell in quiet, pray for their benefactors, live upon the alms of the people, and, in increase of their merits, by benign sufferance, in such imprisonment pass all their lives, if God should provide no other remedy for them.

Of punishments Holinshed gives what we may assume to be a complete account. There was no torture; the country neither broke on the wheel nor with the bar. For high treason the offender, if a commoner, was hanged, drawn, and quartered, as we have seen; if a nobleman, he was beheaded; for felony, manslaughter, piracy, murder, and rape, hanging was the penalty. In heinous cases the body was hanged in chains. A very large number of crimes came under the head of felony, which was a capital offence. Thus it was felony to carry horses or mares into Scotland; it was felony to steal hawks’ eggs; it was felony to practise sorcery, witchcraft, or the digging up of crosses. For poisoning—a crime held in the deepest abhorrence,—a woman was to be burned alive; a man was to be boiled alive—either in water, oil, or lead. There was one case recorded of boiling alive in water, but none that I know of boiling in lead. Boiling in oil was conducted by tying the wretched criminal to a pole and slowly lowering him, feet first, into the awful caldron. Perjury was punished by pillory, and by branding on the forehead with the letter P. Those who uttered seditious words had their ears cut off; sheep-stealers had their hands struck off; heretics were burned alive; disorderly women were put in pillory or stocks, and stood in streets; they were also carted and ducked. The Knight Marshal had the power of dragging a malefactor, man or woman, behind his boat across the river between Lambeth and Westminster. Rogues and vagabonds were stocked and whipped; scolds were ducked; pirates and robbers were hanged at low water on the bank, and suffered to hang there till three tides had flowed over them. Holinshed mentions as well a very strange custom—one wonders if it was ever really practised. If any man living beside a river wall or sea wall should suffer the wall to decay, he was apprehended, condemned, and staked in the breach, to form part of the foundation of the new wall to be erected thereon. Harrison corroborates the statement.

Here are some of the crimes for which pillory was ordered as a punishment. Adulteration of wine, pretending to be one of the King’s purveyors, short measure, pretending to be a summoner of the Archbishop, selling putrid fish, forging letters and seals, pretending to be a collector for the Hospital of Bethlehem, stealing a Baselard,[12] stealing a leg of mutton, forging title-deeds, slandering the Sheriff, selling bad pigeons, insulting the Recorder, raising price of wheat, spreading false reports, putting iron in a loaf to make it weigh heavy, bringing false accusations, procuring, using false dice, selling counterfeit goods or bad goods of any kind, short weight, magic, fortune-telling.

[12] A kind of knife worn at the girdle.—ED.

The City of London, except when the Mayor sat on a Justiciary at the Gaol Delivery of Newgate, had not to deal with capital offences. It was in excess of his powers when a certain Mayor caused two rioters, who had insulted and assaulted him, to be beheaded. The King was out of England, and the Mayor reported the case to him for his approval, which was very cordially granted.

The offences punished by the City authorities were chiefly of the petty cheateries enumerated above.

Aldersgate was let as a place of residence to the Common Serjeant; Cripplegate, on the other hand, was let to John Watlyng, the serjeant and common crier, on the condition of keeping there all the prisoners who might be sent by the Mayor and Aldermen.

The case of Thomas de Albertis is curious and unsatisfactory. He was a man of repute, and apparently of some wealth, living in the parish of St. Swithin. The accusation against him was as follows: In the year 1415 Thomas sent one, Michael Petyn, an alien and broker, to the shop of William Bury, mercer in Soper Lane (now Queen Street), on the pretence that the French King, then a prisoner, wanted a certain cloth of gold. William Bury showed the cloth of gold, of which Michael agreed to buy four pieces at £150, “and,” he said, “if you will send the goods to Thomas de Albertis, he will pay for them on delivery.” William Bury sent the goods by a servant, who was accompanied by Michael. When they arrived at Thomas de Albertis’ house they were received by the butler, who said that his master was out—this being part of the conspiracy,—so the servant left the cloth of gold, and Michael, as had been arranged, went to take sanctuary at the House of the Minoresses outside Aldgate, while Thomas returned and took possession of the cloth without paying for it. Thomas was tried by a jury, half Englishmen, half aliens—which shows that he was an alien,—and found guilty. They sentenced him to three appearances in the pillory. But on the intercession of certain reputable merchants, the punishment was commuted into a fine of £20.

The story on the face of it is quite inconsistent with truth. First, what was Michael Petyn to get out of it? And next, how should a man of position lend himself to a conspiracy certain to be exposed? But the story shows that there were ingenious rogues in the London of the fifteenth century.

The minute laws which regulated everything betray the absence of police for the enforcement of those laws; a town which possessed a police would never venture to pass rules which the most efficient police could never enforce. Thus, to take some of the regulations almost at random, it will be seen that there could not possibly be any method of enforcing them. Serjeants and other officers were not allowed to take Christmas gifts. So, in the same way, in the early days of the railway, guards and porters were forbidden to take tips; yet, see what has come of that rule. It was forbidden to go about the streets mumming, or disguised, or acting at Christmas; the people were to make merry at home. But one could not make merry at home; there must be a company gathered together. Besides, what was Christmas without its mummers? Also at Christmas time every house was to hang out a lantern—and who was to go about the streets to enforce this rule? Then, as we have seen, the prices of things were regulated over and over again without the least regard to the ordinary rules of supply and demand. It was also ordered, with blind confidence in the power of law, that no man or woman of vicious life should live in the city; women of loose life were to be known by their hoods, which were to be of ray, or striped cloth—it was so perfectly certain that every woman who had lost her virtue would hasten to proclaim the fact publicly. Taverns were to be shut at curfew; nobody was to walk in the streets after dark; nobody was to carry arms at night; boys were not to ask for money for hocking, football or cock-throwing. All such laws are little more than an expression of opinion. They were repeated over and over again; offenders, no doubt, retired for a time—a week or two. Then they came out again. For not even an effective police can make a city virtuous, honest, and sober. Nothing will do this except public opinion—the opinion of the whole people; and the City of London was as far from that public opinion formerly as it is now.

