The character of offences perpetrated will best be understood by passing from the general to the particular, and briefly indicating the salient points of a certain number of typical cases, all of which
were in some way or other connected with Newgate. Crime was confined to no one class; while the lowest robbed with brutal violence, members of the highest stabbed and murdered each other on flimsy pretences, or found funds for debauchery in systematic and cleverly contrived frauds. Life was held very cheap in those days. Every one with any pretensions carried a sword, and appealed to it on the slightest excuse or provocation. Murderous duels and affrays were of constant occurrence. So-called affairs of honour could only be washed out in blood. Sometimes it was a causeless quarrel in a club or coffee-house ending in a fatal encounter. Richard Savage, the poet, was tried for his life for a murder of this kind in 1727. In company with two friends, all three of them being the worse for drink, he forced his way into a private room in Robinson's coffee-house, near Charing Cross, occupied by another party carousing. One of Savage's friends kicked down the table without provocation. "What do you mean by that?" cried one side. "What do you mean?" cried the other. Swords were drawn, and a fight ensued. Savage, who found himself in front of one Sinclair, made several thrusts at his opponent, and ran him through the body. Lights were put out, and Savage tried to escape, but was captured in a back court. He and his associates were committed first to the gatehouse and thence to Newgate. Three weeks later they were arraigned at the Old Bailey, found guilty of
murder, and cast for death. The king's pardon was, however, obtained for Savage through the intercession of influential friends, but contrary, it is said, to the expressed wish of his mother. Savage was tried before Sir Francis Page, commonly known as "the hanging judge." He afterwards admitted that he had been anxious to hang Savage. In his old age, when his health was inquired after, he is reported to have replied, "I keep hanging on, hanging on." Savage was the illegitimate child of the Countess of Macclesfield, the fruit of a guilty intrigue with Captain Richard Savage, afterwards Earl Rivers. Lady Macclesfield was divorced, and subsequently married Earl Rivers; but she conceived a violent hatred for the child, and only consented to settle an annuity of £50 upon him when grown to man's estate, under threat of exposure in the first publication of Savage's poems. Savage, after his release from Newgate, retired into Wales, but he continued in very distressed circumstances, and being arrested for debt, lingered for the remainder of his days in Bristol Gaol.
The case of Major Oneby is still more typical of the times. He was a military officer who had served in Marlbro's wars, and not without distinction, although enjoying an evil reputation as a duellist. When the army lay in winter quarters at Bruges, he had been "out," and had killed his man; again in Jamaica he had wounded an adversary
who presently died. After the Peace of Utrecht Major Oneby was placed on half-pay, and to eke out his narrow means he became a professional gambler, being seldom without cards and dice in his pocket. He was soon known as a swaggerer and a bully, with whom it was wisest not to quarrel. One night in 1727, however, he was at play in the Castle Tavern in Drury Lane, when a Mr. Gower and he fell out about a bet. Oneby threw a decanter at Gower, and Gower returned the fire with a glass. Swords were drawn, but at the interposition of others put up again. Gower was for making peace, but Oneby sullenly swore he would have the other's blood. When the party broke up he called Gower into another room and shut the door. A clashing of swords was heard within, the waiter broke open the door, and the company rushed in to find Oneby holding up Gower with his left hand, having the sword in his right. Blood was seen streaming through Gower's waistcoat, and his sword lay upon the floor. Some one said to Oneby, "You have killed him;" but the major replied, "No, I might have done it if I would, but I have only frightened him," adding, that if he had killed him in the heat of passion the law would have been on his side. But his unfortunate adversary did actually die of his wound the following day, whereupon Major Oneby was apprehended and locked up in Newgate. He was tried the following month at the Old Bailey, but the jury could not decide as to
the exact measure of the major's guilt, except that it was clear he had given the first provocation, while it was not denied he had killed the deceased.
A special verdict was agreed to, and the case with its various points referred to the twelve judges. The prisoner, who had hoped to escape with a conviction of manslaughter, was remanded to Newgate, and remained there in the State side without judgment for the space of two years. Becoming impatient, he prayed the Court of King's Bench that counsel might be heard in his case, and he was accordingly brought into court before the Lord Chief Justice Raymond, when his counsel and those for the Crown were fully heard. The judge reserved his judgment till he had consulted his eleven brethren; but the major, elated at the ingenious arguments of his lawyer, fully counted upon speedy release. On his way back to gaol he entertained his friends at a handsome dinner given at the Crown and Anchor Tavern.[267:1] He continued to carouse and live high in Newgate for several months more, little doubting the result of the judges' conference. They met after considerable delay in Sergeant's Inn Hall, counsel was heard on both sides, and the pleadings lasted a whole day. A friend called in the evening, and told him when he was making merry over a bowl of punch that eleven of the judges had decided against him. This greatly alarmed him; next day
the keeper of Newgate (Mr. Akerman) came to put irons on him, unless he was prepared to pay for a special keeper to occupy the same room. Oneby was indignant, but helpless. He felt the ground slipping from under his feet, and he was almost prepared for the judgment delivered in open court that he had been guilty of murder, his threat that he would have Gower's blood having had great weight in his disfavour.
Oneby spent the days before execution, in 1729, in fruitless efforts to get relations and friends to use their influence in obtaining pardon for him. But he was so overbearing that his relations would not visit him in Newgate, and his friends, if he had any, would not stir a finger to help him. His last moments seem to have been spent between laughing at the broad jokes of his personal gaoler, who now never left him, one John Hooper, afterwards public executioner,[268:1] and fits of rage against those who had deserted him in his extremity. He was further exasperated by a letter from an undertaker in Drury Lane, who, having heard that the major was to die on the following Monday, promised to perform the funeral "as cheap and in as decent a manner as any man alive." Another cause of
annoyance was the publication of a broad sheet, entitled "The Weight of Blood, or the Case of Major John Oneby," the writer of which had visited the prisoner, ostensibly to offer to suppress the publication, but really as an "interviewer" to obtain some additional facts for his catchpenny pamphlet. The major was so indignant that he laid a trap for the author by inviting him to revisit Newgate, promising himself the pleasure of thrashing him when he appeared, but the man declined to be caught. On the Saturday night before execution Oneby, learning that a petition had been presented and rejected, prepared to die. He slept soundly till four in the morning, then calling for a glass of brandy and writing materials, he wrote his will. It was brief, and to the following effect: