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Third Edition 
 
WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY 
 
 FLOTSAM AND JETSAM 
 FROM HIS OLD JOURNAL 
 
\ 
 

 To the Lumber Room you drag furniture 
 no longer fit for daily use, and there it lies, 
 old fashioned, cumbrous, covered year by 
 year with fresh depths of dust. Is it 
 fanciful to apply this image to the Law ? 
 Has not that its Lumber Room of repealed 
 Statutes, discarded methods, antiquated 
 text-books — “ many a quaint and curious 
 volume of forgotten lore ” ? 
 
 But law, even when an actual part of 
 the life of to-day is like to prove a tedious 
 thing to the lay reader, can one hope to 
 find the dry bones of romance in its 
 antiquities ? X venture to answer, “ Yes.” 
 Among all the rubbish, the outworn in- 
 struments of cruelty, superstition, terror, 
 there are things of interest. “ Benefit of 
 Clergy,” the “ Right of Sanctuary,” bulk 
 large in English literature ; the “ Law of 
 
^vtfatoxu 
 
 the Forest” gives us a glimpse into the 
 life of Mediaeval England as actual as, 
 though so much more sombre than, the 
 vision conjured up in Chaucer’s magic 
 Prologue. “ Trial by Ordeal ” and “ Wager 
 of Battle” touch on superstitions and be- 
 liefs that lay at the very core of the 
 nation’s being. 
 
 “ As full of fictions as English law,” 
 wrote Macaulay in the early part of the 
 century ; but we have changed that, we 
 are more practical, if less picturesque, and 
 John Doe and all his tribe are long 
 out of date. Between the reign of James 
 I. and that of Victoria all the subjects here 
 discussed have suffered change, with one 
 exception. The “Press-Gang” is still a 
 legal possibility, but how hard to fancy it 
 ever again in actual use ! 
 
 I fear that these glimpses of other days 
 may seem harsh and sombre; there is blood 
 everywhere; the cruel consequences of law 
 or custom are pushed to their logical con- 
 clusions with ruthless determination. The 
 contrast to the almost morbid senti- 
 
fwfatotg 
 
 mentalism of to-day is striking. So diffi- 
 cult it seems to hit the just mean ! But 
 the improvement is enormous. Gibes at 
 the Law are the solace of its victims, and 
 no one would deprive them of so innocent 
 a relief, yet if these cared to enquire they 
 would often find that the mark of their 
 jest had vanished years ago to the Lumber 
 Room. 
 
 The plan of these papers did not permit 
 a detailed reference to authorities, but I 
 have mentioned every work from which I 
 derived special assistance. I will only add 
 that this little book originally appeared as 
 contributions to the National Observer 
 under Mr W. E. Henley’s editorship. I 
 have made a few additions and corrections. 
 
 b 
 
(jruntmto 
 
 PAGE 
 
 BENEFIT OF CLERGY ..... 1 
 
 PEINE FORTE ET DURE .... 10 
 
 A PASSAGE IN SHAKESPEARE (FINES AND 
 
 RECOVERIES) 26 
 
 THE CUSTOM OF THE MANOR ... 36 
 
 DEODANDS 54 
 
 THE LAW OF THE FOREST .... 62 
 
 PAR NOBILE FRATRUM (JOHN DOE AND 
 
 RICHARD ROE) 74 
 
 SANCTUARY ....... 84 
 
 TRIAL BY ORDEAL 98 
 
 WAGER OF BATTLE 107 
 
 THE PRESS GANG 120 
 
 129 
 
 SUMPTUARY LAWS 
 
ai €ltr<ji> 
 
 “Benefit of Clergy” is a phrase which 
 has entered into English literature and 
 English thought. The thing itself exists 
 no longer, though the last traces of it 
 were only removed during the present 
 reign ; but it so strikingly illustrates 
 certain peculiarities of English law-mak- 
 ing, it has, moreover, so curious a history 
 as to be interesting even to-day. It took 
 its rise in times when the pretensions of 
 the Church, high in themselves, were 
 highly favoured by the secular power. 
 The clergy was a distinct order, and to 
 subject its members to the jurisdiction of 
 the secular courts was deemed improper ; 
 so, when a clerk was seized under a charge 
 of murder, or some other crime, the ordinary 
 stepped forth and claimed him for the 
 “ Court Christian,” whereto the whole 
 
 A 
 
2 ®i)e Hato's SLumtor ifiloom 
 
 matter was at once relegated. There the 
 bishop or his deputy sat as judge. There 
 was a jury of twelve clerks before whom 
 the prisoner declared his innocence on 
 oath. He was ready with twelve com- 
 purgators (a species of witnesses to char- 
 acter) who, after their kind, said more good 
 of him than they had any warrant for; 
 after which, on the question of fact, some 
 witnesses were examined for, but none 
 against him. This curious proceeding, 
 which was not abolished till the time of 
 Elizabeth, soon became a sham. Nearly 
 every accused got off, and the rare verdict 
 of guilty had no worse result than degra- 
 dation or imprisonment. 
 
 Now, so far, the system is intelligible, 
 but in the succeeding centuries it lost this 
 quality. English legal reformers have ever 
 shown a strong disinclination to make a 
 clean sweep of a system, but they keep 
 tinkering at it year after year with a view 
 of making it more rational or better 
 adapted to current needs. They did so 
 here, and the result was a strange jumble 
 
benefit of ©iergg 
 
 of contradictions. First, the privilege was 
 confined to such as had the clerical dress 
 and tonsure, afterwards it was extended to 
 mere assistants, the very door-keepers being 
 held within the charmed circle ; yet the 
 line had to be drawn somewhere, and how 
 to decide when every ruffian at his wits’ 
 end for a defence was certain with blatant 
 voice to claim the privilege ? Well, could 
 he read ? If so, ten to one he was 
 an ecclesiastic of some sort, and therefore 
 entitled to his clergy. And it soon came 
 that this was the only test demanded. If 
 you could read you were presumed a 
 parson, and had your right to at least 
 one crime free. As no woman could 
 possibly be ordained, she could not “ pray 
 her clergy ” — (an exception was made 
 in the case of a professed nun) — nor might 
 a bigamus, who was not a man who had 
 committed bigamy, but one who “ hath 
 married two wives or one widow.” How- 
 ever, a statute (1 Edw. YI., c. 12, s. 
 16, temp. 1547) made an end of this 
 latter distinction by declaring, with quaint 
 
iLato'si ILumbet %o om 
 
 tautology that bigami were to have their 
 clergy, “ although they or any of them have 
 been divers and sundry times married to 
 any single woman or single women, or to 
 any widow or widows, or to two wives or 
 more.” Before this it might well be 
 that your chance of saving your neck 
 depended on whether you had married 
 a widow or not ; which species was 
 dangerous in a sense undreamt of by 
 Mr Weller. As regards the reading, it 
 must not be supposed that a difficult 
 examination was passed by the prisoner 
 before he escaped. You had but to read 
 what came to be significantly called the 
 Neck- verse from the book which the officer 
 of court handed you when you “prayed 
 your clergy.” The Neck-verse was the first 
 verse of the fifty-first Psalm in the Vulgate. 
 It was only three words — Miserere mei , 
 Deus : “ Have mercy on me, 0 God.” It 
 seems strange that it was ever recorded of 
 anyone that he did not read, and was 
 therefore condemned to be hanged ; for 
 surely it were easy to get these words by 
 
of ©letgg 
 
 5 
 
 heart and to repeat them at the proper 
 time ? This must have been done in many 
 cases, and yet sometimes criminals were so 
 densely ignorant and stupid, or it might 
 be merely bewildered, that they failed ; then 
 the wretch paid the penalty of bis life. 
 “ Suspendatur,” wrote the scribe against 
 his name, and off he was hauled. The 
 endless repetition of this word proved too 
 much for official patience, and with brutal 
 brevity the inscription finally appears, 
 “ Sub” or “ S ” 
 
 And now the Neck- verse was free to every- 
 one were he or were he not in holy orders, 
 and he claimed the privilege after conviction, 
 but in the reign of Henry VII. (1487) an 
 important change was made. A person 
 who claimed clergy was to be branded on 
 the crown of his thumb with an “M” if he 
 were a murderer, with a “ T ” if he were 
 guilty of any other felony ; if he “ prayed 
 his clergy ” a second time this was refused 
 him, unless he were actually in orders. Of 
 course the mark on the thumb was to record 
 his previous escape from justice. It was 
 
6 ILato's ILumbtv ISloom 
 
 with this “ Tyburn T ” (as it was called in 
 Elizabethan slang) that Ben Jonson was 
 branded. It is only within the last few 
 years that careful Mr Cordy Jeaffreson has 
 exhumed the true story from the Middlesex 
 County Records. The poet quarrelled and 
 fought a dii el with Gabriel Spencer, an actor, 
 and probably a former colleague. The affair 
 came off at Shoreditch. Jonson, with his 
 rapier, which the indictment (for a reason 
 explained in the chapter on “ Deodands ”) 
 values at three shillings, briskly attacked 
 his opponent, and almost immediately gave 
 him a thrust in the side, whereof Spencer 
 died then and there. Ben was forthwith 
 seized and thrown into prison. Whilst 
 waiting his trial he said that spies were 
 set on him, but he was too much for them, 
 and afterwards all the judges got from 
 him was but “ Ay ” and “ No.” Why spies 
 should have been necessary in so plain 
 a case is far from clear. It is more 
 significant that a devoted priest succeeded 
 in converting him for the time to Roman 
 Catholicism, and he afterwards confessed 
 
Wemflt of 7 
 
 to Drummond of Hawthornden that he had 
 come near the gallows. However, what 
 he said, or did not say, is of little weight 
 as compared with the evidence of con- 
 temporary judicial records. The fact is 
 clear that the poet of Every Man in his 
 Humour, the cunning artist of Queen and 
 Huntress, and Drink to me only with 
 thine Eyes, had a true bill found against 
 him by the grand jury, who sat, by the 
 way, in a tavern, for as yet Hicks Hall, 
 the predecessor of the Session’s-House on 
 Clerkenwell Green, was not. 
 
 In October 1598, he was taken to the 
 Old Bailey to stand his trial. He pleaded 
 guilty, asked for the book, read like a clerk 
 (“ Jonson’s learned sock,” forsooth !), and as 
 the strangely abbreviated Latin of the 
 record has it, “sign* cum Ira* T et del** 
 that is, marked with the letter “ T,” and 
 set at large to repair to “ The Sun,” “ The 
 Bolt,” “ The Triple Tun,” or some other 
 of those dim, enchanting Elizabethan 
 taverns, there to give such an account of 
 the transaction as sufficed to dissemble it 
 
8 ILato's Httmbet: 3£toom 
 
 till this age of grubbers and dictionaries 
 wherein you are destined to nose every 
 ancient scandal as you go up the stair- 
 case of letters. It has been suggested 
 that the officer, moved to inexplicable 
 tenderness, touched him with a cold iron. 
 The only ground for this is that Dekker, 
 in his savage Satiro Mastix ; or, The 
 Untrussing of the Humourous Poet , 
 makes no reference to the “ Tyburn T.” 
 One fancies that Ben speedily acquired 
 a trick of carrying his hand so that the 
 mark was not readily seen, or he may 
 have cut or burnt it out as others did. 
 All the same, the best evidence shows 
 it to have been there. 
 
 In the reign of James I. another 
 change was made. Women got the 
 
 benefit of clergy in certain cases, and 
 afterwards they vrere put on the same 
 footing as men. Then in 1705 the 
 necessity for reading was abolished, and 
 in 1779 so was branding. 
 
 But another process was going on all this 
 time. A great and ever-increasing number 
 
Benefit of ©lergfi 9 
 
 of crimes were declared to be without benefit 
 of clergy. The selection was somewhat 
 
 capricious. Among the exempted felonies 
 
 were abduction with intent to marry, 
 stealing clothes off the racks, stealing the 
 kings’ stores, and so on. Naturally the 
 whole subject fell into inextricable con- 
 fusion, and when it was abolished in 1827. 
 even pedants must have given a sigh of 
 relief. One detail escaped the reformer : 
 since the time of Edward YI. every peer 
 (“ though he cannot read,” saith the 
 statute) enjoyed a privilege akin to that 
 of clergy, and it was not till 1841 that 
 this last vestige of the system vanished 
 from the statute-book. I will only add 
 that, in its details, “ benefit of clergy” 
 was even more grotesque and fantastic 
 than it has here been possible to set 
 forth. 
 
petite jftrrte et lattve 
 
 In England during many centuries a prisoner 
 was called to the bar before trial and en- 
 joined to hold up his right hand, by which 
 act he was held to admit himself the person 
 named in the indictment. The clerk then 
 asked him, “ How say you, are you guilty 
 or not guilty ?” If he answered, “Not 
 guilty,” the next question was : “ Culprit, 
 how will you be tried ? ” to which he re- 
 sponded, “ By God and my country.” “ God 
 send you a good deliverance,” rejoined the 
 official, and the trial went forward. If the 
 accused missed any of these responses, or 
 would not speak at all, and if the offence 
 were treason or a misdemeanour, his silence 
 was taken for confession of guilt, and 
 sentence was passed forthwith. If the 
 charge were felony, a jury was empanelled 
 to try whether he stood “ mute of malice, w 
 
^ cine Sovte et l@ttre 
 
 11 
 
 or “ mute by the visitation of God.” If this 
 last were found, the trial went on ; if the 
 other, he was solemnly warned by the judges 
 of the terrible consequences summed up by 
 Lord Coke (trial of Sir Richard Weston in 
 1615, for Sir Thomas Overbury’s murder) in 
 the three words — onere, frigore , et fame . 
 The proceedings were most commonly 
 adjourned to give him time for reflection ; 
 but if after every exhortation he remained 
 obdurate, then he was adjudged to suffer the 
 peine forte et dure. The judgment of 
 the Court was in these words : “ That you 
 
 return from whence you came, to a low 
 dungeon into which no light can enter ; 
 that you be stripped naked save a cloth 
 about your loins, and laid down, your back 
 upon the ground ; that there be set upon 
 your body a weight of iron as great as you 
 can bear — and greater ; that you have no 
 sustenance, save on the first day three 
 morsels of the coarsest bread, on the second 
 day three draughts of stagnant water from 
 the pool nearest the prison door, on the 
 third day again three morsels of bread as 
 
12 Qfyt Slaton 3LumUv 
 
 before, and such bread and such water 
 alternately from day to day ; till you be 
 pressed to death ; your hands and feet 
 tied to posts, and a sharp stone under your 
 back.” 
 
 There is but one rational way to discuss 
 an institution of this sort. Let us trace 
 out its history, for thus only can we explain 
 how it came to have an existence at all. 
 For the prisoner himself there was usually 
 a very strong reason why he should stand 
 mute. If he were convicted of felony his 
 goods were forfeited; while in case of 
 capital felony, the result of attainder was 
 corruption of blood so that he could neither 
 inherit nor transmit landed property. 
 Often he must have known that conviction 
 was certain. Had he fondness enough for 
 his heirs — children or other — to make him 
 choose this hideous torture instead of milder 
 methods whereby the law despatched the 
 ordinary convict from this world ? Well, 
 very many underwent the punishment. 
 Between 1609-1618 the number was 
 thirty-two (three of them women) in rural 
 
$ cine JForttf et $3uve 
 
 13 
 
 Middlesex alone. “ Mortuus en pen’ fort ’ et 
 dur ,” so the clerk wrote for epitaph against 
 each name, and something still stranger 
 than the penalty itself is revealed to us 
 by an examination of the original records. 
 Many of the culprits were evidently totally 
 destitute, and these underwent the peine 
 forte et dure from stupidity, obstinacy, 
 or sheer indifference to mortal suffering 
 and death. 
 
 The custom of pressing did not obtain 
 its full development at once, and there is 
 some difficulty as to how it began. A 
 plausible explanation is given in Pike’s 
 “ History of Crime,” and is supported by the 
 authority of the late Mr Justice Stephen. 
 At one time a man charged with a serious 
 offence was tried by ordeal ; but by paying 
 money to the king, it was possible to get 
 the exceptional privilege of a trial by jury. 
 Thus, when the accused was asked how he 
 would be tried, his answer originally ran, 
 “ by God ” (equal to by ordeal), or “ by my 
 country ” (equal to by jury), since to put 
 yourself on the country meant to submit 
 
14 
 
 &f)e 2Lato*0 ILumbev 
 
 yourself to this last. But trial by ordeal 
 was abolished about 1215, and the alterna- 
 tive was a privilege to be claimed, not a 
 necessity to be endured. Offenders soon 
 discovered that by standing mute and de- 
 clining to claim this privilege, they put the 
 Court in a difficulty. The ideas of those 
 distant days were simple exceedingly, and a 
 legal form had strange force and efficacy. 
 To put a prisoner before a jury without 
 his consent was not to be thought of ; but 
 how to get his consent? At first the knot 
 was rather cut than loosened. Thus, in some 
 cases, the accused were put to death right 
 off for not consenting to be tried “ according 
 to the law and custom of the realm.’' Then 
 this was held too severe, and under Edward 
 I., in the proceedings of the Parliament of 
 Westminster, occurs the earliest definite 
 mention of the punishment. It was enacted 
 that notorious felons refusing to plead should 
 be confined in the prison forte et dure. 
 Here they went “ barefooted and bareheaded, 
 in their coat only in prison, upon the bare 
 ground continually night and day, fastened 
 
^tint Sovte ti ©tit* 
 
 15 
 
 down with irons,” and only eating and 
 drinking on alternate days as already set 
 forth. It was bad enough, no doubt, but 
 not of necessity fatal. So the authorities 
 perceived, and they again cut the knot by 
 a policy of starvation. So one infers from 
 the case of Cecilia, wife of John Ryge- 
 way, in the time of Edward III. Cecilia 
 was indicted for the murder of her hus- 
 band ; she refused to plead. Being com- 
 mitted to prison, she lived without meat 
 or drink for forty days ; and this being 
 set down to the Virgin Mary, she was 
 thereupon allowed to go free. This pro- 
 cedure seems to have been found too 
 slow, and the increase of business at 
 the assizes seemed like to end in a hope- 
 less block. Were the judges to encamp 
 in a country town while the prisoners made 
 up their mind as to pleading ? Something 
 was wanted to “ mend or end ” the stub- 
 born rascals; and under Henry IV., in 
 the beginning of the fifteenth century, the 
 “ prison ” forte et dure became the “ peine ” 
 forte et dure : with the consequence that. 
 
16 ® $e Hate's Humbw &oom 
 
 if the accused declined to plead, there 
 was an end of him in a few hours, the 
 provision of bread and water being a mere 
 remnant of the older form of sentence. 
 This procedure lasted till 1772, when the 
 12 Geo. III., c. 20 made ‘"standing mute 
 in cases of felony equivalent to convic- 
 tion.” In 1827 it was enacted by 7 and 
 8 Geo. IV., c. 28, ""that in such cases a 
 plea of not guilty should be entered for 
 the person accused.” The curious formal 
 dialogue between the clerk and the pris- 
 oner was abolished that same year. Some- 
 thing stronger than exhortation was now 
 and again used before the obdurate 
 prisoner was sentenced to pressing, thus 
 at the Old Bailey in 1734, the thumbs 
 of one John Durant were tied together 
 with whipcord, which the executioner strung 
 up hard and tight in presence of the 
 Court ; he was promised the peine forte et 
 dure if this did not answer, but upon a 
 little time being given him for reflection, 
 he speedily made up his mind to plead not 
 guilty. 
 
$etiw Sovtc tt Bute 
 
 17 
 
 It is difficult to explain the distinc- 
 tion drawn between ordinary felony on the 
 one hand and treason and misdemeanours 
 on the other. Perhaps the explanation is 
 that the last, being much lighter offences, 
 were never made the subject of trial by 
 ordeal, and that treason being a crime 
 endangering the very existence of the 
 State, a sort of necessity compelled the 
 judge to proceed in the most summary 
 manner. No student of English History 
 needs to be reminded that a trial for 
 treason resulted almost as a matter of 
 course in a conviction for treason. Peers 
 of the realm had many privileges, but 
 they were not exempt from the conse- 
 quences of standing mute. Nor, as already 
 noted, were women. Perhaps it were 
 unreasonable to expect a criticism of the 
 system from contemporary judges or text 
 writers ; but what they did say was odd 
 enough ; they did not condemn pressing, 
 but they highly extolled the clemency of 
 the law which directed the Court to 
 reason with and admonish the accused 
 
 B 
 
18 &ije ILttmber JSloom 
 
 before it submitted him to this dread 
 penalty. 
 
 I shall now give some examples of prac- 
 tice. Fortunately (or unfortunately you 
 
 may think as you read) we have at least 
 one case recorded in great detail, though, 
 curiously enough, it has escaped the notice 
 of an authority so eminent as Mr Justice 
 Stephen. 
 
 Margaret Clitherow was pressed to death 
 at York on Lady Day, March 25th, 1586, 
 and the story thereof was written by John 
 Mush, secular priest, and her spiritual 
 director. Margarets husband was a Pro- 
 testant, though his brother was a priest, and 
 all his children appear to have been of 
 the older faith. Accused of harbouring 
 Jesuit and Seminary priests, of hearing 
 mass, and so on, she was committed to 
 York Castle, and in due time was ar- 
 raigned in the Common Hall. In answer 
 to the usual questions, she said that she 
 would be tried “ by God and by your own 
 consciences,” and refused to make any 
 other answer. It was sheer obstinacy : 
 
$3 tint JFovte tX J0ttt£ 
 
 19 
 
 she was a married woman, and she could 
 have lost nothing by going to trial. But 
 she coveted martyrdom, which everybody 
 concerned appears, at first at any rate, to 
 have been anxious to deny her. It was 
 plainly intimated that if she would let 
 herself be tried she would escape : “ I 
 
 think the country,” said Clinch, the senior 
 judge, “ cannot find you guilty upon the 
 slender evidence.” The proceedings were 
 adjourned, and the same night “ Parson 
 Whigington, a Puritan preacher,” came and 
 argued with her, apparently in the hope 
 of persuading her to plead ; but he failed 
 to change her purpose ; the next day she 
 was brought back to the Hall. Some- 
 thing of a wrangle ensued between herself 
 and Clinch, and in the end the latter 
 seemed on the point of pronouncing sen- 
 tence. Then Whigington stood up and 
 began to speak ; “ the murmuring and 
 
 noise in the Hall would not suffer him to 
 be heard ; ” but he would not be put off, 
 and “the judge commanded silence to hear 
 him.” He made a passionate appeal to 
 
20 ®j)e iLato's ILumbex Iftoom 
 
 the Court (“Did not perhaps God open 
 the mouth of Balaam’s ass ? ” is the some- 
 what ungracious comment of Father 
 Mush.) “ My lord,” said he, “ take heed 
 what you do. You sit here to do justice ; 
 this woman’s case is touching life and 
 death, you ought not, either by God’s law 
 or man’s, to judge her to die upon the 
 slender witness of a boy ; ” with much 
 more to the same effect. Clinch was at 
 his wits’ end, and went so far as to 
 entreat the prisoner to plead in the 
 proper form : “ Good woman, I pray you 
 put yourself to the country. There is no 
 evidence but a boy against you, and what- 
 soever they (the jury) do, yet we may 
 show mercy afterwards.” She was moved 
 not a whit ; and then Rhodes, the other 
 judge, broke in : “ Why stand we all day 
 about this naughty, wilful woman ? ” Yet 
 once again she was entreated, but as vainly 
 as before ; it was evident that the law 
 must take its course ; • and “ then the 
 judge bade the sheriff look to her, who 
 pinioned her arms with a cord.” She 
 
^cine Joxtc tt Mute 
 
 21 
 
 was carried back to prison through the 
 crowd, of whom some said, “ She received 
 comfort from the Holy Ghost ; ” others, 
 “ that she was possessed of a merry 
 devil.” When her husband was told of 
 her condemnation, “he fared like a man 
 out of his wits, and wept so vehemently 
 that the blood gushed out of his nose in 
 great quantity.” Some of the Council 
 suggested that she was with child. There 
 seems to have been some foundation for 
 the remark, at any rate, Clinch caught 
 eagerly at the idea. “ God defend she should 
 die if she be with child,” said he several 
 times, when the sheriff asked for direc- 
 tions, and others of sterner mould were 
 pressing for her despatch. Kind-hearted 
 Whigington tried again and again to per- 
 suade her ; and the Lord Mayor of York, 
 who had married her mother (“ a rich 
 widow which died before this tragedy 
 the summer last ”), begged her on his 
 knees, “ with great show of sorrow and 
 affection,” to pronounce the words that 
 had such strange efficacy. It was all in 
 
22 
 
 SLato's ILumbtv Sftoom 
 
 vain, so at last even Whigington aban- 
 doned his attempt, and “ after he had 
 pitied her case awhile, he departed and 
 came no more.” 
 
 Her execution was fixed for Friday, and 
 the fact was notified to her the night 
 before. In the early morning of her last 
 day on earth she quietly talked the matter 
 over with another woman. “ I will pro- 
 cure,” the woman said, “ some friends to 
 lay weight on you, that you may be 
 quickly despatched from your pain.” She 
 answered her that it must not be. At 
 eight the sheriffs came for her, and “ she 
 went barefoot and barelegged, her gown 
 loose about her.” The short street was 
 crowded with people to whom she dealt 
 forth alms. At the appointed place, one 
 of the sheriffs, “ abhorring the cruel fact, 
 stood weeping at the door ; ” but the other, 
 whose name was Fawcett, was of harder 
 stuff. He “ commanded her to put off 
 her apparel,” whereupon she and the other 
 woman “ requested him, on their knees, 
 that she might die in her smock, and 
 
^ttne ffovte tt UBuvt 
 
 23 
 
 that for the honour of womankind they 
 would not see her naked.” That could 
 not be granted, but they were allowed to 
 clothe her in a long habit of linen she had 
 herself prepared for the occasion. She now 
 lay down on the ground. On her face was 
 a handkerchief. A door was laid upon her. 
 “ Her hands she joined towards her face ” ; 
 but Fawcett said they must be bound, and 
 bound they were to two posts, “ so that her 
 body and her arms made a perfect cross.” 
 They continued to vex the passing soul with 
 vain words, but at last they put the weights 
 on the door. In her intolerable anguish 
 she gave but a single cry : “ Jesu ! Jesu ! 
 Jesu ! have mercy upon me ! ” Then there 
 was stillness ; though the end was not yet. 
 “ She was in dying one quarter of an hour. 
 A sharp stone as much as a man’s fist put 
 under her back, upon her was laid a quantity 
 of seven or eight hundredweight to the 
 least, which, breaking her ribs, caused them, 
 to burst forth of the skin.” It was now 
 nine in the morning, but not till three of 
 
24 &f>e Hato’s Humber Jfilo om 
 
 the afternoon were the bruised remains 
 taken from the press. 
 
 Stories of violence and cruelty serve not 
 our purpose unless they illustrate some 
 point, and I shall but refer to two other 
 cases. 
 
 Major Strange ways was arraigned in 
 1658 (under the Commonwealth be it 
 noted) for the murder of his brother-in- 
 law. In presence of the coroners jury 
 he was made to take the corpse by 
 the hand and touch its wounds, for it 
 was supposed that, if he were guilty, 
 these would bleed afresh. There was no 
 bleeding, but this availed him nothing, 
 and he was put on his trial at the Old 
 Bailey in due course. He refused to plead, 
 and made no secret of his motive ; he fore- 
 saw conviction, and desired to prevent the 
 forfeiture of his estate. He was ordered 
 to undergo the peine forte et dure. The 
 press was put on him angle-wise ; it was 
 enough to hurt, but not to kill, so the by- 
 standers benevolently added their weight, 
 and in ten minutes all was over. The 
 
JTorte ct fi3un 25 
 
 dead body was then displayed to the 
 public. 
 
 Again, in 1726, a man named Burn- 
 worth was arraigned at Kingston for 
 murder. At first he refused to plead, 
 but after being pressed for an hour and 
 three-quarters with four hundredweight 
 of iron, he yielded. He was carried 
 back to the dock, said he was not guilty, 
 and was tried, convicted, and hanged. 
 There was at least one case in the reign 
 of George II. — but enough of such horrors. 
 
SC |3aoo‘itQf ttt 
 
 pities ant> IRecofceries 
 
 “ Is this the fine of his fines, and the 
 recovery of his recoveries, to have his fine 
 pate full of fine dust ? Will his vouchers 
 vouch him no more of his purchases, and 
 double ones too, than the length and 
 breadth of a pair of indentures ? ” Thus 
 the Prince of Denmark moralising in the 
 graveyard scene in Hamlet over the skull 
 of a supposed lawyer : with more to the 
 same effect, all showing that Shakespeare 
 had a knowledge of law terms remark- 
 able in a layman, and that he used them 
 with curious precision. In the huge 
 body of Shakespearian literature there are 
 special works (one by Lord Chancellor 
 Campbell) on the fact, which has been 
 used to buttress up the Baconian author- 
 ship theory (indeed, it is the only positive 
 
 26 
 
a $ asssage tn SRaftsspeaw 27 
 
 fact at all in point). Again, it has been 
 conjectured that the dramatist spent some 
 time in a lawyers office, and that phrases 
 from the deeds he engrossed stuck in his 
 memory. It is far more likely that, being 
 the man of his age he was, he would read 
 in and round the law as well as much else 
 for its own sake, and that fines and re- 
 coveries were so odd in themselves, and 
 so excellently illustrative of English history 
 and procedure, that they fairly took his 
 mighty fancy. 
 
 Recoveries were already some two 
 hundred years old in his time, and, to 
 judge from the tone of the passage, 
 people must even then have held them in 
 derision. But they were to last full two 
 hundred years more; for not till 1833 did 
 they vanish from the scene. Recoveries 
 were methods of disentailing an estate by 
 means of a complicated series of fictions. 
 They arose in this way: — Before 1285, 
 when land was given to a man and the 
 heirs of his body, the judges ruled that, 
 the moment a son was born, the father 
 
28 Hate's number 2 Sloo m 
 
 held the estate as a simple freehold, 
 which he could sell or make away with 
 very much as he chose. The great 
 
 landowners were ill-content at this ; they 
 meant their tenants to enjoy their estates 
 only as long as they rendered useful service 
 in return, and if issue failed a man, they 
 thought the land should revert to his lord 
 on his death. Hence in that year an 
 act procured by their influence, called 
 Be Donis Conditionalibus , or the Statute 
 of Westminster the Second (13 Ed. I., c. 
 1), created the Estate Tail (i.e. TailU , or 
 restricted). It provided that land given to 
 a man and his heirs as above, reverted 
 to the original donor on failure of the 
 donee’s issue. Blackstone waxes eloquent 
 over the evils that ensued. Children de- 
 clined obedience to a father who could 
 not disinherit ; farmers lost their leases, 
 which had no force against the heir ; 
 and creditors were defrauded of their 
 debts, which constituted no charge on the 
 land, nay, treasons were fostered, inso- 
 much as the traitor’s interest lapsing at 
 
& passage in SftaR^speat^ 29 
 
 his death, nothing was left for the king 
 to seize. Yet it was not till the reign of 
 Edward IV. that a device was found to 
 evade the Statute. Taltarums Case was 
 decided in 1472. It is loosely said that 
 this established the validity of recoveries, 
 but they were in use some time before, 
 and Sir Frederick Pollock will have it 
 that it was the oddity of the name which 
 made a landmark of the decision. A Re- 
 covery was a sort of friendly or fictitious 
 action, whereby the estate was adjudged 
 to an outsider, whose claim, though 
 baseless — if one did not look beyond 
 the four corners of the action — was 
 acquiesced in by the nominal defendant. 
 
 The mediaeval lawyer was usually a 
 priest, and he had found those entails 
 grievous obstacles in the way of the 
 Church’s aggrandisement. Perhaps, too, 
 as the country grew in wealth, so rigid a 
 law of settlement bore hard on an ever- 
 waxing commercial class. To repeal the 
 Statute seemed impossible, but the great 
 landowners, while proof against force and 
 
30 ftfye SLahPs Hxmbtv IStoom 
 
 impermeable to argument, were not hard 
 to outwit. A legal complication passed 
 their understanding ; and this one, however 
 brazen, had the patronage of many powerful 
 interests. Thus, and thus only, may the 
 fact of their acquiescence be explained. 
 
 And now let us trace out the steps in 
 a common recovery with “ double voucher.” 
 The judges had already made one pre- 
 paratory breach in the law. A tenant 
 in tail could dispose of his estate if he 
 left other lands of the same value ; for 
 these his heirs held under the same 
 conditions as the original property. The 
 principle of this decision was ingeniously 
 used as a lever to overthrow the system. 
 
 Suppose A, tenant in tail, had con- 
 tracted to sell his land to B : he began by 
 formally disposing of it to C, usually his 
 attorney, and technically called “ Tenant 
 to the prcecipe,” or writ. Then B com- 
 menced an action in the Common Pleas 
 against C to recover the estate in question, 
 which, he asserted, had been wrongfully 
 taken from him. C, instead of defending 
 
a fassase in 31 
 
 the action, “ vouched to warranty ” A : that 
 is, he called in A to defend, on the ground 
 that the said A had covenanted to support 
 his title ; but A, instead of defending 
 the action, “ vouched to warranty ” D. 
 This last, called the “ common vouchee ” 
 (in the form in Blackstone he appears 
 as “ Jacob Morland ”), was always the 
 “ Crier to the Court,” and for playing 
 his part received the modest fee of four- 
 pence on each recovery. At first he 
 (Jacob) made a great show at fight ; he 
 denied all B’s statements, and “ put 
 himself upon the country : ” i.e. he 
 demanded that the case should go before 
 a jury for trial. B then craved leave 
 “to imparl” (i.e. to have a private con- 
 ference with Jacob), and the proceedings 
 were solemnly adjourned. When they 
 were resumed Jacob was not to be 
 found: “he hath (it was adjudged) 
 departed in contempt of the Court.” 
 Evidently, or so it seemed, he had no 
 answer to make. Then B’s claim was 
 allowed ; C was to have of the lands 
 
32 ®f)e Jiato's ZLumbev Eoom 
 
 of A a quantity equal to what he had 
 nominally lost ; whilst A, in his turn, was 
 to have the same remedy against Jacob, 
 who, having no means at all, cheerfully 
 accepted much paper responsibility. Then 
 a writ was issued to the sheriff of the 
 county wherein the lands were situate, 
 directing him to give possession to B, 
 wdiose title was constituted by a record 
 of all the aforesaid transactions. 
 
 As the centuries went by the proceedings 
 became ever less substantial, the action was 
 always commenced by the issue of a writ in 
 the usual way, but most of the other steps 
 were only taken on paper. Sir Frederick 
 Pollock says, that if the disentailer were 
 a peer, a sergeant was actually briefed to 
 move the court in the matter : also, 
 
 one must note that lands held from the 
 crown were never subject to this process 
 (nor can they now be disentailed without a 
 special act of Parliament). By another 
 barefaced fiction, colonial property might 
 be disentailed in England. The deed 
 roundly asserted that the island of Antigua 
 
& fassag* in 33 
 
 (or wherenot) lay in the parish of St Mary, 
 Islington — the operation of this geographical 
 miracle giving jurisdiction to the Court of 
 Common Pleas. One would suppose that 
 something simpler might have served ; but 
 though laymen jeered, lawyers regarded 
 these quaint formalities with strange rev- 
 erence. My Lord Coke mentions with 
 solemn reprobation a counsel named Hoord 
 who scoffed thereat in the House of Lords, 
 and whom a judge gravely rebuked as 
 not worthy to be of the profession of the 
 law, for that he “ durst speak against com- 
 mon recoveries;” and as late as 1820, 
 Thomas Coventry, Esq., of Lincoln’s Inn, 
 concludes his learned treatise on the subject 
 with an eloquent if slightly confused protest 
 against any change, “ which could know no 
 end but an apparent confusion, or clearing 
 away a path for the access of some modern 
 Pretender to strip the ivy from the vener- 
 able oak of our boasted constitution, the 
 only emblem that remains of its antiquity 
 and endurance.” 
 
 And now for a word on fines. These 
 
 c 
 
34 HahPs Humtot l&oom 
 
 were so called for that they made an end of 
 a controversy. They were simpler and even 
 more ancient than recoveries. A fictitious 
 action was begun by the purchaser against 
 the vendor of an estate, wherein the latter 
 soon gave in : the case was compromised, 
 a fine was paid to the Crown, upon the 
 Court giving its consent to this termination 
 of the proceedings, and the record thereof 
 became the purchaser s title. They were 
 likewise used to bar entails, though they 
 were not so effectual as recoveries. One of 
 the first Acts of the Reform Parliament of 
 1833 was the Statute for the Abolition of 
 Fines and Recoveries. It was a mere 
 question of procedure, for the law itself 
 remained unaltered : but disentailment was 
 effected by the enrolment of a deed in 
 Chancery. And now the dust lies thick 
 on shelves of text-books — a whole system 
 of learning, full of intricate details, the 
 creation of centuries of perverse ingenuity. 
 
 And the land-owners ? These, too, long 
 since availed themselves of the dark and 
 subtle devices of the conveyancer. Sir 
 
a tn &Raft£0peaw 35 
 
 Orlando Bridgman, a great lawyer of the 
 Commonwealth, and finally Chief Justice of 
 the Common Pleas under Charles II., 
 invented and perfected the system of family 
 settlements which to-day secures the secular 
 interests of our great historic houses, as 
 well as, if less directly than, any enactment 
 could do. 
 
Cite Curtain erf tfte iKtamn* 
 
 Has chance or necessity ever opened to 
 you the charter-chest of the respectable 
 solicitor in some country town ? Then, 
 among his records, you have noted an 
 interminable series of parchment volumes 
 — very thick, very closely written, some 
 centuries old, and one in current use. 
 These are the court-rolls of the Manor of 
 Wherenot. If you can spell out the 
 beautifully written mediaeval characters, 
 you are sure to light on many a quaint 
 record of by-gone folk and their ways, for, 
 better than aught else, the manor and 
 its muniments preserve for us the English 
 past. 
 
 Manors, they used to say, arose in this 
 fashion. A great lord obtained a piece of 
 land from the King ; part he disposed of to 
 tenants who held of him in freehold (this 
 
®l)e ©tistom of ti)e fflmov 37 
 
 sub-infeudation was stopped by the statute 
 quia emptores in 1290) ; the rest was his 
 domain, on part of which he built the 
 manor house, another part was cultivated 
 by villeins, then the cotters had dwellings 
 with portions of land, and the residue was 
 waste, where the folk of the manor pastured 
 their cattle, gathered fuel, and made their 
 ways. Sometimes these villeins were 
 slaves, but each had his patch of soil, 
 wherefor he rendered some servile office 
 to his lord, ploughing his land, garnering 
 his crops, or such like. The business of 
 the manor was transacted in two courts, 
 the Court Baron and the Customary Court. 
 The first was attended by the freeholders, 
 who themselves constituted the Court; the 
 second by the villeins, who merely 
 hearkened to and witnessed the doings of 
 the lord or his steward. When a villein 
 died, the fact that the new tenant had such 
 and such a field on condition of rendering 
 so many days’ labour yearly was noted in 
 the records or roll of the Customary Court, 
 and this roll, or a copy of it, becoming his 
 
38 ILato'a Httmftet 3Stoom 
 
 title, he was dubbed a copyholder. In 
 theory he was a mere tenant at the will of 
 the lord, but time fettered the lord’s will, 
 until the principle was evolved that it 
 must be exercised according to the custom 
 of the manor, for “ custom ” as Lord Coke 
 put it, “ is the life of the manor,” and 
 so it came about that the holder had fixity 
 of tenure while he did his service. His 
 position steadily improved, the slave be- 
 came free, the servile toil a money pay- 
 ment, and now the court agenda merely 
 register changes of title. This account of 
 the manor may serve for description, but 
 does not represent the real origin, which has 
 not yet been exactly ascertained. It was a 
 fragment of Old England, with a lord usually 
 of Norman race as head, and the relations 
 between head and members elaborated and 
 controlled by the theories and devices of 
 the mediaeval lawyer. As manorial law 
 was custom, old local usages were preserved 
 unaltered ; thus, whilst the root idea of 
 feudalism was that the eldest son should 
 inherit his father’s land, and the manor 
 
®f)e ©ustom of fye Mmov 39 
 
 itself did so descend, within it an extra- 
 ordinary diversity of usage obtained. By 
 a custom similar to that of Gavelkind (in 
 Kent), the copyholder’s estate was some- 
 times parted equally among all his sons. 
 In other places, Borough-English prevailed, 
 that is, the youngest son took everything, 
 to the exclusion of his elder brothers ; nay, 
 by an odd application of the maxim "better 
 late than never,’ a posthumous child ousted 
 the brother already in possession ; or, again, 
 the widow or widower inherited. When 
 the tenant died, the lord had a right to 
 seize his best chattel (usually a beast), this 
 was called a Heriot, and it is yet here 
 and there exacted. Many customs are 
 old Saxon, many customs were invented, 
 or at any rate twisted into fantastic 
 rights from mere whim or a not very 
 cleanly sense of humour, but here one 
 must often merely accept the fact, for to 
 try it by the rule of right reason were 
 absurd. 
 
 Most manors were held of the Crown, in 
 return for services sometimes of the oddest 
 
40 mje Hato’s Humber 3&oom 
 
 character; thus, Solomon De Campis (or 
 Solomon At-Field) had land in Kent on 
 condition that, “ as often as our lord the 
 King would cross the sea, the said Solomon 
 and his heirs should go along with him 
 to hold his head on the sea, if it was 
 needful;” and certain jurors solemnly 
 present on their oath that “ the aforesaid 
 Solomon fully performed the aforesaid ser- 
 vice.” Our early kings provided against 
 every possible contingency. One tenant 
 enjoyed land by the service of holding 
 the Kings stirrup when he mounted his 
 horse at Cambridge Castle. Another must 
 make hastias in the Kings kitchen on 
 the day of his coronation. The glossaries 
 are dumb as to this mysterious dish, 
 though the learned darkly hint at haggis ! 
 Or was it “ a certain potage called the 
 mess of Giron” which, being enriched 
 with lard, was called Maupygernon — 
 which last is possibly mediaeval Welsh for 
 a haggis ? Thomas Bardolf, who died, 
 lord of Addington, in 5 Edward III., was 
 pledged to compound three portions of 
 
ewtouct of tj>e or 41 
 
 this dainty dish against Coronation Day, 
 and serve them up smoking hot, one to 
 the King, one to his Grace of Canterbury, 
 and the third “ to whomsoever the King 
 would/’ Other manors were held on the 
 tenure of presenting to the King a white 
 young brach (“ lady the brach ” of King 
 Lear) with red ears ; of delivering a 
 hundred herrings baked in twenty pasties ; 
 of finding the King a penny for an obla- 
 tion, whenever he came to hear mass at 
 Maplescamp, in Kent : gifts of roses, 
 
 falcons, capons (which last dainties your 
 mediaeval sovereign held in special favour), 
 were abundant. But how to riddle this 
 one ? The manor of Shrivenham, in Berks, 
 was held (temp. Edward III.) by the 
 family of Becket, whose head, whenever 
 the King passed over a certain bridge in 
 those parts, must present himself with two 
 white capons, whereto he directed the 
 royal attention in choice mediaeval Latin, 
 “ Behold,” he said, “ my lord, these two 
 capons, which you shall have another 
 time, but not now,” which pleasantry re- 
 
42 nfyt HahPs 3Luxtibev iftoom 
 
 minds one of the current vulgarism, “ Will 
 you have it now, or wait till you get 
 it ? ” The service of the Dymocks, 
 owners of Scrivelsby in Lincoln, as King’s 
 champions, and of the Duke of Norfolk, 
 as Earl Marshal of England, curious 
 enough in themselves, are too notorious 
 for this crowded page. 
 
 A few quaint tenures are of quite 
 modern origin. Thus the honour of 
 Woodstock (an honour was a lordship 
 over several manors : so “ Waverley 
 
 Honour ” in Scott’s great romance) is held 
 by the tenure of presenting a banner each 
 second of August at Windsor Castle ; that 
 being the anniversary of Blenheim, fought 
 in 1704; and on each 18th of June the 
 Duke of Wellington must likewise send to 
 the same place, for the estate of Strath- 
 fi eld say, a tri-coloured flag to commemorate 
 Waterloo. The last century legal anti- 
 quary pricked up his ears at a fine scandal 
 which he fondly imagined in connection 
 with the manors of Poyle and Catteshill, 
 both near Guildford. Their holders were 
 
mjc ©ustom of tfye fflmov 43 
 
 bound to provide a certain number (twelve 
 in one instance) of young women, called 
 meretrices , for the service of the royal 
 court. Dry-as-dust shook his solemn head, 
 invented pimp-tenure (a “ peculiarly odious 
 kind of tenure ” he explained), and the 
 forerunner of the man who writes to The 
 Times (it was then to the Gentleman's 
 Magazine) cracked some not particularly 
 choice jokes on the subject. A wider 
 knowledge restored the moral character of 
 the King, his lords, and the much-slandered 
 young women, whose decent dust may now 
 repose in peace. In mediaeval Latin the 
 word was widely used for the female 
 servant general or special, and these were, 
 it seems, neither more nor less than 
 laundry-maids. 
 
 Manors of an early date were ofttimes 
 held under other manors on equally whim- 
 sical conditions. A snowball at summer 
 and a red rose at Christmas are extra- 
 vagantly picturesque. A hawk was a 
 common rent ; but in one case it was 
 carried to the Earl of Huntingdon’s house, 
 
44 ®f)e ILxmbev Jfiloom 
 
 by the yielder, attended by his wife, three 
 boys, three horses, and three greyhounds ; 
 and these must be housed for forty days 
 at the earl’s expense, while his countess 
 must give the lady her second best gown. 
 Again, the tenant of Brindwood in Essex, 
 upon every change, must come with his 
 wife, his man, and his maid, all a-horse- 
 back to the rectory, “ with his hawke on 
 his fist and his greyhound in his slip ” ; 
 he blows three blasts with his horn, 
 and then receives curious gifts, and there- 
 after depart eth. The lord of the Manor 
 
 of Essington, in Stafford, must bring a 
 goose every New Years Day to the head 
 manor-house at Hilton. Here he drives 
 it about the fire, which Jack of Hilton 
 blows furiously, and (one regrets to add) 
 most improperly. But Jack may be for- 
 given, for he is but “ an image of brass 
 about twelve inches high,” whose descrip- 
 tion you read at length in old Thomas 
 Blount, the great recorder of all these 
 mad pranks. 
 