Occasionally the law made itself felt in unexpected strength. Thus, when John Gedeney, draper, refused to be Alderman, they shut up his shop and confiscated his chattels until he changed his mind. And there was the case of the priest who bought a man’s wife. The Mayor could not punish him, because the Bishop alone had the power of punishing a priest, but he could, and did, order that no one in the City should employ him in any spiritual office whatever. And as regards the observance of prices according to regulations, there was one case, at least, in which women were sent to prison for refusing to sell at the ordered price. The arm of the law, moreover, proved long enough to catch William Blakeney, shuttlemaker, after six long years, during which he had enjoyed a pleasant and profitable time as a Pilgrim. He dressed for the part with bare feet and long hair and a Pilgrim’s staff. According to his own account, he had been to Jerusalem, Rome, Venice, and Seville; and the good people were never tired of listening to his adventures and experiences; they were never tired, in addition, of giving him food and drink. But he was found at last, and he was paraded about the streets in a cart, with a whetstone round his neck, to show that he was a liar, and was then put in pillory. A more serious offence was that of William Pykemyle. He pretended to be a messenger of the King. In this disguise he called upon the Countess of Bedford, and upon the Countess of Norfolk, carrying the command of the King that these ladies should join the Court at Leeds Castle in Kent. In return for this gracious royal command, William received rich rewards. This man was found out, tried, and sentenced first to pillory, then to prison during the King’s pleasure, and then to banishment from the City.

In connection with the ridings “about London” in carts and on horseback, with the face to the animal’s tail, with music to invite attention, with pillory for greater publicity, with the offence written on a placard hung upon the criminal’s neck, sometimes with the actual matter of offence tied round his neck, as in the case of that chain of putrid smelts forming a necklace for the vendor, were the attentions of the people confined to jeers and derision and hooting? When one stood in the pillory were things thrown? I am inclined to think that the pelting was always possible, but uncommon, because it is mentioned occasionally as having happened. Had it been customary, it would not have been mentioned. Thus, in November 1553, a certain profligate priest, or parson, Rector of St. Nicolas Cole Abbey, sold his wife to a butcher. It was a time when all priests who regarded their safety made haste to put away their wives; that was pardonable, but to make money by the sad necessity was not well thought of. Therefore Parson Chicken—that was his nickname—was carried round London in a cart. A second time this worthy priest was taken round “for assisting an old acquaintance in a ditch”—I do not understand the nature of the offence. On this occasion it is noted that the popular indignation showed itself in the hurling of rotten eggs at the man’s head, and the emptying of vessels upon him from the windows as he passed. Another case is that of Perkin Warbeck. He sat in stocks for a whole day before Westminster Hall, and also in Cheapside. He received, we learn, numberless scorns, reproaches, and gibes, but nothing is said of any personal ill-usage.

The description of the prison on Cornhill, called the Tun, which was of the kind elsewhere called a Clink, and consisted of one strong room above and one below, gives Stow an opportunity of enlarging upon punishments and offenders. Thus to the Tun were committed night walkers and persons suspected or proved of incontinence. In the Mayoralty of John of Northampton in 1383, the citizens, taking into their own hands the rights belonging to the Bishop, imprisoned a number of unchaste women in the Tun, and then bringing them out to be seen by all the people, cut off their hair and carried them about the City with trumpets and pipes. And they used the men who were guilty of the like offence in the same way. This public shame seems to have been felt as the greatest ignominy possible. There is, indeed, a case on record in which three persons, notorious ringleaders of false inquests (_i.e._ persons who take money to be put in the jury and run to be made foremen in certain cases), who were led about the City with papers on their heads and their faces to the horse’s tail, actually died of shame.

“And now,” says Stow, “for the punishments of priests in my youth: one note and no more. John Atwod, draper, dwelling in the parish of St. Michael upon Cornehill, directly against the church, having a proper woman to his wife, such an one as seemed the holiest among a thousand, had also a lusty chantry priest, of the said parish church, repairing to his house: with the which priest the said Atwod would sometimes after supper play a game at tables for a pint of ale: it chanced on a time, having haste of work, and his game proving long, he left his wife to play it out, and went down to his shop, but returning to fetch a pressing iron, he found such play to his misliking, that he forced the priest to leap out at a window over the penthouse into the street, and so to run to his lodging in the churchyard. Atwod and his wife were soon reconciled, so that he would not suffer her to be called in question: but the priest being apprehended and committed, I saw his punishment to be thus:—He was on three market days conveyed through the high street and markets of the city with a paper on his head wherein was written his trespass. The first day he rode in a cart, the second on a horse, his face to the horse’s tail, the third led betwixt twain, and every day rung with basons, and proclamations made of his fact at every turning of the street, as also before John Atwod’s stall, and the church door of his service where he lost his chantry of twenty nobles a year, and was banished the city for ever.”

