Chapter V: Introduction (3)

The words “the entrance of a high road” fix definitely the spot indicated, approximately, by Norden’s map. Even without the map, then unknown to me, I felt abundantly justified in writing that the words applied to a road leading out of the road bounding Hyde Park: “This can be no other than the road now known as Edgeware Road: along the whole length of the park there is no other road to which the words could apply.”[105]

In 1626 we have also the mention of “the three wooden stilts” of Tyburn, in Shirley’s “The Wedding,” published in 1629.

In 1649, in an account of the hanging of a batch of twenty-four persons, it is said that eight were hanged “unto each Triangle.”[106]

In 1660 the bodies of Cromwell, Ireton, and Bradshaw were “hanged at the several angles of the Triple-tree.”[107]

1680. Seller’s map of Middlesex shows the gallows, its form not recognisable, near the angle formed by the junction of the roads.

1697. Defoe, in his Essay upon Projects, refers to Watling Street: “The same High Way or Street called Watling Street … went on West to that spot where Tyburn now stands, and there turn’d North-West … to St. Alban’s.”[108]

1712. Beginning with this date the accounts published by Lorrain, the Ordinary of Newgate, of the behaviour of condemned criminals, show the prison of Newgate at the top, on one side, and on the other the gallows of Tyburn. The illustration is taken from the broadsheet of September 19, 1712.

1725. In this year a large map of the newly constituted parish of St. George, Hanover Square, was drawn by John Mackay. We have in it the first exact location of the gallows, shown as a triangular structure. In detailed notes on the map, describing the first “beating the bounds” of the parish on Ascension Day, 1725, it is stated that the parish boundary to the west was marked “on the S.E. Leg of Tyburn,” fully proving the permanence of the structure. The map was reproduced on a small scale in the _Builder_ of July 6, 1901, and was described by Mr. Herbert Sieveking in the _Daily Graphic_ of March 11, 1908.

1746 to 1757. In 1746 was published Rocque’s beautiful map of London in twenty-four sheets; this was followed by his maps of Middlesex in 1754 and 1757. In all the gallows is shown in the open space formed by the junction of the roads near the Marble Arch.

1747. In the last plate of Hogarth’s series of “Industry and Idleness,” is shown an execution at Tyburn. The gallows, a triangular structure, is in the same position (approximately) as in Rocque’s maps.

1756. In Seale’s map, published this year, the triangular gallows is shown in the same position as in Rocque’s maps.[109]

Tyburn had ceased to be “emmy les champs”; the advance of the town is shown by the inclusion of Tyburn in maps of London. So early as 1719 it was proposed to move the gallows to Stamford Hill:—

“We hear the famous and ancient Engine of Justice called Tyburn
is going to be demolished: and we hear the Place of Execution
is to be removed to Stamford-Hill, beyond Newington, on the way
to Ware: the Reason given is said to be, because of the great
Buildings that are going to be erected in Maribone-Fields.”[110]

Strype, in his edition of Stow’s “Survey” (book iv. p. 120) mentions another report, but Tyburn defied these threats for many years to come.[111] Only in 1759, after an existence of near six hundred and fifty years, did the permanent gallows of Tyburn give place to a movable gallows, put up on the day of an execution and afterwards taken down. It is not a little strange that a monument of great antiquity, so well known, recalling so many tragedies, so intimately connected with the history and life of the people, should have been allowed to disappear without a word or a curse. I have not been able to find any direct reference to the removal of the triple-tree. The date of its removal must fall between June 18 and October 3, 1759. Under the earlier date we find, in the usual terms, the record of an execution at Tyburn. The _Whitehall Evening Post_ of October 4, 1759, has the following:—

“Yesterday morning, about Half an Hour after Nine o’clock, the
four malefactors were carried in two carts from Newgate, and
executed on the new Moving Gallows at Tyburn.… The Gallows,
after the Bodies were cut down, was carried off in a cart.”