 The holding of Pusey in Berks by the 
 
®1)e ©ttsrtom of tf)e iWanof 45 
 
 Pusey Horn, gifted, it is said, by King 
 Canute, is well - known. Sir Philip de 
 Somerville, knight, was bound to hunt 
 and capture the Earl of Lancasters greese 
 (wild swine) for my lord’s larder upon 
 St Peter’s Day in August. This he did 
 till Holy-Rood Day, when he dined with 
 the steward, and after dinner “ he shall 
 kiss the porter and depart.” This same 
 Sir Philip de Somerville held the Manor 
 of Whychenover at half terms from the 
 Earl on condition that there ever hung 
 in his hall one bacon flitch to be assigned 
 to a happy married couple yearly in Lent, 
 after a variety of ceremonies like those 
 in the more famous case of Dunmow : 
 the disposal of the flitch there being 
 likewise according to “ the custom of the 
 manor.” 
 
 In the customs that made up the inner 
 life of the manor one finds a diversity too 
 great for classification. However, those 
 old English folk were a merry lot; with 
 usages not sad nor savage, but having 
 much sensible joy in good meat and drink. 
 
46 3L\mbev Eoom 
 
 At Baldock, in Hertfordshire, the Custom- 
 ary Court was holden at dinner-time, 
 whereto every baker and vintner within 
 the bounds must send bread and ale 
 which the steward and his jury “ cam’ 
 to pree ,” and presently gave their verdict 
 “ if these be wholesome for mans body 
 or no.” To the Manor of Hutton Conyers 
 there was attached a great common, where 
 many townships pastured their sheep ; and 
 the shepherd of each township “ did fealty 
 by bringing to the Court a large apple 
 pie, and a twopenny sweet cake.” For 
 refreshment, “furmity and mustard, well 
 mixed in an earthen pot, is placed before 
 the shepherds, which they sup with spoons 
 provided by themselves, and if any forget 
 his spoon then, for so the customary law 
 wills it, he must lay him down upon his 
 belly, and sup the furmity with his face 
 to the pot or dish.” And the custom 
 further permits the bystanders “to dip 
 his face into the furmity,” to the great 
 delight of all present. To finer issues 
 is the money provided by Magdalen Col- 
 
®f)e <&wt om of tyt iWattor 47 
 
 lege, Oxford, for certain manors of theirs 
 in Hampshire, pro mulieribus hockant- 
 ibus , as the dog Latin of the college 
 accounts hath it. On Hock Hay, annu- 
 ally, “ the women stop the ways with 
 ropes, and pull passengers to them, de- 
 siring something to be laid out in pious 
 uses ” : the men having hocked the women 
 after the same fashion the day before. 
 There are traces of this usage further 
 afield than Hampshire. Not less jovial 
 were the tenants of South Mailing, in 
 Kent, who were bound to pay scot-ale, 
 which fund they agreeably expended in 
 “ drink with the bedel of the Lord Arch- 
 bishop. ” The case of Stamford, in Lin- 
 coln, is noteworthy as showing the origin 
 of one peculiar custom. In the time of 
 King John, William, Earl Warren, was lord 
 of the place. One day he saw from his 
 castle wall “ two bulls fighting for a cow 
 in the castle meadow ; ” their bellowing 
 attracted all the butcher’s dogs in the 
 place ; and these, in company with a host 
 of rag-tag and bobtail, chased one of the 
 
48 ftfte SLato's ILumbn ifitoom 
 
 champions in and out the town till he 
 went mad ; all which so delighted Earl 
 Warren, that he forthwith gifted the 
 common to the butchers on condition 
 that they provided a mad bull six weeks 
 before Christmas Day, “ for the continu- 
 ance of that sport for ever.” 
 
 It is impossible even to conjecture 
 the origin of other customs. In most 
 manors, when a copy-holder died, his 
 widow had in free-bench (or what the 
 common law calls dower) the whole or 
 part of his lands. There was one restric- 
 tion : she must remain “ sole and chaste.” 
 Yet, if she forgot herself, her case was 
 not altogether past praying for in the 
 Manor of Enborne in Berkshire. At the 
 next Customary Court she appeared strange- 
 ly mounted upon a black ram, her face 
 to the tail, the which grasping in her 
 hand,, she recited, sure the merriest, mad- 
 dest rhyme it ever entered into the heart 
 of man to conceive — 
 
 “ Here I am 
 
 Biding upon a black ram ” 
 
®j)e Custom of tf>e iWanor 49 
 
 Alas, that the rest must be silence ! 
 The Spectator, greatly daring, gives it in 
 full ; but that was as far back as Nov- 
 ember 1st, 1714. A like custom ruled 
 the Manor of Kilmersdon, in Somerset, 
 where the doggerel, if briefer and blunter, 
 is at least equally gross. And here one 
 must refer to the jus primce noctis , that 
 lewd historic jest which, in England at 
 any rate, was ever a sheer delusion. True 
 that on the marriage of a villein’s daugh- 
 ter a fine was paid to the lord, but 
 this was not to spare her blushes, but as 
 compensation to him for the loss of her 
 services — inasmuch as she took the domi- 
 cile of her husband. Nay, the custom 
 of the manor usually made for morality. 
 There was a fine called child-wit exacted 
 on the birth of an illegitimate child, some- 
 times from the infant’s father, or, again, 
 from the father of its mother. Nay, in 
 one or two places the unlucky lover for- 
 feited all his goods and chattels. On the 
 other hand a curious privilege attached to 
 an oak in Knoll Wood in the Manor of 
 
 D 
 
50 @f>e 3ftoom 
 
 Terley in Staffordshire : “In case oath 
 were made that the bastard was got within 
 the umbrage or reach of its boughs,” 
 neither spiritual nor temporal power had 
 ought to say, and the man got off scot 
 free. 
 
 The curious tenacity of the manorial 
 custom is well shown in the case of 
 Pomber in Hampshire : the Annual Court, 
 in accordance with immemorial usage, must 
 be held in the open air, but the incon- 
 venience of this was obviated by an im- 
 mediate adjournment of the proceedings to 
 the nearest tavern. The records were not 
 kept on parchment, but “ on a piece of 
 wood called a tally, about three feet long 
 and an inch and a half square, furnished 
 every day by the steward.” In time these 
 strange muniments became worm-eaten and 
 illegible ; and, as occupying much needed 
 room, were thrown to the flames by the 
 dozen. (It will be remembered that the old 
 Houses of Parliament were set on fire and 
 destroyed on the burning of the exchequer 
 tallies, October 1834.) Some of the sur- 
 
&f)e Custom of tf>e fiftanor 51 
 
 vivors were produced as evidence in a 
 case heard at Winchester, which fact pro- 
 voked “ a counsellor on the opposite side 
 of the question ” to dub it “ a wooden 
 cause.” The obvious retort — that his was 
 a wooden joke — seems lacking ; but possibly 
 this gem of legal humour emanated from 
 the Bench : how often one has seen its like ! 
 
 Still stranger was the Lawless Court of 
 the Honour of Raleigh . it was held in the 
 darkness of cockcrow ; the steward and the 
 suitors ( i.e ., those bound to attend the 
 Court) mumbled their words in scarce 
 audible fashion ; candles, pens, ink, were all 
 forbidden ; for, as the authorities vaguely 
 put it, “ they supply that office with a 
 coal.” To ensure a punctual attendaxice, 
 the suitor “ forfeits to his lord double 
 his rent every hour he is absent.” The 
 learned Camden affirms it was all to 
 punish the aboriginal tenants for a con- 
 spiracy hatched in the darkness of the 
 night ; again he sees in it a remnant of 
 an old Teutonic custom ; and in the end you 
 suspect that he knows as little as yourself. 
 
52 Hato’a ILumbn JStoom 
 
 Then there was the white bull which 
 the tenants of the monks of Bury St 
 Edmunds were bound by their leases to 
 provide, that childless women might present 
 it to the shrine of the martyred king of 
 East Anglia ; there was the fine called 
 “ thistletake,” which the owner of beasts 
 crossing the common, and snatching at 
 the “ symbol dear,” must pay to the lord 
 of the Manor of Halton ; there are the 
 “ three clove - gillieflowers ” which the 
 tenants of Hame in Surrey shall render at 
 the King’s coronation ; there are all sorts 
 of minute details as to house-bote and fire- 
 bote, and common of piscary and turbary. 
 One more custom and we have done. In 
 the time of Richard the Lion-heart, Randal 
 Blundeville, Earl of Chester, was on one 
 occasion sore pressed by the Flintshire 
 Welsh. He summoned to his aid his con- 
 stable of Cheshire, one Roger Lacy, “ for his 
 fierceness surnamed Hell.” It was fair-time 
 at Chester, and Roger, putting himself at the 
 head of the motley crowd marched off to 
 his relief. The Welsh heard, saw, and 
 
Zfye i&u&t m of tye pianor 53 
 
 bolted, and the grateful earl there and 
 then promulgated a charter granting to 
 Roger and his heirs for ever, “ power over 
 all fiddlers, lechers, light ladies (the charter 
 has a briefer and stronger term), and 
 cobblers in Chester.” Under Henry VII. 
 we find the then grantee exacting from 
 the minstrels ( inter alia ) “ four flagons of 
 wine and a lance,” whilst each of the 
 aforesaid ladies must pay fourpence on the 
 feast of St John the Baptist. Under Eliza- 
 beth, various acts were aimed at rogues, 
 vagabonds, and sturdy beggars, but always 
 with a saving provision as to this Chester 
 jurisdiction, and in later times the Vagrant 
 Act (17 George II., cap. 5) had a like 
 reservation. 
 

 At one time or other you have looked, 
 one supposes, into that huge collection of 
 curiosities and horrors known as the State 
 Trials. You may possibly have noted the 
 form of indictment in the murder cases ; 
 and if so, one odd detail must have im- 
 pressed you. Having set forth the weapon 
 used by the murderer, the document in- 
 variably goes on to estimate its money 
 value : for, having been instrumental in 
 taking human life, it was forfeit to the 
 Crown, and it or its price had to be 
 duly accounted for. It was called a 
 Deodand, but the name was applied to 
 many things besides arms used with malice 
 aforethought. Thus, a man died by mis- 
 adventure : then was the material cause 
 active or passive ? For instance, his end 
 might come because a tree fell on him, 
 
 6i 
 
©^tranlrs 
 
 55 
 
 or because he fell from a tree, in either 
 case the wood was a deodand, and so for- 
 feited. The name is from Deo dandum 
 — a thing that must be offered to God, 
 and this because in early mediaeval times 
 the Church or the poor had the ultimate 
 benefit. 
 
 For the origin of the custom one must 
 go far back. In Hebrew, Greek, and 
 Roman legislation, the physical object that 
 caused the loss of human life was held 
 accursed, and hence was destroyed or for- 
 feited. In England a thing became a 
 deodand only when the coroners jury (or 
 more rarely some other authority) had 
 found it the cause of death ; which death, 
 moreover, must happen within a year and 
 a day of the accident. If it did, the 
 thing was seized, no matter where it was, 
 or who had it. In default of delivery 
 the township was liable, and it was the 
 Sheriff’s duty to get the value therefrom. 
 If a man had per infortunium (or with- 
 out blame) used the article, the jury 
 found that as a fact, and he was acquitted, 
 
56 me iLato's 2Lttmbet 3£U»om 
 
 or rather pardoned ; but in strict law his 
 goods were forfeit as late as 1828 . And 
 not everything causing death was a 
 deodand. If a man fell into the water, 
 was carried under a mill - wheel, and 
 perished, the wheel was forfeit but not 
 the mill. The distinction was sometimes 
 difficult. Here are two actual examples. 
 A cart and a waggon came into collision ; 
 the man in the cart was pitched out 
 under the waggon-wheels and died. The 
 two vehicles, all they held, the horses 
 that drew them, were adjudged deodands, 
 “ because they all moved ad mortem” 
 Again, a ship was hauled up for repairs, 
 toppled over on a shipwright at work, 
 and was declared forfeit. Your mediaeval 
 lawyer was nothing if not subtle, and he 
 soon raised doubts enough to gravel a 
 schoolman. He questioned if things fixed 
 to the freehold could become deodands. 
 Suppose a man were ringing a church bell, 
 and the rope, getting twisted round his 
 windpipe in some strange fashion, choked 
 the life out of him : how then ? The 
 
meobm'bz 
 
 57 
 
 rope seemed past praying for, but what 
 about the bell ? The learned differed, yet 
 all agreed that if the timber holding the 
 bell got loose, and came crashing down on 
 the sexton, the royal treasury, of clear right, 
 pounced on rope, and bell, and timber. 
 How furiously, with what a wealth of 
 legal learning and invention, one fancies 
 the utter barristers must have mooted ” 
 those fascinating points after supper in the 
 halls of their ancient Inns ! 
 
 The decisions were hard to reconcile. 
 Thus, in Edward the Third’s time, it was 
 held that if a man fall to his death from 
 his horse against the trunk of a tree, the 
 horse is forfeit, but not the tree. But in 
 the same reign a distinction was drawn. 
 One William Daventry, a servant to John 
 Blaburgh, engaged in watering a horse, 
 was grievously hurt. He was carried to 
 his master’s house apud Fleet Street in 
 suburbio London , and there at even he 
 died: At first the horse was adjudged 
 
 a deodand, but Blaburgh got the inquisi- 
 tion quashed on the ground that the horse 
 
58 it Hato'a Httmber 3&oom 
 
 had not thrown his rider. Again, if a lad 
 under fourteen fell from a cart and was 
 killed, there was no deodand : as some 
 
 opined, because the masses might be dis- 
 pensed with, in the case of one presumed 
 sinless from his tender age, and the proper 
 end of deodands was to procure masses ; 
 but others urged it was “ because he was 
 not of discretion to look to himself.” The 
 further question — what possible difference 
 this could make — was not raised ; for even 
 a mediaeval lawyer's speculation must stop 
 somewhere. But how if the slayer were 
 a lad ? A Cornish case, temp. 1302, supplies 
 an answer. Jack of Burton, a boy of 
 twelve, had a mind to draw the bow. He 
 rigged up a target in a house, and shot 
 thereat from the outside. One arrow 
 missed the mark, and, glancing off a hook, 
 transfixed a woman called Eose. Eose died 
 forthwith, and Jack fled in horror. It was 
 held that le Hoke was a deodand, but that 
 the boy, on account of his age, was no whit 
 to blame, and (with a touch of kindliness) 
 a proclamation was made far and wide that 
 
meobawb* 
 
 59 
 
 he might return in safety. In this connec- 
 tion one recalls the awkward misadventure 
 of Abbot, Archbishop of Canterbury, in 
 the reign of James I., who, being out 
 a-hunting, killed, by pure accident, Peter 
 Hawkins, his keeper. He had many 
 enemies, and all sorts of ecclesiastical and 
 temporal penalties were threatened : at 
 
 least, it was said, let all his goods be 
 confiscate. But the King turned a deaf ear 
 to these suggestions : he comforted the 
 
 unlucky prelate with kindly words, and 
 a full pardon, dated 26th September 1621, 
 removed all possible danger from his 
 reverend person. 
 
 If a man met his death afloat, there was 
 deodand or no deodand as the water was 
 fresh or salt, for these rules had no force on 
 the high seas or in tidal rivers : because, said 
 some, “ there were so many deaths at sea/’ 
 “ Nay,” said others, “how forfeit the ocean?” 
 ‘ But at least,” it was replied, “ one could 
 take the ship ” but here again specu- 
 
 lation must stop. Although deodand s first 
 went to the Crown, and were properly 
 
60 
 
 ®f>e iLato's Humbtv Jfiloom 
 
 applied to pious or charitable uses, yet 
 they were often granted to lords of manors : 
 so often, indeed, that one of the few re- 
 ferences to them in English literature — 
 a couplet in Samuel Butlers Hudibras — 
 treats this as the general rule. 
 
 “ For love should, like a deodand, 
 
 Still fall to the owner of the land.” 
 
 This owner was not seldom exacting, and 
 his claim was met in characteristic English 
 fashion. The coroner's jury returned the 
 value of the deodand at next to nothing, 
 e.g., “a horse, value three shillings,” and 
 the Court of “ King’s Bench ” refused to 
 disturb the finding. Hence one absurdity 
 balanced another, and the doctrine was long 
 defended. In 1820, Joseph Chitty, in his 
 standard work on Prerogatives , maintains 
 that “ the forfeiture is rational so far as it 
 strengthens the natural sensation of the 
 mind at the sudden destruction of human 
 life.” But in later years these mediaeval 
 ghosts began to walk again to some purpose. 
 In 1840 the London and Birmingham 
 Railway Company was amerced in £2000 
 
©eotran&s 
 
 61 
 
 as a deodand ! Railway directors were 
 no doubt convinced that 9 and 10 Vie., 
 c. 62, which in 1846 made an end of the 
 whole business, came not a day too soon. 
 Had the law of twenty years before that 
 been restored, there might have been some 
 warrant for stripping those same directors 
 of all their property after each railway 
 accident, and one shudders to think of 
 the consequences had the coroner’s jury 
 found the plant used not per infortunium. 
 
 One thing must be added, many held 
 that the instruments of a murder, though 
 forfeited to the Crown, were not, properly 
 speaking, deodand s, and they quoted as 
 illustration the curious case of one Remp- 
 ston, who forced his boat’s crew to row 
 under London Bridge invitis eorum dent - 
 ibus in dangerous weather. He was thrown 
 out and drowned, and the jury, it was said, 
 brought in a verdict of felo de se , to save 
 the boat from forfeiture. But the weight of 
 authority was emphatically against this 
 
 view. 
 
Cfrc 2Lato irf tfte 
 
 a A STRETCH of land, thick planted with 
 trees ; ” so you picture a forest to yourself, 
 but old English law held otherwise. There 
 were miles of woodland that were not 
 forest at all, and acres of pasture that 
 were. John Man wood, the Elizabethan 
 lawyer, still our chief authority on the 
 subject, defines it as “ a certain territory 
 of woody grounds and fruitful pastures, 
 privileged for wild beasts and fowls of 
 forest, chase, and warren, to rest and 
 abide in under the safe protection of the 
 king.” Such a preserve was exactly 
 delimited, and might contain villages, 
 churches, and so forth, within its bounds, 
 as the New Forest does to-day. The 
 king had certain rights over all, yet it 
 was mainly private property ; nay, there 
 might be spaces in it, but not of it, — 
 
 62 
 
Wbt 2Lato of tye JFovm 
 
 63 
 
 within its Bounds, but not within its 
 Regard, as the phrase ran, — and so 
 exempt from its peculiar laws. Manwood 
 gives a picturesque, though quite erroneous 
 derivation of the term : it was For Rest 
 of the wild beasts ; but a sounder ety- 
 mology traces the word to foris ( = out- 
 side), for that it was outside the jurisdiction 
 of the Common Law, and had codes, courts, 
 and officers of its own. The whole business 
 was for centuries alike insult and wrong 
 to the Commons of England. 
 
 Hunting was not merely the chief 
 amusement of our early kings : it was a 
 necessary pursuit for the keeping down 
 of the wild beasts then a real danger 
 to the fields and their cultivators. The 
 Forest Charter of Canute the Dane (dated 
 1016 ) is a myth; but it is certain that, 
 before the Conquest, the sovereign had 
 a peculiar — howbeit, an undefined — 
 property in the woodland. The Con- 
 queror, who, according to the Saxon 
 Chronicle, loved the tall deer as if he 
 had been their father, devastated far and 
 
64 ®f)e iLwmbev 3&oom 
 
 wide to make the New Forest ; and he 
 and his immediate successors punished 
 hurt done to the deer with loss of life 
 or limb. The Great Charter contained 
 provisions against this odious abuse of 
 power, and under Henry III. a special 
 charter of the forest enacted that no 
 man should lose life or limb for killing 
 deer, at the same time that it dis- 
 afforested (i.e., removed from the forest 
 to which they had been improperly joined) 
 vast tracts of country. After the New 
 there was but one other forest made in 
 England, that was the land round Hampton 
 Court, afforested under Henry VIII. by 
 Act of Parliament. 
 
 An attempt to revive royal rights over 
 the woodland hastened the fall of Charles 
 the First, and then the Commonwealth 
 gave the forest system its death-blow, 
 though it was not till the time of George 
 III. that the great mass of enactments 
 was formally repealed. A Court of Swain- 
 mote lingers in the New Forest and else- 
 where, and its officials, called Verderers, 
 
®f)e 2Lato of tye Sorest 
 
 65 
 
 albeit shorn of their ancient power and 
 splendour, do their quaint antics still ; 
 but by an odd, though happily not 
 singular inversion, those old popular 
 wrongs are now become popular privi- 
 leges ; Epping Forest, for instance, could 
 never have become a public park but 
 for the Crown rights, and these same 
 rights over the woodlands throughout the 
 country now yield an income which more 
 than covers the cost of the whole Civil 
 List. Had the Crown looked more sharply 
 to its own, the profit to ourselves had been 
 still vaster. 
 
 The forest laws, however complex in 
 detail, were all inspired by one consistent 
 idea — the preservation, to wit, of the king's 
 venison. Even under Edw T ard I/s com- 
 paratively humane rule the verderer held 
 an inquest upon a deer found dead in 
 the Eegard, just as the coroner did upon 
 a man's body, and the jury found bow 
 the creature came to its end. The very 
 arrows gleaned there were entered in the 
 verderer's role. The freeholder within that 
 
 E 
 
66 ilato’s ZLxmbev 2£loom 
 
 charmed ground might not fell his own 
 timber without leave, lest he should 
 spoil the Cover; nor could he turn out 
 his goats to browse, for they would taint 
 the pasture ; whilst he must feed his 
 sheep in moderation, else he committed 
 the grievous offence of surcharging the 
 forest 
 
 The forest had a huge staff of officers. 
 First was a multitude of subordinates ; 
 foresters — who, if they kept ale-houses in 
 the Regard, and encouraged folk to drink 
 therein, committed a special crime called 
 Scotale — agistors, woodwards, keepers, 
 verminers, sub-verminers, and what not. 
 These haled trespassers before the Court 
 of Attachments, which was held every 
 forty days. In command of them were 
 the verderers, constituting, with repre- 
 sentatives from the forest townships, the 
 Court of Swainmote, which met thrice 
 a year for ( inter alia) the trial of the 
 more important offences. Judgment on 
 its findings was given at the Court of 
 Justice Seat, held but once in the three 
 
Hfyt Hato of Vfyc Jforost 
 
 67 
 
 years, under the presidency of a Lord 
 Chief Justice in Eyre of the Forest. 
 There were but two — one for the north, 
 the other for the south of the Trent ; 
 and inasmuch as this officer was commonly 
 some great noble — “ A man,” says my 
 Lord Coke, with a touch of irony, “ of 
 greater dignity than of knowledge of the 
 laws of the forest” — some skilled professional 
 folk were joined with him in the com- 
 mission. The last Court of Justice Seat 
 was held in 1670 by the Earl of Oxford. 
 It was a mere form : the last but one (in 
 1635) had created a fine pother by its 
 exactions. 
 
 Offences were either trespasses in Vert 
 or trespasses in Venison . The Vert ( = 
 green) was of course the cover ; and the 
 destruction thereof was called Waste , while 
 Assart was stubbling it up to make 
 ploughland : and Pnrpestre (a most 
 
 grievous business) was building on or 
 enclosing part of the forest. (As late as 
 the reign of Charles I., Sir Sampson 
 Darnell was heavily fined for erecting a 
 
68 ®f)e llato's ZLutnbtv ifitoom 
 
 windmill on his own ground in Windsor 
 Chase). Moreover, Vert might be Over 
 Vert or Hault-Bois , or it might be Nether- 
 Vert or Sous-Bois , according as it was 
 underwood or not ; and in either case it 
 was Special Vert if it bore fruit, such 
 as pears, crabs, hips, and haws, whereon 
 the deer might feed. 
 
 Venison, as lawyers understood it, was 
 composed of Beasts of Forest — to wit, the 
 hart, the hind, the hare, the boar, and the 
 wolf — and Beasts of Chase. A Chase, 
 which was like a park, but was not en- 
 closed, might be held by a subject ; but 
 every forest was likewise a chase and a 
 warren, and the beasts of chase were the 
 buck, the doe, the martern, and the roe. 
 These were described with wondrous detail. 
 The hart — “ the most stately beast which 
 goeth on the earth, having as it were a 
 majesty both in its gait and countenance ” 
 — was in his first year a Calf, in his 
 second a Broket, in his third a Spayad, 
 in his fourth a Staggard, in his fifth a 
 Stag, and in his sixth a Hart. If he 
 
®f)e ilato of tye JFomt 
 
 69 
 
 escaped the pursuit of king or queen he 
 became a Hart Royal, which no subject 
 might molest. 
 
 In 1194, Richard Coeur-de-Lion hunted 
 a noble beast out of the forest of Sher- 
 wood into Barnsdale in Yorkshire, and 
 there losing him, made proclamation “ that 
 no person should kill, hunt, or chase the 
 said hart, but that he might safely return 
 into the forest again.” An animal thus 
 honoured was called a Hart Royal Pro- 
 claimed, and in the 21st of King Henry 
 VII., a man was indicted for taking so 
 precious a life, but the case apparently 
 went off for want of technical proof of pro- 
 clamation. Your precise woodman talked 
 of a Bevy of roes, a Richesse of marterns, 
 a Lease of bucks. He said that a hart 
 harboureth, whilst a buck lodgeth, and a 
 hare was seated. He dislodged the buck, 
 but he started the hare. He would tell 
 you that the hart belloweth, the buck 
 groaneth, the boar freameth ; and whilst 
 the hart had a Tail, the roe had a Single, 
 the boar a Wreath, and the fox a Bush 
 
70 ilato's ILumbex 3ftoom 
 
 (not Brush be it noted) or Holy Water 
 Sprinkle. Their amours (e.g. a fox went 
 to dickering), their young, their very 
 excrements were dignified in a long array 
 of special terms, the divisions and sub- 
 divisions of the deers’ antlers being enough 
 of themselves to gravel the tyro in wood- 
 craft. 
 
 The peace of those precious animals 
 was elaborately safeguarded, and it was 
 specially forbidden “ to haunt the forest ” 
 during the Fence Moneih, which was 
 fifteen days before and after Midsummer. 
 Most forests were surrounded by Purlieus, 
 that is, territory which had been dis- 
 afforested. Officers called Eangers pat- 
 rolled this debateable territory to drive 
 back the errant deer, and whilst the 
 Purlieu-man (namely, the freeholder 
 therein) might hunt on his own lands, 
 he must call off his dogs if the beast 
 once touched the forest. And every three 
 years there was a special Drift of the 
 forest, which was a sort of census of the 
 venison. A man taken With the Manner 
 
Hfyt Hah) of tf>e Son&t 
 
 71 
 
 (Main Ouverte), that is, in the act of 
 doing for the deer, was attached without 
 bail. The offender might thus be caught 
 red-handed in four ways : — (1) in Dog- 
 Draw he was chasing a wounded beast 
 with hounds ; (2) in Stable- Stand he was 
 drawing his bow in ambush ; (3) in Bach- 
 Bare he was carrying off his quarry ; (4) 
 in Bloudy-Hand he bore the red marks 
 of his spoil. Divers statutes put a yet 
 keener edge upon the common law, as 
 that under Henry VII., whereby hunting 
 in the forest at night with painted vizards 
 was made a felony. 
 
 And what of the dogs ? The forest 
 freeholders might keep mastiffs for the 
 protection of home and homestead ; but 
 a Court of Regards was held every three 
 years for their Rawing or Expeditation. 
 Thereat your mastiff was made to place 
 one of his paws upon a billet of wood, 
 “then one with a mallet, setting a chisel 
 of three inches broad upon the three 
 claws of his forefoot, at one blow doth 
 smite them clean off.” Other dogs of 
 
72 ®f)e iLafops SLttmtor IStoom 
 
 any size were summarily banished the 
 precincts. 
 
 Royalty was ever jealous of these 
 rights. A Fee-buck and a Fee-doe were 
 allotted to every verderer yearly (but these 
 were but wages in kind) ; and every lord 
 of Parliament going or returning through 
 the forest, on summons from the king, 
 might take one or two beasts, but if no 
 forester was at hand, he must sound his 
 horn, lest the kill might seem done in 
 secret. But all the king’s horses and all 
 the king’s men could not quench English 
 love of sport. Robin Hood and his merry 
 band are but the glorified types of a very 
 multitude who chased the deer night and 
 day, for the forest stretched mile after mile 
 over hill and dale, and the tall deer were fair 
 to look on, and the taste of their flesh 
 was as sweet to the wanderer and the 
 outlaw as to the noble or the monarch ; 
 and the law, albeit cruel, was weak, and a 
 touch of danger but gave zest to the 
 pursuit. To take a later instance, was 
 
 not Shakespeare himself the most illus- 
 
Hato of fyt JFonxt 
 
 73 
 
 trious of poachers ? Not on such rovers 
 but on the poor hard-working folk within 
 the Regard did the forest laws press with 
 cruel weight, and yet old Manwood highly 
 extols their sweet reasonableness — “ The 
 king/’ he says, “ wearied with his anxious 
 care for the weal of his subjects, is given 
 by law these forests that he may delight 
 his eye at sight of the vert, and mind and 
 body by the hunting of the wild beasts,” 
 and so he finds it in his heart to regret 
 that in his day the forests were some- 
 what diminished. And since the sove- 
 reign’s good is now the peoples’ good, we 
 may agree with him, though not for the 
 
 same reason. 
 
Hufctle dfratntw 
 
 3Iof)ti 3Doe ant> IRicfjarfc IRoe 
 
 Old English law being full of fictions, 
 had pressing need ever and anon of 
 imaginary characters to play imaginary 
 parts. Sometimes a name was picked at 
 random from the street, and Smith, you hear 
 without surprise, was in great request, or, as 
 those shadows came and went in couples, you 
 find Eichard Smith as often as not paired 
 with William Styles. But your ancient 
 scribe lusted after quaintness. He loved a 
 jingle, so names like John Den and Eichard 
 Fen — rare in actual life — peopled his parch- 
 ment, and strove for mastery in his mock 
 combats. But his prime favourites were 
 Doe and Eoe, nor would he raise Den or 
 Fen or any other ghost, excepting he had 
 need of more than two. Here is a simple 
 
 74 
 
fat &qMU jfratt \m 
 
 75 
 
 instance of their use. In early times a 
 man who commenced an action had to 
 give surety that he would go on with it ; 
 nowadays, if he discontinue, he must pay 
 the costs of the other side, but costs, 
 incredible as it may sound, were not 
 always the necessary shadow, or perhaps 
 the substance, of law ; and hence the need 
 for the pledge. Under Edward III. the 
 practice went out of use, but the form of 
 it, as legal forms are apt to do, lingered on 
 for centuries in this style : — 
 
 In the old Action of Ejectment the 
 pair were most active. So strange were 
 their gambols that even the lay world 
 was impressed. In the early years of 
 Victoria John and Richard were common 
 butts of popular satire. Nothing seemed 
 more gratuitous, more idly superfluous ; 
 but, turn to their history, and you find how 
 important and how serviceable were the 
 parts they once played. 
 
 One must begin far back. In early 
 
 Pledges of Prosecution 
 
 Richard Roe. 
 
76 mje Hate's number 3&oo m 
 
 feudal times the cultivator of another’s 
 land was either a serf or a person of no 
 importance, holding at his lord’s will. The 
 tenant’s position improved with the times, 
 leases were granted, and if their conditions 
 were broken, a Writ of Covenant, as the 
 form of action was called, secured him in 
 possession, and gave him damages for his 
 wrongs. But this action lay, as the 
 
 technical term is, between the original 
 parties alone ; so that if he were turned 
 out by a complete stranger, or by a person 
 claiming through another grant of the 
 same landlord, his remedy was merely 
 pecuniary. In the time of Henry III. a 
 writ was invented giving him full protec- 
 tion against anyone interfering under colour 
 of another lease from his lord : but the case 
 of an Ouster (or dispossession) by an utter 
 stranger was not adequately provided for 
 until the beginning of Edward III.’s reign, 
 when the writ of Ejectio Firmer, or eject- 
 ment, was adapted from the proceeding in 
 trespass. It called upon the wrong-doer of 
 every species to show why, “ with force and 
 
$ax Mobile JFxatxxm 
 
 77 
 
 arms/’ he had entered on and taken pos- 
 session of the plaintiff’s land. But, again, 
 the result was only money damages : so 
 that he was driven for relief to the equit- 
 able jurisdiction of the Chancellor, who, by 
 injunctions and so forth, secured him in, 
 or restored him to, possession of the very 
 land itself. Presently the Common Law 
 Courts took it ill that so much of their 
 legitimate business should go elsewhere ; 
 and, at the end of the fifteenth century, 
 they allowed the term itself, as well as 
 damages for the Ouster, to be recovered 
 under a Writ of Ejectment, and this 
 remedy was held proper against every 
 species of wrong-doer. 
 
 And if, not the tenant, but the land- 
 lord himself, were deprived of his property? 
 or, if anyone not in possession claimed a 
 piece of land as his freehold ? These 
 forms of procedure were not available, 
 since they were personal actions, and a 
 claimant to the freehold must proceed by 
 a real action. These last were in early 
 times the most important of all. But 
 
78 ®j)e Hato’s Humber &oom 
 
 their forms were numerous and varied (the 
 assizes of morte diancestor and novel dis- 
 seisin, as they were called in old law French, 
 were two of the best known), and their 
 cumbersome and complicated technicalities 
 were cause of much expense, irritation, and 
 delay. At last it occurred to some in- 
 genious, though forgotten, jurist so to twist 
 this Writ of Ejectment, which had all the 
 last improvements, as to make it available 
 in an action for the recovery of the free- 
 hold. That was done in this way. A. 
 was (let us suppose) the legal and rightful 
 owner of an estate occupied in fact by B. ; 
 he entered on the land with C., to whom 
 he, then and there, signed, sealed, and de- 
 livered a lease for the property in question; 
 to them so engaged entered B., attracted 
 by their manoeuvring, and speedily kicked 
 both into the boundary ditch. Here were 
 all the materials for the action of eject- 
 ment, since C. might truly declare himself 
 dispossessed vi et armis by B. from land 
 whereof he held a lease from A. In this 
 action the main point evidently was : Had 
 
^ax Jioiriltf JFratntm 
 
 79 
 
 A. a right to grant C. the lease ? In 
 other words, was A. the real owner of 
 the land ? If the jury said “ Yes,” then 
 judgment for possession followed for C., 
 who, being merely the nominee of A., 
 forthwith passed the property over to him. 
 Improvements were speedily suggested. 
 Actual ejection was like to prove un- 
 pleasant, so A. and C., instead of ostenta- 
 tiously soliciting B.’s attention, took with 
 them a confederate D., who, in a friendly 
 and affable manner, performed the function 
 of a chucker-out, and this casual ejector 
 (as they named him) was made nominal 
 defendant in the action wherein C. was 
 nominal plaintiff. Lest B. should be con- 
 demned unheard, it was provided that the 
 casual ejector must give him notice of the 
 proceedings, whereupon he was let in to 
 defend in place of D. This device was 
 a brilliant practical success. Real actions 
 pure and simple fell speedily into disuse, 
 though it was not till 1833 that, with a 
 few exceptions further tampered with in 
 1860, they were legally abolished. 
 
80 iLato's ILxmbn 3&oom 
 
 The Commonwealth was a time of legal 
 as well as political change. The Lord 
 Protector had, with quaint emphasis, de- 
 scribed the Court of Chancery as “ an 
 ungodly jumble,” and Rolle, his Lord Chief 
 Justice of the Upper Bench, before and 
 since known as the Kings Bench, laid 
 violent hands on the action of ejectment. 
 “ What,” urged he in effect, “ was the 
 use of actual entry, lease and ouster ? 
 Let all be held as done : so that the 
 Court may apply itself at once to the real 
 question at issue.” Finally, the action 
 was in name Doe against Roe , but the writ 
 as a mere form was suppressed, and the 
 first step was the declaration and notice 
 to appear, both served on the real defendant 
 or his tenant. The declaration stated that 
 the land in question had been demised 
 by A. (the real claimant) to John Doe ; 
 but that Richard Roe had entered thereon 
 by force and arms and ejected him, “ to the 
 great damage of the said John Doe, and 
 against the peace of our Lord the now 
 King ; ” and that therefore he brought this 
 
$ar pottle JTratottn 
 
 81 
 
 action. To this there was appended a 
 letter, signed “ your loving friend Richard 
 Roe,” addressed to B., the real defendant, 
 and informing him that the sender, hearing 
 that he claimed the land, must now tell 
 him that he (Richard), being sued “ as a 
 casual ejector only, and having no title to 
 the same,” he advised him (B.) to enter 
 appearance as defendant, “ otherwise I 
 shall suffer judgment therein to be entered 
 against me by default, and you will be 
 turned out of possession.” Now, to succeed 
 in his action, the plaintiff must clearly 
 prove four things — Title, Lease, Entry, and 
 Ouster ; and the three last he could not 
 do, since they never happened. This little 
 difficulty was got over by a consent rule : 
 the Courts allowed B. to take Richard 
 Roe’s place as defendant, only on condition 
 that he would confess those three things 
 to have happened which never did happen: 
 whereupon the real question of title alone 
 remained. 
 
 So strangely had this action varied from 
 its first use — which was to recover damages 
 F 
 
82 ®f)e 2Lato'0 Httmbet Eoom 
 
 for wrongful possession of land — that in 
 the result these were nominally estimated 
 at a shilling ; and if A. really wished to 
 make B. disgorge the spoils of possession, 
 he sued him again for Mesne Profits. 
 Although the action was nominally “ Doe 
 against Roe” the cases are usually cited 
 as “ Doe on the demise of A . ” (the real 
 plaintiff) “ against B.” (the real defendant), 
 and whilst John and Richard were the 
 favourite styles, we have occasionally 
 “ Good Title against Bad Title ” : a 
 
 comically impudent begging of the question 
 at issue. If the outside public mocked 
 these venerable figures, par nobile fratrum, 
 the suitor did so at his peril. A certain 
 Unitt (temp. George I.), being served with 
 a copy of a Declaration in Ejectment, 
 “ pronounced contemptuous words * on the 
 delivery of it,” and the judges in solemn 
 conclave held that he was in contempt, 
 and was deserving of punishment there- 
 for. So the masque of shadows went on 
 till 1852, when the Common Law Procedure 
 Act removed an obstacle which lawyers had 
 
pat jTratr urn 
 
 83 
 
 walked round for centuries, and consigned 
 John Doe and Richard Roe to that limbo 
 where so much legal rubbish lies buried 
 under ever-thickening clouds of dust. 
 
Jpanctttavg 
 
 Your old-world lawyer was an ardent, if 
 uncritical, antiquary. He began at the 
 beginning, and where facts ran short his 
 fancy filled up the blank. In discussing 
 Sanctuary he started with the biblical 
 cities of refuge. He had something to say 
 of Romulus and the foundation of Rome. 
 Geoffrey of Monmouth supplied him with 
 the name of a sovereign — Dunwallo Mol- 
 mutius to wit — who flourished in Druidical 
 Britain (b.C. 500 it was said), under whom 
 cities and even ploughs were arks of refuge 
 for the despairing fugitive. It might have 
 been objected that the ancient Britons had 
 neither ploughs nor cities ; but such criti- 
 cism was not yet in the land. We touch 
 firmer ground in the centuries immediately 
 preceding the Conquest. In early English 
 legislation churches safeguarded the criminal 
 
 84 
 
Sanctuatg 
 
 85 
 
 from hasty vengeance, and so allowed time 
 to settle the money compensation payable 
 for his offence. Sanctuary was among the 
 privileges that the Conqueror conferred 
 upon his foundation of Battle Abbey — 
 one of many cases wherefrom the Norman 
 lawyers built up a system for mediaeval 
 England. 
 
 That system was not always consistent 
 or clear, but its main outlines were as 
 follows : — sanctuaries were of two kinds — 
 general, as all churches and churchyards ; 
 special, as St Martin’s Le Grand and 
 Westminster. No doubt these last had 
 originally also a religious sanction. Such 
 places were twice consecrate : Pope and 
 King, the Canon and the Common Law 
 united in their favour. They protected 
 felons, but not those guilty of sacrilege 
 or (some held) of treason. They were 
 not properly for debtors, whose reception 
 was nevertheless justified by an ingenious 
 quibble. Imprisonment might endanger 
 life, and therefore (so the learned argued) 
 the runaway debtor must be received. 
 
86 ®f)e ilato’g 2Ltt ttibn Ifitooro 
 
 A man took sanctuary thus — Having 
 stricken (let us say) his fellow, he fled 
 to the cathedral and knocked (with how 
 trembling a hand !) at the door of the 
 galilee. Over the north porch were two 
 chambers where watchers abode night and 
 day. On the instant the door swung open, 
 and had scarce closed behind the fugitive 
 when the galilee bell proclaimed to the 
 town that another life was safe from them 
 that hunted. Then the prior assigned him 
 a gown of black cloth marked on the left 
 shoulder with the yellow cross of St 
 Cuthbert, and therewith a narrow space 
 where he might lie secure of life, though 
 ill at ease. So it was at Durham. At 
 Westminster the sanctuary man bore the 
 cross keys for a badge, and walked in 
 doleful state before the abbot at pro- 
 cession times; and there were, no doubt, 
 countless variations. A phrase of the 
 time reveals how close the watch was 
 now and again. Under Edward II. it 
 was complained that the sanctuary man 
 might not remove so much as a step 
 
Sanctuarg 
 
 87 
 
 beyond the precincts, causa superflui 
 deponendi, without being seized and 
 haled to prison. He was fed and lodged 
 in some rough sort for forty days, within 
 which time he must confess his crime 
 before the coroner at the churchyard gate, 
 and so constitute himself the king’s felon. 
 Then he swore to abjure the realm. The 
 coroner assigned him a port of embarcation 
 (chosen by himself), whither he must 
 hasten with bare head, carrying in his 
 hand a cross, not departing, save in direst 
 need, from the King’s highway. He 
 might tarry on the shore but a single 
 ebb and flow of the tide, unless it were 
 impossible to come by a ship, in which 
 case he must wade up to his knees in 
 the sea every day. He was thus protected 
 for another forty days, when, if he could 
 not find passage, he returned whence he 
 came, to try his luck elsewhere. 
 
 He who refused to confess and abjure 
 was not driven forth, but if, after much 
 spiritual admonition, he still refused to 
 conform, he had neither meat nor drink 
 
88 3Lato f 0 ilttmbw iftoom 
 
 given him, and so was ended, if not 
 mended. A man unjustly deprived of 
 sanctuary could plead the right before 
 his judges. It was a declinatory plea, 
 and must be urged before he answered 
 as to his guilt or innocence ; it availed 
 him nothing to do so after, for he was 
 strung up forthwith. This system, how- 
 ever harsh, had two very plain advantages. 
 It was a short and easy method with a 
 rascal, and it powerfully made for scientific 
 accuracy in pleading. If a fugitive were 
 caught and condemned ere he “ took 
 Westminster/’ as the town phrase ran, 
 it was no advantage for him to escape 
 on the way to execution, inasmuch as 
 he was promptly haled forth to the 
 gallows. A curious case in the eighth 
 of Edward II. perplexed the ancient 
 student. A woman was condemned to 
 death, but a jury of matrons had no 
 doubt as to her condition, and she was 
 reprieved. She escaped to sanctuary 
 before the arrival of the hangman’s cart, 
 and when the gaoler dragged her out, 
 
Sanrtuatg 
 
 89 
 
 the judges bade him put her back again, 
 whereat the learned shook their heads, 
 opining that hard cases make bad law, 
 and the jade should have swung like 
 other folk. 
 
 On the whole the privilege was strictly 
 respected. For instance, the King’s justices 
 were wont to hold session in St Martin’s 
 Gate. They sat on the very border. The 
 accused were placed on the other side of 
 the street ; a channel ran between them 
 and their judges, and if they once got 
 across that they claimed sanctuary, and all 
 proceedings against them were annulled. 
 And one sees the reason why Perkin 
 Warbeck took such care “ to squint one 
 eye upon the crown and the other on 
 the Sanctuary ” (as Bacon curiously phrases 
 it) ; yet the great case of Beckett is there 
 to show that nothing was absolutely sacred 
 in these violent years. Nor does it stand 
 alone. In 1191, Jeffrey, Archbishop of 
 York, and son of Henry II., was seized at 
 the altar of St Martin’s Priory, Dover ; 
 and dragged, episcopal robes and all. 
 
90 iLato's Humbw 2fi loom 
 
 through dirty streets to the Castle : this, 
 too, by order of William Longchamp, 
 Bishop of Ely, and Papal Legate. In 
 1378, Archbishop Sudbury complained 
 in Parliament that one Robert Hawley 
 had been slain at the high altar even 
 while the priest was saying a mass. It 
 was rumoured indeed that one Thurstian, 
 a Knight, chasing a sanctuary man with 
 drawn sword, was of a sudden stricken 
 with grievous ailments. But this and 
 other like stories did not deter the 
 citizens of London ( circa 1349) from 
 assembling at supper time in a great 
 crowd, and dragging forth a soldier who 
 had escaped on the way from Newgate 
 to Guildhall, where he was being taken 
 for trial. In another case (temp. Henry 
 VI.), where a youth had taken sanctuary 
 after having foully slain a kind mistress, 
 the good women about St Martin’s broke 
 in and despatched him with their distaffs. 
 Of those who took sanctuary to good pur- 
 pose the most famous was Elizabeth, 
 widow of Edward IV., who, in 1471, 
 
Sanctuavg 
 
 91 
 
 registered herself a sanctuary woman in 
 Westminster, and there sat, in Sir Thomas 
 More’s phrase, “ Alow in the rushes.” 
 But you have read the tragic story in 
 Shakespeare. And in a later age “ beastly 
 Skelton (as Pope will have him), from 
 that same Westminster safely lampooned 
 the mighty Wolsey, though for that he 
 needs must live and die there. 
 