So much is said about the scolding wife, the shrew, the brawling woman, that one would incline to think either that women have changed, or that some special conditions of the time tended to produce this variety of woman. Everywhere it was found necessary to punish her by the cucking-stool, which was a punishment belonging to the law of the land; the woman was tied in it and dipped, head over ears, and the punishment was carried on in some parts of the country as late as the last century. There was, however, another and a more ignominious form of punishment, if possible, than the cucking-stool. This was the “brank,” or “the branks,” or the “pare of branks,” consisting of a light iron frame, which was fitted on the head with an iron tongue, to be placed in the mouth; there were many varieties of this, but the principle was the same. The woman fitted with this headgear was either marched up and down the streets, or carried about in a cart, or placed on a stage in a kind of pillory. It has been suggested that probably the woman, who became so violent that this punishment was thought necessary, was suffering from some kind of excited brain; it is also possible that domestic misfortunes may have ruined a woman’s temper, a bodily pain, or excessive work. When life is easy, and there are no vexations or sufferings, there are few scolds. In the year 1640, or thereabouts, one, John Willis, deposed that he had seen a scold driven through the streets of Newcastle with a brank upon her head. In this town there used also to parade a drunkard walking in a cask which came down to his knees. At Worcester, Ludlow, Newcastle-under-Lyme, Oxford, Shrewsbury, Walsall, Lichfield, Walton-on-Thames, and many other places, there are also branks preserved, I believe, to this day. At Bolton-le-Moor the brank was used for the punishment of women of bad character.

Let us from the annals of mediæval crime extract a few illustrations of mediæval punishment.

Since the greatest possible offence that can be committed against the State is treason, I begin with the most remarkable case of high treason that can be found in our history. It occurred in the year 1295.

The traitor was one Thomas Turberville, knight. He was taken prisoner by the French at the siege of Rheims. While a prisoner, he was induced to engage himself to convey information to the French as to what was going on in England. Probably poverty—perhaps revenge—made him consent to this shameful undertaking. He gave two sons as hostages to the Provost of Paris, and came over to England pretending that he had escaped. He was favourably received by the King, and such confidence was reposed in him as might be expected for an honourable and gallant soldier, who had done good service.

In consequence of this confidence he was able to convey to the French information which enabled them to effect a landing at Hythe, Dover, and other parts of the kingdom. Then he went into Wales on this service, and engaged the Welsh to rise at the same time as the Scots. He sent his letters by a secret messenger, who contrived to travel without suspicion as belonging to the train or following of Ambassador or Cardinal. On one occasion, however, the messenger betrayed him, and instead of carrying the letters to Paris, took them straight to the King, before whom he laid open the whole villainy of Sir Thomas Turberville. The principal letter left no doubt possible. It was that of a self-confessed, double-dyed villain. It was as follows:—

“To the noble Baron and Lord Provost of Paris, sweet Sire, at the Wood of Viciens, his liege man at his hands, greeting. Dear Sire, know that I am come to the Court of the King of England, sound and hearty; and I found the King at London, and he asked much news of me, of which I told him the best that I knew: and know, that I found the land of Wales in peace, wherefore I did not dare to deliver unto Morgan the thing which you well wot of. And know that the King has fully granted peace and truce; but be you careful and well advised to take no truce, if the same be not to your great advantage: and know that if you make no truce, great advantage will accrue unto you, and this you may say to the high Lord. And know that I found Sir John Fitz Thomas at the King’s Court, for the purpose of treating of peace between him and the Earl of Nichole as to the Earldom of Ulvester: but I do not yet know how the business will turn out, as this letter was written the day after that the Cardinals had been answered: wherefore I dare not touch at all upon the business that concerns you. And know that there is little watch kept on the sea-coast towards the South: and know that the Isle of Wycht is without garrison: and know that the King is sending into Almaine two bishops, and two barons, to speak to, and to counsel with, the King of Almaine as to this war. And know that the King is sending into Gascoigne twenty ships laden with wheat and oats, and with other provisions, and a large sum of money: and Sir Edmund, the King’s brother, will go thither, and the Earl of Nichole, Sir Hugh le Despenser, the Earl of Warwyk, and many other good folks: and this you may tell to the high Lord. And know that we think we have enough to do against those of Scotland: and if those of Scotland rise against the King of England, the Welsh will rise also. And this I have well contrived, and Morgan has fully covenanted with me to that effect. Wherefore I counsel you forthwith to send great persons into Scotland: for if you can enter therein, you will have gained it forever. And if you will that I should go thither, send word to the King of Scotland, that he find for me and all my people at their charges honourably: but be you well advised whether you will that I should go thither or not: for I think that I shall act more for your advantage by waiting at the King’s Court, to espy and learn by enquiry such news as may be for you: for all that I can learn by enquiry I will let you know. And send to me Perot, who was my keeper in the prison where I was: for to him I shall say such things as I shall know from henceforth: and by him I will send you the matters that I fully ascertain. And for the sake of God, I pray you that you will remember and be advised of the promises that you made me on behalf of the high Lord, that is to say, one hundred livres of land to me and my heirs. And for the sake of God I pray you on behalf of my children, that they may have no want so long as they are in your keeping, in meat or in drink, or other sustenance. And for the sake of God I pray you that you be advised how I may be paid here: for I have nothing, as I have lost all, as well on this side as on the other: and nothing have I from you, except your great loyalty, in which I greatly trust. Confide fearlessly in the bearer of this letter, and show him courtesy. And know that I am in great fear and in great dread: for some folks entertain suspicion against me, because I have said that I have escaped from prison. Inform me as to your wishes in all things. Unto God (I commend you) and may he have you in his keeping.”

The traitor was arrested and taken to the Tower of London. A week later he expiated his crime as follows:—

“He came from the Tower, mounted on a poor hack, in a coat of ray, and shod with white shoes, his head being covered with a hood, and his feet tied beneath the horse’s belly, and his hands tied before him; and around him were riding six torturers attired in the form of the devil, one of whom held his rein, and the hangman his halter, for the horse which bore him had them both upon it; and in such manner was he led from the Tower through London to Westminster, and was condemned on the dais in the great hall there; and Sir Roger Brabazun pronounced judgment upon him, that he should be drawn and hanged, and that he should hang so long as anything should be left whole of him; and he was drawn on a fresh ox-hide from Westminster to the Conduit of London, and then back to the gallows; and there is he hung by a chain of iron, and will hang, so long as anything of him remain.”