The same account is given in other newspapers. The _Gentleman’s Magazine_ states that “the gallows, which is a movable one, was carried there before them and fixed up for that purpose.”

The removal of the gallows was followed by the occupation of its site by the toll-house of the turnpike, shifted from the east corner of Park Lane, then called Tyburn Lane, to the corner of Edgeware Road.

The new movable gallows was ordinarily fixed near the corner of Bryanston Street and Edgeware Road (Thomas Smith, “A Topographical and Historical Account of the Parish of St. Marylebone,” 1833); but the place of erection was not always exactly the same. Thus we read in the _Gentleman’s Magazine_ under date August 29, 1783, “The gallows was fixed about 50 yards nearer the Park wall than usual.” Tyburn ceased to be the place of execution in 1783, the last execution here taking place on November 7th of that year.

When the turnpike was in its turn removed, its position was recorded by a monument placed on the south side of the road, somewhat to the west of the Marble Arch. It is a slab of cast iron, with a gable top, bearing on both sides the words, “HERE STOOD TYBURN GATE 1829,” that being the date of the abolition of the turnpike. This monument correctly indicated the position of the gate, which stretched across the road: it was not intended to show the position of the gallows, which, however, it did indicate approximately. It was necessarily removed in the improvements carried out near the Marble Arch in the spring of 1908.

It may be well, at the risk of repetition, to summarise the foregoing account in the form of—

THE CHRONOLOGY OF TYBURN.

=1108.= Earliest date to which the establishment of Tyburn as a place of execution can with probability be assigned.

=1177.= First record of an execution in London, probably at Tyburn.

=1196.= First record of an execution, Tyburn being named as the place.

=1220.= Two new gallows ordered for Tyburn.

=1222-1570.= Executions at Tyburn recorded at the following dates: 1222, 1242, 1305, 1330 (position indicated, “about a league outside the City of London”), 1386, 1388, 1399, 1400, 1402, 1404, 1424, 1427, 1437, 1441, 1446, 1447, 1455, 1467, 1468, 1483, 1495, 1497, 1499, 1502, 1523, 1525, 1531, 1534, 1535, 1536,* 1537, and each year to 1544, 1549, 1550, 1552, and each year to 1557, 1560,* 1561,* 1562,* 1563,* 1569,* 1570.

(The list shows how continuous were executions here.)

The years marked * will not be found in the Annals following
this. The records are uninteresting and have therefore been
omitted. Tyburn is mentioned as to 1536 in Wriothesley’s
Chronicle, as to 1560, 1, 2, and 3, in Machyn’s Diary. Stow
mentions Tyburn in 1569.

=1571.= Erection of the permanent triangular gallows.

=1607.= Site of triangular gallows shown by map to be to the N. of the N.E. corner of Hyde Park.

=1614.= Representation of the triangular gallows.

=1626.= Exact site of gallows proved by accounts of the visit of Henrietta Maria. To the same year must be referred mention of “the three wooden stilts” in Shirley’s “The Wedding,” printed in 1629.

=1649.= Eight persons hanged on each of the three beams.

=1660.= Bodies of Cromwell, Ireton, and Bradshaw “hanged at the several angles of the Triple-tree.”

=1680.= Seller’s map of Middlesex shows the gallows (form not recognisable) near the angle formed by the junction of the roads E., W., and N.

=1697.= “Watling Street … went on West to that spot where Tyburn now stands, and there turned North-West.” (Defoe.)

=1712.= Triangular gallows figured in Lorrain’s broadsheet.

=1725.= Triangular gallows shown in Mackay’s map, in the space formed by the junction of the roads.

=1746-1757.= Triangular gallows shown in the same position in Rocque’s maps, London, 1746, Middlesex, 1754, and 1757.

=1747.= Triangular gallows shown in the same position (approximately) in the last plate of Hogarth’s “Industry and Idleness.”

