In treating the above heading, I have no wish to introduce the "Newgate Calendar" element into this book. Let those who like such literature, consult that work—and, doubtless, they will be rewarded for their pains; but, in going through these old papers, much that is curious is met with, which throws light on the manners, and customs, of our forefathers.
Of Police, as we understand the word, there was none—and the parochial Constables, and watchmen, who were supposed to guard the premises of the rate payers, and to keep the peace, were veritably of the Dogberry and Verges type—utterly useless for the detection, or suppression, of crime, and only fit to "comprehend all vagrom man," or lead some roysterer home.
All day long they were not; but, at night, they came out with the bats, and owls, armed with a long staff, and a lantern, periodically droning out the hour of the night, and the state of the weather. This was done with the laudable intention of shewing their vigilance, but it must equally have acted in an opposite direction, for every thief must have had due warning of the watchman's whereabouts. They had temporary shelters, larger than the Military Sentry box, and the wild spirits of those days delighted to catch a watchman napping, and overturn his box, thus temporarily incapacitating him from giving an alarm, or following their flight. For the former purpose they used huge rattles, smaller specimens of which were carried, for the same purpose, by our own Metropolitan Police, until 1884.
Each parish looked after its own interests, had its own watch and ward, and was mightily jealous of interference from another parish—an arrangement evidently very much to the advantage of a thief. People were always grumbling—but the state of things was never altered. Hear what they said about it in 1788:—
"The Decrepid old Dotards, to whose vigilance the different Vestries have confined their fellow Citizens, are likely to profit from the order of nature being reversed by the life of our modern nobility, who, rising at two, dining at eight, and paying afternoon visits at midnight, have superseded the necessity of having watchmen, and are, in fact, with their servants, a much better patrole than any of the Bow Street Justices could furnish."—(Morning Post, April 21, 1788.)
There were amateur thief catchers like Jonathan Wild, men who would be the companions, and confederates, of Highwaymen, Housebreakers, and Thieves, drawing Money from them until they were sucked dry, and then sacrifice them without an atom of remorse.
And there were the detectives of that time, the Bow Street Runners, or Robin Red breasts as they were called, from their wearing red waistcoats. Peter Pindar sang of them, especially of the three that were detailed for the protection of the Royal family at the time of the French Revolution.
".........
What a bright thought in George and Charlotte,
Who to escape each wicked Varlet,
And disappoint Tom Paine's disloyal crew,
Fixed on Macmanus, Townsend, Jealous,
Delightful company, delicious fellows,
To point out, every minute, who is who!
To hustle from before their noble graces,
Rascals with ill looks, designing faces,
Where treason, murder, and sedition dwell;
To give the life of every Newgate wretch,
To say who next the fatal cord shall stretch,
The sweet historian of the pensive cell."
Seen home by the Watch.—1792.