 To catalogue the evils of the sanctuary 
 system were to show lack of historical 
 sympathy, nay, even of humour. The 
 former days were not as these , it had 
 its place with the shrine and the pilgrim- 
 age, the knight errant, and the trial by 
 ordeal in the strange economy of a 
 vanished world. As the times grew 
 modern its practical inconvenience was 
 felt for the first time. Yet the occasion 
 of the first assault on the privilege of 
 sanctuary was one where the benefits 
 were conspicuous, and the assailant had 
 the worst of motives. It was the case 
 just noted of Edward IV. ’s widow ; she 
 had the young Duke of York as yet 
 
92 Hfyt HahPs Humber Jftcom 
 
 safe with her. Her enemies were at a 
 loss for the moment, and Buckingham, 
 then the sworn ally of Bichard of 
 Gloucester, took occasion in the Privy 
 Council to attack her place of refuge. 
 “ There were two chief plague-spots in 
 London,” he snarled : “ one at the elbows 
 of the city (Westminster), the other in 
 the very bowels thereof (St Martin’s le 
 Grand). These places were the refuge of 
 theeves, murtherers, and malitious, heynous 
 traytors ! nay,” he added, “ men’s wives 
 ran hither with their husbands* plate, 
 and say they dare not abide their 
 husbands for beating,” with more to 
 the same effect. Had not Elizabeth 
 yielded, Westminster might have wit- 
 nessed a violation as affecting as that 
 of Canterbury. 
 
 Under Henry VIII. the old order was 
 broken up, and sanctuary law, like much 
 else, was changed and amended again and 
 again. First, all special places save 
 Wells, Westminster, and six others, lost 
 the privilege. Divers classes of criminals 
 
Sanctuavg 
 
 93 
 
 — as traitors, and pirates (and afterwards) 
 Egyptians — were formally rendered in- 
 capable of its enjoyment. Before the 
 sanctuary man abjured the realm he was 
 burned on the crown of the thumb “ with 
 the signe of an A,” and if he did not depart 
 on the instant, he had no further protec- 
 tion. But it occurred to over-anxious 
 legislators that such a fugitive might carry 
 beyond seas precious hints of the mysteries 
 of trade or politics, or that, making as if 
 for the nearest port, he might but proceed 
 to infest another place. So he was ordered 
 to abjure the liberty of the realm, but not 
 the realm itself; and being branded, was 
 confined under a governor in one or other 
 of the sanctuaries. Whenever he ventured 
 forth — as he might in the daytime — he 
 must wear the prescribed badge of the 
 refuge. He dare carry no weapon save 
 a meat-knife, and that but at meal-times. 
 He must likewise answer to the daily roll- 
 call. If he committed another felony — 
 and crimes done sub spe redeundi had 
 been a sore grievance of late — he was to 
 
94 qfyt Hato's 2Ltt mbtv &oom 
 
 lose his rights. The governor was em- 
 powered to hold courts for debt and minor 
 offences within his bounds. And so “the 
 sanctuary person abjured/' as the Tudor 
 lawyers phrased him, spent the last days 
 of his evil life. I need not dwell on minor 
 tinkerings of the system under Henry's 
 children. In 1623 the Statute 21 James 
 I., c. 28, s. 7 made a legal end of the 
 right of sanctuary. 
 
 The last of our story is not yet. 
 Certain places still assumed the right 
 of giving shelter against civil process. 
 When the bailiffs invaded the liberty, the 
 whole population forthwith set on, and 
 pommelled them so lustily that they were 
 fortunate if they escaped sound in limb. 
 The precincts of Whitefriars and the Savoy 
 were the worst places in London. The 
 first, renowned in slang, nay, in literature, 
 as Alsatia, because (some explained) it 
 neighboured the Temple on the East, as 
 Alsace did France, was a base and villainous 
 Bohemia. Ram Alley (now Mitre Court), 
 a local Lombard Street, Salisbury Court 
 
Sanctuatg 
 
 95 
 
 (now Salisbury Square) were its chief ways, 
 though probably all between Fleet Street 
 and the river, which was not the Temple, 
 held of this lawless republic. A bully or 
 bravo, or squire of Alsatia was a cant 
 name for a penniless and violent fellow of 
 the time. He is pictured by Otway in 
 his Soldier's Fortune with flopping hat 
 pinned up on one side, with a tawdry 
 weather-beaten peruke, dirty linen, and a 
 long scandalous iron sword jangling at his 
 heels. The sheriff with the posse comitatus 
 did on occasion raid Alsatia, but his prey, 
 if too weak to fight, had ever timely 
 warning to escape by land or water to 
 some other like burrow. The Fortunes 
 of Nigel tells as much of the place as the 
 general cares to know, and there is much 
 curious matter mined out by the zealous 
 antiquary as to other like places of refuge 
 in the capital. Thus Fullwood’s, some- 
 time Fullers Rents, was related to Gray’s 
 Inn as Alsatia to the Temple. In 1673 
 the gentlemen of that ancient house so far 
 forgot themselves as to engage in “ pumping” 
 
96 
 
 iLato's Humber Moo m 
 
 some bailiffs who attempted to take goods 
 from out the Rents upon an execution. 
 “ They were charged with a body of thirty 
 lusty bailiffs,” and a “ strong ryot ” ensued. 
 Possibly they recollected that their most 
 illustrious fellow-member, “ broad-browed 
 Verulam,” had taken refuge there some 
 sixty years before, a circumstance which 
 gave my Lord Coke occasion to “gall the 
 kibe ” — as indeed he never lost any chance 
 to do — of his great contemporary. Then 
 there was the mint in Southwark, whereto 
 an ex-poet laureate, “ poor Nahum Tate,” 
 as Dr. Johnson calls him, was driven by 
 extreme poverty. Pope's cruel satire 
 pictures it half Grub Street half Bedlam, 
 the last refuge of the hack and the poet- 
 aster. The Clink and Deadman's place 
 are now forgotten, whilst Baldwin's Gardens 
 and the Minories have a more common- 
 place reputation. 
 
 About a century after James's Act, 
 Parliament again interfered, and professed 
 to strip the “ pretended privileged places ” 
 of every shred of exemption, but it required 
 
Sanctuarg 
 
 97 
 
 two other statutes, the 9 Geo. I. c. 28, 
 1722, and the 11 Geo. I. c. 22, 1724, 
 to make the law’s process as effectual there 
 as elsewhere. 
 
 G 
 
Crtal fig #rtreal 
 
 Before the Conquest, and for long after, 
 local justice in England was administered 
 by two courts — that of the Hundred and 
 that of the Shire. The first nominally 
 consisted of the freeholders of the district, 
 but the real business was done by a Com- 
 mittee of Twelve. The second was made 
 up of the chief men of the district, and 
 representatives from each township ; but 
 here, again, the work was left to a select 
 few. If a man were charged with (say) 
 theft before either court, he was tried in a 
 fashion vastly different from that obtaining 
 to-day. The complainant was sworn on the 
 holy relics : “ By the Lord I accuse not 
 this man either for hatred, or for envy, 
 or for unlawful lust of gain.” This solemn 
 accusation made out a primd facie case 
 against the suspect, who instantly rebutted 
 
©vtal bg ©vtoal 
 
 99 
 
 oath with oath. “ By the Lord I am guilt- 
 less, both in deed and in counsel of this 
 charge. ” Then he produced twelve com- 
 purgators, who swore by the Lord, “ The 
 oath is clean and unperjured which this 
 man hath sworn ” ; then the prisoner went 
 free. These compurgators were witnesses 
 to character. Their testimony had no 
 reference to the particular facts of the 
 case ; they simply alleged their belief in 
 accused’s innocence, but sometimes their 
 oath “ burst ” (as the curious technical 
 phrase ran), that is, he could not find 
 compurgators, or those he produced said 
 little good of him ; or he was a stranger of 
 whom nothing was known ; or a Welshman 
 whose veracity has never been an article 
 of faith ; or the accused was caught with 
 his booty ; or was a woman ; or the charge 
 was peculiarly odious, as treason, or witch- 
 craft ; then in all these cases there was an 
 appeal to the Judicium Dei , the Creator 
 was called upon to prove beyond dispute 
 the guilt or innocence of the accused. 
 
 Trial by Ordeal was more ancient than 
 
loo ®f)e SLato'a ILumbex %oora 
 
 the Church itself. There are traces of it 
 in the Old Testament ; it is discussed in 
 great detail in the Laws of Manu ; a 
 famous passage in the Antigone (verses 
 264-267) reveals it as well known to the 
 Greeks, and before Augustine came, or 
 St Columba preached, it prevailed in some 
 form or other in Britain. Yet the higher 
 ecclesiastical powers continually thundered 
 against it, and finally brought about its 
 disuse. There were several varieties, but 
 many forms were common to all. First, 
 there was the ordeal of cold water, chiefly 
 reserved for the baser fellow. As a pre- 
 liminary the accused submitted to a fast of 
 three days, during which he was watched by 
 a priest, then he was taken to church to 
 hear Mass ; and was adjured by Father, 
 Son, and Holy Ghost, by the gospels and 
 relics of the saints, by everything held 
 most sacred, not to partake of communion 
 if he w r ere guilty. Next came the ad - 
 juratio aquce, wherein the water was 
 enjoined to cast him forth if he were 
 guilty, but to receive him into its depths 
 
®rtal bg ©rtoal 
 
 101 
 
 if innocent. And now, having been stripped, 
 he kissed the Book and the Cross, was 
 sprinkled with holy water and was cast in, 
 to float if he were guilty, to sink if he 
 were not. But there was the rub — how 
 about death by suffocation ? Sir Janies 
 Stephen suggests that it was all a mode 
 of happy despatch ! Or (one fancies) it 
 might be an elementary form of the famous 
 verdict “ not guilty, but don’t do it again,” 
 with the chance of doing it again effectually 
 provided against. On the other hand, a 
 recipe for immersion in a thirteenth 
 century MS. of the Monastery of Becca re- 
 duces the proceedings to the level of farce. 
 The hands of the accused were tied, and a 
 rope was put round his waist ; “ and let a 
 knot be made in the rope as high up as 
 the longest hair of the man’s head will 
 reach, and then in this way let him be 
 gently lowered into the water ; and if he 
 sinks down to the knot, let him be pulled 
 out as innocent ; if not, let him be adjudged 
 guilty.” How not to sink under such con- 
 ditions ? The practice of testing witches 
 
\ 
 
 102 Qfyt Hate's Httmber 5 fitoom 
 
 by throwing them, securely tied, into the 
 nearest pond was clearly a survival of this 
 form of ordeal. 
 
 In the ordeal by hot water the accused, 
 plunging his hand to the wrist in the 
 boiling fluid, brought forth a stone sus- 
 pended therein by a cord. (This was the 
 Single Ordeal, and it became the Triple 
 when the plunge was up to the elbow.) 
 The arm was done up in bandages not to 
 be removed till after three days ; if the 
 scald had healed the man was innocent, 
 if it still festered he was guilty. In the 
 ordeal by hot iron, a piece of red-hot 
 metal was carried a distance of nine feet ; 
 it was then dropped and the hand was 
 bandaged as already set forth. A knight 
 had to thrust his fist into a glowing 
 gauntlet ; another form was a walk with 
 naked feet over a sequence of red-hot 
 ploughshares. We have a picturesque cir- 
 cumstantial and absolutely untrustworthy 
 monkish account of how Emma, mother of 
 Edward the Confessor, being suspected of 
 an all too intimate acquaintance with 
 
l&tial fig ©vfieal 
 
 103 
 
 Alwyn, Bishop of Winchester, underwent 
 this trial. She took nine steps for herself 
 and five for the Bishop, fixing her eyes the 
 while on heaven. “ When shall we reach 
 these ploughshares ? ” queried she. How 
 agreeable a surprise to find her little 
 promenade already past and done with ! No 
 need to swathe her feet, the red-hot iron 
 had marked them not at all ! 
 
 The last mode was the Corsnced , or 
 Cursed Morsel — a piece of barley-bread 
 (or cheese), one ounce in weight. This 
 “ Creature of Sanctified Bread ” was ad- 
 jured, in terms terrible enough to make the 
 sinner quake, to stick in the guilty throat, 
 and cause the guilty jaws to be clenched 
 and locked up. If in spite of all it went 
 softly down, who dared to refuse belief in 
 the mans innocence ? It was chiefly for 
 the clergy, and from every point of view 
 must have been the most agreeable of the 
 three, though a legend as untrustworthy 
 as that of Emma ascribes to it the death 
 of Earl Godwin, father of Harold. As he 
 sat at meat with Edward the Confessor, 
 
104 ®j)e iLato’s iLttmbet Ifitoom 
 
 the king brought up an old scandal about 
 his brothers murder, “ May God cause this 
 morsel to choke me,” passionately exclaimed 
 the earl, “ if I am guilty of the crime ! ” 
 Edward blessed the bread ; Godwin made 
 an effort to swallow, choked and died. 
 “ Take away that dog,” said the monarch 
 in what would seem an outburst of savage 
 glee. This was on April 15th, 1053, 
 thirteen years before the Conquest. God- 
 win in truth died of a fit. It soon was 
 the policy of the monkish chroniclers to 
 write down the national party of which he 
 had been the head, a fact which explains 
 the fable were it worth serious examination. 
 More interesting to note the survival of 
 the rite in the still current rustic formula, 
 “ May this bit choke me if I lie ! ” If the 
 ordeal proved a man guilty, the punishment 
 was fine, death or outlawry, but even if he 
 escaped, the Assize of Clarendon (1164) 
 ordered that, in certain cases, he should 
 abjure the realm. By that time compur- 
 gation was gone ; in 1215 the Lateran 
 Council issued a solemn decree against 
 
©rtal bg ©vtoal 
 
 105 
 
 Trial by Ordeal ; and soon after it had 
 vanished from English law. There is a 
 curious reference to it in the State Trials 
 as late as 1679. John Govan, a Jesuit 
 priest, was indicted in that year at the Old 
 Bailey for an alleged share in the Popish 
 Plot. With some hesitation he claimed 
 the right of Trial by Ordeal as an ecclesias- 
 tical privilege of a thousand years’ standing, 
 but Scroggs and North peremptorily refused 
 to listen to his plea. “ We have no such 
 law now,” said the latter. Sir James 
 Stephen assures us that the formula, “ By 
 God and by my country,” wherein, till 
 1827, a prisoner must answer the question 
 how he would be tried, sets forth a memory 
 of it. 
 
 Of the customs akin to Trial by Ordeal 
 only one can find mention here. It was 
 held that if the murderer touched, nay, 
 even approached, the body of his victim, 
 the wounds gushed forth blood, thus in 
 Richard the Third , “ dead Henry’s wounds” 
 are seen “ to open their congealed mouths 
 and bleed afresh ” as Gloucester draws near 
 
106 Hate's Humber orn 
 
 the bier. And according to one of the 
 picturesque legends of English history, 
 when Richard the Lion-Heart encountered 
 at Fontevrault his fathers body, the blood 
 gushed from the nostrils of the dead king, 
 a proceeding which, as Richard’s offence 
 was at the worst but unkindness, showed a 
 somewhat excessive sensibility on the part 
 of the royal clay. The oddest and latest 
 case of all is from Scotland. In 1688 
 Philip Stanfield was tried for parricide at 
 Edinburgh ; one count of the indictment 
 stated how his father’s body had bled at 
 his sacrilegious touch. The Lord Advocate, 
 Sir George Mackenzie of Rosehaugh, the 
 “ Bluidy Mackenzie ” of covenanting legend 
 and tradition, conducted the prosecution, 
 and philosophic and cultured jurist as he 
 was, he yet dwelt with much emphasis on 
 the portentous sign. There was no lack 
 of more satisfactory if more commonplace 
 evidence, and young Stanfield assuredly 
 merited the doom in the end meted out 
 to him. 
 
S&l.tcjfr at 2Sattle 
 
 Judicial combat is a fascinating yet per- 
 plexing subject, having many side-issues 
 whereupon the writer must sternly refrain. 
 The case of David and Goliath was gravely 
 urged (a.d. 867) as a precedent to Pope 
 Nicholas I., and by him disdainfully put 
 aside. The thing itself was unknown in 
 Roman law, though the old legend of 
 the Horatii and Curatii was part of its 
 lore. But it was of the essence of 
 chivalry, and the duel and the prize-fight 
 were its legitimate offspring. “ Where 
 the hazel grew,” so Mr George Nelson, 
 our chief modern authority, picturesquely 
 defines its region, but our attention here 
 must be limited to England. That it 
 was not with us before the Conquest 
 moves Bishop Stubbs to something of the 
 scholar’s mild amazement. The Normans, 
 
 107 
 
108 ®f)e Hate’s Httmber 2ftoom 
 
 it seems clear, brought it with them from 
 their continental home. A native accused 
 of a serious crime by one of the invaders 
 was tried by ordeal of battle, .but a 
 Norman had choice of the oath as well, 
 and it was also used to decide which of 
 the claimants should have a disputed 
 piece of land. After the legal reforms 
 of Henry IT., it became an alternative 
 proceeding in a limited class of actions. 
 These were the Writ of Right (the most 
 solemn method of trying title to land), 
 accusations of murder, and treason. It 
 had place only in appeals, in actions, 
 that is to say, brought not in the king’s 
 name, but by an interested subject here 
 called the Appellor, against whom the 
 accused or Appellee might offer to prove 
 his innocence by his body. The Appellor 
 must accept the challenge unless he were 
 maimed by age or wound. Likewise he 
 could “ Oust the Battle ” (i.e. prove this 
 mode of trial improper) if the accused 
 were caught red-handed. The parties 
 exchanged gloves, and gave pledges or 
 
of Mattie 
 
 109 
 
 wads ( vadiare helium) ; whence came 
 Wager of Battle, afterwards the technical 
 term for the whole process. In civil 
 cases, if the litigants came to terms, the 
 judge exacted a fine, called the Concord, 
 while he who fought and lost must pay 
 the mulct of Recusancy. In criminal 
 matters he who resisted not till the stars 
 shone forth was branded as Recreant or 
 Craven and was forthwith strung up, and 
 all his goods were declared forfeit. The 
 Charters of Exemption purchased from 
 overlord or king show how hateful the 
 system was to the old English citizen. 
 Henry I. enacted for a consideration that 
 no Londoner should do battle, and in due 
 course the men of Winchester, Lincoln, and 
 Northampton obtained the like privilege. 
 
 The story of Leicester is worth the 
 telling. In the time of Henry I. Earl 
 Robert of Mellant ruled the town. It 
 chanced that two burghers, Nicholas and 
 Jeffrey, waged battle on a plea of land. 
 For nine long hours they mauled each 
 other with varying fortune, when one of 
 
no ilato's dumber 2Sloo m 
 
 them took to flight, and staggered, all 
 unwitting, on the edge of a pit. The 
 
 other saw his danger, and remembered 
 that they twain were kinsmen. “ 'Ware 
 o' the pit," he shouted ; “ turn back, lest 
 thou fall therein." The spectators so 
 lustily roared their approval, that the 
 
 Earl heard it in his castle, and he, after 
 due enquiry, granted that in time coming 
 twenty- four jurors of Leicester should de- 
 termine all civic disputes. One strange 
 product of Trial by Combat was the 
 Approver : a rascal who turned king's 
 
 evidence, and fought with his late com- 
 
 panions. Sometimes he accused other 
 malefactors, and if he came off victor in 
 five combats he was released, and banished 
 the country. This system fell into gross 
 abuse, for the Approver, greedy of free- 
 dom or hush-money, appealed honest men 
 right and left. In the chronicle of William 
 Gregory the Skinner (1456) we have an 
 account of a duel fought by one Thomas 
 Whitehorne, a criminal, caught in the 
 New Forest, and lodged in prison at 
 
Wasev of Battle 
 
 ill 
 
 Winchester, where he remained for about 
 three years, fighting ever and anon. 
 “And that fals and untrewe peler ( = 
 Appelar) hadde of the Kynge every day 
 Id. ob.” At last a proposed victim re- 
 torted the lie in his throat, and said that 
 “ he wold prove hyt with hys handys and 
 spende hys lyfe and blode a-pone hys fals 
 body.” Then the judge “fulle curtesly 
 informed this sympylle man” that “he 
 and the peler moste be clothyed all in 
 whyte schepys leter.” Also each must 
 
 have a stave of green ash, three feet long, 
 the point thereof “ a home of yryn i-made 
 lyke unto a rammy’s home ; ” and if these 
 ash-plants broke, then they “ moste fight 
 with hyr handys, fystys, naylys, tethe, fete, 
 and leggys.” Moreover, they must strive 
 fasting on the “ moste sory and wrechyd 
 greene about the town ; ” but “ Huyt ys 
 to schamfulle to reherse alle the con- 
 dycyons of thys foule conflycte.” And 
 we must follow Gregory’s precept rather 
 than his example. 
 
 The Appellee, asking for inquiry as to 
 
112 ilato's 3 L umbev Hoorn 
 
 his character, was reported “ a fyscher and 
 tayler of crafte,” and therewith the “ trew- 
 yste laborer and the moste . gentellyte.” 
 The peler, with brazen insolence, offered 
 his character for inspection. There was 
 much dubiety as to where and how he 
 had lived when at large, but “ Hange 
 uppe Thome Whythorne ” was the response 
 of every reference he tendered. At % last 
 the day came. The Appellee, as became 
 an innocent man, told his beads, and 
 prayed long and earnestly, and wept full 
 sore, and all present prayed for and with 
 him. The “ fals peler ” scoffed thereat. 
 “ Thou fals trayter,” yelled he ; “ why 
 
 arte thou soo longe in fals by t ter be- 
 leve ? ” The defendant’s sole answer was 
 so lusty a thwack that his staff flew all 
 to pieces. Thereupon the peler’s stave 
 was taken away from him ; “ ande thenn 
 they wente togedyr by the neckys,” so 
 using teeth and fist, “that the lethyr of 
 clothing and fleshe was alle to rente in 
 many placys of hyr bodys.” It fared ill 
 at first with the “meke innocent.” His 
 
QBtLQev of Battle 
 
 113 
 
 opponent had him down on the ground, 
 and near choked the life out of him. 
 But presently the meek one got up on 
 his knees, and (the combat not being under 
 Queensberry rules), “ toke that fals peler 
 by the nose with hys tethe, and put hys 
 thombe in hys yee, that the peler cryde 
 owte ande prayde hym of marcy, for he 
 was fals unto God and unto hym.” The 
 peler’s subsequent record is of the briefest, 
 but, one is thankful to add, of the most 
 edifying description. “ And thenn he was 
 confessyd and hanggyd, of whose soule 
 God ha’ marcy.” Amen. “ Victus est 
 et susp” so for epitaph wrote the official 
 scribe against his name. And the ex- 
 chequer parchments knew him and his 
 “ Id. ob. per diem ” no more. 
 
 The Champion, now but the shadow of 
 a name, was a nobler offshoot of the 
 system. Originally a witness, he was 
 finally indispensable in civil cases wherein 
 — for a legal reason not here to be dis- 
 cussed — the parties themselves must not 
 engage. He was the proper advocate for 
 H 
 
114 ®f)e ZLato'fs 2 Lumbw JSloom 
 
 churchmen, for women, and for the Crown ; 
 and his last appearance for royalty was 
 in 1820 , at the coronation of George IV. 
 The Dymocks have held the manor of 
 Scrivelsby in Lincolnshire for centuries by 
 this tenure, and possibly their representative 
 claimed a part in the pageant on the two 
 subsequent occasions, but to have him ride 
 up Westminster Hall in full armour and 
 clang his gauntlet on the floor (as he 
 did of old) would have savoured too much 
 of Drury Lane pantomime for the taste 
 of a cynical age. The Champion’s dress 
 and bearing were minutely ordered. His 
 head ( e.g .) was shaven, but whether this 
 was to give no hold to his foe, or to fulfil 
 some old superstition, is still in debate 
 among the learned. In the end he was 
 usually a hireling, which fact may very 
 well have accentuated the absurdity of the 
 system. At any rate, towards the close 
 of the thirteenth century it was only kept 
 alive by the approvers. Then Chivalry 
 came with its Treason Duel, and by the 
 time of Eichard II. the Chivalry Court was 
 
Ma&ev of JSattle 
 
 115 
 
 in full swing. Its forms, mainly imported, 
 were after this wise. Upon the accusation 
 and the exchange of gloves, time and place 
 were assigned for the duel, and here the 
 lists were set and staked. There were two 
 gates, and hard by each a pavilion — one 
 eastward for the appellant, and the other 
 westward for the defendant. To the south 
 was the judge’s seat ; and right and left 
 were benches for the high-born, while the 
 commons were made free of the unenclosed 
 field. Near the judge an altar was decked 
 with relics ; and not far off there stood a 
 gibbet and a scaffold. Men-at-arms were 
 stationed between the palisades. There 
 were heralds in gay tabards, a priest in full 
 canonicals stood at the altar — but it were 
 wearisome to enumerate all the officials. 
 
 The trial was held not less than forty 
 days after the challenge , and the time 
 being come, the heralds demanded silence ; 
 and the appellant was summoned three 
 times by voice and by sound of trumpet. 
 As he marched forward he was addressed 
 by the Constable, <f Who art thou, and 
 
116 iLato's Humber 5 Sloo m 
 
 wherefore comest thou armed to the door 
 of these lists ? ” His answer given, he 
 was taken to his pavilion, and afterwards 
 was made to swear on the altar that his 
 cause was just. The other did in like 
 fashion. Then the pavilions were replaced 
 by chairs whereon the combatants might 
 take an occasional rest. Napkins holding 
 a loaf and a bottle of water were hung on 
 opposite ends of the lists. The marshal 
 cried three times “ Laissez les oiler” and 
 the pair went at it. Far better death than 
 defeat. If either yielded, the marshal 
 cried “ Hoo,” to declare the combat at an 
 end. Then the wretch was taken to the 
 scaffold on which his shield was hung 
 reversed, his sword was broken, and his 
 spurs hacked from his heels. He was now 
 taken to the church where a mass for the 
 dead was sung over him, and at last he 
 was haled to the gibbet where the hang- 
 man claimed his prey. 
 
 This is the form of judicial combat that 
 caught the fancy of our great writers. In 
 Chaucers Knight's Tale there is the 
 
M&qcv of Seattle 
 
 117 
 
 elaborate set to between Palamon 
 and Arcite. In Shakespeare's Richard 
 II. there is the fiasco of Norfolk 
 and Hereford. In Lear we have the fight 
 to the death between Edmund and Edgar, 
 and “ every schoolboy knows ” The Temp- 
 lar’s duel in Ivanhoe. 
 
 Chivalry passed, yet not the half-for- 
 gotten wager of battle. A claim so to 
 determine a civil dispute was made in 15.71, 
 to the great perplexity of the lawyers. 
 Elaborate preparations were made, but the 
 case was settled in other fashion. Under 
 James I. bills were introduced into Parlia- 
 ment to abolish it, but they fell through, 
 and in 1774, at the beginning of the North 
 American troubles, when it was proposed 
 to punish the New Englanders by depriving 
 them of the appeal of murder, Dunning, 
 afterwards Lord Ashburton, described it as 
 that great pillar of the Constitution. Burke 
 concurred, and the motion was lost. 
 Perhaps they have it yet in the States, at 
 least Dr Cooper, in editing, in 1857, the 
 statutes at large of South Carolina, treats 
 
118 ®i)e iLato's 3Lumbex J&oom 
 
 Wager of Battle as an existing fact. In 
 England the end came in dramatic fashion. 
 In May 1817 Mary Ashford — a young 
 woman of Langley in Warwickshire, was 
 found drowned under suspicious circum- 
 stances. A certain Abram Thornton was 
 suspected of the murder ; he was tried and 
 acquitted, but there was much evidence 
 against him, ahd he had played so ill a part 
 in a horrid though vulgar tragedy that the 
 relatives of the dead girl cast about to carry 
 the matter further. Now, an old act 
 provided that no acquittal by jury should 
 bar an appeal of murder, so William Ash- 
 ford, Mary’s brother, appealed Thornton in 
 the Court of King’s Bench. He was 
 attached, and when called upon pleaded 
 “ Not guilty, and am ready to defend the 
 same by my body.” He then threw down 
 his glove on the floor of the Court. It was 
 a curious turn ; for no doubt men thought 
 that he would put himself upon the country, 
 and stand a second trial by jury. There 
 was much legal argument (set forth at 
 great length in the reports of the time), for 
 
mascv of ISattie 
 
 119 
 
 the prosecuting counsel tried hard to “ oust 
 his battle,” but to no purpose, and in the 
 end Thornton was set free. In 1819, two 
 years after the drowning of Mary Ashford, 
 the Appeal of Murder Act (59 Geo. III. c. 
 46) abolished the last remnant of Wager 
 of Battle. 
 
Cite 
 
 Smollett, Galt, Marryatt, and the other 
 naval novelists, not those well-nigh for- 
 gotten Dry-as-«dusts whose works encumber 
 the back shelves of our law libraries, are the 
 authorities for the press-gang of popular 
 imagination. The sea-port invaded, the 
 house surrounded at dead of night by man- 
 o’-war’s men with stout cudgels, and by 
 naval officers with cutlasses ; the able- 
 bodied mariner knocked down first and 
 then bid stand in the king’s name ; the 
 official shilling thrust into his reluctant 
 palm before he is hauled off in irons — who 
 has not devoured with joy this wild 
 romance, with its tang of the sea, its 
 humour and rough frolic, the daring and 
 exciting prelude to much more daring and 
 more exciting achievements ? But how. 
 far can we trust these entertaining authors ? 
 
 120 
 
fflve*fr®ang 121 
 
 And what was the legal status of the press- 
 gang ? 
 
 We are like to get nearest the truth in 
 a law case with its official documents and 
 sifted evidence and considered decision. 
 The trial of one Alexander Broadfoot for 
 the murder of one Calahan is the best 
 available. In the April of 1774 H.M.S. 
 Mortar lay at anchor off Bristol. The 
 captain held a warrant of impressment, but 
 he could delegate his authority only to a 
 commissioned officer, whose name must be 
 inserted in his order ; and the only one 
 aboard was the lieutenant. On the 25th 
 the ship’s boat was sent down Channel, with 
 neither captain nor lieutenant to look for 
 men. She had no luck till evening, when 
 she came across the Bremen Factor , a 
 homeward bound merchantman, still some 
 leagues from port, but beating thitherward 
 up Channel. The man-o’-war’s men having 
 boarded her, were proceeding to search the 
 hold, when they were confronted by Broad- 
 foot, the boatswain, armed to the teeth. 
 He demanded what they came for. “ For 
 
122 ®;j)e JLato's Humber 3 &oo m 
 
 you and your comrades,” was the plain and 
 honest, though no doubt irritating answer. 
 “ Keep back, I have a blunderbuss loaded 
 with swan shot,” said Broadfoot, levelling his 
 piece. The press-gang stopped. “ Where 
 is your lieutenant ? ” he went on. (Evi- 
 dently this boatswain knew a little of the 
 law.) “ He is not far off,” was the evasive 
 answer, showing that the man’s acts and 
 words had impressed his assailants. Did 
 Broadwood grasp the fact that they were 
 trespassers ? At any rate, he let fly, killed 
 Calahan on the spot, and wounded two 
 others. He was tried at Bristol, and 
 acquitted of the capital charge — for the 
 action of the man-o’-war’s men was plainly 
 irregular ; but he was found guilty of 
 manslaughter, for that he had used more 
 force than was necessary. Another case is 
 that of Robert Goldswain, a small free- 
 holder at Marlow, in Bucks. In the March 
 of 1778 he was a bargeman on the Thames, 
 engaged in carrying timber to the king’s 
 yard ; with a protection order from the 
 Navy Board to him by name so long as 
 
®f)e ^m$M©ang 123 
 
 he should continue in that service. But 
 
 these were troubled times, the French had 
 just declared for the revolted American 
 colonists and our war-ships were frightfully 
 undermanned ; so, on the 16 th of March, the 
 Admiralty fixed the next night for a 
 general press on the Thames, with direction 
 to seize — despite protection orders — on all 
 sailors and watermen whatsoever, saving 
 and excepting merchant skippers and men 
 exempted by special acts. Goldswain was 
 in the net, and was passed from ship to ship 
 down to the Nore, where his captors were 
 overtaken by an order from the Court 
 requiring a return to a writ of Habeas 
 Corpus issued on his behalf. Counsel’s 
 argument for the Admiralty — that the 
 device of first issuing protection orders to 
 lure sea and watering men from their 
 lurking-places, and then pouncing on them 
 under the authority of a general press, was 
 excellent — did not commend itself to the 
 Court, which, in the battle over poor Gold- 
 swain’s body, suspected some antagonism 
 between the Admiralty and the Naval 
 
124 )t Hato’s Humber &oom 
 
 Board. In the end my lords gave way, 
 and Marlow received again her ravished 
 freeholder. 
 
 During the strain and stress of our 
 eighteenth century war-making, when we 
 had every need of seamen to man our 
 battle-ships, and could not afford the 
 market price for them, there was much 
 impressment, and through frequent appeals 
 to the courts the law on the subject was 
 exactly determined. It was a prerogative 
 of the Crown, a remnant of larger rights 
 which at one time took in soldiers and 
 ships, or their equivalent in cash (Hamp- 
 den’s famous trial scarce needs mention) ; 
 it could not be justified (it was allowed) 
 by reason, but only by public necessity. 
 On command of the king all sea and 
 river-faring men were liable to naval 
 service in time of war. The right to 
 impress was founded on immemorial usage, 
 for, though given by no statute, it was 
 recognised by many. It was so held on 
 the authority of a case in Queen Elizabeth’s 
 reign : the sole customary exception was 
 

 125 
 
 a ferryman ; but merchant captains were 
 in practice likewise allowed to go free. 
 Only in Charles I/s reign, when all the 
 Crown prerogatives were jealously over- 
 hauled, was there any serious questioning 
 of its legality, but it was exercised by 
 the Commonwealth as well as by the 
 Monarchy. Given up in fact some fifty 
 years since, it has never been so in law. 
 You find in Horners Grown Practice 
 (1844) a form of Habeas Corpus ad sub- 
 jiciendum for impressed men, with the 
 comment that it is little needed now. 
 
 Of the enormous number of commissions 
 and statutes relating to impressment, an 
 example taken here and there must suffice. 
 The acts express amazement and virtuous 
 indignation at mariners unwilling to serve. 
 One (temp. Henry VII.) sets forth that 
 such as are chosen, and have received their 
 wages, shall, if they give leg-bail, be amerced 
 in double, and go to prison for a year — 
 when they are caught. Another (temp. 
 Philip and Mary) reproves the Thames 
 watermen who, in pressing time, “ do 
 
126 ®l)e ilato's 3Lumbex &oom 
 
 willingly and obstinately withdraw, hide, 
 and convey themselves into secret places 
 and outcovers ; and, after the said time 
 of pressing is o’erpassed, return to their 
 employments.” After the Revolution an 
 attempt was made to establish a naval 
 reserve by means of a voluntary register, 
 and so do away with impressment, but 
 this was a complete failure. Then, to 
 foster the coal and other trades, certain 
 exceptions were granted ; and still later, 
 sailors in outward bound merchantmen 
 were exempted because of the hardship 
 inflicted on their employers (the hardship 
 of the sailor impressed in sight of port 
 after a long voyage was not considered). 
 When a worship fell in with a* merchant- 
 man on the high seas she impressed what 
 men she would. British sailors found on 
 board American vessels were hauled out 
 forthwith, and this was one cause of the 
 War of 1812. 
 
 Press-gang stories, more or less authentic, 
 are numerous. Here are samples which 
 serve to show that the searchers did not 
 
®f>e pi eB0z0mg 
 
 127 
 
 nicely discriminate between those who 
 were and were not legally subject to im- 
 pressment. A well-dressed man was seized. 
 He protested that he vras a gentleman of 
 position. “ The very boy we want,” 
 gleefully replied his captors ; “ for w 7 e’ve 
 such a set of topping blackguards aboard 
 the tender, that we wanted a gentleman 
 to teach ’em manners.” Sham press-gangs 
 for the black-mailing of honest citizens 
 were common. In one case a couple had 
 given all their money to go free, when the 
 real gang coming up made booty of both 
 parties, and had them aboard in no time. 
 The quarrymen at Denny Bowl, sixty 
 strong, were heard to brag in their cups 
 what they would do did the press-gang 
 dare to molest them , whereupon “ three 
 merry girls ” got into breeches, put cockades 
 in their hats, took sword and pistol, and 
 advanced, when the quarrymen ran like 
 hares. And to conclude, there is the 
 legend of the gang that raided “ The 
 Cock and Rummer ” in Bow Street. They 
 seized the cook. The customers, fearing for 
 
128 ®f)e SLato'B ILumbev Eoom 
 
 their dinner, or themselves, rushed to the 
 rescue. Long the strife hung dubious, 
 when the constable (he ought to have 
 been a Bow Street runner) stalked in. 
 The gang, with a fine sense of humour, 
 let the cook go, seized him, and away 
 at a great rate, though not fast enough 
 to get clear. 
 

 “Act of Parliament ” is a term apt to 
 mislead. To-day it is enforced by so 
 powerful a machinery that practice con- 
 forms to precept ; but in mediaeval England 
 much law was dead letter. Statutes were 
 often mere admonitions ; they expressed 
 but an ideal, a pious intention. This was 
 specially true of the Sumptuary Laws, 
 whereby the dress and food of the king’s 
 subjects were nicely regulated. If you 
 turn over a book of costumes you find 
 that man’s attire has varied more than 
 woman’s. The sorts and conditions of 
 men were marked by rigid lines. This 
 fact was shown forth in their dress, and 
 that again re-acted on their modes of 
 thought and habits of life. “ Men’s 
 apparel,” says Edmund Spenser, “ is 
 commonly marked according to their 
 
 I 
 
 129 
 
130 &f)e JLato's dumber ifiloom 
 
 condition, and their conditions are often- 
 times governed by their garment, for the 
 person that is gowned is by his gown put 
 in mind of gravity, and also restrained 
 from lightness by the very unaptness of 
 his Tweed.” Of old time mans dress was 
 rich and varied, but how to catch its 
 vanished effect ? In Courts of Justice 
 there is still the splendid, if occasional, 
 bravery of the judge. See the same man 
 in private, gaze on divinity disrobed, and 
 the disenchantment measures for you what 
 is lost in the splendid garb of other days. 
 In mediaeval Europe the Church first 
 condemned a too ornate appearance. Thus, 
 under our early Norman Kings, long hair 
 was much in vogue. In 1104 Bishop 
 Serlo, preaching before Henry I. and his 
 Court in Normandy, attacked this fashion 
 roundly, compared his hearers to “ filthy 
 goats,” and moved them by his eloquence 
 to tears of contrition. He saw and seized 
 that softer hour. Descending from the 
 pulpit he then and there clipped the polls 
 of them that heard him till he must fain 
 
Sumptitavg ILatos 
 
 131 
 
 sheath his shears for lack of argument. 
 This rape of the locks was followed by 
 a royal edict against long hair. Alas ! 
 for this story. Rochester Cathedral still 
 bears the effigies of Henry and Maud 
 his queen ; each is adorned even as 
 Absalom, and Time, whilst it has mauled 
 their faces in cruel fashion, has with 
 quaint irony preserved intact those stone 
 tresses. 
 
 Two centuries pass ere the Sumptuary 
 Laws proper begin. The 10 Edward III. 
 c. 3 (1336) ordered that no man was 
 to have more than two courses at dinner, 
 nor more than two kinds of meat, with 
 potage in each course ; but on eighteen 
 holidays in the year the lieges might 
 stuff at will. Next Parliament common 
 folk were forbidden to wear furs ; but 
 the 3*7 Edward III. was the great session 
 for such work, made needful (it was 
 thought) by the sudden increase of luxury 
 from the plunder of the French wars. 
 Some half-dozen Acts prescribed to each 
 rank, from peers to ploughmen, its wear ; 
 
132 ®f)e SLato’s number ftoom 
 
 nay, the very price of the stuff was fixed ; 
 whilst all wives were to garb themselves 
 according to their husbands* means — a 
 pious wish, repeated a century afterwards, 
 in an Act of the Scots James II. The 
 veils of the baser sort were not to cost 
 more than 1 2d. apiece : embroidery or 
 silk was forbidden to servants, and these 
 were to eat of flesh or fish but once a day. 
 Cloth merchants were to make stuff enough, 
 and shopkeepers to have stock enough, 
 to supply the ‘ anticipated demand. Such 
 apparel as infringed the statute was forfeit 
 to the king. The knight’s dress will 
 serve for sample of what was required. 
 It was to be cloth of silver, with girdles 
 reasonably embellished with silver, and 
 woollen cloth of the value of six marks 
 the piece. Under Richard II. monstrous 
 sleeves were much affected. A monkish 
 scribe inveighs bitterly against these “pokys, 
 like bag-pipes.” Some hung down to the 
 knees ; yea, even to the feet. Servants 
 were as bad as their masters ! When 
 potage is brought to table, “the sleeves 
 
Sttmptuarg 2Lato0 
 
 133 
 
 go into them and get the first taste.” 
 Nay, they are “ devil’s receptacles,” since 
 anything stolen is safely lodged therein. 
 And so a statute of the time prohibited 
 any man below a banneret from wearing 
 large hanging sleeves, open or closed. 
 
 The fashion changed to dagges, a term 
 explained by the 8th of Henry IV., which 
 forbade “gown or garment cut or slashed 
 into pieces in the form of letters, rose- 
 leaves, and posies of various kinds, or 
 any such devices.” The fantastic peaked 
 shoes of the fifteenth century, sometimes 
 only held up by a chain from the girdle, 
 were fair mark for the lawgiver, and under 
 Edward IV. no less person than a lord 
 was allowed peaks exceeding two inches. 
 An Act in the same reign banned the 
 costly head-gear of women. Henry VIII. 
 saw to men’s garb as well as their beliefs. 
 His first Parliament forbade costly apparel, 
 and there is preserved in the Record Office 
 a letter from Wolsey enclosing to the King, 
 at his request, the Act of Apparel, with 
 an abstract, for examination and correction. 
 
134 ®j)e Hato's Humber 3&oom 
 
 Exemptions were not unknown : thus, in 
 1517, Henry Conway of Bermondsey 
 obtained license to wear “ camlet, velvet, 
 and sarcenet, satin and damask, of green, 
 black, or russet colour in his cloth- 
 ing.” Under Queen Mary common folk 
 who wore silk on “ hat, bonnet, girdle, 
 scabbard, hose, shoes, or spur-leathers,” 
 were grievously amerced. Under Elizabeth 
 the regulations were numberless : thus 
 
 there is an act for “ uttering of caps, 
 and for true making of hats and caps.” 
 No one was to engage in this business 
 unless he had been “a prentice or covenant 
 servant ” by the space of seven years. 
 No one under the degree of knight was 
 to wear a cap of velvet. But these were 
 not pure sumptuary regulations : they 
 
 were for protection of home industries. 
 A statute of the previous reign had de- 
 clared that no man was to buy more than 
 twelve hats or caps, be it out of this 
 realm ; and a previous Act of Elizabeth 
 had strangely provided that if anyone sold 
 foreign apparel on credit for longer than 
 
Sumptuary llatos 
 
 135 
 
 eight days to persons not having £3000 a 
 year he should be without legal remedy 
 against his debtor. 
 
 On the 15th June 1574, an elaborate 
 proclamation complained of “ the wasting 
 and undoying of a great number of young 
 gentlemen ” who were “ allured by the 
 vayne shewe of those thyngs A schedule 
 was appended in which the costumes pre- 
 scribed for all sorts and conditions of men 
 were set forth. In the Star Chamber 
 on June 12th, 1600, my Lord Keeper 
 gravely admonished the judges to look 
 to all sorts of abuses — “ Solicitors and 
 pettifoggers/’ “ Gentlemen that leave hospi- 
 tality and housekeeping and hide in cities 
 and borough towns,” “ Masterless men 
 that live by their sword and their wit, 
 meddlers in princes’ matters and libellers,” 
 and last, but not least, “ to the vanity 
 and excess of woman’s apparel.” All 
 was in vain, if we are to believe the 
 fierce invective of Stubb’s Anatomie of 
 Abuses. “ There is now,” he groans, “ such 
 a confused mingle-mangle of apparel, and 
 
136 ®f)e Hato’s Humber J&ooro 
 
 such preposterous excess thereof as every- 
 one is permitted to flaunt it out in what- 
 ever apparel he listeth himself, or can 
 get by any kind of means/’ It was 
 horrible to hear that shirts were sold at 
 £10 a piece, and “ it is a small matter 
 now to bestow twenty nobles, ten pound, 
 twenty pound, forty pound, yea, a hundred 
 pound, of one pair of breeches (God be 
 merciful to us !) ” After this aught else 
 were anti-climax, and so for the women 
 he can only say they were worse than 
 the men. A new order of things came 
 in with the next reign, for the act Jac, 
 I. c. 25, sec. 45, repealed at one stroke 
 all statutes against apparel. In Scotland 
 they kept up the game some time longer, 
 but one need not pursue the subject 
 there, though a curious statute of the 
 Scots James II. (1457) must have a 
 word. It provided that “ na woman cum 
 to Kirk nor mercat with her face mussled 
 that she may nocht be kenn’d under the 
 pain of escheit of the curchie” (forfeiture 
 of the hood). In Ireland there was a 
 
SuwptuavK 2Latos 
 
 137 
 
 law (says Spenser) which “ forbiddeth 
 any to weare theyre beardes on the 
 upper lip and none under the chinn : ” 
 another “ which putteth away saffron 
 shirtes and smockes,” and so forth ; but 
 these were of English importation. 
 