Understand what was meant by all these details. They were partly to make him undergo the greatest humiliations possible; partly to teach the people what was meant by high treason. First, he had been a noble knight, therefore he must ride—but on a wretched hack. Next, he had been a gallant soldier, therefore he must wear a helmet—but it was a monk’s hood. Thirdly, as a soldier, he must have a coat of mail—but it was of the poorest and commonest striped cloth, such as used to mark the trade of a prostitute. Fourthly, instead of a soldier’s boots, he wore the white shoes of a scullion. Fifthly, so that no one could doubt what would be his fate after death, the devils had already got him; and since he was to be drawn to his place of hanging, let the journey be as long as possible, viz. from Westminster to the middle of Cheapside, and then by Newgate to the gallows at the elms at Smithfield; and since the ordinary hurdle as used for murderers and housebreakers is far too good for him, therefore let him be drawn on the gory and bleeding hide freshly stripped from the carcase. And finally, let him hang as long as anything remains of him to hang—for all the world to see, and for all the world to execrate.

Another memorable punishment was that of Sir Robert Tresilian, Lord Chief Justice of Richard II., who was hanged with Sir Nicholas Brembre and others. The method of his punishment illustrates the curious mixture of barbarity and of pity which characterised the time. His judges were anxious to inflict upon him the greatest possible amount of ignominy, and at the same time not to destroy his soul. He was therefore drawn on a hurdle all the way from the Tower of London to Tyburn, and with some humanity they allowed him to rest at the end of each furlong, in order that he might confess with the friar who accompanied him. When, however, he arrived at Tyburn, he refused absolutely to go up the ladder which led to the gallows. Then they proceeded to beat him with clubs—remember this man had been Lord Chief Justice,—and he finally consented to climb the ladder. When he stood upon the scaffold he turned to the hangman and said, “You cannot hang me as long as I have got anything on.” Thereupon they took off his clothes and found in his pockets certain charms with which he had provided himself against a violent death. Having thus removed the charms, they proceeded to hang him naked, and he was left hanging for the next twenty-four hours.

The prisons of London were those of the Tower (for persons accused of high treason), Newgate, Ludgate, and the Fleet. The chambers over the Gates of the City were, as we have seen, also used as prisons; and the gate in Westminster leading from the Abbey to Tothill Fields. There were also places of confinement of a temporary kind, such as the Tun in Cornhill. Every liberty, again, had its own prison—as, for instance, St. Katherine by the Tower,—and its own Court. Every monastery, also, had its own prison for offending brethren. The ordinary prison consisted of two rooms, one below the other, constructed of stone, with very strong and thick woodwork. This was protected by being everywhere covered with strong square-headed nails; the windows had iron gratings; the heavy doors were studded with nails; the lower room, which was the kitchen as well as the living-room, and a sleeping-room when the prison was crowded, had a great fireplace, the chimney being strongly barred above to prevent escape that way; there was outside a very small courtyard for air and exercise. The Fleet prison, which was outside the wall, was surrounded by a narrow fosse forming a branch of the Fleet river. The arrangement of the room above, and the room below, was, of course, modified when it became necessary to enlarge prisons, and to provide for the separate accommodation of women.

When we speak of Crime and Punishment we are forced to speak of Vagrants and Rogues. Below the busy and honest life of industry, hidden away in the holes and corners of the labyrinthine City, was the life of the rogues, the vagrants, the masterless men. If anything were wanted to prove the ever-present existence of this population, one need only read the Proclamations and Acts passed from time to time. Every outbreak of foreign or civil war added to the number of those who, once being taken from their work, would never return to it, and so became tramps, highway robbers, common thieves. The nomad instinct provides another contingent of those who cannot or will not work; the criminal whom no one will employ furnishes a third contingent; the prodigal son, who yearns and longs for the life of unrestraint with women, drink, feasting, and singing, furnishes another contingent. All these people found a harbour with congenial society in the Plantagenet times, as they do now in and about the City of London. If they were not within the walls they were not far without—in Clerkenwell, in Southwark, and in Westminster. The laws for the repression of vagrancy and robbery were sound and strong. If they could have been enforced, vagrants and highway robbers would have disappeared. For the Saxon system of frank-pledge provided that the hundred—or the tything—should be responsible for every crime committed within its borders; further, if a man entertained a guest for more than two nights, he became liable for that guest. Yet without the goodwill of the people what is the use of laws? Who could enforce these laws? Robin Hood, Adam Bell, Clym of the Clough, and William of Cloudesley were popular heroes. As for vagrants, it was notorious that thousands were driven to vagrancy to escape starvation, through the tyrannous exactions of the overlord, or through the hard forest laws.

Another cause of vagrancy was that which remains in force to this day—the encouragement of beggars by giving them alms. There were places dotted all over the country, not monasteries only but castles and houses, where there were endowments and doles on certain days of the year; these days, of course, were perfectly well known to the tramp. The Statute of Winchester (A.D. 1285) makes it plain that the sympathies of the people were with the tramp and highway robber. It was enacted in this statute that there were to be stationed six men at every gate of the City; that the gate was to be closed from sunset to sunrise; and that the watch should arrest every suspicious person. This statute was to be enforced in every town, but in London it was further ordered that after Curfew tolled at St. Martin-le-Grand no man should go about the City streets armed; nor should he go about the streets at all unless “he be a great man or other lawful person of good repute, or their certain messenger”; and whereas “offenders do commonly meet and talk in taverns,” it was enacted that every tavern should be closed at curfew, under penalties, the last and chief of which was to be “forejudged” of his trade.