=1756.= Triangular gallows shown as in Rocque’s maps, in Seale’s map.

=1759.= Triangular gallows gives place to movable gallows.

=1783.= Last execution at Tyburn.

ANNALS

ON TYBURN

Oh Tyburn! coud’st thou Reason and Dispute;
Coud’st thou but Judge as well as Execute;
How often would’st thou change the Felon’s Doom,
And truss some stern Chief-Justice in his room?
Then should thy sturdy Posts support the Laws,
No Promise, Frown, nor popular Applause,
Shou’d sway the Bench to favour a bad Cause.
Nor Scarlet Gown, swell’d with Poetick Fury,
Scare a false Verdict from a trembling Jury.
Justice, with steady Hand and even Scales,
Should stand upright, as if sustain’d by Hales.
Yet still, in Matters doubtful to decide,
A little bearing tow’rds the milder side.

DRYDEN, _Miscellany Poems_, 5th ed., 1727, v. 126.

ANNALS

To tell fully the story of Tyburn for the six centuries of its existence would need many volumes. As a selection has to be made, I have chosen rather to take the older and less familiar incidents than to dwell on those of the eighteenth century, already well known.

In telling the stories found in the old chronicles, I have refrained from giving in my own version what I found adequately told by the old writers. Thus, if I quote Stow, Hall, or Holinshed for events that happened long before their time, it is, of course, not as first-hand authorities, but because their rendering is certainly more interesting than any I could give.

The reader will not fail to observe how extremely meagre are these annals for the first centuries of Tyburn. For the first hundred years, 1177 to 1273, there appear here only eight cases. For this century and down to the year 1535, I have, I think, given all the Tyburn tragedies recorded by the old chroniclers. The explanation of this meagreness is, that the chroniclers noted only executions arising out of political incidents or out of social incidents of extraordinary interest: only in times comparatively late do we get glimpses of the work done by the gallows on small offenders. All through the long era of religious persecutions we hear little of ordinary criminals: only now and again some number is mentioned of those executed or tumbled into a pit together with a priest.

I may be asked how I arrive at the conclusion stated in the introductory remarks, that a moderate estimate would place the number of those executed at Tyburn at fifty thousand. As the gallows was at work for six hundred years, this number would give an average of less than one hundred a year. Four streams of victims converged on Tyburn. The gallows was fed from the courts of Westminster and Guildhall (see, for example, cases in these Annals under the years 1242, 1295, 1441, and 1495). But the great purveyors of the gallows were the Middlesex Sessions and the Old Bailey Sessions, the first for the county, the latter for the City and its Liberties.

It appears that there are no records of the number of persons hanged in pursuance of sentences passed at the Old Bailey Sessions: fortunately, the case is different as regards the Middlesex Sessions. The labours of Mr. John Cordy Jeaffreson[112] have placed us in possession of exact accounts of the numbers hanged at certain periods for felonies committed in the county of Middlesex. For ten years, 6th to 15th James I., these number 704. Mr. Jeaffreson justly argues that the felonies committed in the City and its Liberties must have exceeded in number those committed in the adjacent county. But, taking them as only equal in number, we get 704+704=1,408, or a yearly average of over 140. He finds no reason to suppose that executions were less frequent during the reign of Elizabeth. On the assumption that the rates were equal and continuous through the two reigns, we have a total for this period of 66 years of 9,240.

The returns for the reign of Charles I. are defective in respect of some years. Even after making allowance on this account, the average for Middlesex is not higher than 45. Doubling this as before, we get 90, as against the Jacobean 140. Mr. Jeaffreson accepts this remarkable fall, ascribing it to several causes: the spread of education, enabling more persons to plead their clergy; a growing disposition on the part of juries to convict of petty larceny only on evidence of grand larceny; the larger number of reprieves; the greater readiness of juries to give the prisoner the benefit of doubt; finally, the operation of the Act, 21 James I., c. 6, which in an indirect way put women on a level with men in respect of clergyable offences.

