Eighteen Months' Imprisonment

by late captain Donald Shaw

The first step towards the morning’s work was the appearance of workmen about 4 A.M.; this was immediately followed by a rumbling sound, and we realized that the scaffold was being dragged round. A grim, square, box-like apparatus was now indistinctly visible, as it was slowly backed against the “debtors’ door.” Lights now flickered about the scaffold; it was the workmen fixing the crossbeams and uprights. Every stroke of the hammer must have vibrated through the condemned cells, and warned the wakeful occupant that his time was nearly come. These cells are situated at the corner nearest Holborn, and passed by thousands daily who little know how much misery that bleak white wall divides them from. Gradually as day dawned the scene became more animated, and battalions of police marched down and surrounded the scaffold. Meanwhile a little unpretending door was gently opened; this is the “debtors’ door,” and leads direct through the kitchen on to the scaffold. The kitchen on these occasions is turned into a temporary mausoleum, and draped with tawdry black hangings, which conceal the pots and pans, and produce an effect supposed to be more in keeping with the solemn occasion. From our standpoint everything was visible inside the kitchen and on the scaffold; to the surging mass in the streets below this bird’s-eye view was, however, denied. Presently an old and decrepit man made his appearance, and cautiously “tested” the drop; but a foolish impulse of curiosity led him to peep over the drapery, and a yell of execration saluted him. This was Calcraft, the hangman, hoary-headed and tottering and utterly past his work.

The tolling of St. Sepulchre’s about 7.30 A.M. announced the approach of the hour of execution; meanwhile a steady rain was falling, which, however, in no way decreased the ever-increasing crowd. As far as the eye could reach was a sea of human faces. Roofs, windows, church rails, and empty vans—all were pressed into the service, and tightly packed with human beings eager to catch a glimpse of a fellow-creature on the last stage of life’s journey. The rain by this time had made the drop slippery, and necessitated precautions on behalf of the living if not on those appointed to die; so sand was thrown over a portion (not of the drop—that would have been superfluous), but on the side, the only portion that was not to give way. It was suggestive of the pitfalls used for trapping wild beasts—a few twigs and a handful of earth, and below a gaping chasm. Here, however, all was reversed; there was no need to deceive the chief actor by resorting to such a subterfuge: he was to expiate his crime with all the publicity a humane government could devise. The sand was for the benefit of the “ordinary,” the minister of religion, who was to offer dying consolation at 8 and breakfast at 9 A.M.

The procession now appeared, winding its way through the kitchen, and in the centre of the group walked Müller, a sickly, delicate-looking lad, securely pinioned and literally as white as marble. As he reached the platform, he looked up, and placed himself immediately under the hanging chain. At the end of this chain was a hook, which was eventually attached to the hemp round the poor wretch’s neck. The concluding ceremonies did not take long, considering how feeble the aged hangman was. A white cap was first placed over his face, then his ankles were strapped together, and finally the fatal noose was put round his neck, the end of which was then attached to the hook. I fancy I can see Calcraft now, laying the “slack” of the rope that was to give the fall lightly on the doomed man’s shoulder, so as to preclude the possibility of a hitch, and then stepping on tiptoe down the steps and disappearing below. The silence now was truly awful. I felt my heart in my mouth; it was the most terrific suspense I had ever realized. I felt myself involuntarily saying, “He could be saved YET, YET, YET;” and then a thud, that vibrated through the street, announced that Müller was launched into eternity. My eyes were literally glued to the spot. I was fascinated by the awful sight; not a detail escaped me. Calcraft meanwhile, apparently not satisfied with his handiwork, seized hold of the wretch’s feet and pressed on them for some seconds with all his weight, and with a last approving look shambled back into the prison. Meanwhile the white cap was getting tighter and tighter, until it looked ready to burst; and a faint blue speck that had almost immediately appeared on the carotid artery after the drop fell gradually became more livid till it assumed the appearance of a huge black bruise. Death, I should say, must have been instantaneous, for he never stirred a muscle, and the only movement that was visible was that from the gradually stretching rope as the body kept slowly swinging round and round. The hanging of the body for an hour constituted part of the sentence, an interval that was not lost upon the multitude below. The drunken again took up their ribald songs, conspicuous amongst which was one that had done duty pretty well through the night, and ended with, “Müller, Müller, he’s the man”; but the pickpockets and the highwaymen reaped the greatest benefit. It can hardly be credited that respectable old City men on their way to business, with watch-chains and scarf-pins, in clean white shirt-fronts, and with unmistakable signs of having spent the night in bed, should have had the foolhardiness to venture into such a crowd, but there they were in dozens. They had not long to wait for the reward of their temerity. Gangs of ruffians at once surrounded them; and whilst one held them by each arm, another was rifling their pockets. Watches, chains, and scarf-pins passed from hand to hand with the rapidity of an eel; meanwhile their piteous shouts of “Murder!” “Help!” “Police!” were utterly unavailing. The barriers were doing their duty too well, and the hundreds of constables within a few yards were perfectly powerless to get through the living rampart.