Again, who was to enforce these laws? What police were there to arrest night walkers? Who was to ascertain whether a tavern was closed or not? Accordingly, after the weak rule and troubled time of Edward II., we find his son in 1328 making a Proclamation against the granting of Charters of Pardon for Robberies, Manslaughters, Felonies, etc. Again, two years later, it is ordered that if suspicious persons pass by they may be arrested, either by day or by night, and delivered up to the Sheriff, who will judge if they be “Roberdes men, wastours, or Draghlacthe” (draw latches). The three Proclamations—23 Edward III., 25 Edward IV., and 2 Richard II.—concerning labour and vagrancy forbade absolutely the giving of alms to sturdy beggars. But proclamations availed nothing: the peasants left their villages and wandered about the roads; the men-at-arms wandered with them; the cripples, the blind, the maimed, the mutilated, wandered from town to town; the leper walked along with his “clack dish”; the strolling minstrel walked with them; and they were all rogues and thieves and murderers together. Sometimes they were set in the stocks; how could that have any effect upon a tramp? Shame he had none; trade he had none; employer he had none; vagrancy ran through his veins; there was no other life possible for him. Prison was the only cure for vagrancy; and that, imprisonment for life. Imprisonment, however, generally shortened life very quickly. A case is mentioned by Jusserand (_Wayfaring Life_, p. 366) in which two men and one woman were imprisoned as vagrants without being charged with any robbery. It was at a place called Thorlestan; one of the men died in prison; the other man lost one foot; the woman lost two feet by putrefaction. The prison, in fact, was a foul and noisome place, not paved, not cleaned, in which fever always lingered. In the fourteenth century there is mentioned for the first time the influx of people from the country into London. In the year 1359 the following Proclamation was issued:—

“Forasmuch as many men and women, and others, of divers Counties, who might work, to the help of the common people, have betaken themselves out of their own country to the City of London, and do go about begging there, so as to have their own ease and repose, not wishing to labour or work for their sustenance, to the great damage of such the common people; and also, do waste divers alms, which would otherwise be given to many poor folks, such as lepers, blind, halt, and persons oppressed with old age and divers other maladies, to the destruction of the support of the same: We do therefore command on behalf of our Lord the King, whom may God preserve and bless, that all those who go about begging in the said city, and who are able to labour and work, for the profit of the common people, shall quit the said city between now and Monday next ensuing, and if any such shall be found begging after the day aforesaid, the same shall be taken and put in the stocks on Cornhulle, for half a day the first time: and the second time he shall be taken he shall remain in the stocks one whole day: and the third time he shall be taken, and shall remain in prison for 40 days, and then forswear the said city for ever. And every constable, and the bedel of every ward of the said city, shall be empowered to arrest such manner of folks, and to put them in the stocks in manner aforesaid.”

In the _Vision of Piers Plowman_ there is a powerful contrast between the honest labourer and the beggar. In the description of the latter there is a touch which opens up a wide field of wickedness. “They observe,” he says, “no law, nor marry women with whom they have been connected. They beget bastards who are beggars by nature, and either _break the back or some other bone of their little ones_, and go begging with them on false pretences ever after. There are more misshapen children among such beggars than among any other men that walk on the earth.”

This chapter belongs to the period which ends with the last of the Plantagenets. Yet the legislation of the next century, which was conducted on much the same lines as that of Richard II., and designed to meet the same evils, may be considered here as showing the condition of the City as regards beggars and rogues and persons without a trade. We have seen that Order after Order, Statute after Statute, Proclamation after Proclamation, was passed for the suppression of the rogue, who, nevertheless, continually multiplied and thrived. They tried other methods. They ordered sixteen Beadles of the four hospitals—Christ’s, Bartholomew’s, St. Thomas’s, and Bridewell—to divide the City between them, taking six wards for the party of four, and to arrest all the beggars of the City: the impotent and the aged, the sick, the lame, the blind they were to take to St. Bartholomew’s or St. Thomas’s; the children were to be taken to Christ’s Hospital; the sturdy beggars and vagabonds were to be taken to Bridewell, where they would receive “Payment”—it need not be explained what was the nature of the remuneration. It is not stated that success attended this measure, but the imagination pictures the sturdy beggar marching out of Bishopsgate, and Newgate, and Ludgate, with all possible speed, and with the air of an honest craftsman, while the impotent and the rest of them betook themselves to Southwark. At every gate of the City was planted one of the Beadles. It seems an odd service to exact of an Hospital officer to watch those who entered and those who went out; and every Beadle was to inquire of the collectors in every Ward for the houses which harboured vagrants; and these vagrants and sturdy beggars who should be set to work should be attended by a Beadle. Strange as it may appear, this method produced no visible decrease in the number of beggars and vagabonds, maimed soldiers, and masterless men, by whom the City was infested. They then made trial of a City Police. At first it was a beginning only. They appointed two City Marshals for the clearance of disorderly persons, whom they had authority to banish. One supposes that they did banish them, but it is certain that they came back again. Yet, for a time, the City Marshals succeeded; the chief haunts of rogues at this time were the new streets about Clerkenwell and Islington. On one occasion, a great and unexpected search being made in these places, several hundreds were arrested and taken to Bridewell, where they were all flogged and set to work. Yet a few years later the proclamations against masterless men were out again, with more vigorous search and more arrests and more floggings.