 In the North American colonies sumptu- 
 ary legislation has a history of its own. In 
 Massachusetts an edict of September 1639, 
 declaims against the “ much waste of the 
 good creatures (not the tipplers, but the 
 tipple) by the vain drinking of healths,” 
 which practice is straightway forbidden. 
 Excess or bravery of apparel is condemned, 
 and no one is to wear a dress “ with any 
 lace on it, silver, gold silk, or thread under 
 the penalty of forfeiture.” Again, it is 
 provided that children or servants are not 
 to have ornamental apparel. Here is an 
 individual case. Robert Coles, in March 
 1634, for drunkenness is disfranchised 
 and condemned for a whole year to 
 “ wear about his neck, and so to hang 
 upon his outward garment a D made of 
 red cloth and set upon white ”— a very 
 K 
 
138 ®f)e ZLato’B JLttmtot %oo m 
 
 unromantic scarlet letter ! These things, 
 too, passed away, but in the Maine Liquor 
 Law of 1851, one traces the revival of 
 the old idea. In England the thing lived 
 not again. Under the Commonwealth 
 public opinion enforced a “ sober garb.” 
 Charles II. had some idea of a national 
 costume, but he was too wise or too 
 careless to attempt legislation. In 1747 
 the wearing of the Highland dress was 
 forbidden, but that was policy, just as 
 centuries before the Jews had a special 
 garb ordained for them. Also a number 
 of laws were passed to promote home 
 manufactures : so under Charles I. and 
 Charles II. the entry of foreign bone-lace 
 was prohibited, though the second monarch 
 granted licence for importing same to 
 John Eaton for the use of the royal 
 family. It would also serve, he coolly 
 remarked, for patterns. There is one 
 other curious example. Too much foreign 
 linen was used, and so the 30th of Charles 
 II. c. 3 ordered the dead (save the plague- 
 stricken) to be buried in woollen shrouds. 
 
Sumptuarg iLatos 139 
 
 The relatives must file an affidavit with 
 the clergyman as to this, and £5 was the 
 fine for him if he neglected his part. 
 Did the vision of that unseemly shroud 
 really disturb poor Nance Oldfield’s last 
 moments, as Pope would have us be- 
 lieve ? 
 
 “ Odious ! in woollen ! ’t would a saint provoke ! n 
 Were the last words that poor Narcissa spoke. 
 
 “ No : let a charming chintz and Brussels lace 
 Wrap my cold limbs and shade my lifeless face ! n 
 
 “ Narcissa ” had her wish : the “ Brussels 
 lace ” of her head-dress, her “ Holland 
 shift,” a “pair of new kid gloves on her 
 cold hands,” were the talk of the town ; 
 so they tricked her out for Westminster 
 Abbey. 
 
 Almost up to Waterloo the Act lingered 
 on the Statute Book, till some ingenious 
 rascal brought an action against various 
 clergymen for the £5 penalty, for that 
 they had not certified to churchwardens 
 the cases of non-compliance. And so, 
 in 1814, the 54th George III. c. 108 
 swept away the strange provision. 
 
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 At the Ballantyne Press 
 
^refatorfi 
 
 This is an entirely distinct book from the 
 first series oj the Law's Lumber Room. 
 The subjects are of more general interest , 
 they are treated with greater fulness of 
 detail , most are as much literary as legal; 
 but I have thought it best to retain the 
 old name. No other seemed so briefly and 
 so truly descriptive of papers which tell 
 what the law and its ways once were , and 
 what they have ceased , one may reasonably 
 suppose , for ever to be. 
 
 I make two remarks. There is a great 
 deal of hanging in this book; that is only 
 because those were hanging times. The law 
 had no thought of mending the criminal; it 
 ended him in the most summary fashion. 
 The death of the chief actors was as in- 
 evitably the finish of the story as it is in 
 a modern French novel. 
 
VI 
 
 ^ftofatorg 
 
 Again , in pondering those memories of 
 the past , one realises how much , m other 
 things than mechanical invention , owr time 
 is unlike all that went before. This is not 
 the commonplace it seems , for not easily do 
 we realise how far the change has gone. 
 
 Under the sway 
 
 Of Death, the past’s enormous disarray 
 Lies hushed and dark. 
 
 Details such as make up this volume have 
 this merit: they bring the antique world before 
 us, and the net result seems to be this: we lead 
 better lives, we are more just and charitable, 
 perhaps less selfish than our forefathers, 
 but how to deny that something is lost ? for 
 life is not so exciting, and our annals are 
 anything but picturesque. 
 
 These papers were originally published 
 in The New Review, The Yellow Book, 
 and The Ludgate. I have made very con- 
 siderable additions to most of them, and all 
 have been car fully revised. 
 
Contents 
 
 TYBURN TREE .... 
 PILLORY AND CART’S TAIL 
 STATE TRIALS FOR WITCHCRAFT 
 A PAIR OF PARRICIDES . 
 
 SOME DISUSED ROADS TO MATRIMONY 
 THE BORDER LAW .... 
 THE SERJEANT-AT-LAW . 
 
 PAGE 
 
 1 
 
 45 
 
 68 
 
 88 
 
 116 
 
 152 
 
 185 
 
Cgfeurn 'Ettt 
 
 Its Exact Position not known — Near the Marble Arch — 
 Fanciful Etymologies — The Last Days of the Old- 
 Time Criminal — Robert Dowe’s Bequest — Execu- 
 tion Eve — St. Sepulchre’s Bell — The Procession — 
 St. Giles’s Bowl — At Tyburn — Ketch’s Perquisites — 
 The Newgate Ordinary — The Executioner — Ty- 
 burn’s Roll of Fame— Catholic Martyrs— Cromwell’s 
 Head— The Highwaymen— Lord Ferrers— Dr. Dodd 
 — James Hackman — Tyburn in English Letters. 
 
 To-day you cannot fix the exact spot where 
 Tyburn Tree raised its uncanny form. To 
 the many it was the most noteworthy thing 
 about Old London, yet while thousands who 
 had gazed thereon in fascinated horror were 
 still in life, a certain vagueness was evident 
 in men’s thoughts, and, albeit antiquaries 
 have keenly debated the locus, all the mind 
 is clouded with a doubt, and your carefully 
 worked out conclusion is but guesswork. 
 There is reason manifold for this. Of 
 old time the populous district known as 
 
 A 
 
2 ®f)£ Hafo’s Humber 3ftoom 
 
 Tyburnia was wild heath intersected by the 
 Tyburn Brook, which, rising near Hampstead, 
 crossed what is now Oxford Street, hard by 
 the Marble Arch, and so on to Chelsea and 
 the Thames. Somewhere on its banks was 
 the Middlesex gallows. It may be that as 
 the tide set westward the site was changed. 
 Again, the wild heath is now thick with 
 houses ; new streets and squares have confused 
 the ancient landmarks ; those who dwelt 
 therein preferred that there should not be a 
 too nice identification of localities. How 
 startling the reflection that in the very place 
 of your dining-room, thousands of fellow- 
 creatures had dangled in their last agonies ! 
 How rest at ease in such a chamber of 
 horrors ? The weight of evidence favours 
 (or disfavours) No. 49 Connaught Square. 
 The Bishop of London is ground landlord 
 here ; and it is said that in the lease of that 
 house granted by him the fact is recorded 
 that there stood the “ Deadly Never-Green.” 
 Such a record were purely gratuitous, but 
 the draftsman may have made it to fix the 
 identity of the dwelling. But to-day the 
 
3 
 
 ^gfcurn tt 
 
 Square runs but to No. 47. Some shuffling 
 of numerals has, you fancy, taken place to 
 baffle indiscreet research. However, you may 
 be informed (in confidence) that you have but 
 to stand at the south-east comer of the Square 
 to be “ warm,” as children say in their games. 
 
 Let these minutiae go. Tyburn Tree 
 stood within a gunshot to the north-west of 
 the Marble Arch. Its pictured shape is 
 known from contemporary prints. There 
 were three tall uprights, joined at the top by 
 three cross-beams, the whole forming a tri- 
 angle. It could accommodate many patients 
 at once, and there is some authority for 
 supposing that the beam towards Paddington 
 was specially used for Roman Catholics. In 
 the last century the nicer age objected to it 
 as an eyesore; and it was replaced by a 
 movable structure, fashioned of two uprights 
 and a cross-beam, which was set up in the 
 Edgware Road at the corner of Bryanston 
 Street, and which, the grim work done, was 
 stored in the corner house, from whose 
 windows the sheriffs superintended execu- 
 tions. To accommodate genteel spectators 
 
4 Hate’s Humber Hftoom 
 
 there were just such stands as you find on a 
 racecourse, the seats whereof were let at 
 divers prices, according to the interest 
 excited. In 1758, for Dr. Henesey’s execu- 
 tion as arch-traitor, the rate rose to two 
 shillings and two and sixpence a seat. The 
 Doctor was “most provokingly reprieved,*” 
 whereat the mob in righteous indignation 
 arose and wrecked the stands. Mammy 
 Douglas, a woman who kept the key of one 
 of these stands, was popularly known as “ the 
 Tyburn pew-opener.” 
 
 Fanciful etymologists played mad pranks 
 with the name. In Fuller’s Worthies , Tie- 
 burne is derived on vague authority from 
 “Tie” and “Burne,” because the “poor 
 Lollards ” there “ had their necks tied to the 
 beame and their lower parts burnt in the 
 fire. Others” (he goes on more sensibly) 
 “ will have it called from Twa and Burne , 
 that is two rivulets, which it seems meet 
 near the place.” And then it was plainly a 
 Bourn whence no traveller returned ! Most 
 probably it is a shortened form of The , or At 
 the Aye Bourne ( = 't Aye-bourne = Tyburn ) 
 
®gburn ® m 5 
 
 or Brook already denoted. Tyburn was not 
 always London’s sole or even principal place 
 of execution. In early times people were 
 hanged as well as burned at Smithfield. The 
 elms at St. Giles’s were far too handy a 
 provision to stay idle. At Tower Green 
 was the chosen spot for beheading your high- 
 class criminal, and it was common to put off 
 a malefactor on the very theatre of his male- 
 faction. There are few spots in Old London 
 which have not carried a gallows at one or 
 other time. Some think that certain elm- 
 trees suggested the choice of Tyburn. In the 
 end it proved the most convenient of all, 
 being neither too near nor too far ; and in 
 the end its name came to have (as is common 
 with such words) a general application, and 
 was applied at York, Liverpool, Dublin, and 
 elsewhere, to the place of execution. 
 
 To-day the criminal’s progress from cell 
 to gallows is an affair of a few minutes. To 
 an earlier time this had savoured of indecent 
 haste. Then, the way to Tyburn, long in 
 itself, was lengthened out by the observance 
 of a complicated ritual, some of it of ancient 
 
6 ®l)c Hate’s Humber Iftoom 
 
 origin. Let us follow “ the poor inhabitant 
 below” from the dock to the rope. To 
 understand what follows one must remember 
 that two distinct sets of forces acted on his 
 mind : — on the one hand, the gloom of the 
 prison, the priest’s advice, the memory of 
 mis-spent days, the horror of doom ; on the 
 other, the reaction of a lawless nature against 
 a cruel code, the resolve to die game, the 
 flattering belief that he was the observed of 
 all observers, and perhaps a secret conviction 
 that the unknown could be no worse than 
 the known. According as the one set or 
 other prevailed he was penitent or brazen, 
 the Ordinary’s darling or the people’s joy. 
 Well, his Lordship having assumed the black 
 cap and pronounced sentence of death, the 
 convict was forthwith removed to the con- 
 demned hold in Newgate. There he was 
 heavily fettered, and, if of any renown as a 
 prison-breaker, chained to a ring in the 
 ground. Escape was not hopeless. Friends 
 were allowed to visit and supply him with 
 money, wherewith he might bribe his keepers ; 
 and the prison discipline, though cruel, was 
 
7 
 
 incredibly lax (Jack Sheppard's two escapes 
 from the condemned hold, carefully described 
 by Ainsworth, are cases in point). Tc* 
 resume, our felon was now frequently visited 
 by the Ordinary, who zealously inquired 
 (from the most interested motives) into his 
 past life, and admonished him of his ap- 
 proaching doom. At chapel o' Sundays he 
 sat with his fellows in the condemned pew, a 
 large dock-like erection painted black, which 
 stood in the centre, right in front of and 
 close to the ordinary's desk and pulpit. For 
 his last church-going the condemned sermon 
 was preached, the burial service was read, 
 and prayers were put up “ especially for 
 those awaiting the awful execution of the 
 law." The reprieved also were present, and 
 the chapel was packed with as many spectators 
 as could squeeze their way in. 
 
 Now, our old law was not so bad as it 
 seemed. True, the death-penalty was affixed 
 to small offences ; but it was comparatively 
 rarely exacted. In looking over Old Bailey 
 sessions-papers of from one to two centu- 
 ries ago, I am struck with the number of 
 
8 
 
 ^fje Hate’s Htimbn Hoorn 
 
 acquittals — brought about, I fancy, by the 
 triviality of the crime, not the innocence of 
 the prisoner — and jurors constantly appraised 
 the articles at twelve pence or under to re- 
 duce the offence to petty larceny, which was 
 not capital, and after sentence each case was 
 carefully considered on its merits by the King 
 in Council (the extraordinary care which 
 George III. gave to this matter is well known : 
 he was often found pondering sentences late 
 into the night). Only when the offender 
 was inveterate or his crime atrocious was the 
 death-penalty exacted. In effect, cases now 
 punished by long terms of penal servitude 
 were then ordered for execution. I don't 
 pretend to say whether or no to-day's plan 
 may be the more merciful. We have, on the 
 authority of the Newgate Ordinary, a list 
 between 1700 and 1711. Of forty-nine con- 
 demned in one year, thirty-six were reprieved 
 and thirteen executed, in another year thirty- 
 eight were condemned, twenty were reprieved, 
 and eighteen were executed; the highest 
 annual return of executions during that 
 period was sixty-six, the lowest five. An Act 
 
9 
 
 ®£fmm 01m 
 
 of 1753 (25 Geo. II., c. 37) provided for the 
 speedy exit and dissection of murderers ; but 
 the fate of other felons might hang dubious, 
 as weeks often elapsed without a Privy Coun- 
 cil meeting. The Recorder of London brought 
 up the report from Windsor. When it 
 reached Newgate, usually late at night, the 
 condemned prisoners were assembled in one 
 ward. The Ordinary entered in full canoni- 
 cals and spoke his fateful message to each 
 kneeling wretch. “ I am sorry to tell you it 
 is all against you,” would fall on one man’s 
 trembling ears ; while “ Your case has been 
 taken into consideration by the King and 
 Council and His Majesty has been mercifully 
 pleased to spare your life,” was the comfort- 
 able word for another. The reprieved now 
 returned thanks to God and the King ; the 
 others, all hope gone, must return to the 
 condemned hold. 
 
 There broke in on them here, during the 
 midnight hours on the eve of their execution, 
 the sound of twelve strokes of a hand-bell, 
 the while a doleful voice in doleful rhyme 
 addressed them : 
 
10 ®be Hafo’s Humber iUoorn 
 
 You prisoners that are within, 
 
 Who for wickedness and sin . . . 
 
 Here the rhyme failed ; but in not less dis- 
 mal prose the voice admonished them that 
 on the morrow “the greatest bell of St* 
 Sepulchre will toll for you in the form and 
 manner of a passing bell ” ; wherefore it be- 
 hoved them to repent. In later years the 
 songster procured himself this rigmarole : — 
 
 Prepare you, for to-morrow you shall die. 
 
 Watch all and pray, the hour is drawing near 
 
 When you before th’ Almighty must appear. 
 Examine well yourselves ; in time repent, 
 
 That you may not th’ eternal flames be sent. 
 
 And when St. ’Pulcre’s bell to-morrow tolls, 
 
 The Lord have mercy on your souls ! 
 
 Past twelve o’clock. 
 
 Now this iron nightingale was the sexton 
 or his deputy of St. Sepulchred, hard by 
 Newgate; and his chant originated thus. 
 In the early seventeenth century there flour- 
 ished a certain Robert Dowe, “citizen and 
 merchant taylor of London ” ; he disbursed 
 much of his estate to various charities, and 
 in especial gave one pound six shillings and 
 
11 
 
 eight pence yearly to the sexton of St. 
 Sepulchre’s to approach as near as might be 
 to the condemned hold on execution eve, and 
 admonish malefactors of their approaching 
 end, as if they were likely to forget it, or a& 
 if “ Men in their Condition cou’d have any 
 stomach to Unseasonable Poetry,” so perti- 
 nently observes John Hall (executed about 
 1708), “ the late famous and notorious 
 robber,” or rather the Grub Street hack who 
 compiled his Memoirs. The rhymes were, so 
 the same veracious authority assures us, “ set 
 to the Tune of the Bar-Bell at the Black 
 Dog,” and their reception varied. Hall and 
 his companions (but again you suspect Grub 
 Street) paid in kind with verse equally edify- 
 ing, and, if possible, still more atrocious. 
 Most, you fancy, turned again to their uneasy 
 slumbers with muttered curses. Not so 
 Sarah Malcolm, condemned in 1733 for the 
 cruel murder of old Mrs. Duncombe, her 
 mistress. An unseasonable pity for the 
 sexton croaking his platitudes in the raw 
 midnight possessed her mad soul. “ D’ye 
 hear, Mr. Bellman ? ” she bawled, “ call for a 
 
12 ®be Hate’s Humber Iftoom 
 
 Pint of Wine, and Pll throw you a Shilling 
 to pay for it.’" How instant his changed 
 note as the coin clinked on the pavement ! 
 Alas ! no record reports him thus again 
 refreshed. 
 
 But Venit summa dies et meluctabile fatum 
 (a tag you may be sure the Ordinary rolled 
 off to any broken-down scholar he had in 
 hand) ; and our felon's last day dawns. He 
 is taken to the Stone Hall, where his irons 
 are struck off; then he is pinioned by the 
 yeoman of the halter, who performs that 
 service for the moderate fee of five shillings 
 (rope thrown in). At the gate he is delivered 
 over to the Hangman (who is not free of the 
 prison), and by him he is set in the cart (a 
 sorry vehicle drawn by a sorry nag in sorry 
 harness), his coffin oft at his feet, and the 
 Ordinary at his side, and so, amidst the yells 
 of a huge mob and to the sad accompani- 
 ment of St. Sepulchre's bell, the cart moves 
 westward. Almost immediately a halt is 
 called. The road is bounded by the wall of 
 St. Sepulchre's Churchyard, over the which 
 there peers our vocalist of yester-eve, who 
 
13 
 
 takes up his lugubrious whine anew : — “ All 
 good people pray heartily with God for the 
 poor sinners who are now going to their 
 death,” with more to the same effect, for all 
 which the poor passenger must once more 
 bless or curse the name of the inconsiderately 
 considerate Dowe. He gave his endowment 
 in 1605, seven years before his death : had 
 some mad turn of fate made him an object 
 of his own charity you had scarce grieved. 
 But now the sexton has done his office to the 
 satisfaction of the beadle of Merchant Tailors'* 
 Hall, who “ hath an honest stipend allowed 
 him to see that this is duly done,” and the 
 cart is again under weigh, when, if the prin- 
 cipal subject be popular, a lady (you assume 
 her beauty, and you need not rake the 
 rubbish of two centuries for witness against 
 her character) trips down the steps of St. 
 Sepulchre’s Church and presents him with a 
 huge nosegay. If nosegays be not in season, 
 u why, then,” as the conjuror assured Timothy 
 Crabshaw, squire to Sir Launcelot Greaves, 
 “ an orange will do as well.” And now the 
 cart rumbles down steep and strait Snow 
 
14 Ww Hate’s Humber Iftoom 
 
 Hill, crosses the Fleet Ditch by narrow 
 Holborn Bridge, creaks up Holborn Hill 
 {the “ Heavy Hill,” men named it with 
 sinister twin-meaning), and so through 
 Holborn Bars, whilst the bells, first of St. 
 Andrew’s, Holborn, and then of St. Giles-in- 
 the-Fields, knell sadly as it passes. In the 
 High Street of the ancient village of that 
 name, Halt! is again the word. Of old 
 time a famous Lazar-House stood here, and 
 hard by those elms of St. Giles, already noted 
 as a place of execution. The simple piety of 
 mediaeval times would dispatch no wretch on 
 so long a journey without sustenance. Hence 
 at the Lazar-House gate he was given a huge 
 bowl of ale, his “ last refreshing in this life,” 
 whereof he might drink at will. The most 
 gallant of the Elizabethans has phrased for 
 us the felon’s thoughts as he quaffed the 
 strange draught. On that chill October 
 morning when Raleigh went to his doom at 
 Westminster, some one handed him “ a cup 
 of excellent sack,” courteously inquiring how 
 he liked it ? “ As the fellow,” he answered 
 
 with a last touch of Elizabethan wit, “ that 
 
15 
 
 ®pburn ®ree 
 
 drinking of St. Giles’s bowl as he went to 
 . Tyburn, said : — 6 That were good drink if a 
 man might tarry by it.’ ” The Lazar went, 
 but the St. Giles’s bowl lingered, only no 
 longer a shaven monk, but the landlord of 
 the Bowl or the Crown, or what not, handed 
 up the liquor. 
 
 Bowl Yard, which vanished into Endell 
 Street, long preserved the memory of this 
 “ last refreshing.” At York a like custom 
 prevailed, whereof local tradition recorded a 
 quaint apologue. The saddler of Bawtry 
 needs must hang — why and wherefore no 
 man knoweth. To the amazement and 
 horror of all he most churlishly refused the 
 proffered bowl. Pity was but wasted (so 
 our forefathers thought) on such a fellow. 
 Before a dry-eyed crowd he was strung up 
 with the utmost dispatch, but a reprieve 
 arriving, was cut down just as quickly. All 
 too late, however! He was done with this 
 world. Had he but reasonably tarried, as 
 others did, for his draught, he had died in 
 his bed like many a better man. Hence the 
 rustic moralist taught how the saddler of 
 
16 Hate’s Humber 2ftoont 
 
 Bawtry was hanged for leaving of his ale. 
 The compilers of the Sunday school treatises 
 have scandalously neglected this leading case 
 of lost opportunities. Nay, though a pearl 
 “ richer than all his tribe,” you shall search 
 the works of Dr. Smiles for it in vain. 
 
 But the day wears on, and our procession 
 must farther westward along Tyburn Road 
 (now Oxford Street). It is soon quit of 
 houses ; yet the crowd grows ever denser, 
 and, though Tyburn Tree stands out grim 
 and gaunt in our view, it is some time ere 
 the cart pulls up under the beam. Soon the 
 halter is fixed, and the parson says his last 
 words to the trembling wretch. And now 
 it is proper for him to address the crowd, 
 confessing his crimes, and warning others to 
 amend their ways. If a broken-down cleric 
 or the like, his last devotions and dying 
 speech are apt to be prosy and inordinate ; 
 so that the mob jeers or even pelts him and 
 his trusty Ketch himself. Or “ some of the 
 Sheriff’s officers discovering impatience to 
 have the execution dispatched ” (thus Samuel 
 Smith, the Ordinary of a case in 1684), Jack 
 
17 
 
 t^gburn ®ree 
 
 cuts things short by whipping up his horses 
 and leaves his victim dangling and agape. 
 More decorously the cap is drawn over his 
 face, and he himself gives the signal to turn 
 off. The Hangman, if in genial mood, now 
 stretches the felon’s legs for him, or thumps 
 his breast with the benevolent design of 
 expelling the last breath ; but the brute is 
 usually too lazy or too careless, and these 
 pious offices are performed by friends. 
 
 The accessories of such a last scene are 
 preserved in Hogarth’s Apprentice Series^ 
 One of the crowd is picking a pocket, and 
 you foresee him ending here some day soon. 
 (Is it not told of one rascal, that he urged 
 on the attendants his right to a near view, 
 since, sure of hanging some day, he naturally 
 wished to see how it was done ?) Another 
 in the crowd is bawling, a trifle prematurely, 
 the last speech and dying confession of 
 Thomas Idle. Verses commemorative of 
 the occasion were sold broadcast. “ Tyburn’s 
 elegiac lines,” as you may suppose, were sad 
 doggerel. Here is the concluding portion of 
 a specimen {temp, circa 1720) : 
 
 B 
 
18 Hate’s Humber 3ftoom 
 
 Fifteen of us you soon will see 
 Ending our days with misery 
 At the Tree, at the Tree. 
 
 Even at Tyburn, how hard to renounce 
 all hope ! There was ever the chance of a 
 reprieve. There is at least one well-authen- 
 ticated case of a man making a sudden bolt 
 from the cart, and almost escaping ; and, as 
 the modus was simple strangulation, and the 
 Hangman careless or corrupt, it was just 
 possible that heroic remedies might restore 
 to animation. On December 12, 1705, John 
 Smith was turned off, and hung for a 
 quarter of an hour. A reprieve arriving, 
 he was cut down, and coaxed back to life. 
 More remarkable was the case of William 
 Duell, in 1740. To all appearance 
 thoroughly well hanged, he was carried off 
 for dissection to Surgeons’ Hall, where he 
 presently recovered himself. He was, some- 
 what cruelly, restored to Newgate, but was 
 let off with transportation. The law was 
 not always so merciful. In another case, 
 the sheriff’s officers, having heard that their 
 prey was again alive and kicking, hunted the 
 
19 
 
 ®gtmr n 
 
 wretch out, haled him back to Tyburn, and 
 hanged him beyond the possibility of doubt. 
 The rumour of such marvels inspired many 
 attempts at resuscitation. I fancy about 
 one per cent, were successful, but how to 
 tell, since the instance just quoted shows that 
 such triumphs were better concealed ? 
 
 Now, the corpus is essential to the expert - 
 mentum , so half an hour after the turning 
 off, the friends bring up a deal coffin, borne 
 across an unhinged coach door or any such 
 make-shift bier. But Ketch is still in pos- 
 session : the clothes are Hangman’s per- 
 quisites, and must be purchased. How the 
 greedy rascal appreciates the value of each 
 button, dwells on the splendour of each 
 sorry ornament, watching the while and 
 gauging the impatience of the buyers ! 
 Never went second - hand duds at such 
 a figure ! Sometimes he overreaches him- 
 self, or no one comes forward to bid. Then 
 the corpse is rudely stripped, “ and the Mis- 
 cellany of Rags are all crushed into a sack 
 which the Valet de Chambre carries on 
 purpose, and being digested into Monmouth 
 
20 ®fje Hafo’s Humber Iftoom 
 
 Street, Chick Lane, &c., are comfortably 
 worn by many an industrious fellow.” And 
 sometimes the law claims the body to be 
 removed and hung in chains. 
 
 In cases of treason, the felon was drawn 
 to Tyburn in a sledge tied to a horse’s tail ; 
 he was hanged from the cart ; but was cut 
 down and dismembered alive. His head 
 went to the adornment of Temple Bar or 
 London Bridge ; while his quarters, having 
 been boiled in oil and tar in a cauldron in 
 Jack Ketch’s Kitchen, as the room above the 
 central gateway at Newgate was called, were 
 scattered here and there as the authorities 
 fancied. The complete ritual of disgrace 
 was reserved for political offenders. After 
 rebellions Ketch had his hands full. He 
 would tumble out of his sack good store of 
 heads wherewith he and the Newgate felons 
 made hideous sport, preliminary to parboil- 
 ing them with bay salt and cummin seed: 
 the one for preservation, the other sovereign 
 against the fowls of the air. If the traitor 
 were a woman, she was burned (till 1790) ; 
 but usually strangled first. Cases are on 
 
21 
 
 ©gbur n '©tee 
 
 record where, ^with a fire too quick r or a 
 Hangman too clumsy, the choking proved 
 
 abortive and ! The sledge so often 
 
 supplanted the less ignominious cart, that I 
 ought to explain that a traitor need not be a 
 political offender. Certain coining offences, 
 the murder of a husband by his wife, and of 
 a master by his servant, were all ranked a 
 form of treason, and the criminal was drawn 
 and quartered or burnt accordingly. 
 
 Two of Tyburn’s officials, the Ordinary and 
 the Hangman, to wit, now claim our atten- 
 tion. The Ordinary, or prison chaplain of 
 Newgate, said 66 Amen ” to the death sentence, 
 and ministered to the convict thence to the 
 end. A terrible duty, to usher your fellow- 
 man from this world into the next ! I have 
 heard that one such task near proved fatal 
 to an honest divine ; but the hand of little 
 employment hath the daintier sense, and too 
 often the Newgate Ordinary was a callous 
 wretch, with a keen zeal for the profits of 
 his post, and for the rest a mere praying 
 machine. He needs must be good trencher- 
 man. It was one of his strange duties to 
 
22 W&z Hafo’s Humber % loom 
 
 say grace at City banquets. Major Griffiths, 
 who collects so many curious facts in his 
 Chronicles of Newgate , alleges him not sel- 
 dom required to eat three consecutive dinners 
 without quitting the table. In post-Tyburn 
 days, when they hanged in front of the 
 prison, the governor's daughter used to 
 prepare breakfast for those attending each 
 execution (the deid clack, so they called such 
 festivity in Old Scotland). Broiled kidneys 
 were her masterpiece, and she noted that, 
 whilst most of her pale-faced guests could 
 stomach nought save brandy and water, his 
 reverence attacked the dish as one appetised 
 by a prosperous morning's work. Most 
 Ordinaries are clean gone from memory, 
 unrecorded even by The Dictionary of 
 National Biography. One (as fly in amber !) 
 the chance reference of a classic now and 
 again preserves. 
 
 E’en Guthrie spares half Newgate by a dash, 
 
 sneers Pope, referring to an alleged habit of 
 merely giving initials. I have turned over a 
 fair number of the Reverend James Guthrie's 
 
23 
 
 accounts of criminals. In those he always 
 writes the name in full. The witty though 
 himself forgotten Tom Brown scribbles the 
 epitaph of the Reverend Samuel Smith* 
 another Ordinary : — 
 
 Whither he’s gone 
 Is not certainly known, 
 
 But a man may conclude, 
 
 Without being rude, 
 
 That orthodox Sam 
 His flock would not shame. 
 
 And to show himself to ’em a pastor most civil, 
 
 As he led, so he followed ’em on to the d 1. 
 
 And there were the Reverend Thomas 
 Purney, and the Reverend John Villette, 
 but these be well-nigh empty names. We 
 know most about the Reverend Paul Lorrain, 
 who was appointed in 1698, and died in 
 1719, leaving the respectable fortune of 
 JP5000. A typical Ordinary of the baser 
 sort this; a greedy, gross, sensual wretch, 
 who thrived and grew fat on the perquisites 
 of his office. Among these was a broadsheet, 
 published at eight o'clock the morning after 
 a hanging. It was headed, “The Ordinary 
 of Newgate, his Account of the Behaviour, 
 
24 Wit Hafo’s Humber Hoorn 
 
 Confessions, and Last Speeches of the Male- 
 factors who were executed at Tyburn, the 
 — .” It gave the names and sentences of 
 the convicts, copious notes of the sermons 
 {of the most wooden type) he preached at 
 them, biographies, and confessions, and finally 
 the scenes at the gallows. Let the up-to- 
 date journalist cherish Lorraines name. He 
 was an early specimen of the personal inter- 
 viewer : he had the same keen scent for un- 
 savoury detail, the same total disregard for 
 the feelings or wishes of his victim, the same 
 readiness to betray confidence; and he had 
 his subject at such an advantage! You 
 imagine the sanctimonious air wherewith 
 he produced his notebook and invited the 
 wretch’s statement. With the scene at 
 Tyburn variety in detail was impossible. 
 46 Afterwards the Cart drew away, and they 
 were turn’d off,” is his formula. You had a 
 good twopenn’orth, such was his usual modest 
 charge ! The first page top was embellished 
 with two cuts : on the left Old Newgate Arch- 
 way, on the right Tyburn Tree. (Gurney 
 affected a quainter design, wherein he stood. 
 
25 
 
 ®£bum tt 
 
 in full canonicals in the centre pointing the 
 way to Heayen, whilst on his left the Fiend, 
 furnished with a trident, squirmed in a bed of 
 flames.) The broadsheet was authenticated 
 by his signature. 
 
 Now, two things made the Reverend Paul 
 exceeding wroth. One was the issue of 
 pirated confessions, which were “a great 
 Cheat and Imposture upon the World, 1 ’ and 
 they would not merely forge his name but 
 mis-spell it to boot ! His is “ the only true 
 Account of the Dying Criminals,” he urgently, 
 and no doubt truly, asserts. All this touched 
 his pocket, hence his ire, which blazed no less 
 against the unrepentant malefactor, who — a 
 scarce less grievous offence — touched his pro- 
 fessional pride. He did not mince words : — 
 “he was a Notorious and Hard-hearted 
 Criminal,” or afflicted with brutish ignorance 
 or of an obstinate and hardened disposition. 
 “ There is,” he would pointedly remark, “ a 
 Lake of Brimstone , a Worm that dies not , 
 and a Fire which shall never he quenched . 
 And this I must plainly tell you, that will be 
 your dismal portion there for ever, unless 
 
26 % f)e Hato’s Humber iftoom 
 
 you truly Repent here in time.” And after 
 “ Behaviour ” in the title of his broadsheets, 
 he would insert, in parentheses, “ or rather 
 Misbehaviour.” Most of his flock, stupid 
 with terror, passively acquiesced in everything 
 he said. These “ Lorrain saints,” as Steele 
 called them, received ready absolution at his 
 hands and their reported end was most 
 edifying. But in James Sheppard (the 
 Jacobite), who suffered March 17, 1718, 
 for treason, Lorrain had a most vexatious 
 subject. A non-juring divine, “that Priest 
 or Jesuit, or Wolf in Sheep’s clothing,” as 
 the Rev. Paul describes him, attended the 
 convict, and the Ordinary’s services were 
 quite despised. The intruder, “ e’en at the 
 Gallows , had the Presumption to give him 
 Publick Absolution, tho’ he visibly dy’d 
 without Repentance.” Dr. Doran assures 
 us that, on the way to Tyburn, Paul and 
 his supplanter came to fisticuffs, and our 
 Ordinary was unceremoniously kicked from 
 the cart. One would like to believe this 
 entertaining legend, for “ the great historio- 
 grapher,” as Pope and Bolingbroke sarcastic- 
 
27 
 
 ^gburn QLxtz 
 
 ally dub him, grows less in your favour the 
 more you scan his sheets. His account of 
 Sheppard concludes with the most fulsome 
 professions of loyalty to the King and the 
 Protestant Succession, for which he is ready 
 to sacrifice his life. You note that he was 
 charged with administering the sacrament 
 for temporal ends, some scandal apparently 
 of shamful traffic in the elements. There is 
 no proof — indeed, we have nothing to go 
 on but his own denial ; but it shows the 
 gossip whereof he was the centre. He had 
 ingenious methods of spreading his sale. 
 Thus he tells his readers that a fuller 
 account of a special case will be published 
 along with that of prisoners that go for 
 execution to-morrow. In the case of Na- 
 thaniel Parkhurst, hanged May 20, 1715, 
 for the murder of Count Lewis Pleuro, he 
 actually reports the convict on the eve of 
 his execution cracking up in advance the 
 report which his ghostly comforter will 
 presently publish ! Strange advertisements 
 fill up the odd corners of his broadsheets. 
 Here he puffs a manual of devotion by 
 
28 Hate’s Humber Boom 
 
 himself ; there the virtue of a quack medi- 
 cine, some sovran remedy for colic, gout, 
 toothache, “ The Itch or any Itching 
 Humour.” Again, you have “ The works of 
 Petronius Arbiter, with Cuts and a Key,” or 
 “Apuleius’s Golden Ass,” or some lewd 
 publication of the day. Even if the ad- 
 vertisements were PauPs publishers’’, how 
 strange the man and the time that suffered 
 so incongruous a mixture ! Our Ordinary 
 petitioned parliament that his precious 
 broadsheets might go free of the paper tax, 
 by reason of their edifying nature ! 
 
 Turn we now to the Hangman. No rare 
 figure his in Old England ! Only in later 
 years was he individualised. In James IPs 
 time a certain Derrick filled the office. The 
 playwrights keep his memory green, and the 
 crane so called is said to take its name from 
 him. Then there came Gregory Brandon, 
 who had “ a fair coat of arms,” and the title 
 of esquire in virtue of his office. This was 
 through a mad practical joke of York 
 Herald, who, perceiving a solemn ass in 
 Garter King-at-Arms, sent him in the papers 
 
29 
 
 ®gfmm 'l&m 
 
 somewhat ambiguously worded, and got the 
 grant in due form. York and Garter were 
 presently laid by the heels in the Marshalsea, 
 66 one for foolery, the other for knavery. r> 
 
 Gregory was succeeded by his son, also called 
 Gregory, though his real name was Richard. 
 His infantile amusement was the heading 
 of cats and dogs, his baby fingers seemed 
 ever adjusting imaginary halters on invisible 
 necks ; he was “ the destined heir, From his 
 soft cradle, to his father’s chair ”• — or rather 
 cart and ladder. The younger Brandon was, 
 it seems quite certain, the executioner of 
 Charles I. Then followed Edward, commonly 
 known as Esquire Dun, and then the re- 
 nowned Jack Ketch, who went to his ghastly 
 work with so callous a disregard for human 
 suffering, or, as some fancied, with such 
 monstrous glee, that his name, becoming the 
 very synonym for hangman, clave to all his 
 successors. He “ flourished” 1663-1686. 
 Dryden calls him an “ excellent physician,” 
 and commemorates him more than once in 
 his full-resounding line. Some held Catch 
 his true patronymic and Ketch a corruption 
 
30 W&z Hafos Humber Hoorn 
 
 •of Jacquet, the family name of those who 
 held the Manor of Tyburn during a great 
 part of the seventeenth century, but this, 
 however ingenious, seems too far-fetched. 
 The original Jack was ungracious and surly 
 even beyond the manner of his kind. In 
 January 1686, for insolence to the sheriffs, 
 “ he was deposed and committed to Bride- 
 well.” Pascha Rose, a butcher, succeeded 
 but getting himself hanged in May Ketch 
 was reinstated. It is recorded that he struck 
 for higher pay — and got it too. You might 
 fancy that any one could adjust the “ Tyburn 
 Tippet,” or u the riding knot an inch below 
 the ear.” But the business called for its 
 own special knack. In the History of the 
 Press-yard the Hangman is represented, after 
 the suppression of the 1715 Rising, as cheer- 
 fully expectant, “ provided the king does not 
 unseasonably spoil my market by reprieves 
 and pardons.” He will receive ample douceurs 
 “ for civility-money in placing their halters’ 
 knot right under their left ear, and separating 
 their quarters with all imaginable decency.” 
 Ketch’s fancy hovered between a noble and a 
 
31 
 
 ^gbttrn ZJTm 
 
 highwayman. My Lord was never stingy with 
 tips ; ’twere unseasonable and quite against 
 the traditions of his order. And the foppery 
 of the other made him a bird worth pluck- 
 ing. I do not pretend to give a complete 
 catalogue of these rascals, yet two others I 
 must mention : John Price (1718) was arrested 
 for murder as he was escorting, it is said, a 
 felon to Tyburn. It was a brutal business, 
 and he richly deserved the halter. He got 
 it too ! John Dennis led the attack on 
 Newgate in the Lord George Gordon No- 
 Popery Riots {temp. 1780, but of course you 
 remember your Barnaby Rudge). He was 
 like to have swung himself, but was continued 
 in his old occupation on condition of string- 
 ing up his fellow-rioters. Of old time the 
 Hangman was (we are assured) sworn on the 
 Book to dispatch every criminal without 
 favour to father or relative or friend ; and 
 he was then dismissed with this formula : — 
 “ Get thee hence, wretch.” I have noted the 
 unwillingness to admit him into Newgate — 
 his wages were paid over the gate — and the 
 sorry condition of his equipage. This last 
 
32 Hafo’s Humfatr 3Jloom 
 
 gave a grotesque touch to his progress, 
 readily seized on by the jeering mob, which 
 had ever a curse or a missile for the scowling 
 wretch. 
 
 In the centuries of its horrible virility, the 
 Tree at Tyburn slew its tens of thousands. 
 A record of famous cases would fill volumes. 
 I can but note a very few. The earliest 
 recorded, though they cannot have been the 
 first, were those of Judge Tressilian and 
 Nicholas Brembre, in February 1388. Their 
 offence was high treason, which meant in that 
 primitive time little more than a political 
 difference with the authorities. This 
 Brembre had been four times Mayor of 
 London. He proposed some startling inno- 
 vations in the city, one being to change its 
 name to New Troy (Geoffrey of Monmouth 
 perchance had turned his head). Here ended 
 Perkin Warbeck, that 46 little cockatrice 
 of a king” on whom Bacon lavishes such 
 wealth of vituperative rhetoric, after abusing 
 Henry VII.’s generosity more than once. The 
 savagery of Henry VIII. kept the execu- 
 tioner busy, and he of Tyburn had his full 
 
33 
 
 ^gburn 
 
 share. On May 4, 1535, in open defiance 
 to every past tradition, the King caused 
 hang and quarter Haughton, the last prior 
 of the Charterhouse, in his sacerdotal robes, 
 without any previous ceremony of degrada- 
 tion, after which “his arm was hung as a 
 bloody sign over the archway of the Charter- 
 house.” In 1581, under Elizabeth, Campion 
 and Harte continued the long line of catholic 
 martyrs. Campion had been so cruelly 
 racked that he could not hold up his hand 
 to plead without assistance, yet he main- 
 tained his courage through the raw December 
 morning whereon he suffered. At Tyburn 
 they vexed him with long discussions ; but 
 at last, while he was yet praying for Eliza- 
 beth, the cart drove away. Many of his 
 disciples stood round. They fought for 
 relics which the authorities were determined 
 they should not have, so that a young man 
 having dipped his handkerchief in the blood 
 was forthwith arrested. In the confusion 
 some one cut off a finger and conveyed it 
 away. Some one else offered twenty pounds 
 for a finger-joint, but the hangman dared 
 
34 ®i)e % afo’s Humber % loom 
 
 not let it go. The fevered imagination of 
 Campion's adorers saw wondrous signs. Some 
 pause in the flow of the Thames was noted 
 on that day, and was ascribed thereto. The 
 river 
 
 Awhile astonished stood 
 To count the drops of Campion’s sacred blood. 
 
 Campion himself had long a presentiment 
 of his fate, which, considering the desperate 
 nature of his mission, was not wonderful ; 
 and when occasion took him past the Triple 
 Tree he was moved to uncover his head. 
 Southwell, the “ sweet singer " of the Catholic 
 reaction, told the end of his friend in a little 
 work printed at Douay, but in English, and 
 of course for English circulation ; and in 
 1595 Southwell followed his brother priest. 
 His followers noted that, when his heart was 
 torn out, u it leaped from the dissector's 
 hand and, by its thrilling, seemed to repel 
 the flames." A strange legend — not quite 
 baseless, Mr. Gardner thinks — shows the 
 effect of such scenes on the Catholic mind. 
 Henrietta Maria, Charles I.'s queen, walked 
 
35 
 
 Tyburn 
 
 barefoot to Tyburn, as to a shrine, at dead 
 of night, and did penance under the gallows 
 for the sins of her adopted country. A 
 felon of a very different order was Mrs. 
 Turner, who suffered (November 14, 1615) 
 for complicity in Sir Thomas Overbury’s 
 murder. She had invented yellow starch* 
 % and my Lord Coke with a fine sense of the 
 picturesque ordained her to hang “ in her 
 yellow Tinny Ruff and Cuff.” She dressed 
 the part gallantly ; “ her face was highly 
 rouged, and she wore a cobweb lawn ruff, 
 yellow starched.” The Hangman had also 
 yellow bands and cuffs, he tied her hands 
 with a black silk ribbon herself had provided, 
 as well as a black veil for her face. Being 
 turned off, she seemed to die quietly. But 
 yellow starch went hopelessly out of fashion ! 
 
 After the Restoration, the bodies of Crom- 
 well, Ireton, and Bradshaw were dug up at 
 Westminster, removed at night to the Red 
 Lion Inn, Holborn, drawn next morning 
 (January 30, 1661), the anniversary of 
 Charles’s death, to Tyburn, and there hanged 
 in their shrouds on the three wooden posts 
 
36 Hate’s Humber Hoorn 
 
 of the gallows. At nightfall they were 
 taken down and beheaded ; the bodies being 
 there buried, whilst the heads adorned West- 
 minster Hall. Noll had his picturesque 
 historians before Carlyle. A wild tale arose 
 that his original funeral at the Abbey had 
 been but a mock ceremonial ; for his body, 
 according to his own instructions, had been 
 secretly removed to Naseby, and buried at 
 nightfall on the scene of that victory. Even 
 if we disregard this legend, the subsequent 
 adventures of Cromwell’s head have been a 
 matter of as much concern to antiquaries 
 as ever the Royal Martyr’s was to Mr. 
 Dick. 
 
 Time would fail to narrate the picturesque 
 and even jovial exits of those u curled dar- 
 lings ” of the Tyburn Calendar or Malefactors' 
 Bloody Register (or any other form of the 
 Newgate Chronicle\ those idols of the popu- 
 lar imagination, the Caroline and Georgian 
 highwaymen. Swift pictures the very ideal 
 in Clever Tom Clinch , who — 
 
 . . . while the rabble was bawling, 
 Rode stately through Holborn to die in his calling ; 
 
37 
 
 ®gbum 
 
 He stopped at the George for a bottle of sack, 
 
 And promised to pay for it — when he came back. 
 
 His waistcoat and stockings and breeches were white. 
 His cap had a new cherry-ribbon to tie’t ; 
 
 And the maids to the doors and the balconies ran, 
 
 And cried " Lack-a-day ! he’s a proper young man ! ” 
 
 But how to summarise the infinite variety of 
 detail ? To tell how, when Claude Duval 
 swung (January 21, 1670) Ladies of Quality 
 looked on in tears and masks ; how he lay 
 in more than royal state in Tangier Tavern* 
 St. Giles’s ; and how they carved on his 
 stone “ in the centre aisle of Covent Garden 
 Church,” the pattern of a highwayman’s 
 epitaph : 
 
 Here lies Du Vail : reader, if male thou art, 
 
 Look to thy purse ; if female, to thy heart. 
 
 How the mob bolted with Jack Sheppard’s 
 body (November 16, 1724) to save the 
 “ bonny corp” from the surgeon’s knife t 
 How Jonathan Wild, “ the Great ” (May 24* 
 1725), during the finishing touches picked 
 the Ordinary’s pocket of his corkscrew, and 
 was turned off with it still in his hand 
 (thus Fielding : Purney was the ordinary. 
 
38 Hate’s Humber 3ftoom 
 
 His account is quite different), to the un- 
 speakable delight of that enormous body of 
 spectators, to which Sheppard’s two hundred 
 thousand onlookers were (Defoe assures us) 
 no more to be compared than is a regiment 
 to an army. How Sixteen-string Jack 
 (November SO, 1774), his “ bright pea-green 
 coat ” and “ immense nosegay ” were almost 
 too magnificent even for so noble an occasion. 
 Alas ! not ours to dwell on such details ; let 
 the brave rogues go ! 
 
