The Warden of the Fleet must have made a good thing out of the necessities of his victims. If they had any money at all, he got it out of them. If their nature revolted at the moral and actual filth of the Common Side, they could rent a small room of him, the lowest price being about 8s. per week. This accommodation entailed paying besides 1s. 6d. a week to the chamberlain, and a double fee of 4d. to the chaplain. 'There are some who lie on the Common Side, or Wards, without Beds allowed to them, who pay but 1s. 2d. per week, and 34s. 4d. Commitment Fee, and 2d. per week to the Parson; but that place in the Fleet is Dark, Unwholesome, and is a Curb upon the rest to pay those Great Rates the Gaoler Exacts; he unmercifully threatning all for Non Payment, with Dungeons and Irons, not distinguishing between a Criminal and a Debtor.'
Ludgate was more comfortable, and rather more aristocratic; it was 'purely for Insolvent Citizens of London, Beneficed Clergy, and Attorneys at Law. Fees at Coming in from the Counter—1s. 2d.; at going out—3s. 2d.; and to the Turnkey—1s. For their being here they pay on the Commons Side 1s. 2d. per Week, and on the Master's side—1s. 9d. They have among the Prisoners a sort of Government, as a Steward chosen the 1st Tuesday in every Month; also 7 Assistants.'[662]
But both here and at the Fleet, in spite of charitable bequests, there were some of the prisoners in a state of absolute destitution. To aid these, the prisoners took it in turns to perambulate the rules, and solicit help in money or kind, whilst another had to stand at the window-grating, rattling a box, and chanting the monotonous wail of 'Pray remember the poor Debtors!'
'REMEMBER THE POOR PRISONERS.'
'Passing under Ludgate, the other Day, I heard a Voice bawling for Charity, which I thought I had somewhere heard before. Coming near to the Grate, the Prisoner called me by my Name, and desired I would throw something into the Box. I was out of Countenance for him, and did as he bid me, by putting in half-a-Crown.'[663]
Once in a debtor's prison, almost all hope had to be given up—even the release offered by Government on condition of joining the army or navy was limited to debtors of small amount, who must have been six months in prison; and, besides, it was only going to other privations, and, in the army, almost certainly meant wounds or death. No wonder, then, if, when a man was in difficulties, he sometimes adopted the desperate resource of selling himself for a time in bondage to one of the Plantations. Poor wretch! he knew it was bad to do so, by common report; but he had to find out what the life of a 'Redemptioner' really was, by bitter experience. First, a little money advanced for his outfit; then, on his arrival at his destination, his body would be seized for his passage money, which had been promised him free; and then he must be sold to Work for so many years, to some one who paid his debt for him. Put on the same footing, as to food and government, with the convicts, his life was awful, whilst his master always managed to keep him sufficiently in debt for clothes and tobacco, &c., so that he never could free himself.
Men were ever on the prowl, about London, to catch the miserable. 'Those fine Fellows who look like Foot men upon a Holy day, crept into cast Suits of their Masters, that want Gentility in their Deportments answerable to their Apparel, are Kidnappers, who walk the Change, and other parts of the Town, in order to Seduce People, who want Services, and young Fools crost in Love, and under an uneasiness of Mind, to go beyond Seas, getting so much a head of Masters of Ships, and Merchants who go over, for every Wretch they trapan into this Misery. Those Young Rakes, and Tatterdemallions you see so lovingly herded, are drawn by their fair Promises to sell themselves into Slavery, and the Kidnappers are the Rogues that run away with the Money.'[664]
Bad as the prisons where debtors were confined were in London, they were infinitely worse in the country; indeed, one can scarcely credit the treatment they received. There is, however, a most interesting little book, called 'The Cry of the Oppressed,' which goes minutely into the details in many of the country prisons, and the engravings alone show the cruel treatment debtors had to endure: catching mice for subsistence; being dragged on hurdles, dying of starvation and malaria; covered with boils and blains; imprisoned in underground dungeons; assaulted by the gaolers; having to live with the hogs, with wooden clogs chained to their legs; having to herd with condemned criminals; and being tortured with thumbscrews, etc.
Nobody ever seems to have bothered their heads about it—it was not their business. Luttrell says, '3 Nov., 1702. This day ordered a Bill to be brought in for regulating the King's Bench and Fleet Prisons,' but nobody took sufficient interest in it, and it never became an Act.