This view of low life in London may be concluded with Stow’s account of Mr. Wotton, though in reality he adorned the next century:—

“Among the rest they found out one Wotton, a Gentleman born, and sometime a Merchant of good Credit, but falling by Time into Decay: this Man kept an Alehouse at Smarts-key near Billingsgate: and after, for some Misdemeanour, put down, he reared up a new Trade of Life. And in the same house he procured all the Cutpurses about the City to repair to his House. There was a School-house set up, to learn young Boys to cut Purses: two Devices were hung up, the one was a Pocket the other was a Purse. The Pocket had in it certain Counters, and was hung about with Hawks Bells, and over the top did hang a little Sacring Bell. The Purse had silver in it. And he that could take out a Counter without any Noise, was allowed to be a public Foyster. And he that could take a piece of silver out of the Purse without Noise of any of the Bells, was adjudged a judicial Nypper, according to their Terms of Art. A Foyster was a Pickpocket, a Nypper was a Pickpurse or Cutpurse. In this Wotton’s House were written in a Table divers Poesies, and among the rest this was one.

Si spie, Sporte: si non spie, tunc Steal. Another this— Si spie, si non spie, Foyste, Nyppe, Lyfte shave, and spare not.

_Note_, that Foyst is to cut a pocket: Nyppe is to cut a purse: Lyfte is to rob a shop, or a Gentleman’s Chamber: Shave is to filch a Cloak, a Sword, a Silver Spoon, or such-like, that is negligently looked into: to which add one phrase more in those times used among this sort, Mylken Ken, which is, to commit a robbery or Burglary in the Night in a Dwelling house.”

The Coroner’s Rolls from 1272-1278 have been preserved, and are published by Riley in his _Memorials_. They form a curious collection of cases. Let us go through these inquests of the thirteenth century. The exact dates do not concern us.

John Fuatard and John le Clerk were playing a game called “tiles”—probably rounded like quoits—on a certain Sunday morning in the churchyard of St. Mary Overies, the latter being Clerk in the Church of St. Mary Magdalene. By accident, John le Clerk, in throwing his tile, struck the other so violent a blow on the head that it killed him on the spot. Having done this, John le Clerk ran away to the Church, and was no more seen, at all events, till after the inquest. Goods and chattels the Clerk had none. The neighbours of the deceased were attached, _i.e._ bound over to give evidence if called upon.

Henry de Flegge, taking his horse to water in the Dock of Castle Baynard Ward, was carried out into the river by the animal, and fell off his back and so was drowned. The nearest people to the place where the body was found were attached.

In the Tower Ward—“Ward of William de Hadestock”—and in the Parish of Barking Church, one, Gervase de Noreys, was found lying dead. It was ascertained that the deceased was quarrelling with one William Lyndeseye, and that the said William, drawing a knife, gave Gervase two wounds, one in the left breast, and one in the back, of which wounds he immediately died. William thereupon fled to the Church, where he remained. The goods of William were seized, but they amounted to nothing more than a tabard (short coat), one hatchet, a bow with three arrows, and one shirt, the whole valued at 16 pence.

On the Wednesday following, William acknowledged the crime before the Chamberlain and Sheriffs, and “abjured the realm.” They gave him three days to get to Dover, where he was to take boat across the Channel.

Henry Green, a water carrier, went down to the river to fill his tankard. The water carrier, sometimes called a cobb, carried a vessel—perhaps two vessels at a time—called tankards.

Henry Green, then, went down to the riverside with his tankard; he stepped into a boat; he filled the tankard and would have gone back to the quay, but the weight of the tankard caused the boat to move backwards, and Henry Green fell in and was drowned.

The Coroner learned the facts, examined the body, which showed no sign of violence, and appraised the boat and the tankard at 5s. 6d. The valuing of things at an inquest was for deodand, or the King’s perquisite. It would then appear that the owner of the boat lost it. Yet he was not to blame. The theory of the deodand was that the value of the instrument, or cause of the death, was to be given to the King, by him to be offered to God, if he so chose.

Another man, name unknown, was found drowned in the fosse of the Tower. The evidence stated that he was seen to take off the “coat of russet which he wore,” and in a naked state entered the water and sank to the bottom.

In the Ward of Henry de Coventre (Vintry Ward), Adam Seliot, a servant of Ponce de More of St. James Garlickhythe, was trying to climb a pear tree in the garden, when a branch broke and he fell to the ground, by which fall his “whole body was almost burst asunder.” The pear tree was valued at 5s. for the deodand.

In the Parish of St. Brigid and the Ward of Anketil de Auvergne (Farringdon Ward Without) an inquest was held on the body of John le Hancrete. The witness said:—

“That the said John came from a certain feast that had been held in the City of London to the house of William before-named, being very drunk, that is to say, on the Monday before, at the hour of Vespers, where he had hired his bed by the day; and that then, intending to lie down upon it, he took a lighted candle for the purpose of making his bed; which done, he left the candle burning, and fell asleep thereon. And the candle being thus left without any one to look after it, the flame of it caught the straw of the bed upon which the said John was lying; and accordingly, he, as well as the bed and the straw aforesaid, was burnt, through the flame of the candle so communicating, at about the hour of midnight. And so, languishing from the effects thereof, he lived until the Tuesday following, at the hour of Matins, on which day and hour he died from the burning aforesaid. Being asked if they hold any one suspected of the death of the said John, they say they do not. And the body was viewed; upon which no wound or hurt appeared, save only the burning aforesaid.”

Roger Canny, on a certain cold night in December, was going home. He had been drinking till curfew at the tavern of Robert Box. He was very drunk when he started: presently he fell down in the street, and so lay out in the frost and died of the cold. It was stated that he had epilepsy, or a “falling sickness,” but the “falling” was probably due to the beer and not to the epilepsy.

