Sir Roger's Servants, and among the rest my old Friend the Butler, had, I found, provided themselves with good oaken Plants to attend their Master upon this occasion. When we had placed him in his Coach, with myself at his left hand, the Captain before him, and his Butler at the Head of his Footmen in the Rear, we convoyed him in safety to the Playhouse."[142] "One night, in the beginning of November, 1749," wrote Walpole, "as I was returning from Holland House by moonlight, about ten at night, I was attacked by two highwaymen in Hyde Park, and the pistol of one of them going off accidentally, razed the skin under my left eye, left some marks of shot on my face, and stunned me."[143] These men were taken about a year later. "I have been in town for a day or two, and heard no conversation but about M'Lean, a fashionable highwayman, who is just taken, and who robbed me among others. * * * His father was an Irish Dean; his brother is a Calvinist minister in great esteem at the Hague. * * * He took to the road with only one companion, Plunkett, a journeyman apothecary, my other friend. * * * M'Lean had a lodging in St. James Street, over against White's, and another at Chelsea; Plunkett one in Jermyn St., and their faces are as well known about St. James' as any gentleman who lives in that quarter, and who, perhaps, goes upon the road too. M'Lean had a quarrel at Putney Bowling Green two months ago with an officer whom he challenged for disputing his rank; but the captain declined, till M'Lean should produce a certificate of his n.o.bility, which he has just received. * * * As I conclude he will suffer, and wish him no ill, I don't care to have his idea, and am almost single in not having been to see him. Lord Mountford at the head of half White's went the first day: his aunt was crying over him: as soon as they were withdrawn she said to him, knowing they were of White's, 'My dear, what did the lords say to you? Have you ever been concerned with any of them?'--was not it admirable? What a favorable idea people must have of White's! and what if White's should not deserve a much better! But the chief personages who have been to comfort and weep over this fallen hero are Lady Caroline Petersham and Miss Asche: I call them Polly and Lucy."[144]

The fact that death was the penalty for almost all serious violations of the law gave an additional zest to crime. The criminal looked upon himself, and was looked upon by others, as a brave man, and even those who abhorred the crime retained a certain admiration for the courage which they thought involved in its commission. Felons sat erect and proud in the cart which carried them to execution. Their great ambition was to die like "gentlemen," and they saw no disgrace in death by "the ladder and the cord," so long as it was borne with bravado. Criminals are frequent and prominent characters in contemporary fiction. The period contributed more than any other to the romance of crime, and a glamour has been cast over the most infamous careers which has made them celebrated to the present day. The famous highwayman d.i.c.k Turpin, and one Parsons, the son of a baronet, educated at Eton, attained a public interest and admiration, in which the greatness of their crimes was forgotten in the dangers they incurred and the boldness with which they defied justice. When Jack Sheppard, the burglar, was finally captured after two remarkable escapes from Newgate,[145] he became a popular hero. Great numbers of people visited him in prison and gave him presents of money. Several lives were written of him.

But the most remarkable criminal career, and that which best ill.u.s.trates the inefficiency of the law and the impunity and ferocity of criminals, is that of Johnathan Wild, surnamed the Great.[146] This man spent some time in Newgate, and having become acquainted with the secrets and methods of its inhabitants, married a notorious woman who was well versed in similar knowledge. He then set up an establishment for receiving stolen goods, and organized thieves into regular bands.

Some were to rob churches, others to pick pockets at theatres and fairs, others to rob on the streets and highways. He even divided the country into districts, and appointed a special gang to work in each.

All these thieves were obliged to account to him for what they stole, and he disposed of it in London, or if that seemed too dangerous, he sent it abroad in a ship of his own. He attained over lesser criminals the most rigid authority and absolute power. His lieutenants were chosen among transported convicts who had returned before the expiration of their terms. These were legally incapable of giving evidence against Wild, but he could send them to the gallows at a moment's notice, if suspicious of their fidelity, by information to the authorities. Over the common thieves he had nearly the same power.

Those whom he suspected of retaining part of their booty, or whom he feared as witnesses against himself, were at once sent to the gallows by private information to the magistrates. On the other hand, a thief who was in danger of arrest, if useful and faithful, was taken into Wild's own house, protected, fed, and employed in counterfeiting or other in-door occupation. When a law was pa.s.sed making it criminal to receive stolen goods, Wild opened an intelligence office for the discovery of missing articles. To that office came the thieves, like so many workmen, to deliver their booty and receive their wages, and there, too, came the robbed to describe their losses and name their rewards. If the reward were sufficient to satisfy Wild, he returned the article; otherwise he had it made unrecognizable by skilled workmen whom he employed for the purpose, and presented it to a faithful follower, or disposed of it in the regular course of business. It is impossible not to notice a certain resemblance between Johnathan Wild and Defoe's English Tradesman. The practical turn of mind, the absence of sentiment so characteristic of the times, are to be seen alike in the thief, the tradesman, and the gentleman. Conducted on purely business principles, like a mercer's shop or a marriage between n.o.ble families, without hatred or affection, anger or generosity, the work went on. Wild dealt in human lives with the same cold, money-making calculation which directed the disposal of a stolen watch. When public complaints were made, that although many robberies were committed few thieves were apprehended, Wild supplied the gallows with thieves who were useless to him or lukewarm in his interest. When a large reward was offered for the apprehension of a criminal, Wild was usually able to deliver the man. If he was unable to do so, or was friendly to the criminal, he still secured the reward by giving false information against an innocent person, and supported his a.s.sertions by the perjury of his subordinates. By these methods he soon grew rich. He carried a silver wand which he a.s.serted to be a badge of office given him by the government, and entered into secret leagues with corrupt magistrates.