From our window I saw an interesting case of mistaken identity, and I was glad to have the opportunity of saving an innocent man from arrest. The incident was referred to in the next day’s papers, and was briefly this. A well-dressed old man had had his scarf-pin pulled out, and a policeman by this time being luckily near, a lad standing by was taxed with the theft. We, however, from our vantage ground had seen the whole affair, and recognized the real culprit, who was standing coolly by whilst the innocent man was being marched off. By shouting and hammering with our sticks, we eventually succeeded in attracting the notice of the constable, and pointed out the real culprit, and the pin was then and there found on him.

Whilst these incidents were going on, 9 o’clock was gradually approaching, the hour when the body was to be cut down. A few minutes previously two prisoners had brought out the shell—a common deal one, perforated with holes. I remember remarking at the time how small it looked; and my conjecture proved correct, for it was with difficulty that the body could be squeezed in. It showed with what consummate skill and regard to economy the exact size of the body must have been calculated. With its clothes on, the corpse was too big for the shell; divested of them, however, there was doubtless ample room, not only for it, but for the layers of quicklime that enveloped it. And now Calcraft again appeared, and producing a clasp-knife, with one arm he hugged the body and with the other severed the rope. It required two slashes of the feeble old arm to complete this final ceremony, and then the head fell with a flop on the old man’s breast, who, staggering under the weight, jammed it into the shell. The two prisoners then carried it into the prison, the debtors’ door closed till again required to open for a similar tragedy, and the crowd meanwhile having sufficiently decreased, enabled us to go home to bed, and to dream of the horrors of the past twelve hours.

CHAPTER X.
“NEWGATE ETIQUETTE.”

Visits at Newgate are made under great disadvantage, and have not even the recommendation of privacy. A few of the more respectable (as regards clothes) prisoners, such as myself, were allowed to see our daily visitors in a portion of the enclosure a little removed, but still so near the regular place that it was almost impossible to hear what was said on account of the terrible roar made by the united lungs of a hundred malefactors and their demonstrative friends. Visits are only permitted between two and four o’clock, and as everybody comes about the same hour, the babel that ensues may be readily conceived. As, moreover, we are untried, and consequently innocent, people, these restrictions as to time and numbers are clearly unjust, and merit alteration. Solicitors are permitted to consult with their clients in glass boxes, where all can be seen but nothing heard. These cases are situated in the direct route through which sight-seers are conducted. An amusing incident occurred to me on one occasion. I was in deep consultation with an eminent solicitor of Gray’s Inn Square, as a herd of some ten country bumpkins, male and female, were being piloted about, and I distinctly saw their conductor make a motion that evidently referred to me. I cannot, of course, say what that communication was, but it was evidently enough to raise the desire on the part of one of the females to have a closer inspection of me. With a light step, such as a sack of coals might make on a skating rink, the biped cautiously stalked me, and deliberately flattened her “tip-tilted,” turn-up nose against the window. Without a moment’s warning, I bounded from my chair and shouted out, “Sixpence extra for the chamber of horrors.” The fair creature jumped as if shot from a catapult, and I fancy I can now see her black stockings and frowzy petticoat as she flew towards her party. Hemma Hann had been taught a lesson!