 I cull one instance from the peerage. 
 Earl Ferrers suffered at Tyburn (May 5, 
 1760) for the death of Johnson, his land 
 steward. He dressed in his wedding clothes, 
 “ a suit of white and silver ” : “ as good an 
 occasion,” he observed, “for putting them on, 
 as that for which they were first made ” (his 
 treatment of his wife had indirectly brought 
 about the murder). Every consideration 
 was paid to my Lord’s feelings : “ A landau 
 with six horses ” was his Tyburn cart, and a 
 silk rope his “anodyne necklace”; and yet 
 things did not go smoothly. The mob was 
 so enormous that the journey took three 
 
39 
 
 ®gtmrn ULm 
 
 hours. It was far worse than hanging, he 
 protested to the sheriffs. His very hand- 
 some tip of five guineas was handed by mis- 
 take to the Hangman^ man, and an unseemly 
 altercation ensued. My Lord toed the line 
 with anxious care. 66 Am I right ? ” were his 
 last words. The accurate fall of the drop 
 must have satisfied him that he was. 
 
 I must not neglect the clergy. Here the 
 leading case is obviously that of Dr. Dodd, 
 hanged for forgery (June 27, 1777). The 
 strange ups and down of his life (“ he de- 
 scended so low as to become the editor of a 
 newspaper”) are not for this page. The 
 maudlin piety of his last days is no pleasant 
 spectacle. Dr. Newton, Bishop of Bristol, 
 thought him deserving of pity “because 
 hanged for the least crime he had committed.” 
 Dr. Samuel Johnson did all he could to save 
 him ; also wrote his address to the judge (sen- 
 tence had been respited) in reply to the usual 
 question, as well as the sermon he delivered 
 in Newgate Chapel three weeks before the 
 end. The King sternly refused a reprieve. 
 No doubt he was right. The very manner 
 
40 Hafo’s Humber Iftoom 
 
 of the deed seems to argue not a first, only 
 a first discovered, offence. His doggerel 
 Thoughts in Prison is his chief literary 
 crime. He went in a coach. His 66 con- 
 siderable time in praying,” and “ several 
 showers of rain,” rendered the mob some- 
 what impatient. He was assisted by two 
 clergymen. One was very much affected ; 
 ■ c the other, I suppose, was the Ordinary, as 
 he was perfectly indifferent and unfeeling in 
 everything he said and did.” Villette was 
 then Ordinary. He wrote an account (after 
 the most approved pattern) of Dodd’s un- 
 happy end. The pair had spent much time 
 together in Newgate, and one hopes the 
 report of Villette’s behaviour is mistaken or 
 inaccurate, though it is that of an eye-wit- 
 ness, a correspondent of George Selwyn him- 
 self an enthusiastic amateur of executions, 
 who, when he had a tooth drawn, let fall his 
 handkerchief a la Tyburn , as a signal for the 
 operation. James Boswell had a like craze. 
 He went in a mourning coach with the Rev. 
 James Hackman when that divine was 
 hanged (April 19, 1779) for the murder of 
 
41 
 
 Upturn 
 
 Miss Reay. When Hackman let fall the 
 handkerchief for signal it fell outside the 
 cart, and Ketch with an eye to small 
 perquisites jumped down to secure it before 
 he whipped up the horse. These are all 
 names more or less known. There are 
 hundreds of curious incidents connected with 
 obscure deaths. Here are a few samples : — 
 In 1598 “some mad knaves took tobacco 
 all the way as they went to be hanged at 
 Tyburn.” In 1677, a woman and “a little 
 dog ten inches high” were hanged side by 
 side as accomplices — “a hideous prospect,” 
 comments our chronicler. In 1684 Francis 
 Kirk, having murdered his wife, must end at 
 Tyburn. Shortly before he had seen a fellow 
 hanged there for making away with his 
 spouse ; and this, he confessed, had inspired 
 him ! 
 
 One John Austin had the distinction of 
 being the last person executed at Tyburn 
 (November 7, 1783). Reformers had long 
 denounced the procession as a public scandal. 
 The sheriffs had some doubts as to their 
 powers; but the judges, being consulted, 
 
42 W>z Hate’s Humber 3£oom 
 
 assured them they could end it an they 
 would. A month after (December 9, 
 1783) the gallows was at work in front of 
 Newgate, and Old London lost its most 
 exciting spectacle. Dr. Johnson frankly 
 regretted the change : — “ Executions are in- 
 tended to draw spectators, if they do not 
 draw spectators they lose their reason. The 
 old method was more satisfactory to all 
 parties. The public was gratified by a pro- 
 cession, the criminal was supported by it. 
 Why is all this to be swept away?” In 
 truth, the change of scene was an illogical 
 compromise : the picturesque effect was gone 
 — save for an occasional touch, as after 
 Holling’s execution, when the dead hand was 
 thrust into a woman’s bosom, to remove a 
 mark or wen — the disorderly mob remained, 
 nay, was a greater scandal at the centre than 
 in the suburbs. Dickens is but one of many 
 writers who knowing their London well 
 described the unedifying walk and talk of 
 the crowd before Newgate; and in 1868 
 private was substituted for public execution 
 throughout the land. I do not criticise any 
 
43 
 
 '©gbtim 
 
 system : I do but point out that of the two 
 sets of opposing forces noted as working on 
 the criminal’s mind, the latter, in a private 
 execution, is entirely suppressed. 
 
 Tyburn and its memories, its criminals, its 
 Hangmen, its Ordinaries, filled a great space 
 in popular imagination, and have frequent 
 mention in our great writers. Shakespeare 
 himself has 44 The shape of Love’s Tyburn ” ; 
 and Dryden’s 44 Like thief and parson in a 
 Tyburn cart ” is a stock quotation. But I 
 cannot string a chaplet of these pearls. Yet 
 two phrases I must explain. A felon who 
 44 prayed his clergy” was during some centuries 
 branded on the crown of his thumb with the 
 letter T, ere he was released, to prevent a 
 second use of the plea. This was called, in 
 popular slang, the Tyburn T. Ben Jonson 
 was so branded (October, 1598) for killing 
 Gabriel Spencer, the actor, in a duel. Again 
 a statute of 1698 (10 Will. III. c. 12), pro- 
 vided for those who prosecuted a felon to 
 conviction a certificate freeing them from 
 certain parochial duties. This was known as 
 a 44 Tyburn ticket.” It had a certain money 
 
44 Hate’s Humber Hoorn 
 
 value, because if unused it could be assigned 
 once. The privilege was abolished in 1827 
 (7 and 8 Geo. IV. c. 27), but it was allowed 
 as late as 1856 to a certain Mr. Pratt, of 
 Bond Street, who by showing his ticket 
 (which must have been thirty years old) 
 escaped service on an Old Bailey jury. 
 
ilUlora ani> <Tart’g=CaU 
 
 Hood and Lamb on the Pillory — Its Various Shapes — 
 Butcher and Baker — Brawler and Scold — Fraudu- 
 lent Attorneys — End of the Pillory and of Public 
 Whipping — Literary Martyrs — De Foe — Prynne, 
 Bastwick, and Burton — Case of Titus Oates — The 
 Tale of a Cart — Some Lesser Sufferers. 
 
 Hood has comically told of his pretended 
 experiences in the Pillory : — “ It is a sort of 
 Egg-Premiership : a place above your fellows, 
 but a place which you have on trial. You 
 are not without the established political vice, 
 for you are not exempt from turning,” — with 
 more punning cogitations of a like nature. 
 Of rarer humour is Charles Lamb’s Reflections 
 in the Pillory , with its invocation to them 
 that once stood therein : — “ Shades of Bast- 
 wick and of Prynne hover over thee — Defoe 
 is there, and more greatly daring Shebbeare 
 — from their (little more elevated) stations 
 they look down with recognitions. Ketch, 
 
46 Wit Hafo’s Humber 3&oom 
 
 turn me ! ” A century or so earlier these 
 ingenious wits had possibly stood therein — 
 in fact and not in fancy. It was a way our 
 old-time rulers had of rewarding ingenious 
 wits. And not wits alone : since for many 
 centuries it was in daily use throughout the 
 length and breadth of Merrie England. 
 
 Our treatment of crime is the exact oppo- 
 site of our forefathers’. Our criminal toils, 
 is flogged, is hanged in private ; the old idea 
 was to make punishment as public as possible, 
 for so penalty and effect (it was thought) 
 were heightened and increased. The Pillory 
 was the completest expression of this idea. 
 A man was exposed for sixty minutes in the 
 market-place at the busiest hour of the day, 
 and the public itself was summoned to 
 approve of and aid the punishment. The 
 thing was known in old Saxon days. In the 
 laws of Withred it is called healsfang . The 
 mediaeval Latin name for it was collistrigium. 
 Both terms = a “ catch for the neck.” Its 
 form varied. The simplest was a wooden 
 frame or screen, with three holes in it, elevated 
 some feet above the ground. The culprit stood 
 
47 
 
 ^tllorg antt (£art’s-®atl 
 
 behind upon a platform, his head and hands 
 caught in and stuck through the aforesaid 
 holes. This was much like the stocks, save 
 that there the patient sat instead of stood 
 and had his feet enclosed instead of his head 
 and hands. In popular phrase this was “ to 
 peep through the nut-crackers.” Again, the 
 structure swung on a pivot; so that the 
 inmate might face the compass points in 
 turn. Sometimes, though this was rather a 
 foreign fashion, it was so commodious that it 
 would take a nosegay of twelve ; at the same 
 time that it went revolving and revolving — 
 a very far from merry-go-round ! Now (as 
 at Dublin) it was the kernel of a large and 
 imposing structure of stone. Now (as at 
 Coleshill, in Warwickshire) it stood a deft 
 arrangements of uprights, boards, and holes, 
 and did triple duty — as stocks, as whipping- 
 post, as Pillory. Now, yet again (as at 
 Marlborough, in Wiltshire), the frame turned 
 on a swivel at the will of the patient, whose 
 deft twistings in dodging missiles hugely 
 delighted the grinning mob. With pen and 
 pencil Mr. Llewellyn Jewitt and other anti- 
 
48 
 
 ®f)t ILafo’s Humber Hoom 
 
 quarians have preserved for our delectation 
 yet other forms. 
 
 The Pillory was first used for dishonest 
 bakers, brewers, corn-sellers, and the like. 
 Then, its offices were extended to divers 
 kinds of misdemeanants. Later, it was the 
 lot of your scurrile pamphleteer, your libeller, 
 and your publisher of unlicensed volumes. 
 The victim was not always pelted ; for feeling 
 might run high against the Government ; and 
 when he was acclaimed his shame became 
 his glory. So the thing served as a weather- 
 glass of popular opinion. 
 
 I turn to some historic instances. Under 
 Henry III., by the Assize of Bread and Ale, 
 it was decreed that knavish bakers, brewers, 
 and butchers be “set on the pyllory.” It 
 was also provided that “ The pyllory shal be 
 of a metely strengthe, so that they that be 
 fautye may be thereon without any jeopardye 
 of their lyvys.” (The platform must not 
 seldom have broken down, leaving the “ worm 
 of the hour ” suspended by the neck — that 
 had been securely fastened — in peril of 
 strangulation • in a case of this sort, under 
 
pilorg anir (JDart’g-®ail 49 
 
 Elizabeth, he sued the town, and recovered 
 damages.) The articles of usage for the 
 City of London, published under Edward I., 
 set forth some evil humours of the time. 
 Rustical simplicity fell, then as now, an 
 easy prey to urban cunning. What rascals 
 these mediaeval cits were, to be sure ! Thus, 
 your corn dealer would take in grain from 
 harmless necessary bumpkins, to whom he 
 would give an earnest, telling them to come 
 to his house for payment. Here he met 
 them with a long face ; — his wife had gone 
 out with the key of the cash-box ; would his 
 country friends call again ? And when they 
 do, he is “ not in.” (Ah ! That “ call 
 again” and that “ not in!” Were they 
 stale so many centuries ago ?) If the rogue 
 were discovered, he impudently denied his 
 debt : — he had never seen the gentlemen 
 before ; or, raising some dispute about the 
 price, he told him to take back his goods — 
 when the corn was found too wet for removal. 
 “By these means the poor men lose half 
 their pay in expenses before they are settled 
 with ; ” and the wrong-doer is to be amerced 
 
 D 
 
50 Hato’s Humber 3K oom 
 
 heavily. Being unable to pay, “then he 
 shall be put on the Pillory, and remain there 
 an hour in the day at least; a Serjeant of 
 the City standing by the side of the Pillory 
 with good hue-and-cry as to the reason why 
 he is punished.” The wicked butcher suffered 
 after the same fashion ; while the baker, who 
 put off* bad bread, was drawn — for the first 
 offence upon a hurdle from the Guildhall to 
 his own house, by “ the great streets that 
 are most dirty, with the faulty loaf hanging 
 about his neck,” a spectacle to gods and a 
 cockshy for men. For the second offence he 
 processioned as before ; and, to boot, he 
 must stand in the Pillory for an hour. 
 Offending for the third time, he was judged 
 incorrigible : his oven was dismantled, and 
 he might bake within the city bounds no 
 more. Sure, the ancient London loaf, be it 
 manchet , or chete, or mere mystelon , must 
 ever have been of good quality ? When, 
 indeed, did the falling off begin ? Was it 
 when the city fathers unwisely took to 
 regulating men's morals ? In the seventh of 
 Richard II. this punishment was ordained for 
 
^tllorj) anti ©art’g-®atl 51 
 
 the man of evil life : — “ Let his head and 
 beard be shaved except a fringe on the head 
 two inches in breadth, and let him be taken 
 to the Pillory, with minstrels, and set thereon 
 for a certain time, at the discretion of the 
 Mayor and Aldermen.” As for the erring 
 sister, she was taken from the prison into 
 Aldgate with a hood of ray and a white 
 wand in her hand. From Aldgate minstrels 
 played her to the Thew (a species of Pillory 
 for women). Thence, her offence being pro- 
 claimed, she was led “ through Chepe and 
 Newgate to Cokkes Lane, there to take up 
 her abode.” Again, the brawler or the scold 
 must hold a distaff with tow in hand — and 
 so on ; for your old-time law-giver lusted 
 after variation. 
 
 Once the Pillory was an indispensable 
 ornament of the market-place. Nay, were it 
 not kept fit for use, the very right to hold a 
 market might be lost. As an emblem of 
 power, it was claimed by the great lords : 
 often, indeed, it went with the lordship of 
 the manor. Thus at Beverley, in the 
 twenty-first of Edward I., John, Archbishop 
 
52 Halo’s Humber Iftoom 
 
 of York, claims the right of Pillory with the 
 right of gallows and gibbet ; and with the 
 right of Pillory the right of tumbrell, which 
 was the dung-cart wherein minor malefactors 
 were shamefully trundled through the town. 
 Legislative ingenuity was ever striving to 
 devise fresh marks of ignominy. Stow relates 
 that, in the seventh of Edward IV., certain 
 common jurors must (for their partial 
 conduct) ride in paper mitres from Newgate 
 to the Pillory in Cornhill, and there do 
 penance for their fault. Again, in the first 
 of Henry VIII. (1509), Smith and Simpson, 
 ringleaders of false inquests, rode the City 
 (also in paper mitres) with their faces to the 
 horse's tail ; and they were set on the Pillory 
 in Cornhill ; and they were brought again to 
 Newgate, where they died from very shame. 
 The like fate, it seems, befell a much later 
 offender, one James Morris, who was pilloried 
 (April 2, 1803) for fraud in the market 
 place at Lancaster. Next morning he was 
 found dead in his bed, and the coroner's jury 
 brought it in as “ visitation of God." Oft- 
 times the sufferer came less mysteriously to 
 
53 
 
 pilorg anft ®art’s-®atl 
 
 his end. The mobility was, in effect, invited, 
 as it were, to italicise his sentence in terms 
 of anything you please, from rotten eggs to 
 brickbats. Not seldom it did so to the 
 sternest purpose. On June 22, 1732, con- 
 temporary prints report: — “Last night the 
 corpse of John Walker, who was killed in 
 the Pillory on Tuesday last, was buried at 
 St. Andrew’s, Holborn and among the 
 casualties of the December of that same year, 
 the case of another poor wretch is dismissed 
 with “murder’d in the pillory.” In 1756 
 Egon and two others were pilloried for pro- 
 curing the commission of a robbery, in order 
 to get a reward for its detection. Egon was 
 stoned to death. On one or two occasions — 
 notably when Elizabeth Collier was pilloried 
 by order of Jeffreys in 1680 — the authorities 
 were ordered to see that the peace was kept and 
 that the culprit suffered the exposure alone. 
 
 A long list might be given of misdemean- 
 ours punished by the Pillory : — as, practising 
 the art magick ; cutting a purse ; placing a 
 piece of iron in a loaf of bread ; selling bad 
 oats, stinking eels, strawberry pottles half 
 
54 ®f)£ Unfo’s Humber Boom 
 
 full of fern ; vending ale by measures not 
 sealed and thickening the bottom of such 
 measures with pewter. As (also) lies, de- 
 famations, and libels of all sorts. If the lie 
 were notorious, or were told of the mayor 
 or any other dignitary, the liar was pilloried 
 with a whetstone round his neck : whence 
 it came that a whetstone was the popular 
 reward for audacious mendacity, and 66 lying 
 for the whetstone ” was a current phrase. 
 
 Late Tudor and Stuart times edged and 
 weighted the punishment of the Pillory. It 
 might be preceded by a flogging at the Cart’s- 
 tail. Stripped to the waist, the culprit, man 
 or woman, was tied to the hinder end (our 
 fathers used a shorter phrase) of a cart, 
 and was thus lashed through the streets. 
 (This vulgarly was called, “Shoving the 
 tumbler ,” or “ Crying carrots and turnips. 1 ’) 
 Or, as Butler’s couplet reminds us, the 
 patient’s ears were nailed to the wood : — 
 
 Each window like a Pillory appears, 
 
 With heads thrust through, nail’d by the ears. 
 
 Or his ears were cropped, and not seldom his 
 
55 
 
 ^tllotg anti <Kart’g-®atl 
 
 nose was slit likewise. In 1570, Timothy 
 Penredd was pilloried in Chepe on two suc- 
 cessive market-days for counterfeiting the 
 seal of the Queen’s Bench. Each time an 
 ear was nailed; and this poor member he 
 must free “ by his own proper motion.” If 
 the wrench were too great for human forti- 
 tude, the thoughtful authorities lent some aid. 
 In one case (1552) the culprit would not “ rent 
 his eare ” ; so that in the long run “ one of 
 the bedles slitted yt upwards with a penkniffe 
 to loose it.” Indeed, the law had a strong 
 grudge against the ears of malefactors. The 
 fourteenth of Elizabeth, cap. 5, ordered that 
 vagrants be grievously whipped and burned 
 through the gristle of the right ear, unless 
 some credible person took them to service (if 
 they relapsed they were hanged). The punish- 
 ments of the time show a curious alternation 
 between Pillory and Cart. Thus, whilst 
 keepers of immoral houses were carted about 
 the town to the music of ringing basins, in 
 the eleventh of James I., William Barnwell, 
 “ gentleman ” (an inaccurate description had 
 vitiated the indictment), and his wife 
 
56 me Hate’s Humber <t£oom 
 
 Thomasina, criminals of the same class, were 
 whipped at the Cart's-tail from the prison to 
 their house, and back again. Thus, too, were 
 handled those who lived by cards anddice; but, 
 for witchcraft, Dorothy Magicke was set four 
 times a year upon the Pillory, and must thereon 
 make public confession. This man capers dole- 
 fully at the Cart's -tail for stealing lead ; that 
 must take his turn in the Pillory for snatching 
 three-pence worth of hairs from a mare's 
 tail. Later, it was thought excellent 
 for fraudulent attorneys. In November 
 
 1786 one “ Mr. A " (the name is thus 
 
 disguised), a legal gentleman, was brought 
 from Newgate in a hackney cab and pilloried 
 for an hour hard by the gate of Westminster 
 Hall. What he did, and how he fared, we 
 are not told ; so it may be that his hap was 
 even as Thomas Scott's, pilloried for a false 
 accusation in January 1804. Scott was 
 pelted with rotten eggs, filth, and dirt of the 
 street. Also, the neighbouring ragamuffins 
 had thoughtfully collected good store of 
 dead cats and rats “in the vicinity of the 
 metropolis " that morning. 
 
57 
 
 pilorg anti ©art’s-^atl 
 
 Was it so very edifying after all ? Opinions 
 began to differ. Yet Lord Thurlow solemnly 
 cracked it up “ as a restraint against licen- 
 tiousness provided by the wisdom of our 
 ancestors ” ; and in 1814 Lord Ellenborough 
 ordered Lord Cochrane to be pilloried for 
 conspiring to spread false news. The justice 
 of this last abominable sentence was ques- 
 tioned. Sir Francis Burdett, Cochrane’s 
 fellow-member for Middlesex, vowed that he 
 would stand with him on the day of punish- 
 ment ; but the Government did not venture 
 to carry out the sentence. Two years later, 
 in 1816, the punishment of Pillory was 
 restricted to persons guilty of perjury; and 
 in 1837, by the 1 Viet. cap. 23, it was 
 abolished altogether. The last person who 
 suffered it is said to have been Peter James 
 Bossy, pilloried in front of the Old Bailey, 
 June 24, 1830. The public whipping of 
 women went in 1817 ; the private followed 
 in 1820 by 1 Geo. IV. cap. 57. The 
 whipping of men for a common law misde- 
 meanour has never been formally abolished ; 
 but the punishment is now inflicted only 
 
58 '®f)B Hate’s Humber 3ftoom 
 
 under the Garrotters Act (1863) for robbery 
 with violence ; which, of course, has nothing 
 to do with existing statutory provisions for 
 the flogging of juvenile male offenders. I 
 should add that in America Pillory and 
 Whipping-Post were “ an unconscionable 
 time a-dying ” ; lingered especially in the 
 State of Delaware ; and that their restora- 
 tion has been urged. 
 
 The Finger Pillory deserves a word. It 
 was fixed up inside churches (that of Ashby- 
 de-la-Zouch, for instance) and halls. Boys 
 who misbehaved during service, and offenders 
 at festive times against the mock reign of 
 the lord of misrule, alike expiated their 
 offences therein. 
 
 I note some remarkable cases. First, and 
 most important, is the group of literary 
 martyrs. The Stuart Government could not 
 crush the press; but author, printer, and 
 publisher all worked in peril of the Pillory. 
 The author of Robinson Crusoe was, perhaps, 
 its most famous inmate. 
 
 Earless on high stood unabash’d De Foe, 
 
 And Tutchin flagrant from the scourge below, 
 
59 
 
 ^tllorg anft (j£ari’s-®atl 
 
 sings Pope in the Dunciad with reckless in- 
 accuracy. In 1703, De Foe, for his Shortest 
 Way with the Dissenters , was condemned to 
 stand thrice in the Pillory before the Royal 
 Exchange, near the Conduit in Cheapside, 
 and at Temple Bar. The mob, he tell us, 
 treated him very well, and cheered long and 
 loud when he was taken out of what he calls 
 a “ Hieraglyphick state machine ; Contrived 
 to punish fancy in ” ( Hymn to the Pillory ). 
 He comforts himself by reflecting that the 
 learned Selden narrowly escaped it, and turns 
 the whole thing to ridicule ; but then muti- 
 lation was no port of the sentence. Pope’s 
 reference to John Tutchin is still wider of the 
 mark. Tutchin, having narrowly escaped 
 death for his share in Monmouth’s rebellion, 
 was sentenced by Jeffreys, on his famous 
 Western Circuit (1685), to seven years’ im- 
 prisonment, during which he must, once a 
 year, be whipped through every market- town 
 in Dorsetshire. The very clerk of the court 
 was moved to protest that this meant a 
 whipping once a fortnight ; but the sentence 
 remained. Out of bravado, or in desperation, 
 
60 'Wtft Hate’s Humbtr 3ftoom 
 
 the prisoner petitioned the King to be hanged 
 instead of whipped ; but, in the result, he 
 was neither whipped nor hanged. He fell 
 ill of the small-pox ; passion cooled ; and, 
 intelligently bribing, he escaped, to visit 
 Jeffreys in the Tower. Apparently he went 
 to gloat, but remained to accept the ruined 
 Chancellor's explanation, that he had only 
 obeyed instructions. “ So after he had 
 treated Mr. Tutchin with a glass of wine, 
 Mr. Tutchin went away." 
 
 Another of Pope's examples is “ old 
 Prynne," cropped (in 1632) in the Pillory 
 for his Histriomastic , or Players' Scourge, 
 which was held to reflect on Charles I.'s 
 Queen. Again he stood there in 1637, 
 when the executioner cruelly mangled the 
 ancient stumps. A quite incorrigible person 
 was this same William Prynne, described by 
 Marchmont Needham as “ one of the greatest 
 paper worms that ever crept about a library." 
 He wrote some forty works remarkable for 
 virulence even in that age of bitter polemics. 
 He strenuously supported the Restoration, 
 and the new Government was at its wit's end 
 
pilots anly ©art’s-® atl 61 
 
 what to do with him till Charles himself 
 solved the difficulty with happy humour. 
 “ Let him amuse himself with writing against 
 the Catholics and poring over the records in 
 the Tower,” said the king ; and silenced him 
 with the Keepership of the Records and 
 JP500 a year. Prynne’s second appearance 
 was for a bitter attack on Laud ; and he had 
 as fellow-sufferers John Bastwick, who had 
 written a sort of mock Litanie , and Henry 
 Burton. Bastwick was a very merrie.” His 
 wife “ got on a stool and kissed him ; ” and, 
 “ his ears being cut off, she called for them, 
 put them in a clean handkerchief, and carried 
 them away with her.” There was a great 
 crowd, which “ cried and howled terribly, 
 especially when Burton was cropped.” Being 
 angered by the jeers and execrations of the 
 mob, the executioner did his work very 
 brutally. Pope’s Billingsgate is classic, but 
 it remains Billingsgate. The Pillory shows 
 often in his verse. Edmund Curl was a pet 
 aversion of his, and for publishing the 
 Memoirs of Ker of Kersland Curl suffered 
 the punishment at Charing Cross on Feb. 23, 
 
62 'Sdje Hate’s Humber Boom 
 
 1728. Pope hints ( Dunciad , II. 3 and 4) that 
 he was badly handled by the mob. In truth 
 he came off* very well, owing, it seems, to an 
 explanatory circular he got distributed among 
 the spectators. 
 
 As time wore on the punishment reverted 
 to its earlier and milder form. Thus, in 
 1630, Dr. Leighton, for his Zion's Plea 
 against Prelacy , was pilloried, branded, 
 cropped, and whipped ; but the authors of 
 the eighteenth century were punished by 
 exposure alone, and were often solaced by 
 popular sympathy. In 1765 Williams, the 
 bookseller, stood in the Pillory for re-pub- 
 lishing The North Briton: he held a sprig 
 of laurel in his hand, and a large collection 
 was made for him then and there. In de- 
 rision of authority the mob displayed ( inter 
 alia) the famous Bootjack — the popular 
 reference to Lord Bute, the late Prime 
 Minister. Still more farcical was the ex- 
 posure (1759) of Dr. Shebbeare for publish- 
 ing political libels. He was attended on the 
 platform by a servant in livery holding an 
 umbrella over his head, and his neck and 
 
63 
 
 Plloxg anU <£art’s-®atl 
 
 arms were not confined. The court thought 
 the under-sheriff* of Middlesex something 
 more than remiss: wherefore he was fined 
 and imprisoned, it being judicially decided 
 that the culprit must stand not merely on 
 but in the Pillory. In this connexion I will 
 only further mention the case of Eton the 
 publisher, “a very old man,'’ who in 1812 
 was pilloried for printing Paine’s Age of 
 Reason. Here, again, the crowd, by the 
 respect it heaped upon the prisoner, alto- 
 gether eliminated the sting from the pun- 
 ishment. The minor scribe of to-day is 
 supposed to court an action, nay, a criminal 
 prosecution, as a stimulus to circulation ; a 
 former age saw in the Pillory the best possible 
 advertisement for the Grub Street hack. In 
 Foote’s Patron , Puff*, the publisher, urges 
 Dactyl to produce a satire ; and, when the 
 proposed risk is hinted at, retorts : “ Why, 
 I would not give twopence for an author who 
 was afraid of his ears. . . . Why, zooks, 
 sir 1 I never got salt for my porridge till I 
 mounted at the Royal Exchange, that was 
 the making of me. . . . The true Castalian 
 
64 Wdt Hafo’s Humber 
 
 stream is a shower of eggs and a Pillory the 
 poet's Parnassus." 
 
 Among cases other than literary, a notable 
 one is that of Titus Oates (1685), who, being 
 convicted of perjury, was sentenced to stand 
 in the Pillory and be whipped at the Cart's- 
 tail. The lashing was so cruelly done that 
 you feel some pity even for that arch rascal. 
 The curious computed that he received 2256 
 strokes with a whip of six thongs — 13,536 
 strokes in all. Yet the wretch lived to enjoy 
 a pension after the Revolution ! There was 
 another remarkable instance that same year. 
 Thomas Dangerfield, convicted of libelling 
 the King when Duke of York, was sentenced 
 to a fine, to the Pillory, and to be whipped 
 from Aldgate to Newgate, and from New- 
 gate to Tyburn. The dreadful work was 
 over, and he was returning prisonwards in a 
 coach, when there steps forward Robert 
 Francis, a barrister of Gray's Inn, with the 
 cruel jibe, “How now, friend? Have you 
 had your heat this morning ? " Dangerfield 
 turned on him with bitter curses (“ Son of a 
 wh " is the elegant sample preserved by 
 
65 
 
 pilorg anfc <JDart’s-®a(l 
 
 the records). Francis, much enraged, thrust 
 at the aching, smarting, bleeding wretch with 
 a small cane, and by mischance put out an 
 eye, so that in two hours Dangerfield was 
 dead ; and no great while thereafter he himself 
 was tried, condemned, and hanged. Accord- 
 ing to the testimony of the Rev. Mr. Samuel 
 Smith, Ordinary at Newgate, he made a very 
 edifying end. 
 
 Quite interesting is the case of Japhet 
 Crook, alias Sir Peter Stringer, whose un- 
 happy memory is preserved in some of Pope's 
 most biting lines. In 1731, poor Japhet 
 stood in the Pillory at Charing Cross for 
 forging a deed ; when the hangman, dressed 
 like a butcher, “ with a knife like a gardener's 
 pruning knife cut off his ears, and with a pair 
 of scissors slit both his nostrils." The 
 wretch endured all this with great patience ; 
 but at the searing “ the pain was so great 
 that he got up from his chair." No wonder ! 
 Two years after Eleanor Beare, keeper of 
 “The White Horse," Nuns Green, Derby, 
 was pilloried (August 1732) after just 
 escaping the gallows for murder. She 
 
 E 
 
66 Hate’s Humber 3doom 
 
 mounted the platform “ with an easy air ” ; 
 thus exasperating a mob already ill-dis- 
 posed, which bombarded her with apples, 
 eggs, turnips, and so forth ; so that “ the 
 stagnate kennels were robbed of their con- 
 tents, and became the cleanest part of the 
 street.” Managing to escape, she dashed off, 
 “ a moving heap of filth,” but was presently 
 seized and lugged back ; and at the end of 
 the hour she was carried to prison, a an object 
 which none cared to touch.” A week after 
 she was again forced to take her stand. The 
 officer noted that her head was wondrous 
 swelled, and he presently stripped it of “ ten 
 or twelve coverings,” whereof one was a 
 pewter plate. Her aspect was most forlorn, 
 but the crowd, no whit moved, pelted its 
 hardest, and she was borne away more dead 
 than alive. Yet she too not only lived, but 
 66 recovered her health, her spirits, and her 
 beauty.” Two lighter instances, and I have 
 done. In the early stages of Monmouth’s 
 rebellion, an astrologer, consulting the stars, 
 saw that the duke would be presently King of 
 England. After Sedgemoor he was cast into 
 
67 
 
 ^tllorg ant* <£att’s-®atl 
 
 Dorchester Gaol for this unlucky prediction. 
 Again falling to his observations, he clearly 
 read “that he would be whipped at the 
 
 Cart’s ” ; and this time the planets 
 
 spoke true. In 1783, the poet Cowper 
 reports one humorous case from his own 
 experience. At Olney a man was publicly 
 whipped for theft; he whealed with every 
 stroke ; but that was only because the beadle 
 drew the scourge against a piece of red ochre 
 hidden in his hand. Noting the fraud, the 
 parish constable laid his cane smartly about 
 the shoulders of the all too-lenient official, 
 whereat a country wench, in high dudgeon, 
 set to pomelling the constable. And of the 
 three the thief alone escaped punishment. 
 
i&tate trials foe TOtcgcraft 
 
 Early Laws against Witchcraft — The Essex Witches 
 — The Devon Witches — The Bury St. Edmunds 
 Case — Bewitched Children — The Scepticism of 
 Serjeant Keeling — Evidence of Sir Thomas Browne 
 — The Judge’s Charge — The End of it All — The 
 Trial of Richard Hathaway — The Comic Side of 
 Superstition — A Rogue’s Punishment — A Word in 
 Conclusion. 
 
 I propose to examine the Witchcraft cases 
 in Howell's twenty-one bulky volumes of 
 State Trials. The general subject, even in 
 England, is too vast for detailed treatment 
 here ; also it is choked with all manner of 
 absurdities. In a trial some of these are 
 pared away : you know what the people saw, 
 or believed they saw, and you have the 
 declarations of the witches themselves. Only 
 five cases, all between 1616 (13 Jac. I.) and 
 1702 (1 Anne) are reported. The selection 
 is capricious, for some famous prosecutions 
 
Sbt ate trials for OTttcficraft 69 
 
 as that of the Lancashire witches are omitted* 
 but it is fairly representative. 
 
 In the early times Witchcraft and sorcery 
 were left to the Church. In 1541, 33 Hen. 
 VIII. c. 8, made both felony without “benefit 
 of clergy and by the 1 Jac. I. c. 12, all 
 persons invoking any evil spirit, or taking up 
 dead bodies from their graves to be used in 
 any Witchcraft, sorcery, charm, or enchant- 
 ment, or killing or otherwise hurting any 
 person by such infernal arts, shall be guilty 
 of felony without “ benefit of clergy,” and 
 suffer death. King James’s views on Witch- 
 craft and his skill (whereon he greatly plumed 
 himself) as witch-finder are famed. Royal 
 influence went hand-in-hand with popular 
 superstition. In less than a century and a 
 half, legislative if not vulgar ideas were 
 altered, and in 1736, by 9 Geo. II. c. 5, the 
 laws against Witchcraft were swept away, 
 though charlatans professing the occult 
 sciences were still punished as cheats. 
 
 I pass as of little interest Howell’s first 
 case, that of Mary Smith, in 1616. More 
 worthy of note are the proceedings against 
 
70 'SJjt Hato’s Humber Hoorn 
 
 the Essex witches, some twenty in number, 
 condemned at the Chelmsford Sessions on 
 July 29, 1645, before the Earl of War- 
 wick and other Justices. One noted witch 
 was Elizabeth Clarke to whom the devil 
 had appeared “in the shape of a proper 
 gentleman with a laced band, having the 
 whole proportion of a man.” She had cer- 
 tain imps, whom she called Jamara (“a 
 white dogge with red spots ”), Vinegar Tom, 
 Hoult, and Sack and Sugar. So far the in- 
 formation of Matthew Hopkins, of Manning- 
 tree, gent., who further said that the same 
 evening whereon the accused confessed those 
 marvels to him, “he espied a white thing 
 about the bignesse of a kitlyn,” which bit a 
 piece out of his greyhound, and in his own 
 yard that very night “ he espied a black 
 thing proportioned like a cat, only it was 
 thrice as big, sitting on a strawberry-bed, and 
 fixing the eyes on this informant.” 
 
 John Sterne, gent., had equal wonders of 
 imps the size of small dogs, and how Sack 
 and Sugar were like to do him hurt. Twere 
 well, said the malevolent Elizabeth, “ that 
 
71 
 
 Srtatc trials for gSKitctjcraft 
 
 this informant were so quick, otherwise the 
 said impe had soone skipped upon his face, 
 and perchance had got into his throate, and 
 then there would have been a feast of toades 
 in this informant's belly." The witch 
 Clarke ascribed her undoing to Anne Weste* 
 widow, here usually called Old Beldam Weste, 
 who, coming upon her as she was picking up 
 a few sticks, and seeming to pity her for 
 “ her lamenesse (having but one leg) and her 
 poverty," promised to send her a little kitten 
 to assist her. Sure enough, a few nights 
 after two imps appeared, who vowed to 
 “ help her to an husband who should main- 
 tain her ever after." A country justice's 
 notions of evidence are not supposed to be 
 exact even to-day ; what they were then let 
 the information of Robert Tayler, also of 
 Manningtree, show. It seems Clarke had 
 accused one Elizabeth Gooding as a con- 
 federate. Gooding was refused credit at 
 Tayler's for half a pound of cheese, where- 
 upon “ she went away muttering and 
 mumbling to herself, and within a few hours 
 came again with money and bought a pound 
 
72 Hate’s Humber 3tftoom 
 
 of cheese of this informant.'” That very 
 night Tayler’s horse fell grievously ill and 
 four farriers were gravelled to tell what ailed 
 it, but this portentous fact was noted : “ the 
 belly of the said horse would rumble and 
 make a noyse as a foule chimney set on fire.” 
 In four days it was dead. Tayler had also 
 heard that certain confessed witches had 
 “ impeached the said Elizabeth Gooding 
 for killing of this said horse,” moreover 
 Elizabeth kept company with notorious 
 witches — after which scepticism was scarce 
 permissible. Rebecca Weste, a prisoner 
 awaiting trial in Colchester, confessed how 
 at a witches’ meeting the devil appeared 
 to her in the shape of a dog and kissed her. 
 In less than six months he came again and 
 promised to marry her. “Shee said he 
 kissed her, but was as cold as clay, and 
 married her that night in this manner: he 
 tooke her by the hand and led her about the 
 chamber and promised to be a loving hus- 
 band to death, and to avenge her of her 
 enemies.” 
 
 One Rawbood had taken a house over 
 
&tate trials for SgSttcficraft 73 
 
 the head of Margaret Moon, another of the 
 accused, with highly unpleasant consequences. 
 Thus, Mrs. Rawbood, though a “ very tydy 
 and cleanly woman, sitting upon a block, 
 after dinner with another neighbour, a little 
 before it was time to go to church upon an 
 Easter Day, the said Rawbood’s wife was on 
 a sudden so filled with lice that they might 
 have been swept off her clothes with a stick ; 
 and this informant saith he did see them, 
 and that they were long and lean, and not 
 like other lice.” More gruesome were the 
 confessions of Rebecca Jones, of Osyth. One 
 fine day some twenty-five years past she, a 
 servant lass at Much-Clacton, was summoned 
 by a knock at the door, where she saw “ a 
 very handsome young man, as shee then 
 thought, but now shee thinks it was the 
 devil.” Politely inquiring how she did, he 
 desired to see her left wrist, which being 
 shown him, he pulled out a pin “ from this 
 examinant’s owne sleeve, and pricked her 
 wrist twice, and there came out a drop of 
 bloud, which he took off with the top of 
 his finger, and so departed ” — leaving poor 
 
74 Hafo’s Humber 3ftoom 
 
 Rebecca's heart all in a flutter. About four 
 months afterwards as she was going to 
 market to sell butter, a “ man met with her, 
 being in a ragged state, and having such 
 great eyes that this examinant was very 
 much afraid of him." He presented her 
 with three things like to “ moules," which 
 she afterwards used to destroy her neigh- 
 bours' cattle, and now and again her neigh- 
 bours themselves. In evidence against other 
 suspects there was mention of a familiar 
 called Elimanzer, who was fed with milk pot- 
 tage, and of imps called Wynowe, Jeso, Panu, 
 with many other remarkable particulars. 
 
 The foregoing was collected’ before trial 
 as information upon oath; but this testi- 
 mony of Sir Thomas Bowes, knight, was 
 given from the bench during the trial 
 of' Anne Weste, whom it concerned. He 
 reported that an honest man of Manning- 
 tree passing Anne Weste's door at the very 
 witching hour of night, in bright moonlight 
 saw four things like black rabbits emerge. 
 He caught one of them, and beat the head 
 of it against his stick, “ intending to beat 
 
Sbtate trials for S2Ettcf)craft 75 
 
 out the braines of it,” failing in which be- 
 nevolent design, he next tried to tear off its 
 head, “and as he wrung and stretched the 
 neck of it, it came out between his hands 
 like a lock of wooll ; ” then he went to a 
 spring to drown it, but at every step he fell 
 down, yet he managed to creep to the water y 
 under which he held the thing “a good 
 space.” Thinking it was drowned he let go y 
 whereupon “ it sprang out of the water into 
 the aire, and so vanished away.” There was 
 but one end possible for people who froze 
 the rustic soul with such pranks. Each and 
 all were soon dangling from the gallows. 
 
 The case of the Devon witches tried at 
 Exeter in August 1682 is much like the 
 Essex business. The informations are stuffed 
 with grotesque horrors, yet it is hard to 
 believe that the accused — three poor women 
 from Bideford, two of them widows — had 
 been convicted but for their own confessions, 
 which are full of copious and minute details 
 of their dealings with Satan. Going to 
 
 their death, they were worried by Mr. H , 
 
 a nonconformist preacher and (as is evident) 
 
76 ILafo’s Humber Hoorn 
 
 a very pestilent fellow. “ Did you pass 
 through the keyhole of the door, or was the 
 door open?” was one query. The witch 
 asserted that like other people she entered 
 by the door, though “ the devil did lead me 
 
 upstairs.” Mr. H went on, “ How do 
 
 you know it was the devil ? ” “ I knew it by 
 
 his eyes,” she returned. Again, “Did you 
 never ride over an arm of the sea on a cow ? ” 
 — an exploit which the poor woman sturdily 
 
 disclaimed. Mr. H , a little dissatisfied, 
 
 one fancies, prayed at them a while, after 
 which two of the women were turned off the 
 ladder. Mr. Sheriff tried his hand at the 
 survivor : he was curious as to the shape or 
 colour of the devil, and was answered that 
 he appeared “ in black like a bullock.” He 
 again pressed her as to whether she went in 
 “ through the keyhole or the door,” but she 
 alleged the more commonplace and (for a 
 witch) unorthodox mode of entry, “ and so 
 was executed.” 
 
 Between these two cases one occurred 
 wherein the best legal intellect of the day 
 was engaged — and with no better result. In 
 
gbtate trials for <®hcf)craft 77 
 
 March 1665, Rose Cullender and Amy Duny, 
 widows, were indicted at the Assizes at Bury 
 St. Edmunds for bewitching certain people. 
 Sir Matthew Hale, Lord Chief Baron of the 
 Exchequer, presided. “ Still his name is of 
 account.” To an earlier time he seemed a 
 judge “whom for his integrity, learning, and 
 law, hardly any age, either before or since, 
 could parallel.” William Durant, an infant, 
 was one victim ; his mother had promised 
 Amy Duny a penny to watch him, but she 
 was strictly charged not to give him suck. 
 To what end? queried the court reflecting 
 on Amy's age. The mother replied : firstly, 
 Amy had the reputation of a witch, and 
 secondly, it was a custom of old women thus 
 to please the child, “ and it did please the 
 child, but it sucked nothing but wind, which 
 did the child hurt.” The two women had a 
 quarrel on the subject: Amy was enraged, 
 and departed after some dark sayings, and 
 the boy forthwith fell into “ strange fits of 
 swounding.” Dr. Jacob, of Yarmouth, an 
 eminent witch-doctor, advised “ to hang up 
 the child's blanket in the chimney-corner all 
 
78 Wdt Hafo’s Humber 3ftoom 
 
 day, and at night when she put the child to 
 bed to put it into the said blanket, and if 
 she found anything in it she should not be 
 afraid, but throw it into the fire.” The 
 blanket was duly hung up, and taken down, 
 when a great toad fell out, which being 
 thrown into the fire made (not unnaturally) 
 “ a great and horrible noise; 1 ” followed a 
 crack and a flash, and — exit the toad ! The 
 court with solemn foolishness inquired if the 
 substance of the toad was not seen to con- 
 sume? and was stoutly answered “No.” 
 Next day Amy was discovered sitting alone 
 in her house in her smock without any fire. 
 She was in “ a most lamentable condition,” 
 having her face all scorched with fire. This 
 deponent had no doubt as to the witches 
 guilt, “for that the said Amy hath been 
 long reputed to be a witch and a person 
 of very evil behaviour, whose kindred and 
 relations have been many of them accused 
 for witchcraft, and some of them have been 
 condemned.” 
 
 Elizabeth Pacy was another bewitched 
 child. By direction of the judge, Amy 
 
§btate trials for OTttcficraft 79 
 
 Duny was made to touch her, whereupon the 
 child clawed the Old Beldam till the blood 
 came — a portentous fact, for everybody knew 
 that the bewitched would naturally scratch 
 the tormentor's face and thus obtain relief. 
 The father of the child, Samuel Pacy (whose 
 soberness and moderation are specially com- 
 mended by the reporter), now told how Amy 
 Duny thrice came to buy herrings, and, being 
 as often refused, “ went away grumbling, but 
 what she said was not perfectly understood." 
 Immediately his child Deborah fell sick, 
 whereupon Amy was set in the stocks. Here 
 she confessed that, when any of her offspring 
 were so afflicted, “ she had been fain to open 
 her child's mouth with a tap to give it 
 vitals," which simple device the sapient Pacy 
 practised upon his brats with some effect, but 
 still continuing ill they vomited u crooked 
 pins and one time a twopenny nail with a 
 very broad head, which pins, amounting to 
 forty or more, together with the twopenny 
 nail, were produced in court," so what room 
 was there for doubt ? The children, continu- 
 ally accusing Amy Duny and Rose Cullender 
 
80 
 
 ®f)e HLafo’s Humbtr 3ft oom 
 
 as cause of their sickness, were packed off by 
 their distracted father to his sister at Yar- 
 mouth, who now took up the wondrous 
 tale. When the younger child was taking 
 the air out of doors, “ presently a little thing 
 like a bee flew upon her face, and would have 
 gone into her mouth." She rushed indoors, 
 and incontinent vomited up a twopenny nail 
 with a broad head, whose presence she ac- 
 counted for thus : “ the bee brought this nail 
 and forced it into her month'’; from all which 
 the guilt of the witches was ever more evident. 
 