After a time he called himself a gentleman, and wore a sword, the first use of which was to cut off his wife's ear. At last he was detected in aiding the escape of a highwayman confined in Newgate, and being deprived of his power, he was easily convicted. He was hung in 1725, and on his way to the scaffold was almost pelted to death by the mob.

The impunity with which Wild followed his long career of crime was not unusual. The authorities were inefficient and corrupt. Fielding, himself a police justice, makes a magistrate say in "Amelia": "And to speak my opinion plainly, such are the laws and such the method of proceeding that one would almost think our laws were made for the protection of rogues, rather than for the punishment of them." The laws bore hardly upon the poor and spared the rich. "The parson," complained Defoe in the "Poor Man's Plea," "preaches a thundering sermon against drunkenness, and the justice of the peace sets my poor neighbor in the stocks, and I am like to be much the better for either, when I know perhaps that this same parson and this same justice were both drunk together but the night before." The magistrates and constables were as much in need of reform as the laws. "The greatest criminals in this town," said Walpole,[147] "are the officers of justice; there is no tyranny they do not exercise, no villany of which they do not partake."

Many of the magistrates were never impartial, except, as Fielding said: "when they could get nothing on either side." One cla.s.s of constables was described by Fielding in "Amelia."[148] The watchmen intended "to guard our streets by night from thieves and robbers, an office which at least requires strength of body, are chosen out of those poor old decrepit people, who are from their want of bodily strength rendered incapable of getting a livelihood by work. These men, armed only with a pole, which some of them are scarce able to lift, are to secure the persons and houses of his Majesty's subjects from the attacks of young, bold, stout, desperate, and well-armed villains. If the poor old fellows should run away from such enemies, no one, I think, can wonder, unless it be that they were able to make their escape." Defoe's pickpockets are always more afraid of being mobbed on the spot, than of being detected and punished by the police. Well known highwaymen not infrequently rode through the streets of London with armed companions, although large rewards were offered for their capture. Many of the constables were of the most villanous character. The following incident, recorded by Walpole, is only one of many instances of their brutality which might be mentioned.[149] "There has lately been the most shocking scene of murder imaginable; a parcel of _drunken_ constables took it into their heads to put the laws in execution against _disorderly_ persons, and so took up every woman they met till they had collected five or six and twenty, all of whom they thrust into St. Martin's round house, where they kept them all night, with doors and windows closed. The poor creatures, who could not stir or breathe, screamed as long as they had any breath left, begging at least for water; one poor wretch said she was worth eighteen-pence, and would gladly give it for a draught of water, but in vain! So well did they keep them there, that in the morning four were found stifled to death; two died soon after, and a dozen more are in a shocking way. In short, it is horrid to think what the poor creatures suffered. Several of them were beggars, who, from having no lodging, were necessarily found in the street, and others honest labouring women. One of the dead was a poor washer-woman, big with child, who was returning home late from washing. * * * These same men, the same night, broke into a bagnio in Covent Garden, and took up Jack Spencer, Mr. Stewart, and Lord George Graham, and would have thrust them into the round-house with the poor women if they had not been worth more than eighteen-pence!"

Keepers of prisons bought their places with the distinct purpose of making money by extortions from the prisoners. The following is an account of the means pursued by Bainbridge, Warden of the Fleet, to extort money from one Solas, a poor man, imprisoned for debt[150]: "Bainbridge caused him to be turned into the dungeon, called the Strong Room of the Master's side. This place is a vault, like those in which the dead are interred, and wherein the bodies of persons dying in the said prison are usually deposited till the coroner's inquest hath pa.s.sed upon them; it has no chimney nor fireplace, nor any light but what comes over the door, or through a hole of about eight inches square. It is neither paved nor boarded; and the rough bricks appear both on the sides and top, being neither wainscotted nor plastered; what adds to the dampness and stench of the place, is its being built over the common sewer, and adjoining to the sink and dunghill where all the nastiness of the prison is cast. In this miserable place the poor wretch was kept by the said Bainbridge manacled and shackled for near two months. At length on receiving five guineas from Mr. Kemp, a friend of Solas's, Bainbridge released the prisoner from his cruel confinement. But though his chains were taken off, his terror still remained, and the unhappy man was prevailed upon by that terror, not only to labor _gratis_ for the said Bainbridge, but to swear also at random all that he hath required of him; and the committee themselves saw an instance of the deep impression his sufferings had made upon him; for on his surmising from something said, that Bainbridge was to return again as Warden of the Fleet, he fainted, and the blood started out of his mouth and nose." This example is by no means an exceptional one. It is impossible, within the limits of this volume, to give an adequate idea of the disease, the squalor, the cruelties and abuses which existed in the prisons. Their interiors are often described by the novelists, who were unable to exaggerate the actual circ.u.mstances.