The inquest on Richard de Parys, chaloner (maker of _chalons_ or blankets), was of a much more complicated nature. Let us quote Riley’s words:—

The witnesses “say that on the preceding Sunday, after curfew rung, it happened that one Richard Moys, going along the King’s highway, came to the door of John le Chaloner, next to the house of Agnes de Essexe, near Fancherche; in which house lodged Robert de Munceny and Arnulph, his son, with his household; and so, trying to make entrance therein, he knocked, shouted, and made a noise. On seeing which, four of the household aforesaid, who were standing at the hostel of the knights before-mentioned, and of whose names they are ignorant, being moved thereat, requested him to cease making his noise, and go away; and as he refused to do so, they cried out that he must leave forthwith; whereupon, hearing the outcry aforesaid, Robert and Arnulph, and all of Robert’s household, came out, that is to say, John de Munceny, son of Robert, John Fauntilun, Robert de la Rokele, Henry de Ginges, John Curtoys, John de Hakone, John le Wyte, Hugh de Hoddone, Hachard de Garbodesham, and Robert de le Lo, some with swords, and some with other arms. And all of them, save only the said Robert, who stood at the door of his hostel, followed the said Richard, who fled to the house of Alice le Official; in which house many persons were seated drinking, with the door open, among whom were Richard de Parys, now dead, and one Henry Page; and Richard Moys concealed himself between two wooden vessels there. And the said Arnulph, on entering, met at the door the said Richard de Parys, who cried out, ‘Who are these people?’ whereupon Arnulph struck him with his drawn sword, already stupefied as he was at the sight of the sword. Then rushing into the house, he gave him a wound in the back, between the ribs of the body, two inches in breadth, and penetrating to the intestines; and another small wound under the left breast. From which wounds he languished, and survived until the Thursday following, on which day, at the hour of Matins, he died. And immediately after perpetrating this felony, Arnulph went forth and joined his accomplices, and they went together to his hostel, John and Hachard excepted, who took to flight; and there they remained in his house. Being asked if they hold anyone else suspected of that death, either in deed or in abetting the same; they say all the persons aforesaid, except the said Robert de Munceny, who was standing at the door of the hostel where he lodged, while this was going on, the said Hachard and John included, who fled immediately after the felony was committed, were present when the same was committed. No person, however, wounded him, save only the said Arnulph; nor do they hold the said Robert suspected of abetting him. And all of them were taken and imprisoned, except those who took to flight. None of them had any goods or chattels, except the said Robert de Munceny and Arnulph, his son; who had six horses, three beds, one falcon, and three greyhounds, which are appraised at 20 marks in the whole. And the body was viewed, etc.

And the two neighbours nearest to the spot where the said Richard de Parys lay dead, were attached, by sureties; and the two neighbours nearest to the spot where he was wounded; and the two neighbours nearest to the hostel from which they went forth. And Agnes de Essexe was attached, in whose house the said malefactors were lodged, and Alice, her maid-servant. And all the persons were attached, who were in the house where he was wounded.”

Matilda, wife of Henry le Coffeur, came to a tragic end like Roger Canny, through the effects of drink. She was going home very drunk and she fell and broke her right arm. They carried her to her own home and she languished for three days, when she died. Probably there was something else broken as well as the arm.

The next is a case of murder with several points of interest.

Symon de Winton kept a tavern in Ironmonger Lane. His body was found in a coal-cellar in Easter 1278.

The facts were these. The said Symon had a servant named Roger de Westminster. On December 7, 1277, the master and his man had a violent quarrel. They carried on the quarrel the whole of the next day. Now they slept in the same room. On the following morning, Roger opened the tavern as usual, set out the benches and sold wine, as if nothing had happened:—

“And as the said Symon had not been seen by the neighbours all that day, they asked Roger what had become of his master; whereupon he made answer that he had gone to Westminster, to recover some debts that were owing to him there; and on the second day and third he gave the same answer. At twilight, however, on the third day, he departed by the outer door, locking it with the key, and carrying off with him a silver cup, a robe, and some bedclothes, which had belonged to the same Symon. Afterwards he returned, and threw the key in the house of one Hamon Cook, a near neighbour, telling him that he was going to seek the said Symon, his master, and asking him to give him the key, in case he should come back. And from that day the house remained closed and empty until the Eve of Our Lord’s Circumcision (January 1) following; upon which day John Doget, a taverner, taking with him Gilbert de Colecestre, went to the house aforesaid to recover a debt which the said Symon owed to him for wines. But when he found the door closed and locked, he inquired after the key of the neighbours who were standing about; upon hearing of which, the said Hamon gave him up the key forthwith. Upon entering the tavern with Gilbert aforesaid, he found there one tun full of wine, and another half full, which he himself had sold to Symon for 50 shillings; and this he at once ordered to be taken out by porters, namely, Henry Wyting, William le Waleys, Ralph le Yreis, Hugh Noteman, and Stephen de Eyminge, and put in a cart belonging to Henry Wyting aforesaid, and taken to his own house, for the debt so due to him; together with some small tables, canvas cloths, gallons, and wooden potels, two shillings in value. This being done, the said John Doget shut the door of the house, carrying away with him the key thereof; from which time the house was empty, no one having entered it until the Tuesday before Palm Sunday. Upon which day, Master Robert aforesaid, to whom the house belonged, came and broke open the door for want of a key, and so entering it, immediately enfoffed Michael le Oynter thereof; which Michael, on the Saturday in Easter week, went there alone, to examine all the offices belonging thereto, and see which of them required to be cleansed of filth and dust. But when he came to the narrow and dark place aforesaid, he there found the headless body; upon seeing which, he sent word to the said Chamberlain and Sheriffs.