 Even that age had its sceptics. Some people 
 in court, chief among them Mr. Serjeant 
 Keeling, whose position and learning made 
 it impossible to disregard their opinion, 
 “ seemed much unsatisfied." The learned 
 serjeant pointed out that even if the children 
 were bewitched, there was no real evidence 
 to connect the prisoners with the fact. 
 Then Dr. Browne, of Norwich, “ a person of 
 great knowledge " (no other, alas ! than the 
 Sir Thomas Browne of the Religio Medici ), 
 made a very learned if confusing dissertation 
 on Witchcraft in general, with some curious 
 
^tate trials for 5®lttc5craft 81 
 
 details as to a late “ great discovery of 
 witches” in Denmark; which no whit ad- 
 vanced the matter. Then there was another 
 experiment. Amy Duny was brought to one 
 of the children whose eyes were blinded. 
 The child was presently touched by another 
 person, “ which produced the same effect as 
 the touch of the witch did in the court.” 
 The sceptical Keeling and his set now roundly 
 declared the whole business a sham, which 
 “ put the court and all persons into a stand. 
 But at length Mr. Pacy did declare that 
 possibly the maid might be deceived by a 
 suspicion that the witch touched her when 
 she did not.” This was the very point the 
 sceptics were making, and was anything but 
 an argument in reply, though it seems to 
 have been accepted as such. And how to 
 suppose, it was urged, that innocent children 
 would tell such terrible lies ? It was the 
 golden age of the rod ; never was there fitter 
 occasion for its use. Once fancies a few 
 strokes had produced remarkable confessions 
 from the innocents ! However, the court 
 went on hearing evidence. The judge 
 
 F 
 
8 % Cato’s Humber 3ft oorn 
 
 summed up with much seeming impartiality, 
 much wooden wisdom, and the usual judicial 
 platitudes, all which after more than two 
 centuries you read with considerable irrita- 
 tion. The jury upon half an hour's deliber- 
 ation returned a verdict of guilty. Next 
 morning the children were brought to the 
 judge, “ and Mr. Pacy did affirm that within 
 less than half an hour after the witches were 
 convicted they were all of them restored." 
 After this, what place was left for doubt? 
 “ In conclusion the judge and all the court 
 were fully satisfied with the verdict, and 
 thereupon gave judgment against the witches 
 that they should be hanged." Three days 
 afterwards the poor unfortunates went to 
 their death. “They were much urged to 
 confess, but would not." 
 
 Finally, you have this much less tragic 
 business. In the first year of Queen Anne's 
 reign (1702), Richard Hathaway was tried 
 at the Surrey Assizes before Lord Chief 
 Justice Holt for falsely accusing Sarah 
 Morduck of bewitching him. The offence 
 being a misdemeanour, the prisoner had 
 
Rotate trials for ®?Sttcf)craft 83 
 
 counsel, an advantage not then fully given 
 to those charged with felony. The trial 
 reads like one in our own day. The case 
 for the Crown had been carefully put to- 
 gether. Possibly the authorities were strik- 
 ing at accusations of and prosecutions for 
 Witchcraft. Sarah Morduck had been tried 
 and acquitted at Guildford Assizes for be- 
 bewitching Hathaway, whereupon this 
 prosecution had been ordered. Dr. Martin, 
 parish minister in Southwark, an able and 
 enlightened divine, had saved Sarah from 
 the mob, and so was led on to probe the 
 matter. He found Hathaway apparently 
 blind and dumb, but giving his assent by a 
 sign to the suggestion that he should scratch 
 Morduck, and so (according to the super- 
 stition already noted) obtain relief. Dr. 
 Martin brought Sarah and a woman of the 
 same height called Johnson to the room 
 where the impostor lay, seemingly, at deaths 
 door. Morduck announced her willingness 
 to be scratched, and then Johnson's hand was 
 put into his. Hathaway was suspicious, and 
 felt the arm very carefully, whereat the 
 
84 Ww Hato’s Humber 3ftoom 
 
 parson “ spoke to him somewhat eagerly : 
 If you will not scratch I will begone.” 
 Whereupon he clawed so lustily that John- 
 son near fainted. She was forthwith hustled 
 out of the room and Morduck pushed 
 forward ; but the rogue, fearing a trap, lay 
 quiet till Dr. Martin encouraged him by 
 simulated admiration. Then he opened 
 wide his eyes, “caught hold of the apron 
 of Sarah Morduck, and looked her in the 
 face,” thus implying that his supposed 
 scratching of her had restored his eyesight. 
 Being informed of his blunder he “ seemed 
 much cast down,” but his native impudence 
 soon asserting itself, he gave himself out for 
 worse than ever, whilst Sarah Morduck, 
 anxious to be clear at any cost, declared that 
 not she but Johnson was the witch. The 
 popular voice roundly abused Dr. Martin for 
 a stubborn sceptic. Charges of bribery against 
 him, as well as against the judge and jury who 
 had acquitted Morduck, were freely bandied 
 about. Dr. Martin had got Bateman a friend 
 of his to see Hathaway, one of whose symp- 
 toms was the vomiting of pins. His evidence 
 
85 
 
 Sbtntt trials for aSSttcficraft 
 
 was that the rogue scattered the pins about 
 the room by sleight of hand ; Bateman had 
 taken several parcels of them, almost by 
 force, out of his pocket. Kensy, a surgeon, 
 further told how Hathaway, being committed 
 to his care, at first would neither eat nor 
 drink. Kensy being afraid that he would 
 starve himself to death sooner than have 
 his cheat discovered, arranged a pretended 
 quarrel with his maid Baker, who supplied 
 the patient with food as if against his orders. 
 Indeed, she plied him so well with meat and 
 drink that, so she told the court, “he was 
 very merry and danced about, and took the 
 tongs and played upon them, but after that 
 he was mightily sick and vomited sadly ” — 
 but there were no pins and needles ! She 
 further told how four gentlemen, privily 
 stored away in the buttery and coal-hole, 
 witnessed Hathaway^ gastronomic feats. 
 Serjeant Jenner for the defence called 
 several witnesses, who testified to the pri- 
 soner’s abstinence from food for quite 
 miraculous periods. The force of this 
 evidence was much shaken by the pertinent 
 
86 Hafo’s Humber 2£toom 
 
 cross-examination of the judge, who asked 
 the jury in his summing up, “ Whether you 
 have any evidence to induce you to believe it 
 to be in the power of all the witches in the 
 world, or all the Devils in Hell, to fast 
 beyond the usual time that nature will allow : 
 they cannot invert the order of nature.*” 
 The jury, “ without going from the bar, 
 brought him in Guilty.” He was sentenced 
 to a fine, a sound flogging, the pillory, and 
 imprisonment with hard labour. The last 
 conviction for Witchcraft in England was 
 that of Jane Wenham, at Hertford, in 1712. 
 She was respited by the judge and after- 
 wards pardoned. The case is not here 
 reported. 
 
 These trials throw a curious light on the 
 ideas of the time ; unfortunately they exhibit 
 human nature in some of its worst aspects. 
 The victims were women, old, poor, helpless, 
 and the persecution to which they were sub- 
 jected was due partly to superstition, partly 
 to that delight in cruelty so strong in the 
 natural man. The “ confessions” of the ac- 
 cused are easily accounted for. The popular 
 
Sbtate trials for <5®tlcf)craft 87 
 
 beliefs so impressed their imaginations that 
 they believed in their own malevolent power, 
 also the terror they inspired lacked not 
 charm, it procured them consideration, some 
 money, even some protection. Not seldom 
 their 66 confessions ” were merely terrified 
 assents to statements made about them by 
 witch-finders, clergymen, and justices. And 
 the judges ? Sometimes, alas ! they cal- 
 lously administered a law in which the} 
 had no belief. Is there not still something 
 inexplicable? Well, such things as mes- 
 merism, thought-reading, and so forth ex- 
 hibit remarkable phenomena. A former age 
 ascribed all to Satan: we believe them 
 natural though we cannot as yet solve all 
 their riddles. I must add that the ancient 
 popular horror of witches is partly explained 
 by the hideous and grotesque details given 
 at the trials, but those obscenities I dare not 
 reproduce. 
 
ft $a(r of ^arrtcitfes 
 
 The State Trials — The Dry Bones of Romance — Pic- 
 tures of the Past — Their Value for the Present — 
 The Case of Philip Standsfield— The Place of the 
 Tragedy — The Night of the Murder — The Scene in 
 Morham Kirk — The Trial — “The Bluidy Advocate 
 — Mackenzie” — The Fate of Standsfield — The Case 
 of Mary Blandy, Spinster — The Villain of the Piece 
 — The Maid’s Gossip — Death of Mr. Blandy — The 
 “Angel” Inn at Henley-on-Thames — The Defence 
 — Miss Blandy’ s Exit. 
 
 There is a new series of State Trials con- 
 tinuing the old, and edited with a skill and 
 completeness altogether lacking in its pre- 
 decessor ; yet its formal correctness gives 
 an impression of dulness. You think with 
 regret of Howell’s thirty- three huge volumes, 
 that vast magazine of curiosities and horrors, 
 of all that is best and worst in English 
 history. How exciting life was long ago, to 
 be sure, and how persistently it grows duller ! 
 What a price we pay for the smug comfort 
 
89 
 
 & $atr of ^atriefoes 
 
 of our time ! People shuddered of yore ; did 
 they yawn quite so often ? Howell and the 
 folk he edits knew how to tell a story. 
 Judges, too, were not wont to exclude inter- 
 esting detail for that it wasn't evidence, and 
 the compilers did not end with a man's con- 
 demnation. They had too keen a sense of 
 what was relished of the general : the last 
 confession and dying speech, the exit on the 
 scaffold or from the cart, are told with infinite 
 gusto. What a terrible test earth's great 
 unfortunates underwent ! Sir Thomas More's 
 delicate fencing with his judges, the exquisite 
 courtesy wherewith he bade them farewell, 
 make but half the record; you must hear 
 the strange gaiety which flashed in the con- 
 demned cell and by the block ere you learn 
 the man's true nature. And to know Raleigh 
 you must see him at Winchester under the 
 brutal insults of Coke; “Thou art a mon- 
 ster, thou hast an English face but a Spanish 
 heart ; " again, “ I thou thee, thou traitor ! " 
 and at Palace Yard, Westminster, on that 
 dreary October morning urging the sheriff to 
 hurry, since he would not be thought fear- 
 
90 ®fje Hafo’s Humber 3Hoom 
 
 shaken when it was but the ague ; for these 
 are all-important episodes in the life of that 
 richly dressed, stately, and gallant figure your 
 fancy is wont to picture in his Elizabethan 
 warship sweeping the Spanish Main. Time 
 would fail to tell of Strafford and Charles 
 and Laud and a hundred others, for the 
 collection begins with Thomas a Becket in 
 1163 and comes down to Thistle wood in 1820. 
 Once familiar with those close packed, badly 
 printed pages, you find therein a deeper, a 
 more subtle charm than cunningest romance 
 can furnish forth. The account of Mary 
 Stuart’s ending has a finer hold than Froude’s 
 magnificent and highly decorated picture- 
 Study at first hand “ Bloody Jeffreys,” his 
 slogging of Titus Oates, with that unabashed 
 rascal’s replies during his trial for perjury ; or 
 again, my Lord’s brilliant though brutal 
 cross-examination of Dunn in the “ Lady ” 
 Alice Lisle case, during the famous or in- 
 famous Western Circuit, and you will find 
 Macaulay’s wealth of vituperative rhetoric, 
 in comparison, tiresome and pointless verbiage. 
 Also you will prefer to construct your own 
 
& 3Patr of ^arncfres 91 
 
 Braxfield from trials like those of Thomas 
 Muir in 1793, and of Alexander Scott and 
 Maurice Margarot in 1794, rather than 
 accept the counterfeit presentment which 
 Stevenson’s master-hand has limned in Weir 
 of Hermiston. 
 
 But the interests are varied. How full of 
 grotesque and curious horrors are the pro- 
 secutions for witchcraft ! There is that one, 
 for instance, in March 1665 at Bury St. 
 Edmunds before Sir Matthew Hale, with 
 stories of bewitched children, and plague- 
 stricken women, and satanic necromancy. 
 Again, there is the diverting exposure of 
 Richard Hathaway in 1702, and how the 
 rogue pretended to vomit pins and abstain 
 from meat or drink for quite miraculous 
 periods. But most of those things I deal 
 with elsewhere in this volume. The trials 
 of obscurer criminals have their own charm. 
 Where else do you find such Dutch pictures 
 of long-vanished interiors or exteriors ? 
 You touch the vie intime of a past age ; you 
 see how kitchen and hall lived and talked ; 
 what master and man, mistress and maid 
 
92 ®f)e Uato’s Httmbtt 3Room 
 
 thought and felt; how they were dressed, 
 what they ate, of what they gossiped. 
 Again, how oft your page recalls the 
 strange, mad, picturesque ways of old Eng- 
 lish law ! Benefit of clergy meets you at 
 every turn, the Peine Fort et Dure is 
 explained with horrible minuteness, the lore 
 of Ship Money as well as of Impressment 
 of Seamen is all there. Also is an occa- 
 sional touch of farce. But what phase of 
 man’s life goes unrecorded in those musty 
 old tomes? 
 
 Howell’s collection only comes down to 
 1820. Reform has since then purged our law, 
 and the whole set is packed off to the Lumber 
 Room. In a year’s current reports you may 
 find the volumes quoted once or twice, but 
 that is “but a bravery,” as Lord Bacon 
 would say, for their law is “ a creed outworn.” 
 Yet the human interest of a story remains, 
 however antiquated the setting, incapable of 
 hurt from Act of Parliament. So, partly 
 for themselves, partly as samples of the bulk, 
 I here present in altered form two of these 
 tragedies, a Pair of Parricides : one Scots of 
 
& 3Pat'r of ^aructhes 93 
 
 the seventeenth, the other English of the 
 eighteenth century. 
 
 The first is the case of Philip Standsfield, 
 tried at Edinburgh, in 1688, for the murder 
 of his father, Sir James Standsfield, of New 
 Mills, in East Lothian. To-day New Mills 
 is called Amisfield ; it lies on the south bank 
 of the Tyne, a mile east of Haddington. 
 There is a fine mansion-house about a cen- 
 tury old in the midst of a well wooded 
 park, and all round are the superbly tilled 
 Lothian fields, as dulcia arva as ever the 
 Mantuan sang. Amisfield got its present 
 name thus : Colonel Charteris, infamed (in 
 the phrase of Arbuthnofs famous epitaph) 
 for the 66 undeviating pravity of his manners ” 
 (hence lashed by Pope in many a stinging 
 line), purchased it early in the last cen- 
 tury and re-named it from the seat of his 
 family in Nithsdale. Through him it passed 
 by descent to the house of Wemyss, still its 
 owners. Amongst its trees and its waters the 
 place lies away from the beaten track and is 
 now as charmingly peaceful a spot as you 
 shall anywhere discover. Name gone and 
 
94 ®fje Hate’s Humber Iftoom 
 
 .aspect changed, local tradition has but a 
 vague memory of the two-centuries-old 
 tragedy whereof it was the centre. 
 
 Sir James Standsfield, an Englishman by 
 birth, had married a Scots lady and spent 
 most of his life in Scotland. After the 
 Restoration he had established a successful 
 cloth factory at the place called New Mills, 
 and there lived, a prosperous gentleman. 
 But he had much domestic trouble chiefly 
 from the conduct of his eldest son Philip, 
 who, though well brought up, led a wild life. 
 Whilst “this profligate youth ” (so Wodrow, 
 who tells the story, dubs him) was a student 
 at the University of St. Andrews, curiosity 
 or mischief led him to attend a conventicle 
 where godly Mr. John Welch was holding 
 forth. Using a chance loaf as a missile, he 
 smote the astonished divine, who, failing to 
 discover the cuprit, was moved to prophecy. 
 66 There would be,” he thundered, “more pre- 
 sent at the death of him who did it, than 
 were hearing him that day ; and the multi- 
 tude was not small.” Graver matters than this 
 freak stained the lad’s later career. Serving 
 
95 
 
 gt ^atr of ^fJatrtcfoes 
 
 abroad in the Scots regiment, he had been 
 condemned to death at Treves, but had 
 escaped by flight. Certain notorious villainies 
 had also made him familiar with the interior 
 of the Marshalsea and the prisons of Brussels, 
 Antwerp, and Orleans. Sir James at last 
 was moved to disinherit him in favour of his 
 second son John. Partly cause and partly 
 effect of this, Philip was given to cursing his 
 father in most extravagant terms (of itself a 
 capital offence according to old Scots law) ; 
 he affirmed his parent “girned upon him 
 like a sheep's head in a tongs on several 
 occasions he had even attempted that parent's 
 life : all which is set forth at great length in 
 the “ ditty" or indictment upon which he 
 was tried. No doubt Sir James went in 
 considerable fear of his unnatural son. A 
 certain Mr. Roderick Mackenzie, advocate, 
 testifies that eight days before the end he 
 met the old gentleman in the Parliament 
 Close, Edinburgh, whereupon “the defunct 
 invited him to take his morning draught." 
 As they partook Sir James bemoaned his 
 domestic troubles. “ Yes," said Mackenzie, 
 
96 Ww Hafo’s Humber 2£loom 
 
 but why had he disherished his son ? 17 
 And the defunct answered : “Ye do not 
 know my son, for he is the greatest debauch 
 in the earth. And that which troubles 
 me most is that he twice attempted my own 
 person. 7 ’ 
 
 Upon the last Saturday of November 
 1687, the elder Standsfield travelled from 
 Edinburgh to New Mills in company with 
 Mr. John Bell, minister of the Gospel, who 
 was to officiate the next day in Morham 
 Church (Morham is a secluded parish on the 
 lower slope of the Lammermoors, some 
 three miles south-west of New Mills ; the 
 church plays an important part in what 
 follows). Arrived at New Mills the pair 
 supped together, thereafter the host accom- 
 panied his guest to his chamber, where he 
 sat talking “ pertinently and to good 
 purpose ” till about ten o’clock. Left alone, 
 our divine gat him to bed, but had scarce 
 fallen asleep when he awoke in terror, for a 
 terrible cry rang through the silence of the 
 winter night. A confused murmur of voices 
 and a noise of folk moving about succeeded. 
 
97 
 
 & $atr of ^arrtcfocs 
 
 Mr. Bell incontinently set all down to “ evil 
 wicked spirits,” so having seen to the bolts 
 of his chamber door, and having fortified 
 his timid soul with prayers, he huddled in 
 bed again; but the voices and noises con- 
 tinuing outside the house he crept to the 
 window, where peering out he perceived 
 nought in the darkness. The noises died 
 away across the garden towards the river, 
 and Bell lay quaking till the morning. An 
 hour after day Philip came to his chamber 
 to ask if his father had been there, for he 
 had been seeking him upon the banks of the 
 water. 66 Why on the banks of that water ? ” 
 queried Bell in natural amazement. With- 
 out answer Philip hurriedly left the room. 
 Later that same Sunday morning a certain 
 John Topping coming from Monkrig to New 
 Mills, along the bank of the Tyne, saw a 
 man's body floating on the water. Philip, 
 drawn to the spot by some terrible fascina- 
 tion, was looking on (you picture his face). 
 “ Whose body was it?” asked the horror- 
 struck Topping, but Philip replied not. 
 Well he knew it was his father's corpse. 
 
 G 
 
98 me Hafo’s Humbtr Boom 
 
 It was noted that, though a hard frosty morn- 
 ing, the bank was “ all beaten to mash with 
 feet and the ground very open and mellow.” 
 The dead man being presently dragged forth 
 and carried home was refused entry by 
 Philip into the house so late his own, “ for 
 he had not died like a man but like a beast,” 
 — the suggestion being that his father had 
 drowned himself, — and so the poor remains 
 must rest in the woollen mill, and then in a 
 cellar “ where there was very little light.” 
 The gossips retailed unseemly fragments of 
 scandal, as 66 within an hour after his father's 
 body was brought from the water, he got 
 the buckles from his father's shoes and put 
 them in his ; ” and again, there is note of a 
 hideous and sordid quarrel between Lady 
 Standsfield and Janet Johnstoun, “ who was 
 his own concubine,” so the prosecution 
 averred, “ about some remains of the Holland 
 of the woonding-sheet,” with some incrimin- 
 ating words of Philip that accompanied. 
 
 I now take up the story as given by 
 Umphrey Spurway, described as an Eng- 
 lishman and clothier at New Mills. His 
 
99 
 
 & ^atr of ^arrtctltts 
 
 suspicions caused him to write to Edinburgh 
 that the Lord Advocate might be warned. 
 Philip lost no time in trying to prevent an 
 inquiry. At three or four of the clock on 
 Monday morning Spurway, coming out of 
 his house, saw u great lights at Sir James'* 
 Gate ; ” grouped round were men and horses. 
 He was told they were taking away the 
 body to be buried at Morham, whereat 
 honest Umphrey, much disturbed at this 
 suspicious haste, sighed for the “ crownePs 
 quest law” of his fatherland. But on the 
 next Tuesday night after he had gone to 
 bed a party of five men, two of them sur- 
 geons, came post haste to his house from 
 Edinburgh, and showing him an order 
 66 from my Lord Advocat for the taking 
 up again the body of Sir James Standsfield,” 
 bid him rise and come. Philip also must go 
 with the party to Morham. Here the grave 
 was opened, the body taken out and carried 
 into the church, where the surgeons made 
 their examination, which clearly pointed to 
 death by strangulation not by drowning 
 (possibly it struck Spurway as an odd use 
 
100 %\ )t Hate’s Humber Iftoom 
 
 for a church ; it had not seemed so to a 
 presbyterian Scot of the period). The dead 
 being re-dressed in his grave clothes must 
 now be set back in his coffin. A terrible 
 thing happened. According to Scots cus- 
 tom the nearest relative must lift the body, 
 and so Philip took the head, when lo ! the 
 corpse gushed forth blood on his hands ! 
 He dropped the head — the 64 considerable 
 noise ” it made in falling is noted by one 
 of the surgeons — frantically essayed to wipe 
 off the blood on his clothes, and with 
 frenzied cries of “Lord have mercy upon 
 me, Lord have mercy upon us ! ” fell half 
 swooning across a seat. Strong cordials 
 were administered, and in time he regained 
 his sullen composure. 
 
 A strange scene to ponder over, but how 
 terrible to witness ! Think of it ! The 
 lonely church on the Lammermoors, the 
 dead vast and middle of the dreary night 
 (November 30, 1687), the murdered man, 
 and the Parricide’s confession (it is so set 
 forth in the “ ditty ”) wrung from him (as 
 all believed) by the direct interposition of 
 
101 
 
 & ^atr of ^amcfoes 
 
 Providence. What fiction ever equalled 
 this gruesome horror ? Even his mother, 
 who had sided with him against the father, 
 scarce professed to believe his innocence. 
 46 What if they should put her bairn in 
 prison ? ” she wailed. 44 Her bairn ” was 
 soon hard and fast in the gloomy old 
 Tolbooth of Edinburgh, to which, as the 
 Heart of Midlothian , Scott's novel was in 
 future days to give a world-wide fame. 
 
 The trial came on February 6 ensuing. 
 In Scotland there is no inquest or public 
 magisterial examination to discount the 
 interest of the story, and the crowd that 
 listened in the Parliament House to the 
 evidence already detailed had their bellyful 
 of surprises and horrors. The Crown had 
 still in reserve this testimony, sensational 
 and deadly. The prosecution proposed to 
 call James Thomson, a boy of thirteen, and 
 Anna Mark, a girl of ten. Their tender 
 years were objected. My Lords, declining to 
 receive them as witnesses, oddly enough 
 consented at the request of the jury to take 
 their declaration. The boy told how Philip 
 
102 Hate’s Humber 3ftoom 
 
 came to his father's house on the night of 
 the murder* The lad was hurried off to 
 bed, but listened whilst the panel, Janet 
 Johnstoun, already mentioned, and his 
 father and mother softly whispered together 
 for a long time, until Philip's rage got the 
 better of his discretion, and he loudly 
 cursed his father and threatened his life. 
 Next Philip and Janet left the house, and 
 in the dead of night his father and mother 
 followed. After two hours they crept back 
 again ; and the boy, supposed to be sleep- 
 ing, heard them whisper to each other the 
 story of the murder, how Philip guarded 
 the chamber door “ with a drawn sword and 
 a bendit pistol," how it was strange a man 
 should die so soon, how they carried the 
 body to the water and threw it in, and how 
 his mother ever since was afraid to stay 
 alone in the house after nightfall. The 
 evidence of Anna Mark was as to certain 
 criminating words used by her mother Janet 
 Johnstoun. 
 
 Up to this time the panel had been de- 
 fended by four eminent advocates mercifully 
 
103 
 
 & ^a(r of ^arrtcfoes 
 
 appointed thereto by the Privy Council ; 
 there had been the usual Allegations, Re- 
 plyes, and Duplies, with frequent citations 
 from Mattheus, Carpzovius, Muscard, and 
 the other fossils, as to the matters contained 
 in the 44 ditty (indictment), and they had 
 strenuously fought for him till now, but after 
 the statement of the children they retired. 
 Then Sir George Mackenzie rose to reply for 
 the Crown. Famous in his own day, his name 
 is not yet forgotten. He was “ the bluidy 
 advocate Mackenzie ” of Covenanting legend 
 and tradition, one of the figures in Wander- 
 ing Willie's tale in Redgauntlet (“ who for 
 his worldly wit and wisdom had been to the 
 rest as a god ”). He had been Lord Advo- 
 cate already, and was presently to be Lord 
 Advocate again. Nominally but second 
 counsel he seems to have conducted the 
 whole prosecution. He had a strong case, 
 and he made the most of it. Passionate 
 invective and prejudicial matter were mixed 
 with legal argument. Cultured politician 
 and jurist as he was, he dwelt with terrible 
 emphasis on the scene in Morham kirk. 
 
104 ®fjc Hate’s HumbEr Hoom 
 
 a God Almighty Himself was pleased to bear 
 a share in the testimonies which we produce.” 
 Nor was the children’s testimony forgotten. 
 66 1 need not fortifie so pregnant a proba- 
 tion.” No ! yet he omitted not to protest 
 for “ an Assize of Error against the inquest 
 in the case they should assoilzie the pannal ” 
 — a plain intimation to jury that if they 
 found Philip Standsfield “ not guilty” they 
 were liable to be prosecuted for an unjust 
 verdict. But how to doubt after such evi- 
 dence ? The jury straightway declared the 
 panel guilty, and my lords pronounced a 
 sentence of picturesque barbarity. Stands- 
 field was to be hanged at the Mercat Cross 
 of Edinburgh, his tongue cut out and burned 
 upon the scaffold, his right hand fixed 
 above the east port of Haddington, and his 
 dead body hung in chains upon the Gallow 
 Lee betwixt Leith and Edinburgh, his name 
 disgraced for ever, and all his property for- 
 feited to the Crown. According to the old 
 Scots custom the sentence was given 46 by 
 the mouth of John Leslie, dempster of 
 court” — an office held along with that of 
 
105 
 
 8L 3Patr of ^autcftes 
 
 hangman. “ Which is pronounced for doom ” 
 was the formula wherewith he concluded. 
 
 On February 15 Standsfield though led 
 to the scaffold was reprieved for eight 
 days “ at the priest’s desire, who had been 
 tampering to turn Papist ” (one remembers 
 these were the last days of James II., or as 
 they called him in Scotland, James VII.’s 
 reign). Nothing came of the delay, and 
 when finally brought out on the 24th “ he 
 called for Presbyterian ministers.” Through 
 some slipping of the rope, the execution 
 was bungled ; finally the hangman strangled 
 his patient. The “ near resemblance of his 
 father’s death ” is noted by an eye-witness. 
 “Yet Edmund was beloved.” Leave was 
 asked to bury the remains. One fancies 
 this was on the part of Lady Standsfield, 
 regarding whose complicity and doting 
 fondness, strange stories were current. The 
 prayer was refused, but the body was 
 found lying in a ditch a few days after, and 
 again the gossips (with a truly impious 
 desire to “ force the hand ” of Providence) 
 saw a likeness to the father’s end. Once 
 
106 Hafo’s Humber 3ftoom 
 
 more the body was taken down and pre- 
 sently vanished. 
 
 LordFountainhall,a contempory of Stands- 
 field, and Sir Walter Scott, both Scots 
 lawyers of high official position, thought 
 the evidence of Standsfield's guilt not al- 
 together conclusive, and believed something 
 might be urged for the alternative theory of 
 suicide. Whilst venturing to differ, I note 
 the opinion of such eminent authorities with 
 all respect. 
 
 Standsfield maintained his innocence to 
 the last. Three servants of his father's — two 
 men and a woman — were seized and tortured 
 with the thumbikins. They confessed no- 
 thing. Now, torture was frequently used 
 in old Scots criminal procedure, but if you 
 did not confess you were almost held to 
 have proved your innocence. 
 
 I cannot discover the after fate of these 
 servants, and probably they were banished 
 — a favourite method with the Scots autho- 
 rities for getting rid of objectionable 
 characters whose guilt was not sufficiently 
 proved. 
 
& ^)att of ^amctfces 107 
 
 The second case, not so romantic albeit a 
 love-story is woven through its tangled 
 threads, is that of Mary Blandy, spinster, 
 tried at Oxford in 1752, before two of the 
 Barons of the Exchequer, for the murder of 
 her father, Francis Blandy, attorney, and 
 town clerk of Henley-on-Thames. Prosecut- 
 ing counsel described her as “ genteel, agree- 
 able, sprightly, sensible.” She was an only 
 child. Her sire being well off she seemed 
 an eligible match, and yet wooers tarried. 
 Some years before the murder, the villain of 
 the piece, William Henry Cranstoun, a 
 younger son of the Scots Lord Cranstoun and 
 an officer recruiting at Henley for the army, 
 comes on the scene. Contemporary gossip 
 paints him the blackest colour. “ His shape 
 no ways genteel, his legs clumsy, he has 
 nothing in the least elegant in his manner.” 
 He was remarkable for his dulness; he was 
 dissipated and poverty-stricken. More fatal 
 than all he had a wife and child in Scotland, 
 though he brazenly declared the marriage 
 invalid spite the judgment of the Scots 
 courts in its favour. O ur respectable attorney. 
 
108 ®f)e Hafo’s Humber Iftoom 
 
 upon discovering these facts, gave the Captain, 
 as he was called, the cold shoulder. The 
 prospect of a match with a Lord’s son was too 
 much for Miss Blandy, now over thirty, and 
 she was ready to believe any ridiculous yarn 
 he spun about his northern entanglements. 
 Fired by an exaggerated idea of old Blandy "s 
 riches, he planned his death, and found in 
 the daughter an agent and, as the prosecu- 
 tion averred, an accomplice. 
 
 The way was prepared by a cunning use of 
 popular superstitions. Mysterious sounds of 
 music were heard about ; at least Cranstoun 
 said so ; indeed, it was afterwards alleged he 
 “ hired a band to play under the windows.’’ 
 If any one asked “What then?” he whis- 
 pered “ that a wise woman, one Mrs. Morgan, 
 in Scotland,” had assured him that such was 
 a sign of death to the head of the house 
 within twelve months. The Captain further 
 alleged that he held the gift of second sight 
 and had seen the worthy attorney’s ghost; 
 all which, being carefully reported to the 
 servants by Miss Blandy raised a pleasing 
 horror in the kitchen. Cranstoun, from 
 
109 
 
 8t ^atr of ^aracflfts 
 
 necessity or prudence, left Henley before the 
 diabolical work began in earnest, but he sup- 
 plied Mary with arsenic in powder, which 
 she administered to her father for many 
 months. The doses were so immoderate that 
 the unfortunate man’s teeth dropped whole 
 from their sockets, whereat the undutiful 
 daughter “damn’d him for a toothless old 
 rogue and wished him to hell.” Cranstoun, 
 under the guise of a present of Scotch pebbles, 
 sent her some more arsenic, nominally to rub 
 them with. In the accompanying letter, 
 July 18, 1751, he glowingly touched on the 
 beauties of Scotland as an inducement to 
 her, it was supposed, to make haste. Rather 
 zealous than discreet, she near poisoned Anne 
 Emmett, the charwoman, by misadventure, 
 but brought her round again with great 
 quantities of sack whey and thin mutton 
 broth, sovereign remedies against arsenic. 
 
 Her father gradually became desperately 
 ill. Susannah Gunnell, maidservant per- 
 ceiving a white powder at the bottom of a 
 dish she was cleaning had it preserved. It 
 proved to be arsenic, and was produced at 
 
110 Hafo’s Humber 2£loom 
 
 the trial. Susannah actually told Mr. 
 Blandy he was being poisoned ; but he only 
 remarked, “Poor lovesick girl! what will not 
 a woman do for the man she loves ? ” Both 
 master and maid fixed the chief, perhaps the 
 whole, guilt on Cranstoun, the father con- 
 fining himself to dropping some strong hints 
 to his daughter, which made her throw 
 Cranstoun’s letters and the remainder of the 
 poison on the fire, wherefrom the drug was 
 in secret rescued and preserved by the ser- 
 vants. 
 
 Mr. Blandy was now hopelessly ill, and 
 though experienced doctors were at length 
 called in, he expired on Wednesday, August 
 14, 1751. The sordid tragedy gets its most 
 pathetic and highest touch from the attempts 
 made by the dying man to shield his daughter 
 and to hinder her from incriminating ad- 
 missions which under excitement and (one 
 hopes) remorse she began to make. And in 
 his last hours he spoke to her words of 
 pardon and solace. That night and again 
 on Thursday morning the daughter made 
 some distracted efforts to escape. “I ran 
 
Ill 
 
 @C 3Patr of ^armthes 
 
 out of the house and over the bridge, and 
 had nothing on but a half-sack and petticoat 
 without a hoop — my petticoats hanging 
 about me.” But now all Henley was 
 crowded round the dwelling to watch the 
 development of events. The mob pressed after 
 the distracted girl, who took refuge at the 
 sign of the Angel, a small inn just across the 
 bridge. “They were going to open her father, 1 ’’ 
 she said, and “ she could not bear the house. 11 
 She was taken home and presently committed 
 to Oxford Gaol to await her trial. Here she 
 was visited by the high sheriff, who “ told 
 me by order of the higher powers he must 
 put an iron on me. I submitted as I always do 
 to the higher powers 11 (she had little choice). 
 Spite her terrible position and these indigni- 
 ties she behaved with calmness and courage. 
 
 The trial, which lasted twelve hours, took 
 place on February 29, 1752, in the Divinity 
 School of the University. The prisoner 
 was “sedate and composed without levity 
 or dejection. 11 Accused of felony, she had 
 properly counsel only for points of law, 
 but at her request they were allowed to 
 
112 Hate’s Humber Hoorn 
 
 examine and cross-examine the witnesses. 
 Herself spoke a defence possibly prepared 
 by her advisers, for though the style be art- 
 less, the reasoning is exceeding ingenious. 
 She admitted she was passionate and thus 
 accounted for some hasty expressions; the 
 malevolence of servants had exaggerated 
 these. Betty Binfield, one of the maids, was 
 credibly reported to have said of her, “ she 
 should be glad to see the black bitch go up 
 the ladder to be hanged.” But the powder ? 
 Impossible to deny she had administered 
 that. “I gave it to procure his love.” 
 Cranstoun, she affirmed, had sent it from 
 Scotland, assuring her that it would so work, 
 and Scotland, one notes, seemed to everybody 
 “the shores of old romance,” the home of 
 magic incantations and mysterious charms. 
 It was powerfully objected that Francis 
 Blandy had never failed in love to his 
 daughter, but she replied that the drug was 
 given to reconcile her father to Cranstoun. 
 She granted he meant to kill the old man in 
 hopes to get his money, and she was the 
 agent, but (she asserted) the innocent agent. 
 
113 
 
 M ^atr of ^antctoes 
 
 of his wicked purpose. This theory though 
 the best available was beset with difficulties. 
 She had made many incriminating state- 
 ments, there was the long time over which 
 the doses had been spread, there was her 
 knowledge of its effects on Anne Emmett 
 the charwoman, there was the destruction 
 of Cranstoun’s letters, the production 
 of which would have conclusively shown 
 • the exact measure in which guilty know- 
 ledge was shared. Finally, there was the 
 attempt to destroy the powder. Bathurst, 
 leading counsel for the Crown, delivered two 
 highly rhetorical speeches, “ drawing floods 
 of tears from the most learned audience that 
 perhaps ever attended an English Provincial 
 Tribunal. r) The jury after some five 
 minutes’ consultation in the box returned a 
 verdict of “ guilty,” which the prisoner 
 received with perfect composure. All she 
 asked was a little time 44 till I can settle my 
 affairs and make my peace with God,” and 
 this was readily granted. She was lett in 
 prison five weeks. 
 
 The case continued to excite enormous 
 
 H 
 
114 Hafo’s Humfttr Iftoom 
 
 interest, increased by an account which she 
 issued from prison of her father's death and 
 her relations with Cranstoun. She was con- 
 stant in her professions of innocence, 66 nor 
 did anything during the whole course of her 
 confinement so extremely shock her as the 
 charge of infidelity which some uncharitable 
 persons a little before her death brought 
 against her." Some were convinced and 
 denied her guilt, “ as if," said Horace Wal- 
 pole, “a woman who would not stick at 
 parricide would scruple a lie." Others said 
 she had hopes of pardon “ from the Honour 
 she had formerly had of dancing for several 
 
 nights with the late P e of W s, and 
 
 being personally known to the most sweet- 
 tempered P — ess in the world." The press 
 swarmed with pamphlets. The Cranstoun 
 correspondence, alleged not destroyed, was 
 published — a very palpable Grub Street 
 forgery ! and a tragedy, The Fair Parricide , 
 dismal in every sense, was inflicted on the 
 world. The last scene of all was on April 6, 
 1752. 66 Miss Blandy suffered in a black 
 
 bombazine short sack and petticoat, with a 
 
a ^atr of ^arrtctftes 115 
 
 clean white handkerchief drawn over her 
 face. Her hands were tied together with a 
 strong black riband, and her feet at her own 
 request almost touched the ground ” (“ Gen- 
 tlemen, don’t hang me high for the sake of 
 decency,” an illustration of British prudery 
 which has escaped the notice of French 
 critics). She mounted the ladder with some 
 hesitation. “ I am afraid I shall fall.” For 
 the last time she declared her innocence, and 
 soon all was over. “ The number of people 
 attending her execution was computed at 
 about 5000, many of whom, and particularly 
 several gentlemen of the university, were 
 observed to shed tears ” (tender-hearted 
 “ gentlemen of the university ” !) “ In 
 
 about half an hour the body was cut down 
 and carried through the crowd upon the 
 shoulders of a man with her legs exposed 
 very indecently.” Late the same night she 
 was laid beside her father and mother in 
 Henley Church. 
 
 Cranstoun fled from justice and was out- 
 lawed. In December that same year he died 
 in Flanders. 
 
£ome <K^oati0 to 
 
 jnatrtmong 
 
 Marriage according to the Canon Law — The English 
 Law — Peculiars — The Fleet Chapel — Marriage 
 Houses — “ The Bishop of Hell ” — Ludgate Hill in 
 the Olden Time — Marriages Wholesale — The Par- 
 sons of the Fleet — Lord Hardwicke’s Marriage Act 
 — The Fleet Registers — Keith’s Chapel in May Fair 
 — The Savoy Chapel — The Scots Marriage Law — 
 The Strange Case of Joseph Atkinson — Gretna 
 Green in Romance and Reality — The Priests — 
 Their Clients — A Pair of Lord High Chancellors — 
 Lord Brougham’s Marriage Act — The Decay of 
 the Picturesque. 
 
 4t The fear of the Lord is the beginning of 
 wisdom. The marrying in the Fleet is the 
 beginning of eternal woe.” So scribbled 
 (1736) Walter Wyatt, a Fleet Parson, in 
 one of his note-books. He and his likes are 
 long vanished, and his successor the black- 
 smith priest (in truth he was neither one 
 nor other) of Gretna is also gone ; yet their 
 
Sbomt Wzmtb Iftoatis to JWatrtmong 117 
 
 story is no less entertaining than instructive, 
 and here I set it forth. 
 
 Some prefatory matter is necessary for 
 the right understanding of what follows. 
 Marriage, whatever else it may or may not 
 be, is a contract of two consenting minds ; 
 but at an early age the church put forth the 
 doctrine that it was likewise a sacrament 
 which could be administered by the con- 
 tracting parties to each other. Pope Inno- 
 cent III., in 1215, first ordained — so some 
 authorities say — that marriages must be 
 celebrated in church ; but it was not yet 
 decreed that other and simpler methods were 
 without effect. According to the canon law, 
 66 espousals ” were of two kinds : sponsalia 
 per verba de prcesenti — which was an agree- 
 ment to marry forthwith ; and sponsalia per 
 verba de futuro — which was a contract to 
 wed at a future time. Consummation gave 
 number two the effect of number one, and 
 civilly that effect was the same as of duly 
 celebrated nuptials ; inasmuch as the church, 
 while urging the religious ceremony upon 
 the faithful as the sole proper method, ad- 
 
118 Ww Hafo’s Humber 2ft oom 
 
 mitted the validity of the others — quod non 
 fieri debit id factum valeat (so the maxim 
 ran). The common law adopting this, held 
 that (1) marriage might be celebrated with 
 the full rites of the church ; or (2) that the 
 parties might take each other for man and 
 wife ; or (3), which obviously followed, that 
 a priest might perform the ceremony outside 
 the church, or without the full ceremonial — 
 with maimed rites, so to speak. Whatever 
 penalties were incurred by following other 
 than the first way the marriage itself held 
 good. 
 
 I must here note that in 1844, in the case 
 of The Queen against Millis , the House of 
 Lords seemed to decide that there could not 
 have been a valid marriage in England, even 
 before Lord Hardwicke's Act, which in 1753 
 completely changed the law, in the absence 
 of an ordained ecclesiastic. The arguments 
 and the judgment fill the half of one of 
 Clark and Finnelly’s bulky volumes, and 
 never was matter more thoroughly threshed, 
 and winnowed, and garnered. The House 
 was equally divided ; and the opinion of the 
 
&om t Wzwzti oalrs to Jfflatrtmong 119 
 
 Irish Court of Queen’s Bench, which main- 
 tained the necessity of the priest’s presence, 
 was affirmed. The real explanation, I think, 
 is that, though the old canon law and the 
 old common law were as I have stated, yet 
 English folk had got so much into the habit 
 of calling in the Parson that his presence 
 came to be regarded as essential. The 
 parties, even when they disobeyed the church 
 by leaving undone much they were ordered 
 to do, would still have “something religious” 
 about the ceremony. In 1563 the Council 
 of Trent declared such marriages invalid as 
 were not duly celebrated in church; but 
 Elizabeth’s reign was already five years gone, 
 both England and Scotland had broken 
 decisively with the old faith, and the Coun- 
 cil’s decrees had no force here. 
 
 In England both church and state kept 
 tinkering the Marriage Laws. In 1603 the 
 Convocation for the Province of Canterbury 
 declared that no minister shall solemnise 
 matrimony without banns or licence upon 
 pain of suspension for three years. Also, all 
 marriages were to be in the parish church 
 
120 Ww Hate’s Humber 3ftoom 
 
 between eight and twelve in the forenoon. 
 Nothing so far affected the validity of the 
 business; and 66 clandestine marriages,” as 
 they were called, became frequent. In 1695, 
 an Act of William III. fined the Parson who 
 assisted at such couplings one hundred 
 pounds for the first offence, and for the 
 second suspended him for three years. This 
 enactment was followed almost immediately 
 by another, which mulcted the clergyman 
 who celebrated or permitted any such 
 marriage in his church as well as the bride- 
 groom and the clerk. The main object of this 
 legislation was to prevent the loss of duties 
 payable upon regularly performed marriages ; 
 but it strengthened ecclesiastical discipline. 
 
 Thus your correct wedding, then as now, 
 had its tedious preliminaries ; but the fashion 
 of the time imposed some other burdens. 
 There was inordinate feasting with music 
 and gifts and altogether much expense and 
 delay. Poor folk could ill afford the business ; 
 now and again the rich desired a private 
 ceremony; here and there young people 
 sighed for a runaway match. Also, outside 
 
Sbmt Bfeusefc Hoafcs to JWatrtmony 121 
 
 this trim and commonplace century the 
 nation's life had not that smoothness which 
 seems to us such a matter of course. Passion 
 was stronger and worse disciplined; law, 
 though harsh, was slow and uncertain. How 
 tempting, then, the inducement to needy 
 persons to marry cheaply and without 
 ceremony ! Now, London had a number of 
 places of worship called Peculiars , which, as 
 royal chapels, possessions of the Lord Mayor 
 and alderman, or what not, claimed, rightly 
 or wrongly, exemption from the visitation of 
 the ordinary. These were just the places for 
 irregular or clandestine marriages. Peculiars 
 or not, as many as ninety chapels favoured 
 such affairs. Chief among them were the 
 Savoy, the Minories, Mayfair Chapel, and 
 (above all) the Fleet, which — from a very 
 early date to half a century ago — was a 
 famous prison especially for debtors, stand- 
 ing on what is now’ the east side of Farring- 
 don Street. It had a chapel where marriages 
 were properly solemnised by 1613, and (it 
 may be) earlier ; but the records are some- 
 what scanty. Now, a number of dissolute 
 
122 Hato’s Humber 3ftoom 
 
 Parsons were “ fleeted ” (as the old phrase 
 ran) for one cause or another, and some 
 might live outside the walls but within the 
 rules or liberties of the Fleet , as the ground 
 about the prison was called. These obtained 
 the use of the chapel, where, for a reasonable 
 consideration, they were willing to couple 
 any brace forthwith. What terror had the 
 law for them? Men already in hold for 
 debt laughed at a fine, and suspension was a 
 process slow and like to be ineffectual at the 
 last. The church feebly tried to exercise 
 discipline. On June 4, 1702, the Bishop of 
 London held a visitation in carcere vulgo 
 vocaf ye Fleet in civitate London . He found 
 one Jeronimus Alley coupling clients at a 
 great rate. ’Twas hinted that Jeronimus 
 was not a Parson at all, and proof of his 
 ordination was demanded ; “ but Mr. Alley 
 soon afterwards fled from ye said prison and 
 never exhibited his orders.” Another record 
 says that he obtained “some other prefer- 
 ment” (probably he was playing the like game 
 elsewhere). 
 