There are certain abuses that call for immediate and rigorous suppression at Newgate, the more so as it is a place where prisoners are, as it were, in transit, and thus many things that might be made real advantages are (or were a year ago) gross injustices. I refer specially to the “privilege” of procuring your own food. Men awaiting trial are naturally ignorant of the system and its details, and I cannot do better than state what occurred to me, and the absolute injustice I was subject to; for my case is only similar to that of many others, who have not perhaps the same advantage as I have of ventilating the grievance.

I was asked on the first day what I would like to order, and deeming it safest to avoid mistakes I gave one order to hold good daily. I ordered a pint of milk and a plate of bread and butter for breakfast; a plate of meat and a pint of ale for dinner; and for supper a pint of milk and a plate of bread and butter. Now I ask any unprejudiced reader what ought such food to have cost, supplied to a prisoner from a common coffee-house in such a district?

I have been at the trouble of enquiring at this and similar eating-houses, and find that their prices for the above articles are, for a pint of milk, 4d.; bread and butter, 3d.; a plate of meat and vegetables, 8d.; bread, 1d.; and a pint of ale, 4d.; total, 2s. 3d. But a free citizen and a caged prisoner are two different things, for which there are two different prices. For the above homely fare I was charged 3s. 6d. a day, and as my money was in the hands of the prison authorities, I had absolutely no redress. No notice was ever taken of a complaint, though I made a dozen. Often my beer did not come, but I was charged all the same; my milk was frequently forgotten, and eventually appeared an hour after in a boiled state—and yet this scandalous charge was paid daily. I ask any humane government, is not this a shame? What is the only inference that can possibly be drawn? Surely it is within the bounds of possibility that these officials, badly paid and half fed, supplement their day’s food at the expense of the prisoner; if they do not, would they permit the coffee-house keeper to reap such profits? Common sense suggests there must be collusion. I am fortified in this opinion by what I’ve lately seen. During the past few weeks I’ve been round this grimy district, and seen the turnkeys running in and out from the wicket opposite into certain of these houses that I could indicate, and the honorary membership that appears to exist leaves no room for any interpretation but the one suggested. I sincerely hope this matter may not be deemed too trivial to be looked into, and that it will be the means of introducing an improvement of the system, whereby a prisoner can procure articles at fixed prices, and that this tariff is hung up in every cell. My treatment was so glaringly unjust that I cannot lose the opportunity of giving publicity to the sequel. On the eve of my departure to “Cold Bath Fields,” I was asked to sign the usual paper which purported to show how my money, £1 5s. 4d., had been expended, and as a proof of my being satisfied with it. This I distinctly declined to do; and one would have supposed that in an establishment where “justice” plays so prominent a part, my refusal would at least have elicited an enquiry. On the contrary, however, pressure was actually brought to bear on me, and even the Governor lowered himself by making it a personal matter. The man, as I said before, was not a gentleman by birth, but I was hardly prepared for such violent partizanship on his part. “So I hear you decline to sign the receipt for your money. Very well; I shall retain the money, and report your conduct to the Governor of Cold Bath Fields.” This was the dignified speech that greeted me next morning. In reply, I assured him that I certainly should not sign, and he might report me to whomsoever he pleased. Thus ended our squabble; and it might as well have been spared, for I found on my arrival at Cold Bath Fields that only 4s. 5½d. had been sent with me, and that consequently the eating-house man had been paid £1 0s. 10½d. by his patron the Governor on my behalf, and despite my protest. With the abolition of Newgate as a prison, except during the sessions, it is sincerely to be hoped that these crying scandals have been abolished too.