THE BOW STREET RUNNERS.
Bow Street may be called the centre of our police establishment at that time; it was served by various forces, and especially by eight officers, the famous Bow Street runners of that period, the prototype of the modern detective. They were familiarly known as the “robin redbreasts,” from the scarlet waistcoat which was practically their badge of office, although they also carried as a mark of authority a small bâton surmounted by a gilt crown. The other police-offices of London were also assisted by officers, but these were simply constables, and do not appear to have been employed beyond their own districts. The Bow Street runners, however, were at the disposal of the public if they could be spared to undertake the pursuit of private crime. Three of them were especially appropriated to the service of the Court. The attempt made by Margaret Nicholson upon George III., and other outrages by mad people, called for special police protection, and two or more of these officers attended royalties wherever they went. They were generally MacManus, Townsend, and Sayer, Townsend being the most celebrated of the three. He has left a self-painted picture in contemporary records, and his evidence, given before various police committees, shows him to have been a garrulous, self-sufficient functionary. It was his custom to foist his opinions freely on everyone, even on the king himself. He boasted that George IV. imitated the cut of his hat, that the Dukes of Clarence and of York presented him with wine from their cellars; he mixed himself up with politics, and did not hesitate to advise the statesmen of the day on such points as Catholic Emancipation and the Reformed Parliament. It generally fell to his office to interrupt duels, and, according to his own account, he stopped that between the Duke of York and Colonel Lennox. His importance, according to his own idea, was shown in his indignant refusal to apprehend a baker who had challenged a clerk; he protested that “it would lessen him a good deal” after forty-six years’ service, during which period he had had the honour of taking earls, marquises, and dukes.
No doubt these runners were often usefully employed in the pursuit of criminals. Townsend himself when at a levée arrested the man who had boldly cut off the Star of the Garter from a nobleman’s breast. The theft having been quickly discovered, word was passed to look out for the thief. It reached Townsend, who shortly afterwards noticed a person in Court dress who yet did not seem entitled to be there. Fearing to make a mistake, he followed him a few yards, and then remembered his face as that of an old thief. When taken into custody, the stolen star was found in the man’s pocket.
Vickery was another well-known runner, who did much good work in his time. One of his best performances was that of saving the post-office from a serious robbery. The officials would not believe in the existence of the plot, but Vickery knew better, and produced the very keys that were to pass the thieves through every door. He had learnt as a fact that they had twice visited the premises, but still postponed the coup, waiting until an especially large amount of plunder was collected. Another case in which Vickery exhibited much acumen was the clever robbery effected from Rundell and Bridges, the gold jewellers on Ludgate Hill. Two Jews, having selected valuables to the amount of £35,000, asked to be permitted to seal them up and leave them until they returned with the money. In the act of packing they managed to substitute other exactly similar parcels, and carried off the jewels in their pockets. As they did not return, the cases were opened and the fraud discovered. Vickery was called in, and soon traced the thieves to the Continent, whither he followed them, accompanied by one of the firm, and tracked them through France and Holland to Frankfort, where quite half of the stolen property was recovered.
Vickery subsequently became jailer at Coldbath Fields Prison. One of the prisoners committed to his custody was Fauntleroy the banker; and a story has been handed down that this great forger all but escaped from custody. A clever plot had been set on foot, but timely information reached the authorities. On making a full search, a ladder of ropes and other aids to breaking out of prison were laid bare. No blame seems to have attached to Vickery in this, although some of his colleagues and contemporaries were not always above suspicion. They were no doubt subject to great temptations under the system of the time. It was the custom to reward all who contributed to the conviction of offenders. This blood-money, as it was called, was a sum of £40, distributed amongst those who had secured the conviction. No doubt the practice stimulated the police, but it was capable of great perversion; it gave the prosecutor a keen interest in securing conviction, and was proved, at times, to have led persons to seduce others into committing crime. It is established beyond question that at the commencement of the nineteenth century persons were brought up charged with offences to which they had been tempted by the very officials who arrested them.