Being asked if any one else dwelt in the house, save and except those two persons, or if any one else had been seen or heard in that house with them on the night the felony was committed, or if any other person had had frequent or especial access to the house by day or night, from which mischief might have arisen, they say, not beyond the usual resort that all persons have to a tavern. Being asked if the said Roger had any well-known or especial (friend) in the City, or without, to whose house he was wont to resort, they say they understand that he had not, seeing that he was a stranger, and had been in the service of this Symon hardly a fortnight. Being asked therefore whither he had taken the goods he had carried off, they say that, seeing that the house was near to the Jewry, they believe that he took them to the Jewry; but to whose house they know not. Being asked what became of the head so cut off, they say they know not, nor can they ascertain anything as to the same. They say also that the said Roger escaped by stealth, and has not since been seen. Chattels he had none.”

In the Church of St. Stephen Walbrook, William le Clerke ascended the belfry to look for a pigeon’s nest. As he was climbing from beam to beam his feet failed him and he fell, being instantly killed. The beam was appraised at fourpence.

In West Chepe, the body of William le Pannere, pelterer, was discovered near the Conduit. It was found that he had been just weakened by being blooded so that he fell on his way home and expired on the spot.

In Broad Street Ward—the “Ward of William Bukerel”—one Matthew de Hekham was lying dead in the house of Richard le Clerk in Lothbury. The story is curious:—

“Who say that on the Sunday next after the Feast of St. Matthew the Apostle (September 21), the said Matthew was going from Bradestrete towards the Jewry, and when he had reached midway between the lane called ‘Isemongere Lane,’ and the Guildhall of London, there met him certain Jews, Abraham de Derkynge, Isaac de Canterbury, and Cresse, son of Isaac de Lynton. And upon so meeting him, Abraham before-named, of malice aforethought, took the said Matthew by the shoulder, and threw him in the mud; and upon his attempting to rise, Isaac before-mentioned struck the said Matthew with a certain _anelace_ [a knife or dagger] of his below the right shoulder-blade, in the loins, inflicting upon him a wound one inch in breadth and six inches deep. After which, the said Matthew pursued them, as well as he was able, from the spot before-mentioned to the wall of St. Laurence Jewry, where, being too much weakened through excessive loss of blood, he could follow them no farther; but rising from the ground, he went to the house of Richard before-named, where he was found. And so, after languishing from the Sunday before-named to the Friday next before the Feast above-mentioned, he died at daybreak on that day. Being asked if they hold any other person or persons suspected, they say no one, except the said Isaac, who gave him the wound from which he died: and that the aforesaid Abraham and Cresse were consenting to the felony. Being asked as to the chattels of the felons, they say that they know nothing of them. And the body was viewed, upon which appeared the wound aforesaid, and that most horrible.”

Nothing is said as to the trial of Abraham, Isaac, and Cresse.

It was reported that one Gilbert Clope was lying dead on a quay near the Tower. Gilbert was not quite right in his mind. One says he was leaning against a certain wall on London Bridge, and apparently fell asleep, his head and body projecting over the Bridge, so that he fell in and was drowned.

Henry de Lanfare met his death in a very singular manner:—

“One Richard de Codesfold having fled to the Church of St. Mary Stanigeslane in London, by reason of a certain robbery being by one William de London, cutler, imputed to him, and the same William pursuing him on his flight thereto; it so happened that on the night following the Day of the Invention of the Holy Cross (May 5) in the present year, there being many persons watching about the church aforesaid, to take him, in case he should come out, a certain Henry de Lanfare, ironmonger, one of the persons on the watch, hearing a noise in the church, and thence fearing that the same Richard was about to get out by another part of the church, and so escape through a breach that there was in a certain glass window therein, went to examine it. The said Richard and one Thomas, the then clerk of that church, perceiving this, the said Thomas, seizing a lance, without an iron head, struck at Henry before-mentioned through the hole in the window, and wounded him between the nose and the eye, penetrating almost to the brain. From the effects of which wound he languished until the Day of St. Dunstan (May 19), when he died, at about the third hour. They say also, that as well the said Richard as Thomas before-mentioned are guilty of that felony, seeing that Richard was consenting thereto.”

“And the said Thomas was taken, and imprisoned in Newgate, and afterwards delivered before Hamon Haweteyn, Justiciar of Newgate. And the said Richard still keeps himself within the church before-named. Being asked if they hold any more persons suspected as to that death, they say they do not. They have no lands or chattels. And the body was viewed, upon which no other injury or wound was found, save only the wound aforesaid.”

The last of these historiettes is the story of Godfrey de Belstede and the manner of his death:—

“The before-named Godfrey, on the Day of St. Bartholomew (August 24) last past, was coming from Cestrehunte (Cheshunt) towards London, mounted on a hackney, hired of a certain man of that village, as they believe, but as to whose name and person they are ignorant, and having one Richard le Lacir in his company, they met certain carters coming from London, with three carts, but as to the names and persons of whom they are altogether ignorant. Whereupon, one of the carters aforesaid began most shamefully to abuse the said Godfrey, for riding the said hackney so fast, and a dispute arose between Godfrey and the said Richard, on the one side, and the said carters on the other, one of the carters seizing with his hands a certain iron fork, struck Godfrey upon the crown of his head, with such force, as to inflict a wound two inches in length, and penetrating almost to the brain. The other carters also badly beat him all over the body with sticks, and maltreated both him and the said Richard le Lacir; so much so, that the latter hardly escaped with his life. Godfrey before-named survived from the Day of St. Bartholomew to the Thursday before-mentioned, languishing from the wound and beating aforesaid; and on that day, at about the third hour, he died. And the body was viewed: upon which was seen the wound aforesaid, and it appeared altogether disfigured from the beating before-mentioned.”