 The legislature, in despair, as it might 
 
Some Btsuseh to JWatrtmony 123 
 
 seem, now struck at more responsible heads. 
 In 1712 a statute (10 Ann. c. 19) imposed the 
 penalty of a hundred pounds on keepers of 
 gaols permitting marriage without banns or 
 licence within their walls. This closed the 
 Fleet Chapel to such nuptials, but private 
 houses did just as well. Broken-down 
 Parsons, bond or free, were soon plentiful as 
 blackberries; and taverns stood at every 
 corner; so at the “Two Fighting Men and 
 Walnut Tree,” at “ The Green Canister,” at 
 “The Bull and Garter,” at “The Noah's 
 Ark,” at “The Horseshoe and Magpie,” at 
 “ Jack’s Last Shift,” at “ The Shepherd and 
 Goat,” at “ The Leg ” (to name no more), a 
 room was fitted up in a sort of caricature of 
 a chapel ; and here during the ceremony a 
 clock with doubly brazen hands stood ever 
 at one of the canonical hours though with- 
 out it might be midnight or three in the 
 morning. A Parson, hired at twenty shil- 
 lings a week, “ hit or miss,” as "twas curiously 
 put, attended. The business was mostly 
 done on Sundays, Thursdays, and Fridays ; 
 but ready, ay ready, was the word. The 
 
124 Wqz Hafo’s Humbtr 3S,oom 
 
 landlord or a servingman played clerk, and 
 what more was wanted ? 
 
 There were many orders of Fleet Parsons, 
 some not parsons at all. At the top of the 
 tree was the “ famous Dr. John Gaynam,” 
 known as the “ Bishop of Hell he made 
 a large income and in his time coupled 
 legions ; and at the bottom were a parcel 
 of fellows who would marry any couple 
 anywhere for anything. The Fleet Parson 
 of standing kept a pocket-book in which 
 he roughly jotted down the particulars 
 of each marriage, transcribing the more 
 essential details to a larger register at 
 home. Certificates, at a varying charge, 
 were made out from these, and the books 
 being thus a source of profit were preserved 
 with a certain care. To falsify such docu- 
 ments was child’s play. Little accidents (as 
 a birth in the midst of the ceremony) were 
 dissembled by inserting the notice of the 
 marriage in some odd corner of a more or 
 less ancient record. This antedating of 
 registers was so common as almost to deprive 
 them of any value as evidence. Worse still, 
 
Soonte Btsuseb % loaUs to JWatumonj) 125 
 
 certificates were now and again issued, 
 though there had been no marriage. Some- 
 times the taverners kept registers of their 
 own, but how to establish a fixed rule ? 
 
 Not all the “ marriage houses,” as they 
 were called, were taverns. They were often 
 distinguished by some touching device : as a 
 pair of clasping hands with the legend 
 46 Marriages Performed Within.” A feature 
 of the system was the plyer or barker , who, 
 dressed in ragged and rusty black, touted for 
 Parson or publican, or it might be for self, 
 vaunting himself the while clerk and register 
 to the Fleet. “ These ministers of wicked- 
 ness ” (thus, in 1735, a correspondent of 
 The Grub Street Journal ) “ ply about 
 
 Ludgate Hill, pulling and forcing the people 
 to some peddling alehouse or a brandy-shop 
 to be married, even on a Sunday stopping 
 them as they go to church, and almost 
 tearing their clothes off their backs.” If 
 you drove Fleetwards with matrimony in 
 your eye, why, then you were fair game : — 
 
 Scarce had the coach discharg’d its trusty fare, 
 
 But gaping crowds surround th’ amorous pair, 
 
126 Wyt Uafo’s Humber Hoorn 
 
 The busy plyers make a mighty stir, 
 
 And whisp’ring, cry, " D’ye want the Parson, Sir? " 
 
 Yet the great bulk of Fleet marriages 
 were in their own way orderly and respect- 
 able. Poor people found them shortest and 
 cheapest. Now and again there are glimpses 
 of rich or high-born couples : as, in 1744 , 
 the Hon. H. Fox with Georgina Caroline, 
 eldest daughter of Charles, second Duke of 
 Richmond, of which union Charles James 
 was issue. One odd species was a parish 
 wedding : the churchwardens thought it an 
 ingenious device to bribe some blind or halt- 
 ing youth, the burden of a neighbouring 
 parish, to marry a female pauper chargeable 
 to them ; for, being a wife she immediately 
 acquired her husband's settlement, and they 
 were rid of her. In one case they gave 
 forty shillings and paid the expense of a 
 Fleet marriage ; the rag, tag, and bobtail 
 attended in great numbers and a mighty 
 racket was the result. According to the law 
 then and long after, a woman by marrying 
 transferred the burden of her debts to her 
 
Sborne Btsusetr Hoatra to ittatrtmong 127 
 
 husband. So some desperate spinsters hied 
 them Fleetwards to dish their creditors; 
 plyer or Parson soon fished up a man ; and 
 though, under different aliases , he were 
 already wived like the Turk, what mattered 
 it ? The wife had her “ lines, ” and how to 
 prove the thing a sham ? Husbands, again, 
 had a reasonable horror of their wives^ ante- 
 nuptial obligations. An old superstition, 
 widely prevalent in England, was that if you 
 took nothing by your bride you escaped 
 liability. Obviously, then, the thing to do 
 was to marry her in what Winifred Jenkins 
 calls “her birthday soot,” or thereabouts. 
 So “ the woman ran across Ludgate Hill in 
 a shift,” for thus was her state of destitution 
 made patent to all beholders. 
 
 When the royal fleet came in, the crews, 
 “ panged ” full of gold and glory, made 
 straight for the taverns of Ratcliffe High- 
 way, and of them, there footing it with their 
 Polls and Molls, some one asked, “ Why not 
 get married ? ” Why not, indeed ? Coaches 
 are fetched; the party make off to the 
 Fleet ; plyers, Parsons, and publicans, all 
 
128 Hate’s Humfitr 3ftoo m 
 
 welcome them with open arms ; the knots are 
 tied in less than no time; there is punch 
 with the officiating cleric; the unblushing 
 fair are crammed into the coaches ; Jack, his 
 pocket lighter, his brain heavier, climbs up 
 on the box or holds on behind ; the populace 
 acclaims the procession with old shoes, dead 
 cats, and whatever Fleet Ditch filth comes 
 handy ; and so back to their native Radcliffe , 
 to spend their honeymoon in 46 fiddling, 
 piping, jigging, eating,” and to end the bout 
 with a divorce even less ceremonious than 
 their nuptials. 44 It is a common thing,” 
 reports a tavern-keeper of that sea-boys’ 
 paradise, 44 when a fleet comes in to have two 
 or three hundred marriages in a week’s time 
 among the sailors.” 
 
 The work was mostly done cheap : the 
 Parson took what he could get, and every one 
 concerned must have his little bit. Thus, 
 44 the turnkey had a shilling, Boyce (the 
 acting clerk) had a shilling, the plyer had a 
 shilling, and the Parson had three and six- 
 pence ” — the total amounting to six shillings 
 and sixpence. This was a fair average, 
 
sbome Btsuscb 3ft oahs to Jiftatrtmony 129 
 
 though now and again the big- wigs netted 
 large sums. 
 
 A Fleet marriage was as valid as another ; 
 but in trials for bigamy the rub was : Had 
 there been any marriage at all ? Some 
 accused would strenuously maintain the 
 negative. In 1737 Richard Leaver was 
 indicted at the Old Bailey for this offence ; 
 and u I know nothing about the wedding,” 
 was his ingenuous plea. 66 1 was fuddled over- 
 night and next morning I found myself 
 a-bed with a strange woman and 4 Who are 
 you ? How came you here ? ’ says I. c O, 
 my dear," says she, 6 we were marry ’d last 
 night at the Fleet.’ ” More wonderful still 
 was the story told by one Dangerfield, 
 charged the preceding year for marrying 
 whilst Arabella Fast, his first wife, was still 
 alive. Arabella and he, so he asserted, had 
 plotted to blackmail a Parson with whom 
 the lady entertained relations all too tond. 
 At ten at night he burst in upon them as 
 had been arranged. 66 6 Hey 1 (says I), 6 how 
 came you a-bed with my spouse P ’ 6 Sir,’ 
 
 (says he), c I only lay with her to keep my 
 
 i 
 
130 Wqz Haiti’s Humber % loom 
 
 back warm.’ ” The explanation lacked pro- 
 bability, and “ in the morning ” the erring 
 divine acknowledged his mistake : — “ I must 
 make you a present if you can produce a 
 certificate ” (he suspected something wrong, 
 you see). Dangerfield was gravelled. Not 
 so the resourceful Arabella. “ For a crown 
 I can get a certificate from the Fleet,’’ she 
 whispered ; and 4 1 gave her a crown, and in 
 half an hour she brings me a certificate.’ ” 
 The jury acquitted Dangerfield. 
 
 The clergyman said to have officiated in 
 both cases was the “ famous Dr. Gaynam ” 
 (so a witness described him), the aforesaid 
 “ Bishop of Hell.” How could he recollect 
 an individual face, he asked, for had he not 
 married his thousands ? But it must be 
 right if it was in his books : he never altered 
 or falsified his register. “It was as fair a 
 register as any church in England can pro- 
 duce. I showed it last night to the foreman 
 of the jury, and my Lord Mayor’s clerk at 
 the London punch-house” (a noted Fleet 
 tavern) : so Gaynam swore at Robert Hussey’s 
 trial for bigamy in 1733. A familiar figure 
 
Sbom t Mi Hoatrs to JWatrimong 131 
 
 was the “ Bishop ” in Fleet taverns and Old 
 Bailey witness-box. At Dangerfield’s trial 
 neither counsel nor judge was very com- 
 plimentary to him ; but he was moved not a 
 whit ; he was used to other than verbal 
 attacks, and some years before this he was- 
 soundly cudgelled at a wedding — in a dispute 
 about his fees, no doubt. 66 A very lusty,, 
 jolly man, 1 ’ in full canonicals, a trifle be- 
 spattered from that Fleet Ditch on whose 
 banks he had spent many a scandalous 
 year, his florid person verging on over-ripe- 
 ness, even decay, for he vanishes four years 
 later. Was he not ashamed of himself? 
 sneered counsel. Whereupon 66 he (bowing) 
 video meliora , deteriora sequorT Don’t you 
 see the reverend rogue complacently mouth- 
 ing his tag? He “ flourished ” 'twixt 1709 
 and 1740. On the fly-leaf of one of his 
 pocket-books he wrote : 
 
 The Great Good Man w m fortune may displace, 
 May into scarceness fall, but not disgrace, 
 
 His sacred person none will dare profane, 
 
 Poor he may be, but never can be mean. 
 
 He holds his value with the wise and good, 
 
 And prostrate seems as great as when he stood. 
 
132 ®t)e Hato’s Humber 3ftoom 
 
 The personal application was obvious ; 
 but alas for fame ! Even in Mr. Leslie 
 Stephen's mighty dictionary his record is to 
 seek. 
 
 Time would fail to trace the unholy succes- 
 sion of Fleet Parsons. There was Edward 
 Ashwell (1734-1743), “a most notorious 
 rogue and impostor." There was Peter 
 Symson (1731-1754), who officiated at the 
 “ Old Red Hand and Mitre," headed his 
 certificates G.R., and bounced after this 
 fashion : — “ Marriages performed by autho- 
 rity by the Reverend Mr. Symson, educated at 
 the University of Cambridge, and late Chap- 
 lain to the Earl of Rothes. N.B. — Without 
 imposition." Then there was James Landow 
 (1737-1743), late Chaplain to His Majesty's 
 ship Falkland , who advertised “ Marriage 
 with a licence, certificate, and a crown stamp 
 at a guinea, at the New Chapel, next door 
 to the China Shop, near Fleet Bridge, Lon- 
 don." Of an earlier race was Mr. Robert 
 Elborrow (1698-1702) : “ a very ancient man 
 and is master of ye chappie " (he seems to 
 have been really 66 the Parson of the Fleet "). 
 
Jbotut IBismtb % toatrs to JWatrimony 133 
 
 His chief offence was leaving everything to 
 his none too scrupulous clerk, Bassett. 
 There is some mention also of the Reverend 
 Mr. Nehemiah Rogers, a prisoner, “ but 
 goes at larg to his living in Essex and all 
 places else.” Probably they were glad to 
 get rid of him for “ he has struck and boxed 
 ye bridegroom in ye Chappie and damned 
 like any com" on souldier.” Mulli praeterea* 
 quos Jama obscura recondit. How to fix the 
 identity of the “ tall black clergyman ” who, 
 hard by “ The Cock ” in Fleet Market, 
 pressed his services on loving couples ? Was 
 he one with the “ tall Clergyman who plies 
 about the Fleet Gate for Weddings,” and 
 who in 1734 was convicted “of swearing 
 forty-two Oaths and ordered to pay 
 <£ J 4 <& ” ? 
 
 In 1753 Lord Hard wickeds Marriage Act 
 (26 Geo. II. cap. 3) put a sudden stop to 
 the doings of those worthies. Save in the 
 case of Jews and Quakers, all marriages 
 were void unless preceded by banns or licence 
 and celebrated according to the rites of the 
 Church of England in a church or chapel of 
 
134 Ww Hate’s Humber oom 
 
 that communion. The Priest who assisted 
 at an irregular or clandestine marriage was 
 guilty of a felony punishable by fourteen 
 years’ transportation. The Bill was violently 
 opposed; and, according to Horace Walpole, 
 was crammed down the throats of both 
 Houses ; but its policy, its effects, as well as 
 later modifications of the marriage law, are 
 not for discussion here. 
 
 I turn to the registers wherein the doings 
 of the Fleet Parsons are more or less carefully 
 recorded. In 1783 most of those still extant 
 had got into the hands of Mr. Benjamin 
 Panton. “ They weighed more than a ton ” ; 
 were purchased by the Government for 
 £260 6s. 6d ., and to-day you may inspect 
 them at Somerset House. There are between 
 two and three hundred large registers and 
 u thousand or more pocket-books (temp. 
 1674-1753). Not merely are the records of 
 marriages curious in themselves, but also 
 they are often accompanied by curious com- 
 ments from the Parson, clerk, taverner, or 
 whoever kept the book. The oddest collec- 
 tion is in a volume of date 1727-1754. The 
 
Sbomt Bteusetf 3floatr$ to JWstrtmong 135 
 
 writer used Greek characters, though his 
 words are English, and is as frank as Pepys, 
 and every bit as curious. Here are a few 
 samples from the lot : 44 Had a noise for four 
 hours about the money ” was to be expected 
 where there were ho fixed rates ; but 44 stole 
 my clouthes-brush,” and 44 left a pott of 
 4 penny to pay,” and 44 ran away with the 
 scertifycate and left a pint of wine to pay 
 for,” were surely cases of exceptional roguery. 
 Curious couples presented themselves : — 
 44 Her eyes very black and he beat about ye 
 face very much.” Again, the bridegroom 
 was a boy of eighteen, the bride sixty-five, 
 46 brought in a coach by four thumping 
 ladies ” (the original is briefer and coarser) 
 44 out of Drury Lane as guests ” ; and yet the 
 Parson had 44 one shilling only.” He fared 
 even worse at times. Once he married a 
 couple, money down, 44 for half a guinea,” 
 after which 44 it was extorted out of my 
 pocket, and for fear of my life delivered.” 
 Even a Fleet Parson had his notion of pro- 
 priety. 44 Behav’d very indecent and rude 
 to all,” is one entry ; and 44 N.B. behav d 
 
136 Ww Hntxfs Humber Hoom 
 
 rogueshly. Broke the Coachman's Glass," is 
 another. Once his reverence, “ having a 
 mistrust of some Irish roguery," though the 
 party seemed of better rank than usual, 
 asked indiscreet questions. The leader 
 turned on him with the true swagger of 
 your brutal Georgian bully. “What was 
 
 that to me ? G dem me, if I did not 
 
 immediately marry them he would use me 
 ill ; in short, apprehending it to be a con- 
 spiracy, I found myself obliged to marry 
 them in terrorem ." Again, he had better 
 luck on another occasion : “ handsomely 
 entertained," he records ; and of a bride of 
 June 11, 1727, “the said Rachel, the 
 prettiest woman I ever saw." (You fancy 
 -the smirk wherewith he scrawled that single 
 record of the long vanished beauty !) He is 
 less complimentary to other clients. His 
 “ appear d a rogue " and “two most notorious 
 thieves" had sure procured him a broken 
 pate had his patrons known ! How glee- 
 fully and shamelessly he chronicles his bits of 
 sharp practice ! “ Took them from Brown 
 
 who was joins’ into the next door with 
 
Joomt IMsusetr Iftoatis to JWatrtmong 137 
 
 them,* was after all merely business ; but what 
 follows is not. In 1729 he married Susannah 
 Hewitt to Abraham Wells, a butcher. 
 The thing turned out ill ; and in 1736 she 
 came back, and suggested annulment by the 
 simple expedient of destroying the record; 
 when “ I made her believe I did so, for which 
 I had a half a guinea.* Nor was there much 
 honour among the crew of thieves. “ Total 
 three and sixpence, but honest Wigmore 
 kept all the money so farewell him,* is an 
 entry by the keeper of a marriage house, 
 whom a notorious Fleet Parson had dished. 
 Another is by a substitute for the same 
 divine : — “ Wigmore being sent for but was 
 drunk, so I was a stopgap.* I confess to a 
 sneaking fondness for those entertaining 
 rascals, but enough of their pranks. 
 
 Of the other places where irregular mar- 
 riages were celebrated two demand some 
 notice. One was Keith's Chapel in Mayfair, 
 “ a very bishopric of revenue ” to that no- 
 torious “ marriage broker” the Reverend 
 Alexander Keith. His charge was a guinea, 
 and, being strictly inclusive, covered “the 
 
138 m* Hate’s Humber ^oom 
 
 Licence on a Crown Stamp, Ministers and 
 Clerk’s fees, together with the certificate.” 
 No wonder he did a roaring trade ! Keith 
 seemed a nobler quarry than the common 
 Fleet Parson, and the ecclesiastical authori- 
 ties pursued him in their courts. In October 
 1742, he was excommunicated: with match- 
 less impudence he retorted by excommuni- 
 cating his persecutors from the Bishop 
 downwards. Next year they stuck him in 
 the Fleet ; but, through Parsons as reckless 
 as himself, he continued to “ run ” his chapel. 
 In 1749 he made his wife’s death an occasion 
 for advertisement : the public was informed 
 that the corpse, being embalmed, was re- 
 moved “ to an apothecary’s in South Audley 
 Street, where she lies in a room hung with 
 mourning, and is to continue there until 
 Mr. Keith can attend her funeral.” Then 
 follows an account of the chapel. One 
 authority states that six thousand marriages 
 were celebrated there within twelve months ; 
 but this seems incredible. That sixty-one 
 couples were united the day before Lord 
 Hardwicke's Act became law is like enough. 
 
&om t Bfeuse& Iftoalis to JWatrtmons 139 
 
 Here took place, in 1752, the famous mar- 
 riage of the fourth Duke of Hamilton to the 
 youngest of the 44 beautiful Miss Gunnings,” 
 44 with a ring of the bed curtain half an hour 
 after twelve at night,” as Horace Walpole 
 tells. And here, in September 1748, at a 
 like uncanny hour, 46 handsome Tracy was 
 united to the butterman’s daughter in 
 Craven Street.” Lord Hardwicke’s Act was 
 elegantly described as 44 an unhappy stroke 
 of fortune” by our enterprising divine. At 
 first he threatened another form of compe- 
 tition : — 44 111 buy two or three acres of 
 ground and by God 111 under-bury them 
 all.” But in the end he had to own himself 
 ruined. He had scarce anything, he moaned, 
 but bread and water, although he had been 
 wont to expend 44 almost his whole Income 
 (which amounted yearly to several Hundred 
 Pounds per Annum) in relieving not only 
 single distressed Persons, but even whole 
 Families of wretched Objects of Compassion.” 
 The world neither believed nor pitied; and 
 he died in the Fleet on December 17, 
 1758. 
 
140 ®f)e Hato’s Humber Hoorn 
 
 Last of all comes the Savoy. There, The 
 Public Advertiser of January 2, 1754, an- 
 nounced, marriages were performed “ with 
 the utmost privacy, decency, and regularity, 
 the expense not more than one guinea, the 
 five shilling stamp included. There are five 
 private ways by land to this chapel, and two 
 by water.” The Reverend John Williamson, 
 u His Majesty^s Chaplain of the Savoy,” as- 
 serted that as such he could grant licences ; 
 and despite the Act he went on coupling. 
 In 1755 he married the enormous number of 
 one thousand one hundred and ninety ; half 
 the brides being visibly in an interesting 
 condition. The authorities, having warned 
 him time and again to no purpose, at last 
 commenced proceedings. But he evaded 
 arrest by skipping over roofs and vanishing 
 through back doors, in a manner inex- 
 plicable to us to-day ; and went on issuing 
 licences, while his curate, Mr. Grierson, did 
 the actual work at the altar. Grierson, 
 however, was seized and transported for 
 fourteen years : then his chief surrendered 
 (1756), stood his trial, and received a like 
 
Sbome Bfeustfc Montis to JWatrtmong 141 
 
 sentence; the irregular marriages both had 
 performed being declared of no effect. 
 
 What now were the amorous to do ? Well, 
 there were divers makeshifts. Thus, at 
 Southampton (temp. 1750), a boat was held 
 ever ready to sail for Guernsey with any 
 couple able and willing to pay five pounds. 
 Ireland did not impress itself on the lovers** 
 imagination : it may be that the thought of 
 that gruesome middle passage “ froze the 
 genial current of their souls.” But there 
 was a North as well as a South Britain ; and 
 — what was more to the purpose — the Scots 
 marriage law was all that heart could wish. 
 Marriage (it held) is a contract into which 
 two parties not too young and not too 
 “ sib” might enter at any time, all that was 
 necessary being that each party clearly and 
 in good faith expressed consent. Neither 
 writing nor witnesses, however important 
 for proof, were essential to a valid union. 
 Not that the Scots law, civil or ecclesiastical, 
 favoured this happy despatch ; but the very 
 punishment it imposed only tied the knot 
 tighter. Couples of set purpose confessed 
 
142 ®[)e Hate’s Humber 3doom 
 
 their vows, got a small fine inflicted, and 
 there was legal evidence of their union I 
 Ecclesiastical discipline was strict enough to 
 prevent regularly instituted Scots ministers 
 from assisting at such affairs. But any man 
 would do (for, after all, he was but a witness), 
 and the first across the Border as well as 
 or better than another. Now, by a well- 
 known principle of international law, the 
 lex loci contractus governs such contracts : 
 the marriage being valid in Scotland where 
 it took place, was also recognised as valid in 
 England where its celebration would have 
 been a criminal offence ! This was curiously 
 illustrated early in the century by the case 
 of Joseph Atkinson. The Border, I must 
 explain, had all along been given to irregular 
 marriages, and different localities in Scot- 
 land were used as best suited the parties. 
 Lamberton Toll Bar, N.B., lay four miles 
 north of Berwick-on-Tweed ; and here our 
 Atkinson did a thriving business in the 
 coupling line. One fine day he had gone to 
 Berwick when a couple sought his service at 
 the toll-house. A quaint fiction presumes 
 
Sbomt Btsusch IRoaJjs to JWatrtmong 143 
 
 that everybody knows the law ; but here it 
 turned out that nobody did, for the bride 
 and groom instead of uniting themselves 
 before the first comer rushed off* to Berwick, 
 and were there wedded by Lamberton. And 
 not only was the affair a nullity ; but the 
 unfortunate coupler was sentenced to seven 
 years’’ transportation for offending against 
 the English marriage laws. 
 
 Most of them, however, that went North 
 on marriage bent, took the Carlisle road. A 
 few miles beyond that city the little river 
 Sark divides the two countries. Just over 
 the bridge is the toll-house : a footpath to 
 the right takes you to Springfield. Till 
 about 1826 the North road lay through this 
 village; then, however, the way was changed, 
 and ran by Gretna Green, which is nine and a 
 half miles from Carlisle. These two places, 
 together with the toll-house, are all in 
 Gretna parish ; but of course the best known is 
 Gretna Green: “ the resort ” (wrote Pennant) 
 u of all amorous couples whose union the 
 prudence of parents or guardians prohibits.’” 
 The place acquired a world-wide fame : that 
 
144 Ww Hate’s Humber Hoorn 
 
 English plays and novels should abound in 
 references to it, as they had done to the 
 Fleet, was only natural ; but one of George 
 Sand’s heroes elopes thither with a banker’s 
 daughter, and even Victor Hugo hymns it in 
 melodious verse, albeit his pronunciation is a 
 little peculiar : 
 
 La mousse des pres exhale 
 Avril, qui chante drin, drin, 
 
 Et met une succursale 
 De Cythere a Gretna Green. 
 
 And how to explain the fact that people 
 hurried from the remotest parts of Scotland 
 as well as from England, though any square 
 yard of soil “ frae Maidenkirk to Johnny 
 Groat’s” had served their purpose just as 
 well ? The parishioners, indeed, sought not 
 the service of their self-appointed priest; 
 but is there not an ancient saying as to the 
 prophet’s lack of honour among his own 
 people ? 
 
 Now, if you travelled North in proper 
 style, in a chaise and four, with post-boys 
 and so forth, you went to the “ King’s 
 Head ” at Springfield, or, after the change 
 
%>Qm Btmrtr l&oatrs to JJlatrtmong 145 
 
 of road, more probably to Gretna Hall ; but 
 your exact halting-place was determined at 
 Carlisle. The postillions there, being in 
 league with one or other of the Gretna inn- 
 keepers, took you willy-nilly to one or the 
 other hostelry. Were you poor and tramped 
 it, you were glad to get the knot tied at the 
 toll-house. Most of the business fell into a 
 few hands. Indeed, the landlords of the 
 various inns instead of performing the rite 
 themselves usually sent for a so-called 
 priest. A certificate after this sort was 
 given to the wedded couple : — u Kingdom of 
 Scotland, County of Dumfries, Parish of 
 Gretna : these are to certify to all whom it 
 may concern that (here followed the names) 
 by me, both being present and having de- 
 clared to me that they are single persons, 
 have now been married after the manner of 
 the law of Scotland.*” This the parties and 
 their witnesses subscribed. 
 
 I shall not attempt to trace the obscure 
 succession of Gretna Green priests. Joseph 
 Paisley, who died in 1811, aged eighty-four, 
 was, it seems, the original blacksmith ; but he 
 
 K 
 
146 ®i)e ULafo’s Uumfter Iftoom 
 
 was no son of Tubal Cain, though he had 
 been fisher, smuggler, tobacconist. He united 
 man with woman even as the smith welds iron 
 with iron — thus the learned explain his title. 
 After Paisley, and connected with him by 
 marriage, there was Robert Elliott, and 
 several people of the name of Laing. In 
 some rather amusing memoirs Elliott assures 
 us that between 1811 and 1839 he performed 
 three thousand eight hundred and seventy- 
 two marriages ; also that his best year was 
 1825, when he did one hundred and ninety- 
 eight, and his worst 1839, when he did but 
 forty-two. At the toll-bar there was a 
 different line, whose most picturesque figure 
 was Gordon, the old soldier. Gordon officiated 
 in full regimentals, a large cocked hat on his 
 head and a sword by his side. Here, too, 
 Beattie reigned for some years before 1843. 
 His occupation went to his head, for latterly 
 he had a craze for marrying, so that he would 
 creep up behind any chance couple and begin 
 to mumble the magic words that made them 
 one. The law has ever terrors for the un- 
 lettered, and the rustic bachelor fled at 
 
Bfeuseti to JWatttmottg 147 
 
 Beattie's approach, as if he had been the 
 pest. The “ priests " sometimes used a 
 mangled form of the Church of England 
 service : which irreverence was probably 
 
 intended as a delicate compliment to the 
 nationality of most of their clients. The 
 fees were uncertain. When the trembling 
 parties stood hand in hand in inn or toll-bar* 
 whilst the hoofs of pursuing post-horses 
 thundered ever nearer, ever louder, or it 
 might be that irate father or guardian 
 battered at the door, it was no time to 
 bargain. The “ priest " saw his chance ; 
 and now and again he pouched as much as a 
 hundred pounds. 
 
 Each house had its record of famous 
 marriages. There was the story of how 
 Lord Westmoreland sought the hand of the 
 heiress of Child, the banker, and was re- 
 pulsed with “ Your blood, my Lord, is good, 
 but money is better." My Lord and the 
 young lady were speedily galloping towards 
 the border, while Mr. Child “ breathed hot 
 and instant on their trace." He had caught 
 them too, but his leader was shot down or 
 
148 Hafo’s Humber 3doom 
 
 his carriage disabled by some trick (the 
 legends vary), and he was too late after all. 
 He made the best of it, of course, and in due 
 time Lady Sophia Fane, daughter of the 
 marriage, inherited grandpa’s fortune and 
 his bank at Temple Bar. Odder still was 
 the marriage, in 1826, of Edward Gibbon 
 Wakefield to Ellen Turner. It was brought 
 about by an extraordinary fraud, and a week 
 after the far from happy couple were run 
 to earth at Calais by the bride’s relatives. 
 They a quoted William and Mary upon me 
 till I was tired of their Majesties’ names,” was 
 Wakefield’s mournful excuse for submitting 
 to a separation. He was afterwards tried 
 for abduction, found guilty, and sentenced to 
 three years’ imprisonment ; while a special 
 Act of Parliament (7 and 8 Geo. IV. c. 66) 
 declared the marriage null and void. Wake- 
 field ended strangely as a political economist. 
 Is not his “ theory of colonisation ” writ large 
 in all the text books ? A pair of Lord High 
 Chancellors must conclude our list. In 
 November 1772, John Scott, afterwards Lord 
 Eldon, was married at Blackshiels, in East 
 
Sbomt Dtsttsdf Hoa&s to JWatrtmong 149 
 
 Lothian, to Bessie Surtees, the bridegroom 
 being but twenty-one. Though the Rev. 
 Mr. Buchanan, minister of an Episcopal con- 
 gregation at Haddington, officiated, it was a 
 runaway match and an irregular marriage. 
 Lord Erskine, about October 1818, was 
 wedded at the “ King’s Head,” Springfield, 
 to Miss Mary Buck (said to have been his 
 housekeeper). He was about seventy, and, 
 one fears, in his dotage. A number of ex- 
 travagant legends still linger as to the cere- 
 mony. He was dressed in woman’s clothes, 
 and played strange pranks. He and his in- 
 tended spouse had with them in the coach a 
 brace of merry-begots (as our fathers called 
 them), over whom he threw his cloak during 
 the ceremony in order to make them his 
 heirs. It is still a vulgar belief in the North 
 that if the parents of children born out of 
 wedlock are married, the offspring, to be 
 legitimised, must be held under their mother’s 
 girdle through the nuptial rites. Now, by 
 the law of Scotland, such a marriage pro- 
 duces the effect noted ; but the presence or 
 absence of the children is void of legal con- 
 
150 Ww Hafo’s Humber Hoom 
 
 sequence. As far as is known, Erskine had 
 one son called Hampden, bom December 5, 
 1821, and no other by Mary Buck. It is 
 worth noting that Robert Burns, on his road 
 to Carlisle in 1787, fell in by the way u with 
 a girl and her married sister "; and “ the 
 girl, after some overtures of gallantry on my 
 side, sees me a little cut with the bottle, and 
 offers to take me in for a Gretna Green 
 affair." Burns was already wed, Scots fashion, 
 to Jean Armour. And the thing did not 
 come off, so that bigamy is not to be reck- 
 oned among the poet’s sins. 
 
 They were rather sordid affairs in the end, 
 those Gretna Green marriages. So, at least, 
 the Reverend James Roddick, minister of 
 the parish, writing of the place in 1834 in 
 the New Statistical Account , would have us 
 believe. There were three or four hundred 
 marriages annually : “ the parties are chiefly 
 from the sister kingdom and from the lowest 
 rank of the population." A number came 
 from Carlisle at fair-time, got married, spent 
 a few days together, and then divorced them- 
 selves. Competition had brought down the 
 
sfcom t Wzwttj Itoairs to JWatttmong 151 
 
 priest’s fee to half-a-crown, and every tip- 
 pling-house had its own official. Nay, the 
 very roadman on the highway that joined 
 the kingdoms pressed his services on all 
 and sundry ! And then the railway came 
 to Gretna, and you had the spectacle of 
 “ priests ” touting on the platform. Alas for 
 those shores of old Romance ! In 1856, Lord 
 Brougham's Act (19 & 20 Viet. cap. 96), 
 made well-nigh as summary an end of Gretna 
 as Lord Hardwicke's had of the Fleet unions. 
 It provided that at least one of the parties 
 to an irregular Scots marriage must be 
 domiciled in Scotland, or have resided there 
 during the twenty-one days immediately 
 preceding the espousals ; else were they 
 altogether void. What an enemy your 
 modern lawgiver is to the picturesque ! And 
 what an entertaining place this world must 
 once have been ! 
 
JSor&er Hatu 
 
 The Border Country — Its Lays and Legends — The 
 Wardens and Other Officers — Johnie Armstrong — 
 Merrie Carlisle — Blackmail — The Border Chieftain 
 and His Home— A Raid— “ Hot-trod”— “ To-names” 
 — A Bill of Complaint — The Day of Truce — Business 
 and Pleasure — “Double and Salffye” — Border Faith 
 — Deadly Feud — The Story of Kinmont Willie — 
 The Debateable Land — The Union of the Crowns 
 and the End of Border Law. 
 
 Leges marchiarum , to wit, the Laws of the 
 Marches; so statesmen and lawyers named 
 the codes which said, though oft in vain, 
 how English and Scots Borderers should 
 comport themselves, and how each kingdom 
 should guard against the other’s deadly un- 
 ceasing enmity. I propose to outline these 
 laws, and the officials by whom and courts 
 wherein they were enforced. 
 
 But first a word as to country and people. 
 From Berwick to the Solway — the extreme 
 points of the dividing line between North 
 
153 
 
 Sorter Hafo 
 
 and South Britain — is but seventy miles in 
 a crow's flight. But trace its windings, and 
 you measure one hundred and ten. Over 
 more than half of this space the division is 
 arbitrary. It happed where the opposing 
 forces balanced. The Scot pushed his way 
 a little farther south here, was pushed back a 
 little farther north there ; and commissioners 
 and treaties indelibly marked the spots. The 
 conflict lasted over three centuries, and must 
 obviously be fiercest on the line where the 
 kingdoms met. If it stiffened, yet warped, 
 the Scots' character, and prevented the 
 growth of commerce and tilth and comfort 
 in Scotland proper, what must have been its 
 effect on the Scots Borderer, ever in the 
 hottest of the furnace ? The weaker, poorer, 
 smaller kingdom felt the struggle far more 
 than England, yet the English were worse 
 troubled than the Scots Borders : being the 
 richer, they were the more liable to in- 
 cursion ; their dalesmen were not greatly 
 different from other Englishmen ; they were 
 kept in hand by a strong central authority ; 
 they had thriving towns and a certain 
 
154 Ww Hafo’s Humber 2ft oom 
 
 standard of wealth and comfort. Now, the 
 Scots clansmen developed unchecked ; so it is 
 mainly from them that we take our ideas of 
 Border life. 
 
 The Border country is a pleasant pastoral 
 land, with soft, rounded hills, and streams 
 innumerable, and secluded valleys, where the 
 ruins of old peels or feudal castles intimate a 
 troubled past. That past, however, has left 
 a precious legacy to letters, for the Border 
 ballads are of the finest of the wheat. They 
 preserve, as only literature can, the joys and 
 sorrows, the aspirations, hopes and fears, and 
 beliefs of other days and vanished lives. 
 They are voices from the darkness, yet we oft 
 feel : 
 
 He had himself laid hand on sword 
 
 He who this rime did write ! 
 
 The most of them have no certain time or 
 place. Even the traditional stories help but 
 little to make things clear. Yet they tell 
 us more, and tell it better, than the dull 
 records of the annalists. We know who 
 these men really were — a strong, resolute 
 
155 
 
 Ww JSorlier Hafo 
 
 race, passionate and proud, rough and cruel, 
 living by open robbery, yet capable of death- 
 less devotion, faithful to their word, hating 
 all cowards and traitors to the death ; not 
 without a certain respect and admiration for 
 their likes across the line, fond of jest and 
 song, equal on occasion to a certain rude 
 eloquence ; and, before all, the most turbu- 
 lent and troublesome. The Scots Borderers 
 were dreaded by their own more peaceful 
 countrymen ; and to think of that narrow 
 strip of country, hemmed in by the High- 
 lands to the north and the Border clans on 
 the south, is to shudder at the burden it had 
 to endure. For a race, whatever its good 
 qualities, that lives by rapine, is like to be 
 dangerous to friends as well as foes. Some 
 Border clans, as the Armstrongs and the 
 Elliots, were girded at as “ always riding ” ; 
 and they were not particular as to whom they 
 rode against. Nay, both governments sus- 
 pected the Borderers of an inexplicable 
 tenderness for their neighbours. When 
 they took part in a larger expedition, they 
 would attack each other with a suspicious 
 
156 VL\ n Halo’s Humber :Eoom 
 
 lack of heart. At best they were apt to 
 look at war from their own point of view, 
 and fight for mere prisoners or plunder. 
 
 To meet such conditions the Border Laws 
 were evolved. They were administered in 
 chief by special officers called Wardens. 
 Either Border was portioned out into three 
 Marches : the East, the Middle, and the 
 West (the Lordship of Liddesdale was in- 
 cluded in the Scots Middle March, but some- 
 times it had a special Keeper of almost equal 
 dignity with a Warden. Each of the three 
 Scots Wardens had a hundred pounds of 
 yearly fee ; he could appoint deputies, cap- 
 tains of strongholds, clerks, sergeants, and 
 dempsters ; he could call out the full force 
 of his district to invade or beat back inva- 
 sion ; he represented the Sovereign, and was 
 responsible for crimes. He must keep the 
 Border clans in order by securing as hostages 
 several of their most conspicuous sons, and 
 either these were quartered on nobles on the 
 other side of the Firth, or they were held in 
 safer keeping in the king’s castles. He also 
 held Justice Courts for the trial of Scots 
 
157 
 
 JSorUn* Uafo 
 
 subjects accused of offences against the laws 
 of their own country. He was commonly a 
 great noble of the district, his office in early 
 times being often hereditary; and, as such 
 noble, he had power of life and death, so that 
 the need for holding special courts was little 
 felt. A pointed Scots anecdote pictures an 
 angry Highlander “ banning ” the Lords of 
 Session as “ kinless loons, ” because, though 
 some were relatives, they had decided a case 
 against him. These Wardens were not 
 “ kinless loons, 1 ’ and they often used their 
 office to favour a friend or depress a foe. 
 On small pretext they put their enemies “ to 
 the horn,” as the process of outlawry (by 
 trumpet blast) was called. True, the indiffer- 
 ence with which those enemies “ went to the 
 horn ” would scandalise the legal pedants. 
 
 Sometimes a superioi officer, called “ Lieu- 
 tenant,” was sent to the Borders; the 
 Wardens were under him ; he more fully 
 represented the royal power. Now and 
 again the Sovereign himself made a progress, 
 administering a rough and ready justice, and 
 so “ dantoning the thieves of the Borders, 
 
158 ®f)e Hato’s Humber Hoorn 
 
 and making the rush bush keep the cow.'” 
 So it was said of James V.’s famous raid in 
 1529. The chief incident was the capture 
 of Johnie Armstrong of Gilnockie, the ruins 
 of whose picturesque tower at the Hollows 
 still overlook the Esk. Gilnockie came to 
 meet his King with a great band of horse- 
 men richly apparelled. He was captain of 
 Langholm Castle, and the ballad tells how 
 he and his companions exercised themselves 
 in knightly sports on Langholm Lee, whilst 
 “ The ladies lukit frae their loft windows. 
 6 God bring our men well hame agen ! ’ ” the 
 ladies said; and their apprehensions were 
 more than justified, for Johnie's reception 
 was not so cordial as he expected. “ What 
 wants yon knave that a King should have ? ” 
 asked James in angry amaze, as he ordered 
 the band to instant execution. Gilnockie 
 and company were presently strung up on 
 some convenient yew-trees at Carlenrig, 
 though, in accordance with romantic prece- 
 dent, one is said to have escaped to tell the 
 tale. Many of Johnie's name, among them 
 111 Will Armstrong, tersely described as 
 
159 
 
 Wi ) c 23 or&er Uafo 
 
 “ another stark thieff,” went to their doom ; 
 but the act, however applauded at Edin- 
 burgh, was bitterly condemned on the 
 Borders. Gilnockie only plundered the 
 English, it was urged, and the King had 
 caught him by a trick unworthy a Stuart. 
 The country folk loved to tell how the dule- 
 trees faded away, and they loved to point 
 out the graves of the Armstrongs in the 
 lonely churchyard. But the stirring ballad 
 preserves the name better than all else. 
 It unblushingly commends Gilnockie’s love of 
 honesty, his generosity, his patriotism, and 
 directly accuses his Sovereign of treachery, 
 in which accusation there is perhaps some 
 truth. Anyhow, his execution was the 
 violent act of a weak man, and had no per- 
 manent effect. 
 
 The Wardens had twofold duties : first, 
 that of defence against the enemy ; second, 
 that of negotiation in times of peace with 
 their mighty opposites. Thus the Border laws 
 were part police and part international, 
 and were administered in different courts. 
 Offences of the first class were speaking or 
 
160 Hafo’s Humber Hoorn 
 
 conferring with Englishmen without permis- 
 sion of the King or the Warden, and the 
 warning Englishmen of the Scats’ alertness 
 in the matter of forays. In brief, aiding, 
 abetting, or in any way holding intercourse 
 with the “ auld enemy ” was march 
 treason (to adopt a convenient English 
 term). 
 
 In England the Wardens were finally 
 chosen for their political and military skill, 
 not because of their territorial position. 
 Now, the Warden of the East Marches was 
 commonly Governor and Castellan of Berwick. 
 The castle of Harbottell was allotted to 
 the Warden of the Middle Marches ; 
 whilst for the West, Carlisle, where again 
 Governor and Warden were often one, was 
 the appointed place. Sometimes a Lord 
 warden-general was appointed, sometimes a 
 Lieutenant, but the Wardens were commonly 
 independent. At the Warden courts 
 Englishmen were punished for march 
 treason, a branch of which was furnishing 
 the Scots with articles of merchandise or 
 war. And here I note that Carlisle throve 
 
161 
 
 ® t)e JSortar Uafo 
 
 on this illegal traffic. At Carlisle Fair the 
 Carlisle burgher never asked the nationality 
 of man or beast. The first got his money 
 or its equivalent ; the second was instantly 
 passed through the hands of butcher and 
 skinner. Though the countryside were 
 wasted, the burghers lay safe within their 
 strong walls, and waxed fat on the spoils of 
 borderman and dalesman alike. Small 
 wonder the city was “ Merrie Carlisle.' 
 The law struck with as little force against 
 blackmail, or protection money, which it 
 was an offence to pay to any person, Scots 
 or English. From this source, Gilnockie 
 and others, coining the terror of their name, 
 drew great revenue. Another provision was 
 against marriage with a Scotswoman with- 
 out the Warden's consent, for in this way 
 traitors, or “ half-marrows/' arose within the 
 gate. Complete forms are preserved of the 
 procedure at those Warden courts. There 
 were a grand jury and an ordinary jury, and 
 the Warden acted very much as a judge of 
 to-day. One or two technical terms I shall 
 presently explain. Here I but note that the 
 
 L 
 
162 Ww ILnto’s Humhtr oom 
 
 criminal guilty of march treason was be- 
 headed “ according to the customs of the 
 marches.” 
 
 The international duties of the Wardens 
 were those of conference with each other, and 
 the redressing of approved wrongs, which 
 wrongs were usually done in raids or forays. 
 Of these I must now give some account. 
 The smaller Border chieftain dwelt in a peel 
 tower, stuck on the edge of a rock or at the 
 break of a torrent. It was a rude structure 
 with a projecting battlement. A stair or 
 ladder even held its two stories together, and 
 about it lay a barnkin — a space of some sixty 
 feet encompassed by a wall ; the laird^s 
 followers dwelling in huts hard by. For 
 small parties the tower was self-sufficient in 
 defence, and if it lay in the way of a hostile 
 army, the laird was duly warned by scouts or 
 beacon fires, and withdrew to some fastness 
 of rock or marsh, carrying his few valuables, 
 driving his live stock before him, leaving the 
 foeman nothing to burn and nothing to take 
 away. With his followers he lived on milk, 
 meat, and barley, together with the spoils of 
 
Wi n 2Sorlftr Hato 163 
 
 the forest and stream. The marchmen are 
 reported temperate — no doubt from necessity. 
 Their kine, recruited by forays, were herded 
 in a secluded part of the glen, and when the 
 herd waxed small, and the laird was tired of 
 hunting, and his women lusted after new 
 ornament, and old wounds were healed, and 
 the retainers were growing rusty, then it was 
 time for a raid. Was the laird still inactive ? 
 In struck his lady^s sharper wit, and the story 
 goes that Wat Scott of Harden was ever 
 and anon served with a dish which, being 
 uncovered, revealed a pair of polished spurs. 
 Thus his wife, Mary Scott, the 66 Flower of 
 Yarrow” — a very practical person, despite 
 her romantic name — urged him to profitable 
 rapine. Well : his riders were bidden to a 
 trysting-place ; and hither, armed in jacks 
 (which are leathern jerkins plated with iron) 
 and mounted on small but active and hardy 
 horses, they repaired at evenfall. The laird 
 and some superior henchmen wore also sleeves 
 of mail and steel bonnets; all had long 
 lances, swords, axes, and in later times such 
 rude firearms — serpentines, half-haggs, har- 
 
164 ®fje Hate’s Humber 2Room 
 
 quebusses, currys, cullivers, and hand-guns 
 are mentioned — as were to be had. In the 
 mirk night the reivers crossed the Border; 
 and to do this unseen was no easy matter. 
 The whole line from Berwick to Carlisle was 
 patrolled by setters and searchers, watchers 
 and overseers, having sleuth-hounds to track 
 the invader ; also, many folk held lands by 
 the tenure of cornage, and by blowing horns 
 must warn the land of coming raids. Where 
 the frontier line was a river the fords were 
 carefully guarded; those held unnecessary 
 were staked up ; narrow passes were blocked 
 in divers ways, so that chief element in 
 Border craft was the knowledge of paths and 
 passes through moorland and moss, and of 
 nooks and coigns of security deep in the 
 mountain glens. 
 