It must be admitted that the emoluments of the police officers were not extraordinarily high; a guinea a week appears to have been the regular pay, to which may be added the share of blood-money referred to above, which, according to witnesses, seldom amounted to more than £20 or £30 a year. Besides this, the officers had the privilege of selling Tyburn tickets, as they were called, which were exemptions from serving as constables or in other parish offices—an onerous duty from which people were glad to buy exemption at the price of £12, £20, or even £25. Again, a runner employed by other public departments or by private persons might be, but was not always, handsomely rewarded if successful. He had, of course, his out-of-pocket expenses and a guinea a day while actually at work; but this might not last for more than a week or a fortnight, and, according to old Townsend, people were apt to be mean in recognising the services of the runners. These officers were also the intermediaries at times between the thieves and their victims, and constantly helped in the negotiations for restoring stolen property; it could not be surprising that sometimes the money stuck to their fingers. The loss incurred by bankers, not only through the interception of their parcels, but by actual breakings into their banks, led to a practice which was no less than compounding felony: the promise not to prosecute on the restitution of a portion of the stolen property. It was shown that the “Committee of Bankers,” a society formed for mutual protection, employed a solicitor, who kept up communication with the principal “fences” and “family men.” This useful functionary was well acquainted with the thieves and their haunts, and when a banker’s parcel—known in cant language as a “child”—was stolen, the solicitor entered into treaty with the thieves to buy back the money.
In this fashion a regular channel of communication came to be established, offers were made on both sides, and terms were negotiated which ended generally in substantial restitution. Many bankers objected to the practice, and refused to sanction it. Still it prevailed, and largely; and several specific cases were reported by the Select Committee on the Police in 1828. Thus, two banks that had each been robbed of notes to the amount of £4,000, recovered them on payment of £1,000. In another case Spanish bonds, nominally worth £2,000, were given back on payment of £1,000; in another, nearly £20,000 was restored for £1,000; and where bills had been stolen that were not easily negotiable, £6,000 out of £17,000 was offered for £300. Sometimes after apprehension proceedings were stopped because a large amount of the plunder had been given up. The system must have been pretty general, since the committee stated that they knew of no less than sixteen banks which had thus tried to indemnify themselves.
A strong suspicion was entertained that Sayer, a Bow Street runner already mentioned, had feathered his nest finely with a portion of the proceeds of the Paisley Bank robbery at Glasgow. He was an acquaintance of the Mackoulls,[12] and it was he who proposed to the bank that £20,000 should be restored on condition that all proceedings ceased. When Sayer reached the bank with Mrs. Mackoull the notes produced amounted to no more than £11,941. Whether Sayer had impounded any or not was never positively known; but when he died, at an advanced age, he was worth £30,000. And it has been said that shortly before his death he pointed to the fireplace and a closet above it, using some incoherent words. This was probably the receptacle of a number of notes, which were afterwards found in the possession of one of his relatives, notes that were recognised as part of the Paisley Bank plunder. He must either have got them as hush-money or have wrongfully detained them, and then found it too dangerous to pass them into circulation. Probably he desired to have them destroyed, so that the story might not come out after his death. The runners must have found it difficult to resist temptation. The guilt of one of them—Vaughan—was clearly established in open court, and he was convicted as an accessory in a burglary into which he had led others; he was also proved to have given an unsuspicious sailor several counterfeit coins to buy articles with at a chandler’s shop. When the sailor came out, Vaughan arrested him and charged him with passing bad money. Vaughan absconded, but was afterwards discovered and brought to trial.
Townsend tells of a case in his own glorification—and there is no reason to deny him the credit—in which he arrested a notorious old pickpocket, one Mrs. Usher, who had done a very profitable business for many years. She was said to be worth at least £3,000 at the time of her arrest, and when Townsend appeared against her he was asked in so many words whether he would not withdraw from the prosecution. The Surrey jailer, Ives by name, asked him, “Cannot this be ‘stashed’?” Townsend virtuously refused, and still would not yield, although Mrs. Usher’s relations offered him a bribe of £200. He also tells how he might have got a considerable sum from Broughton, who had robbed the York mail, but he steadfastly refused to abandon the prosecution. As much as a thousand pounds had been offered to keep back a single witness.