"Was ever such Impudence suffer'd in a Government? Ireland's conquer'd; Wales subdued; Scotland united: But there are some few Spots of Ground in London, just in the Face of the Government, unconquer'd yet, that hold in Rebellion still. Methinks 'tis strange, that Places so near the King's Palace should be no Parts of his Dominions. 'Tis a Shame to the Societies of the Law, to countenance such Practices: Should any Place be shut against the King's Writ, or Posse Comitatus?"
This right of sanctuary was taken from Whitefriars by William III., the nest of rogues, vagabonds, and thieves broken up, the occupants dispersed, and law reigned supreme in that once defiant place.
We have now traced the Fleet River to its junction with the Thames. Poor little river! its life began pure enough, but men so befouled it, that their evil deeds rose against themselves, and the river retaliated in such kind, as to become a malodorous and offensive nuisance, dangerous to the health of those men who would not leave it in its purity. So it was covered over, about 1764 (for it took some time to do it), and the present Bridge Street is over its foul stream, which was curbed, and bricked in, forming a portion of our vast and wonderful system of sewers. It has taken its toll of human life, in its time, though but few instances are recorded. In the Gentleman's Magazine, January 11, 1763, we read: "A man was found in the Fleet Ditch standing upright, and frozen to death. He appears to have been a barber at Bromley, in Kent; had come to town to see his children, and had, unfortunately, mistaken his way in the night, and slipt into the ditch; and, being in liquor, could not disentangle himself."
Bell's Weekly Messenger, August 2, 1835: "Some workmen have been for a few days past engaged in making a new sewer, communicating with the foulest of all streams, the Fleet Ditch. In consequence of the rain the men had left off work; and, soon afterwards, a young man named Macarthy, a bricklayer, proceeded to the sewer for the purpose of bringing away a ladder, when, owing to the slippery state of the works, he fell down the Sewer, but in his descent, caught hold of the ladder he was in search of, to which he hung for nearly a quarter of an hour, calling loudly all the time for assistance, though from some extraordinary cause or other, no person was able to afford him any. At length some of the labourers arrived—but too late; he had just before fallen into the Sewer, and was carried into the Fleet Ditch; and owing to its having been swollen by the heavy shower, floated along as far as the mouth of the Fleet Ditch, at Blackfriars, where his body was found, covered with the filth of the sewer, which the unfortunate man had met with in his progress to the Thames."
And the Times of October 3, 1839, records another fatal accident during some repairs.
Naturally, this River was celebrated in verse. There was a very foolish and dull poem by Arthur Murphy in 1761 called "Ode to the Naiads of Fleet Ditch;" and, previously, it had been sung by Ben Jonson, "On the famous Voyage," which will be found among his epigrams. This voyage was from Bridewell to Holborn, and describes very graphically the then state of the river. Too graphic, indeed, is it for the reading of the modern public, so I transcribe but a very small portion of it, showing its then state.
"But hold my torch, while I describe the entry
To this dire passage. Say, thou stop thy nose;
'Tis but light pains: indeed, this dock's no rose.
In the first jaws appear'd that ugly monster