 Our party crosses in safety and makes to 
 one of those hidden spots, as near as may be 
 to the scene of action. Here it rests and 
 refreshes itself during the day, and next 
 night it swoops down on its appointed foray. 
 The chief quest was ever cattle, which were 
 eatable and portable. But your moss- 
 
165 
 
 Ww 23otl(cr Hato 
 
 trooper was not particular. He took every- 
 thing inside and outside house and byre. 
 Many lists are preserved of things lifted, 
 whereof one notes a shroud and children’s 
 clothes. A sleuth-hound was a choice prize. 
 Possibly its abduction touched the Borderer’s 
 sense of humour. Scott of Harden, escaping 
 from a raid, with 44 a bow of kye and a 
 bassen’d (brindled) bull,” passed a trim hay- 
 stack. He sighed as he thought of the lack 
 of fodder in his own glen. 44 Had ye but 
 four feet ye should not stand lang there,” he 
 muttered as he hurried onwards. Not to 
 him, not to any rider was it given to tarry by 
 the way, for the dalesmen were not the folk 
 to sit down under outrage. The warder, as 
 he looked from the 44 Scots gate ” of Carlisle 
 castle, and saw the red flame leaping forth 
 into the night from burning homestead or 
 hamlet, was quick to warn the countryside 
 that a reiving expedition was afoot. Even 
 though the prey were lifted unobserved, that 
 only caused a few hours’ delay, and soon a 
 considerable body, carrying a lighted piece 
 of turf on a spear, as a sign, was instant 
 
166 W$z Hafo’s Humbtr % loom 
 
 on the invader’s trace. This u following of 
 the fraye” was called “ hot-trod,” and was 
 done with hound and horn, and hue and cry. 
 Certain privileges attached to the “hot- trod.” 
 If the offender was caught red-handed he 
 was executed ; or, if thrift got the better of 
 rage, he was held to ransom. As early as 
 1276 a curious case is reported from Aln- 
 wick, of a Scot attacking one Semanus, a 
 hermit, and taking his clothes and one 
 penny ! Being presently seized, the culprit 
 was beheaded by Semanus in person, who 
 thus recovered his goods and took vengeance 
 of his wrong. A later legend illustrates the 
 more than summary justice that was done. 
 The Warden's officers having taken a body 
 of prisoners, asked my Lord his pleasure. 
 His Lordship's mind was “ ta'en up wi' affairs 
 o' the state,'' and he hastily wished the 
 whole set hanged for their untimely intru- 
 sion. Presently he was horrified to find that 
 his imprecations had been taken as literal 
 commands, and literally obeyed. Even if the 
 reivers gained their own border, the law of 
 “ hot- trod '' permitted pursuit within six 
 
167 
 
 Wit Sorter Hatu 
 
 days of the offence. The pursuer, however, 
 must summon some reputable man of the 
 district entered to witness his proceedings* 
 Nay, the inhabitants generally must assist 
 him — at least, the law said so. 
 
 But if all failed, the Leges Marcliiarum 
 had still elaborate provisions to meet his 
 case. He had a shrewd guess who were his 
 assailants. The more noted moss-troopers 
 were “kenspeckle folk.” The very fact that 
 so many had the same surname caused them 
 to be distinguished by what were called 46 to- 
 names,” based on some physical or moral 
 characteristic, which even to-day photographs 
 the man for us. Such were Eddie Great- 
 legs, Jock Half-lugs, Red-neb Hob, Little 
 Jock Elliott, Wynkyng Wyll, Wry-crag, 111 
 Wild Will, Evil Willie, David the Leddy, 
 Hob the King; or some event in a man’s 
 history provided a 44 to-name.” Ill Drooned 
 Geordy, you fancy, had barely escaped a 
 righteous doom, and Archie Fire-the-Braes 
 was sure a swashbuckler of the first mag- 
 nitude. Others derived from their father’s 
 
 name. 
 
168 ®f)£ Halo’s Humber IRoom 
 
 The Laijdis Jok 
 All with him takis. 
 
 Thus, Sir Thomas Maitland, who has pre- 
 served some of these appellations in his 
 Complaint e Aganis the Thievis of Liddisdail, 
 apparently the only weapon he — though 
 Scots Chancellor — could use against them. 
 Other names, the chroniclers affirm, are more 
 expressive still ; but modern prudery forbids 
 their recovery. They were good enough 
 headmark, whatever their quality ; and a 
 harried household had but to hear one 
 shouted in or after the harrying to know 
 who the harriers were. The slogan, or war- 
 cry, of the clan would rap out in the excite- 
 ment, and there again he knew his men. 
 The cross of St. Andrew showed them to be 
 Scots, the cross of St. George affirmed them 
 English. A letter sewn in a cap, a kerchief 
 round the arm, were patent identification. 
 The chieftain’s banner was borne now and 
 again, even in a daylight foray — a mode 
 affected by the more daring spirits. 
 
 Divining in some sort his spoiler, the 
 
169 
 
 ®f)e SSortier Hafo 
 
 aggrieved and plundered sought legal redress. 
 Now the Laws of the Marches, agreed on by 
 royal commissioners from the two kingdoms, 
 regulated intercourse from early times. Thus 
 as early as 1249, eleven knights of Northum- 
 berland, and as many from the Scots Border, 
 drew up a rough code : for the recovery of 
 debts, the surrender of fugitive bondsmen, 
 and the trial by combat of weightier matters 
 in dispute. All Scotsmen, save the king 
 and the bishops of St. Andrews and 
 Dunkeld, accused of having committed a 
 crime in England, must fight their accuser 
 at certain fixed places on the Marches ; and 
 there were corresponding provisions when 
 the accused was an Englishman. What 
 seems a form of the judicium Dei appears in 
 another provision. An animal said to be 
 stolen, being brought to the Tweed or the 
 Esk, where either formed the boundary, was 
 driven into the water. If the beast sank the 
 defendant paid. If it swam to the farther 
 shore, the claimant had him as his own. If 
 it scrambled back to the bank whence it 
 started, the accused might (perchance) retain 
 
170 Hafo’s Humber 3ftoom 
 
 it with a clear conscience. But as to this 
 event the record is silent ; and, indeed, the 
 whole business lacks intelligibility. The 
 combats, however, were many, and were 
 much denounced by the clergy, who had 
 to provide a champion, and were heavily 
 mulcted if he lost. The priest suffered no 
 more than the people ; but he could better 
 voice his wrongs. All such things were 
 obviously adaptations of the trial by 
 ordeal, or by combat, and the treason 
 duel of chivalry, to the rough life of the 
 Border. Again, the matter was settled, even 
 in late times, by the oath of the accused. 
 The prisoner was sworn : — “ By Heaven 
 above you, Hell beneath you, by your part 
 of Paradise, by all that God made in six 
 days and seven nights, and by God Him- 
 self, ^ that he was innocent. In a super- 
 stitious age this might have some effect ; 
 and there was ever the fear of being 
 branded as perjured. But it can have 
 been used only when there was no proof, 
 or when the doubt was very grave: when 
 the issue, that is, seemed as the cutting 
 
33ortier Hato 171 
 
 of a knot, the loosing whereof passed man’s 
 wit* 
 
 In the century preceding the Union of the 
 Crowns, the international code was very 
 highly developed, and the procedure was 
 strictly defined. As England was the larger 
 nation, and as its law was in a more highly 
 developed and more firm and settled state, 
 its methods were followed on the whole. 
 The injured party sent a bill of complaint 
 to his own Warden ; and the bill, even as 
 put into official form, was simplicity itself. 
 It said that A. complained upon B. for that 
 — and then followed a list of the stolen 
 goods, or the wrongs done. It was verified 
 by the complainant’s oath, and thereafter 
 sent to the opposite Warden, whose duty was 
 to arrest the accused or at least to give him 
 notice to attend on the next Day of Truce. 
 [One famous fray (June 17, 1575) is com- 
 memorated in The Raid of the Reidswire , a 
 ballad setting forth many features of a Day of 
 Truce.] The Wardens agreed on the Day, and 
 the place was usually in the northern kingdom, 
 where most of the defendants lived. The 
 
172 ® Hate’s Humber Hoorn 
 
 meeting was proclaimed in all the market 
 towns on either side. The parties, each 
 accompanied by troops of friends, came in ; 
 and a messenger from the English side 
 demanded that assurance should be kept till 
 sunrise the following day. This was granted 
 by the Scots, who proceeded to send a similar 
 message, and were presently secured by a 
 similar assurance. Then each Warden held 
 up his hand as a sign of faith, and made 
 proclamation of the Day to his own side (the 
 evident purpose of this elaborate ritual was 
 to keep North and South from flying, on 
 sight, at each other’s throats). The English 
 Warden now came to his Scots brother, 
 whom he saluted and embraced; and the 
 business of the Day of Truce (or Diet, or 
 Day Marche, or Warden Court, as it was 
 variously called) began. That business was 
 commerce, and pleasure, as well as law. 
 Merchants come with their wares ; booths 
 were run up ; a brisk trade ran in articles 
 tempting to the savage eye. Both sides 
 were ready for the moment to forget their 
 enmities. If they could not fight, they could 
 
173 
 
 ®f)e JSorto Hafo 
 
 play, and football was ever your Borderers’ 
 favourite pastime (from the desperate mauls 
 which mark that exhilarating sport as 
 practised along the Border line, one fancies 
 that the “ auld riding bluid ” still stirs in 
 the veins of the players). Gambling, too, 
 was a popular excitement. There was much 
 of feasting and drinking, and sure some 
 Border Homer, poor and old and blind, even 
 as him of Chios, was there to charm and 
 melt his rude hearers with the storied loves 
 and wars of other days. The conclave fairly 
 hummed with pleasure and excitement. 
 Yet with such inflammable material, do you 
 wonder that the meeting ended now and 
 again in most admired disorder ? 
 
 For our bill of complaint, it might be 
 tried in more than one way. It might be by 
 “ the honour of the Warden,” who often had 
 knowledge, personal or acquired, of the case, 
 and felt competent to decide the matter off- 
 hand. On his first appearance he had taken 
 an oath (yearly renewed) in presence of the 
 opposite Warden and the whole assemblage 
 to do justice, and he now officially “fyled” 
 
174 HLafo’s Humfttt IJtoom 
 
 or “ cleared the bill ” (as the technical 
 phrase ran) by writing on it the words 
 “ foull (or 6 clear ’), as I am verily per- 
 suaded upon my conscience and honour ” — 
 a deliverance after the method wherein 
 individual peers give their voice at a trial of 
 one of their order. This did not of necessity 
 end the matter, for the complainant could 
 present a new bill and get the verdict of a 
 jury thereon, which also was the proper 
 tribunal where the Warden declined to 
 interfere. It was thus chosen : The English 
 Warden named and swore in six Scots, the 
 Scots Warden did the like to six English- 
 men. The oath ran in these terms : — “ Yea 
 shall cleane noe bill worthie to be fild, yea 
 shall file no bill worthie to be cleaned, ” and 
 so forth. Warden sergeants were appointed 
 who led the jury to a retired place ; the bills 
 were presented; and the jurymen fell to 
 work. It would seem that they did so in 
 two sections, each considering complaints 
 against its own nationality. If the bill was 
 “ fyled,” the word u foull ” was written upon 
 it (of course, a verdict of guilty) ; but how 
 
175 
 
 ®f)e Sorter Uafo 
 
 to get such a verdict under such conditions ? 
 The assize had more than a fellow-feeling 
 for the culprit : like the jury in Aytoun’s 
 story, they might think that Flodden (then 
 no distant memory) was not yet avenged. 
 There were divers expedients to this end. 
 Commissioners were sometimes appointed by 
 the two crowns to solve a difficulty a Warden 
 Court had failed to adjust. Again, it was 
 strangely provided that u If the accused be 
 not quitt by the oathe of the assize it is a 
 conviction.” One very stubborn jury {temp. 
 1596) sat for a day, a night, and a day on 
 end, “ almost to its undoeinge.” The 
 Warden, enraged at such conduct and 
 yet fearing for the men’s lives, needs must 
 discharge them. I ought to mention an 
 alleged third mode of trial by vower, who, 
 says Sir Walter Scott, was an umpire to 
 whom the dispute was referred. Rather was 
 he a witness of the accused’s own nation. 
 Some held such evidence essential to con- 
 viction ; if honest, it was practically con- 
 clusive. 
 
 Well ! Suppose the case too clear and the 
 
176 )t ILafo’s Humbtr 301 oom 
 
 man too friendless, and the jury “ fyled” the 
 bill. If the offence were capital, the prisoner 
 was kept in safe custody, and was hanged or 
 beheaded as soon as possible. But most 
 affairs were not capital. Thus the Border 
 Law forbad hunting in the other kingdom 
 without the express leave of the owner of 
 the soil. Just such an unlicensed hunting is 
 the theme of Chevy Chase . Thus : — 
 
 The Percy owt of Northumberland, 
 
 And a vow to God mayd he, 
 
 That he wolde hunte in the mountayns 
 Off Cheviot within dayes thre, 
 
 In the mauger of doughty Douglas, 
 
 And all that ever with him be. 
 
 Douglas took a summary mode of redress 
 where a later and tamer owner had lodged 
 his bill. In a common case of theft, if the 
 offender were not present (the jury would 
 seem to have tried cases in absence), the 
 Warden must produce him at the next Day 
 of Truce. Indeed, whilst the jury was de- 
 liberating, the officials were going over the 
 bills “ filed ” on the last Day, and handing 
 over each culprit to the opposite Warden; 
 
177 
 
 Ww SSorher Uato 
 
 or sureties were given for him ; or the 
 Warden delivered his servant as pledge. If 
 the pledge died, the body was carried to the 
 next Warden Court. 
 
 The guilty party, being delivered up, must 
 make restitution within forty days or suffer 
 death, whilst aggravated cases of “ lifting ” 
 were declared capital. In practice a man 
 taken in fight or otherwise was rarely put to 
 death. Captive and captor amicably dis- 
 cussed the question of ransom. That fixed, 
 the captive was allowed to raise it ; if 
 he failed he honourably surrendered. The 
 amount of restitution was the “ Double and 
 Salffye,” to wit, three times the value of the 
 original goods, two parts being recompense, 
 and the third costs or expenses. Need I say 
 that this triple return was too much for 
 Border honesty ? Sham claims were made, 
 and these, for that they obliged the Wardens 
 “to speire and search for the thing that 
 never was done,” were rightly deemed a great 
 nuisance. As the bills were sworn to, each 
 false charge involved perjury ; and in 1553 
 it was provided that the rascal claimants 
 
 M 
 
178 Ww Hafo’s Humber l&oom 
 
 should be delivered over to the tender 
 mercies of the opposite Warden. Moreover, 
 a genuine bill might be grossly exaggerated 
 (are claims against insurance and railway 
 companies always urged with accuracy of 
 detail ?). If it were disputed, the value was 
 determined by a mixed jury of Borderers. 
 
 I have had occasion to refer to Border 
 faith. In 1569 the Earl of Northumberland 
 was implicated in a rising against Elizabeth. 
 Fleeing north, he took refuge with an Arm- 
 strong, Hector of Harelaw, who sold him 
 to the Regent Murray. Harelaw’s name 
 became a byword and a reproach. He died 
 despised and neglected ; and “ to take Hector’s 
 cloak ” was an imputation of treachery years 
 after the original story had faded. Thus, in 
 Marchland the deadliest insult against a 
 man was to say that he had broken faith. 
 The insult was given in a very formal and 
 deliberate manner, called a Baugle. The 
 aggrieved party procured the glove or pic- 
 ture of the traitor, and whenever there was 
 a meeting (a Day of Truce was too favourable 
 an opportunity to be neglected) he gave no- 
 
179 
 
 ®f)e dottier Uato 
 
 tice of the breach of faith to friend and foe, 
 with blast of the horn and loud cries. The 
 man insulted must give him the lie in his 
 throat, and a deadly combat ensued. The 
 Laws of the Marches attempted to substitute 
 the remedy by bill, that the matter might 
 not “goe to the extremyte of a baughle,” 
 or where that was impossible, to fix rules for 
 the thing itself. Or, the Wardens were ad- 
 vised to attend, with less than a hundred of 
 retinue, to prevent “ Brawling, buklinge, 
 quarrelinge, and bloodshed.” Such things 
 were a fruitful source of what a Scots Act 
 termed “the heathenish and barbarous cus- 
 tom of Deadly Feud.” When one slew his 
 fellow under unfair conditions, the game of 
 revenge went see-sawing on for generations. 
 The Border legislators had many ingenious 
 devices to quench such strife. A Warden 
 might order a man complained of to sign in 
 solemn form a renunciation of his feud ; and 
 if he refused, he was delivered to the opposite 
 Warden till he consented. In pre-Reform- 
 ation days the church did something by 
 enjoining prayer and pilgrimage. A sum of 
 
180 'SZTfjt Hato’s Humbtr iftoom 
 
 money (Assythement) now and again settled 
 old scores ; or there might be a treaty of 
 peace cemented by marriage. Sometimes, 
 again, there was a fight by permission of the 
 Sovereign. (Cf. the parallel case of the clan- 
 duel in the Fair Maid of Perth.) Still, 
 prearranged single combats, duels in fact, 
 were frequent on the Border. Turner, or 
 Turnie Holme, at the junction of the Kirshope 
 and Liddel, was a favourite spot for them. 
 
 And now business and pleasure alike are 
 ended, and the day (fraught with anxiety to 
 official minds) is waning fast. Proclamation 
 is made that the multitude may know the 
 matters transacted. Then it is declared that 
 the Lord Wardens of England and Scotland, 
 and Scotland and England (what tender 
 care for each other's susceptibilities !) appoint 
 the next Day of Truce, which ought not to 
 be more than forty days hence, at such and 
 such a place. Then, with solemn salutations 
 and ponderous interchange of courtesy, each 
 party turns homeward. As noted, the Truce 
 lasted till the next sunrise. As the nations 
 were at peace (else had there been no meet- 
 
181 
 
 )t ^Sorter Hafo 
 
 ing), this recognised the fact that the Borders 
 were always, more or less, in a state of 
 trouble. Also it prevented people from 
 violently righting themselves forthwith. A 
 curious case in 1596, where this condition 
 was broken, gave rise to a Border foray of 
 the most exciting kind, commemorated in 
 the famous ballad of Kinmont Willie. A 
 Day of Truce had been held on the Kershope 
 Burn, and at its conclusion Willie Armstrong 
 of Kinmont, a noted Scots freebooter, rode 
 slowly off, with a few companions. Some 
 taunt, or maybe the mere sight of one who 
 had done them so much wrong, was too 
 much for the English party, and Kinmont 
 was speedily laid by the heels in Carlisle 
 Castle. Buccleuch was Keeper of Liddis- 
 dale. He had not been present at the Day 
 of Truce ; but when they told him that 
 Kinmont had been seized 66 between the 
 hours of night and day,” he expressed his 
 anger in no uncertain terms : 
 
 He has ta’en the table wi’ his hand, 
 
 He garr’d the red wine spring on hie. 
 
182 ®f)e Hate’s Humber Ifloorn 
 
 And have they ta’en him, Kinmont Willie, 
 Against the truce of Border tide ? 
 
 And forgotten that the bauld Buccleuch 
 Is keeper here on the Scottish side ? 
 
 Negociations failing to procure redress, 
 Buccleuch determined to rescue Kinmont 
 himself. In the darkness of a stormy night 
 he and his men stole up to Carlisle, broke 
 the citadel, rescued Kinmont, and carried 
 him off in safety, whilst the English lawyers 
 were raising ingenious technical justifications 
 (you can read them at length in the collec- 
 tion of Border Papers) of the capture. 
 Those same papers show that the ballad 
 gives the main features of the rescue with 
 surprising accuracy. But I cannot linger 
 over its cheerful numbers. The event might 
 once have provoked a war, but the shadow 
 of the Union was already cast. James would 
 do nothing to spoil the splendid prize almost 
 within his grasp, and Elizabeth’s statesmen 
 were not like to quarrel with their future 
 master. 
 
 Half a century before the consummation 
 one great cause of discord had been removed. 
 
183 
 
 W&Z 23 ortrer Hato 
 
 From the junction of the Liddel and Esk to 
 the Solway was known as the Debateable 
 Land, a sort of No-Man's Land, left in 
 doubt from the time of Bruce. Both nations 
 pastured on it from sunrise to sunset, but in 
 the night any beasts left grazing were lawful 
 prey to the first comer. Enclosures or houses 
 on it could be destroyed or burned without 
 remedy. Apparently the idea was to make 
 it a 66 buffer State " between the two king- 
 doms. It was, however, a thorn in the flesh 
 to each, for the Bateables, as the in-dwellers 
 were called, were broken men, and withal 
 the most desperate ruffians on the Border. 
 In 1552 a joint Commission divided the 
 Debateable Land between England and 
 Scotland. The Bateables were driven out, 
 and a dyke was built as boundary line. All 
 the same, here was, for many years, the wildest 
 in the whole wild whirlpool ; so that long 
 after the Union, when somebody told King 
 James of a cow which, taken from England 
 to Scotland, had broken loose and got home 
 of itself, the British Solomon was sceptical. 
 It gravelled him, he confessed, to imagine 
 
184 Hate’s Humber 3ft oom 
 
 any four-footed thing passing unlifted 
 through the Debateable Land. 
 
 With the death of Elizabeth (1603) came 
 the Union of the Crowns, and the Scots 
 riders felt their craft in danger, for they 
 forthwith made a desperate incursion into 
 England, with some idea (it is thought) of 
 staying the event. But they were severely 
 punished, and needs must cower under the 
 now all-powerful Crown. The appointment 
 of effective Wardens presently ceased. In 
 1606, by the Act 4 Jac. I., cap. 1, the 
 English Parliament repealed the anti-Scots 
 laws, on condition that the Scots Parlia- 
 ment reciprocated ; and presently a kindred 
 measure was touched with the sceptre at 
 Edinburgh. The administration of the 
 Border was left to the ordinary tribunals, 
 and the Leges Marchiarum vanished to the 
 Lumber Room. 
 
€i)c j5en'eant=at=!Lafoj 
 
 The Black Patch on the Wig— A King’s Serjeant — 
 The Old English Law Courts — The Common Pleas 
 — Queen’s Counsel — How Serjeants were Created 
 — Their Feasts — Their Posies — Their Colts — - 
 Chaucer’s Serjeant-at-Law — The Coif — The Fall 
 of the Order — Some Famous Serjeants. 
 
 You have no doubt, at some time or other, 
 walked through the Royal Courts of Justice 
 and admired the Judges in their scarlet or 
 other bravery. One odd little detail may 
 have caught your eye : a black patch on the 
 top differences the wig of the present (1898) 
 Master of the Rolls from those of his brethren. 
 It signifies that the wearer is a Serjeant-at- 
 Law, and when he goes to return no more, with 
 him will probably vanish the Order of the 
 Coif. Verily, it will be the “ end o^ an auld 
 sang,” of a record stretching back to the 
 beginning of English jurisprudence, of an 
 order whose passing had, at one time, seemed 
 
186 Hato’s Humber iftoom 
 
 as the passing of the law itself. Here in bare 
 outline I set forth its ancient and famous 
 history. And, first, as to the name. Under 
 the feudal system land was held from the 
 Crown upon various tenures. Sometimes 
 special services were required from the 
 holders ; these were called Serjeants, and a 
 tenure was said to be by Serjeanty. Special 
 services, though usually military, now and 
 again had to do with the administration of 
 justice. A man enjoyed his plot because he 
 was coroner, keeper of the peace, summoner, 
 or what not ; and, over and above the land, 
 he had the fees of the office. A few offices, 
 chiefly legal, came to have no land attached 
 — were only paid in fees. Such a business 
 was a Serjeanty in gross, or at large, as one 
 might say. Again, after the Conquest, whilst 
 the records of our law courts were in Latin, 
 the spoken language was Norman-French — a 
 fearful and wondrous tongue that grew to be 
 — u as ill an hearing in the mouth as law- 
 French,” says Milton scornfully — and indeed 
 Babel had scarce matched it. But from the 
 first it must have been a sore vexation to the 
 
®f)e §berfeant-at-Hafo 187 
 
 thick-witted Saxon haled before the tribunal 
 of his conquerors. He needs must employ a 
 counter , or man skilled in the confer , as the 
 pleadings were called. The business was a 
 lucrative one, so the Crown assumed the 
 right of regulation and appointment. It was 
 held for a Serjeanty in gross, and its holders 
 were servientes regis ad legem . The word 
 regis was soon omitted except as regards 
 those specially retained for the royal service. 
 The literal translation of the other words is 
 Serjeants-at-law, still the designation of the 
 surviving fellows of the order. The Serjeant- 
 at-law was appointed, or, in form at least, 
 commanded to take office by writ under the 
 Great Seal. He was courteously addressed 
 as “you,” whilst the sheriff was commonly 
 plain “thou” or “thee.” The King’s or 
 Queen’s Serjeants were appointed by letters 
 patent ; and though this official is extinct as 
 the dodo, he is mentioned after the Queen’s 
 Attorney-General as the public prosecutor in 
 the proclamation still mumbled at the open- 
 ing of courts like the Old Bailey. 
 
 Now, in the early Norman period the aula 
 
188 Hate’s Humber 3ft oom 
 
 regis , or Supreme Court, was simply the King 
 acting as judge with the assistance of his 
 great officers of state. In time there deve- 
 loped therefrom among much else the three 
 old common law courts; whereof the Com- 
 mon Pleas settled the disputes of subjects, 
 the King's Bench, suits concerning the King 
 and the realm, the Exchequer, revenue 
 matters. Though the last two by means of 
 quaint fictions afterwards acquired a share 
 of private litigation, yet such was more pro- 
 perly for the Court of Common Pleas. It 
 was peculiarly the Serjeants' court, and for 
 many centuries, up to fifty years ago, they 
 had the exclusive right of audience. Until 
 the Judicature Acts they were the body of 
 men next to the judges, each being addressed 
 from the bench as “ Brother," and from them 
 the judges must be chosen, also until 1850 
 the assizes must be held before a judge or a 
 Serjeant of the coif. 
 
 A clause in Magna Charta provided that 
 the Common Pleas should not follow the 
 King's wanderings, but sit in a fixed place ; 
 this fixed place came to be near the great 
 
Wi n &er^ant-at-1Lafo 189 
 
 door of the Hall at Westminster. With 
 the wind in the north the spot was cold and 
 draughty, so after the Restoration some 
 daring innovator proposed 64 to let it (the 
 Court) in through the wall into a back room 
 which they called the treasury.” Sir Orlando 
 Bridgeman, the Chief Justice, would on no 
 account hear of this. To move it an inch 
 were flagrant violation of Magna Charta. 
 Might not, he darkly hinted, all its writs be 
 thus rendered null and void? Was legal 
 pedantry ever carried further? In a later 
 age the change was made without comment, 
 and in our own time the Common Pleas itself 
 has gone to the Lumber Room. No doubt 
 this early localising of the court helped to 
 develop a special Bar. Other species of 
 practitioners — barristers, attorneys, solicitors 
 — in time arose, and the appointment of 
 Queen’s Counsel, of whom Lord Bacon was 
 the earliest, struck the first real blow at the 
 Order of the Coif ; but the detail of such 
 things is not for this page. In later days 
 every Serjeant was a more fully developed 
 barrister, and then and now, as is well known, 
 
190 Hafo’s Humber SRoom 
 
 every barrister must belong to one of the 
 four Inns of Court — the two Temples, Gray's 
 Inn, and Lincoln's Inn to wit, whose history 
 cannot be told here; suffice it to say they 
 were voluntary associations of lawyers, which 
 gradually acquired the right of calling to 
 the Bar those who wished to practise. 
 
 Now, the method of appointment of Ser- 
 jeants was as follows : The judges, headed 
 by the Chief Justice of the Common Pleas, 
 picked out certain eminent barristers as 
 worthy of the dignity, their names were 
 given in to the Lord Chancellor, and in due 
 time each had his writ, whereof he formally 
 gave his Inn notice. His House entertained 
 him at a public breakfast, presented him 
 with a gold or silver net purse with ten 
 guineas or so as a retaining fee, the chapel 
 bell was tolled, and he was solemnly rung 
 out of the bounds. On the day of his call 
 he was harangued (often at preposterous 
 length) by the Chief Justice of the King's 
 Bench, he knelt down, and the white coif of 
 the order was fitted on his head ; he went in 
 procession to Westminster and “ counted'’ 
 
®J)e ^er}fant-at-Hato 191 
 
 in a real action in the Court of Common 
 Pleas. For centuries he did so in law- 
 Erench. Lord Hardwicke was the first 
 Serjeant who “ counted ” in English. The 
 new-comer was admitted a member of 
 Serjeants'’ Inn, in Chancery Lane, in ancient 
 times called Farringdon Inn, whereof all the 
 members were Serjeants. Here they dined 
 together on the first and last days of term ; 
 their clerks also dined in hall, though at a 
 separate table — a survival, no doubt, from 
 the days when the retainer feasted, albeit 
 “ below the salt,” with his master. Dinner 
 done and the napery removed, the board of 
 green cloth was constituted, and under the 
 presidency of the Chief Judge the business of 
 the House was transacted. There was a 
 second Serjeants’ Inn in Fleet Street, but in 
 1758 its members joined the older institution 
 in Chancery Lane. When the Judicature 
 Acts practically abolished the order, the Inn 
 was sold and its property divided among the 
 members, a scandalous proceeding and poor 
 result of “ the wisdom of an heep of lernede 
 
 men 
 
192 Ww Hafo’s Humber Hoom 
 
 The Serjeant's feast on his appointment 
 was a magnificent affair, instar coronationis , 
 as Fortescue has it. In old times it lasted 
 seven days ; one of the largest palaces in the 
 metropolis was selected, and kings and 
 queens graced its quaint ceremonial. Stow 
 chronicles one such celebration at the call of 
 eleven Serjeants, in 1531. There were con- 
 sumed “ twenty-four great beefes, one 
 hundred fat muttons, fifty-one great veales, 
 thirty-four porkes," not to mention the 
 swans, the larkes, the “ capons of Kent," the 
 “ carcase of an ox from the shambles," and 
 so forth. One fancies these solids were 
 washed down by potations proportionately 
 long and deep. And there were other 
 attractions and other expenses. At the 
 feast in October 1552, “ a standing dish of 
 wax representing the Court of Common 
 Pleas " was the admiration of the guests ; 
 again, a year or two later, it is noted that 
 each Serjeant was attended by three gen- 
 tlemen selected by him from among the 
 members of his own Inn to act as his sewer, 
 his carver, and his cup-bearer. These 
 
193 
 
 Ww &etjeant-at-Hafo 
 
 Gargantuan banquets must have proved a 
 sore burden : they were cut down to one 
 day, and, on the union of the Inns in 1758, 
 given up as unsuited to the newer times. 
 
 One expense remained. Serjeants on their 
 call must give gold rings to the Sovereign, 
 the Lord Chancellor, the judges, and many 
 others. From about the time of Elizabeth 
 mottoes or “ posies ” were engraved thereon. 
 Sometimes each Serjeant had his own device, 
 more commonly the whole call adopted the 
 same motto, which was usually a compliment 
 to the reigning monarch or an allusion to 
 some public event. Thus, after the Restora- 
 tion the words ran : Adeste Corolus Magnus. 
 With a good deal of elision and twisting the 
 Roman numerals for 1660 were extracted 
 from this, to the huge delight of the learned 
 triflers. Imperium et libertas was the word 
 for 1700, and plus quam speravimus that of 
 1714, which was as neat as any. The rings 
 were presented to the judges by the Serjeant's 
 44 colt," as the barrister attendant on him 
 through the ceremony was called (probably 
 from colt , an apprentice) ; he also had a ring. 
 
 N 
 
194 ®j)t Hate’s Humber Iftoom 
 
 In the ninth of Geo. II. the fourteen new 
 Serjeants gave, as of duty, 1409 rings, valued 
 at <£773. That call cost each Serjeant 
 nearly £200. This ring-giving continued 
 to the end ; another custom, that of giving 
 liveries to relatives and friends, was dis- 
 continued in 1759. In mediaeval times the 
 new Serjeants went in procession to St. 
 Paul’s, and worshipped at the shrine of 
 Thomas a Becket ; then to each was allotted 
 a pillar, so that his clients might know 
 where to find him. The Reformation put a 
 summary end to the worship of St. Thomas, 
 but the formality of the pillar lingered on 
 till Old St. Paul’s and Old London blazed in 
 the Great Fire of 1666. 
 
 The mediaeval lawyer lives for us to-day in 
 Chaucer’s famous picture : 
 
 , A Sergeant of Lawe, war and wys, 
 
 That often hadde ben atte parvys, 
 
 Ther was also, ful riche of excellence. 
 
 Discret he was, and of great reverence : 
 
 He semede such, his wordes weren so wise, 
 Justice he was ful often in assise, 
 
 By patente, and by pleyn commissioun ; 
 
 For his science, and for his heih renoun, 
 
195 
 
 &er}tant-at-Hafo 
 
 Of fees and robes hadde he many oon. 
 
 So gret a purchasour was nowher noon. 
 
 A1 was fee symple to him in effecte. 
 
 His purchasyng mighte nought ben enfecte. 
 Nowher so besy a man as he ther nas, 
 
 And yit he seemede besier than he was. 
 
 In termes hadde he caas and domes alle ; 
 
 That fro the tyme of kyng William were falle. 
 Therto he couthe endite, and make a thing, 
 
 Ther couthe no wight pynche at his writyng ; 
 
 And every statute couthe he pleyn by roote. 
 
 He rood but hoomly in a medle coote, 
 
 Gird with a seynt of silk, with barres smale 
 Of his array telle I no lenger tale. 
 
 How lifelike that touch of the fussy man, 
 who “ seemede besier than he was ” ! But 
 each line might serve as text for a long 
 dissertation ! The old court hours were 
 early: the judges sat from eight till eleven, 
 when your busy Serjeant would, after bolting 
 his dinner, hie him to his pillar where he 
 would hear his client’s story, 66 and take notes 
 thereof upon his knee.” The parvys or 
 pervyse of Paul’s — properly, only the church 
 door — had come to mean the nave of the 
 cathedral, called also “ Paul’s Walk,” or 
 “ Duke Humphrey’s Walk,” from the sup- 
 posed tomb of Duke Humphrey that stood 
 
196 Ww Uafo’s Humber IStoom 
 
 there. In Tudor times it was the great 
 lounge and common newsroom of London. 
 Here the needy adventurer “ dined with 
 Duke Humphrey as the quaint euphem- 
 ism ran ; here spies garnered in popular 
 opinion for the authorities. It was the very 
 place for the lawyer to meet his client, yet 
 had he other resorts : the round of the Temple 
 Church and Westminster are noted as in use 
 for consultations. 
 
 Chaucer's Serjeant “rood but hoomly” 
 because he was travelling ; in court he had a 
 long priest-like robe, with a furred cape 
 about his shoulders and a scarlet hood. The 
 gowns were various, and sometimes parti- 
 coloured. Thus, in 1555 we find each new 
 Serjeant possessed of one robe of scarlet, one 
 of violet, one of brown and blue, one of 
 mustard and murrey, with tabards (short 
 sleeveless coats) of cloths of the same colours. 
 The cape was edged, first with lambskin, after- 
 wards with more precious stuff. In Lang- 
 land's Vision of Piers Plowman (1362) there 
 is mention of this dress of the Serjeants, they 
 are jibed at for their love of fees and so forth, 
 
197 
 
 &tr}eant-at-Hafo 
 
 after a fashion that is not yet extinct ! But 
 the distinctive feature in the dress was the 
 coif, a close-fitting head covering made of 
 white lawn or silk. A badge of honour, it 
 was worn on all professional occasions, nor 
 was it doffed even in the King’s presence. 
 In monumental effigies it is ever prominent. 
 When a Serjeant resigned his dignity he was 
 formally discharged from the obligation of 
 wearing it. To discuss its exact origin were 
 fruitless, yet one ingenious if mistaken con- 
 jecture may be noticed. Our first lawyers 
 were churchmen, but in 1217 these were 
 finally debarred from general practice in the 
 courts. Many were unwilling to abandon so 
 lucrative a calling, but what about the 
 tonsure ? “ They were for decency and 
 
 comeliness allowed to cover their bald pates 
 with a coif, which had been ever since re- 
 tained.” Thus the learned Serjeant Wynne 
 in his tract on the antiquity and dignity of 
 the order (1765). In Tudor times, if not 
 before, fashion required the Serjeant to wear 
 a small skull-cap of black silk or velvet on 
 the top of the coif. This is very clearly 
 
198 ®f)e Hafo’s Humftcr ISioom 
 
 shown in one of Lord Coke’s portraits. 
 Under Charles II. lawyers, like other folk, 
 began to wear wigs, the more exalted they 
 were the bigger their perukes. It was wittily 
 said that Bench and Bar went into mourning 
 on Queen Anne’s death, and so remained, 
 since their present dress is that then adopted. 
 Serjeants were unwilling to lose sight of their 
 coifs altogether, and it was suggested on the 
 wig by a round patch of black and white, 
 representing the white coif and the cap which 
 had covered it. The limp cap of black cloth 
 known as the “ black cap” which the judge 
 assumes when about to pass sentence of death 
 was, it seems, put on to veil the coif, and as 
 a sign of sorrow. It was also carried in the 
 hand when attending divine service, and was 
 possibly assumed in pre-Reformation times 
 when prayers were said for the dead. 
 
 A few words will tell of the fall of the 
 order. As far back as 1755 Sir John Willis, 
 Chief Justice of the Common Pleas, proposed 
 to throw open that court as well as the 
 office of judge to barristers who were not 
 Serjeants, but the suggestion came to nothing. 
 
199 
 
 &erfeant-at-1Lafo 
 
 In 1834, the Bill for the establishment of a 
 Central Criminal Court contained a clause 
 to open the Common Pleas ; this was 
 dropped, but the same object was attained 
 by a royal warrant, April 25, 1834. The 
 legality of this was soon questioned and, 
 after solemn argument before the Privy 
 Council, it was declared invalid. In 1846 
 a statute (the 9 & 10 Viet. c. 54) to the 
 same effect settled the matter, and the 
 Judicature Act of 1873 provided that no 
 judge need in future be a Serjeant. On the 
 dissolution of Serjeants'* Inn its members 
 were received back into the Houses whence 
 they had come. 
 
 As for centuries all the judges were 
 Serjeants, the history of the order is that of 
 the Bench and Bar of England ; yet some 
 famous men rose no higher, or for one reason 
 or other became representative members. 
 Such a one was Sir John Maynard (1602- 
 1690). In his last years William III. com- 
 mented on his venerable appearance : “ He 
 
 must have outlived all the lawyers of his 
 time.” “If your Highness had not come I 
 
200 Hafo’s Humber iftoorn 
 
 should have outlived the law itself,” was the 
 old man’s happy compliment. Pleading in 
 Chancery one day, he remarked that he had 
 been counsel in the same case half a century 
 before, he had steered a middle course in 
 those troubled times, but he had ever leant 
 to the side of freedom against King and 
 Protector alike. His share in the impeach- 
 ment of Strafford procured him a jibe in 
 Butler’s Hudibras , yet it was said that all 
 parties seemed willing to employ him, and 
 that he seemed willing to be employed by 
 all. Jeffreys, who usually deferred to him, 
 once blustered out, “ You are so old as to 
 forget your law, Brother Maynard.” “True, 
 Sir George, I have forgotton more law than 
 ever you knew,” was the crushing retort. 
 Macaulay has justly praised his conduct at 
 the Revolution for that he urged his party 
 to disregard legal technicalities and adopt 
 new methods for new and unheard-of circum- 
 stances. Edmund Plowden (1518-1585) de- 
 serves at least equally high praise. He was 
 so determined a student that “ for three 
 years he went not once out of the Temple.” 
 
201 
 
 Sberjeant-at-Hflfo 
 
 He is said to have refused the Chancellorship 
 offered him by Elizabeth as he would not 
 desert the old faith. He was attacked again 
 and again for nonconformity, but his pro- 
 found knowledge of legal technicalities en- 
 abled him on each occasion to escape the 
 net spread for him. He was an Englishman 
 loyal to the core, and Catholic as he was 
 opposed in 1555 the violent proceedings of 
 Queen Mary’s Parliament. The Attorney- 
 General filed a bill against him for contempt, 
 but “ Mr. Plowden traversed fully, and the 
 matter was never decided.” “ A traverse full 
 of pregnancy,” is Lord Coke’s enthusiastic 
 comment. On his death in 1584 they buried 
 him in that Temple Church whose soil must 
 have seemed twice sacred to this oracle of 
 the law. An alabaster monument whereon 
 his effigy reposes remains to this day. A 
 less distinguished contemporary was William 
 Bendloes (1516-1584), “ Old Bendloes,” men 
 called him. A quaint legend reports him 
 the only Serjeant at the Common Pleas bar 
 in the first year of Elizabeth’s reign. Whether 
 there was no business, or merely half-guinea 
 
 o 
 
202 Hafo’s Humber 3Room 
 
 motions of course, or the one man argued on 
 both sides, or whether the whole story be a 
 fabrication, "tis scarce worth while to inquire. 
 
 I pass to more modern times. William 
 Davy was made Serjeant-at-law in 1754. 
 His wit combats with Lord Mansfield are 
 still remembered. His lordship was credited 
 with a desire to sit on Good Friday; our 
 Serjeant hinted that he would be the first 
 judge that had done so since Pontius Pilate ! 
 Mansfield scouted one of Davyds legal pro- 
 positions. “ If that be law I must burn all 
 my books/” 46 Better read them first,” was 
 the quiet retort. In recent days two of the 
 best known Serjeants were Parry and Ballan- 
 tine, the first a profound lawyer, the second 
 a great advocate, but both are vanished from 
 the scene. 
 
 Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO. 
 London & Edinburgh 
 
BY THE SAME AUTHOR. 
 
 Second Edition Now Ready, 
 Fcap. 8vo , 139 pages . Price 3s. 6d. net. 
 
 tLafo’s Humijer &oom* 
 
 ( First Series.) 
 
 (Contents. 
 
 I. Benefit of Clergy. 
 
 II. Peine forte et dure. 
 
 III. A Passage in Shake- 
 
 speare (Fines and Re- 
 coveries). 
 
 IV. The Custom of the 
 
 Manor. 
 
 V. Deodands. 
 
 VI. The Law of the Forest. 
 
 VII. Par Nobile Fratrum 
 (John Doe and 
 Richard Roe). 
 
 VIII. Sanctuary. 
 
 IX. Trial by Ordeal. 
 
 X. Wager of Battle. 
 
 XI. The Press Gang. 
 
 XII. Sumptuary Laws. 
 
 ©p into ns of tf)e ^ress 
 
 On the First Series of 
 
 THE LAW’S LUMBER ROOM. 
 
 “It is saying very little to say that Mr. Watt’s book is 
 ‘as interesting as a novel,’ it is far more interesting than a 
 hundred domestic tales of doleful creatures, or than all 
 the 4 Women Who ’ — ought to be ducked.” — Daily News 
 (Leader). 
 
 “ There is nothing dry or pedantic in Mr. Watt’s way of 
 dealing with his themes. His learning is deep and recon- 
 dite, but he wears it lightly, and the papers are always 
 readable. ’ ’ — Scotsman. 
 
 “ The whole book is a miniature mine of the oddest legal 
 antiquities.” — Glasgow Herald. 
 
 “ An interesting little volume.” — Manchester Guardian. 
 
 “ The book is full of interest on every page.” 
 
 Daily Chronicle. 
 
“A fascinating volume, for legal repositories have been 
 ransacked for remnants of romance and have yielded an 
 abundant store, which has been admirably represented.” 
 
 Black and White. 
 
 “This pleasantly learned little book.” — Daily Telegraph. * 
 
 “ Both lawyers and laymen may spend an agreeable half t 
 hour in ‘The Law’s Lumber Room,’ the title chosen by Mr. 
 Francis Watt for his collection of articles on quaint legal 
 customs of olden time.” — Globe. 
 
 “ The quaint and often cumbrous, but how strangely inte- 
 resting, * discarded methods ’ of the law form the subject ? 
 matter of this delightful little book.” — The Gentlewoman. 
 
 “It is the anecdotes he has collected, as well as the 
 curious half-incredible, half-forgotten customs he describes, 
 that make Mr. Watt’s treatment of such subjects as 
 ‘Sanctuary,’ ‘Deodands,’ or the ‘Press-Gang,* no less 
 entertaining than instructive.” — Literary World. 
 
 “We have read the book with pleasure from cover to 
 cover, and bear willing tribute to its interest. . . . The 
 value and interest of the volume are far in advance of its 
 size, and we commend it as a book to be read and then 
 kept at hand for reference.” — Notes and Queries. 
 
 “Avery entertaining little volume. ... It is the kind 
 of book that there was room for, a subject too much 
 neglected. And a better guide than Mr. Watt could not 
 be found.” — Review of Revieivs. 
 
 “ Very interesting are the papers dealing with benefit of 
 clergy, sanctuary, old manorial customs, the press-gang, 
 sumptuary laws ; but really all is good from cover to 
 cover.” — The Guardian. 
 
 “This is a most entertaining, as well as instructive, 
 little book.” — The Sketch. 
 
 “ This is a charming little book, as light in form as in 
 substance, which lawyers may read with profit, laymen 
 with interest, and both with entertainment.” 
 
 The Speaker. 
 
 “This little volume is full of learning skilfully applied.” 
 
 The Spectator. 
 
X. 
 

 
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