Poor prisoners, when acquitted, were dragged back to prison and kept there till their dues were paid or they were released by death. Richer men were subjected to all sorts of indignity and danger, even to that of small-pox, to force them to enrich their jailers.

The social condition of England in the first half of the eighteenth century presents a material and unattractive aspect. Its most prominent characteristics are the corruption and coa.r.s.eness of the upper cla.s.ses, and the ignorant brutality of the lower. Still there existed beneath this exterior, qualities and habits in the highest degree favorable to civilization and social order. At a later time these qualities brought about reforms which did away with many of the worst abuses. Among the middle cla.s.ses, fast rising to political and social prominence, lived an earnest morality, which at a later time took form in the great Methodist revival, and the rise of philanthropy. This persevering industry of the same cla.s.ses added enormously to the wealth of the nation. When reform came, it came as a revolt against existing conditions, showing at once how bad those conditions were, and how strongly the popular mind inclined to a better state. A general feeling of disgust prevailed which left deep traces on contemporary literature, and produced a widespread misanthropy. The first half of the eighteenth century was to the period of the Restoration like the morning after a debauch. Rochester, in the time of Charles II, and Hervey, in the time of George II were representative men. The difference in the feelings with which these men looked upon life is significant. Rochester, in the full tide of dissipation, glories in his sensuality, and writes the "Maimed Debauchee."

Should some brave youth (worth being drunk) prove nice, And from his fair inviter meanly shrink, 'T would please the ghost of my departed vice, If, at my council, he repent and drink.

But Hervey represents the time when dissipation had run a long course, and disgust, sanct.i.ty, and misanthropy were succeeding. To him, as to Swift, men were "a worthless species of animals," their vices, natural; their virtues, affectation:

Mankind I know, their nature and their art, Their vice their own, their virtue but a part Ill played so oft, that all the cheat can tell, And dangerous only when 't is acted well,

To such reflections when I turn my mind _I loathe my being, and abhor mankind._

[Footnote 90: Carlyle, "Frederick the Great," p. 13. vol. i.]

[Footnote 91: Addison, "An Account of the Greatest English Poets."

Quoted by Henry Morley, LL.D., "English Literature in the Reign of Victoria."]

[Footnote 92: Lecky's "History of England in the 18th Century," vol. i, p. 502.]

[Footnote 93: Lord Hervey, "Memoirs of George II," v. 3, p. 527.]

[Footnote 94: Hervey's "Mem. of George II," vol. 1, p. 147, note.]

[Footnote 95: Walpole's "Reminiscences"; Hervey's "Mem.," v. 2, p. 103, note.]

[Footnote 96: Walpole's "Mem. of George II," vol. 1, p. 87.]

[Footnote 97: Browne's "Estimate of the Times"; Lecky, "Hist. of 18th Century," vol. 1, p. 509.]

[Footnote 98: Lord Hervey, "Mem. of Geo. II," vol. i, p. 5.]

[Footnote 99: _Idem_, vol. i, p. 170.]

[Footnote 100: _Idem_, vol. i, p. 18.]

[Footnote 101: Hervey's "Mem.," i, 20.]

[Footnote 102: _Idem_, vol. 1, p. 208.]

[Footnote 103: Hervey's "Memoirs," 1, 39.]

[Footnote 104: _Idem_, ii, 360.]

[Footnote 105: _Idem_, ii, 31.]

[Footnote 106: _Idem_, vol. i, p. 91.]

[Footnote 107: Hervey's "Memoirs," vol. 1, p. 37.]

[Footnote 108: Hervey, 1, 22-25.]

[Footnote 109: Horace Walpole, "Reminiscences."]

[Footnote 110: Locke "On Civil Government," b. ii, ch. 13; Lecky's "History of the 18th Century," vol. I, p. 471.]

[Footnote 111: Hervey's "Memoirs," ii, 280.]

[Footnote 112: Chesterfield, "Correspondence," iii, 94.]

[Footnote 113: Walpole to Mann, Dec. 24, 1741.]

[Footnote 114: Hervey's "Memoirs," i, 172.]

[Footnote 115: "History of the Eighteenth Century," vol. 1, p. 512.]

[Footnote 116: Green's "Short History of the English People," pp. 768-9.]

[Footnote 117: Hervey, ii, 189, note.]

[Footnote 118: Hervey's "Memoirs," vol. i, p. 500.]

[Footnote 119: Hervey's "Memoirs," vol. i, p. 502.]

[Footnote 120: Lord Hervey's "Memoirs", ii, 255.]

[Footnote 121: _Idem_, ii, 434.]

[Footnote 122: Hervey's "Memoirs," ii, 472.]

[Footnote 123: Hervey's "Memoirs," ii, 350.]

[Footnote 124: _Idem_, i, 90.]