The rate was exceeded, but not very greatly, during the Commonwealth. We will take the average of 90 for the period covered by the reign of Charles I. and the Commonwealth.

Under the years 1535-7, I have written at some length on the results of the social convulsion produced by the dissolution of the monasteries and the enclosures. In estimating the number of executions for the reign of Henry VIII., we may take the Jacobean rate of 140 per annum for the earlier years of the reign, from 1509-35—twenty-seven years. We shall probably be well under the mark in quadrupling the Jacobean rate for the remaining eleven years of this reign, and for the six years of the reign of Edward VI. For the troubled reign of Mary we will double the Jacobean rate. We may now tabulate the results of a calculation on the basis of the foregoing assumptions:—

Assumed Yearly Average
Duration, of Executions at
Reign. Years. Tyburn. Total.

Henry VIII. 27 140 3,780}
Ditto 11 560 6,160} 9,940
Edward VI. 6 560 3,360
Mary 5 280 1,400
Elizabeth 44 140 6,160
James I. 22 140 3,080
Charles I. 24 90 2,160
Commonwealth 11 90 990
--- ------
150 27,090

It is, of course, not claimed that this table presents more than the results of reasonable conjecture—with the data available we cannot get beyond conjecture. The table shows 27,090 executions at Tyburn in 150 years, leaving fewer than 23,000 to be made up in the remaining 450 years to the conjectured number 50,000. This gives a yearly average of less than 52, which is certainly very low.

During the last hundred years of the existence of Tyburn, political executions become more and more rare; the interest of Tyburn becomes more and more a social interest. The salient feature of this period is furnished by the exploits of highwaymen: it might almost be called the era of the knights of the road. Apart from this, the striking feature of the later history of Tyburn, say from the accession of William III., is the constantly increasing ferocity of the laws. The reign of William saw passed the infamous Act inflicting the punishment of death for stealing in a shop to the value of five shillings. Through succeeding reigns Acts were heaped on Acts, making this and that crime a capital offence. No opportunity was lost of loading the Statute Book with these odious Acts, till, as has been estimated, the law of England reckoned two hundred capital offences. Children were hanged or burnt, according to sex; nor did even this satisfy the ferocity of the governing classes. Theorists advocated a return to the barbarous punishments of rude times: the State, by diminishing the time accorded for repentance, sought to pursue its victims beyond the grave. The heaping up of death-punishments continued beyond the time when Tyburn ceased to uphold the majesty of the law. In the year 1786 an Act was passed imposing duties, denoted by stamps, on perfumery and the like—the duties ranged from one penny upwards. To counterfeit such a stamp was DEATH, so that to defraud the State of one penny put an offender in jeopardy of his life.

All honour to those who, like Fielding, Mandeville, Meredith, Basil Montague, Bentham, Romilly, laboured to bring home to their fellow-citizens a sense of the iniquity of these murderous laws. Nor should we forget their predecessors. Sir Thomas More stated once for all the true view of the case: “This punyshment of theues passeth the limites of Iustice, and is also very hurtefull to the weale publique. For it is too extreame and cruel a punishment for thefte, and yet not sufficient to refrayne and withold men from thefte. For simple thefte is not so great an offense, that it owght to be punished with death.” We owe also grateful mention to Samuel Chidley, who, in the time of the Commonwealth, wearied not in protesting against “this over-much justice in hanging men for stealing.”

=1177.= The first recorded execution which can be referred to Tyburn occurred in this year. It is probable that Tyburn was the place of execution, but, leaving this case aside for the time, we come to the execution of William Fitz Osbert, or “Longbeard,” expressly stated to have been carried out at Tyburn.

=1196.= William Fitz Osbert, or Osborn, popularly known as “Longbeard,” was a citizen of London, described as skilled in the law. He is first made known to us by the story of a vision seen by him and a companion on board a ship, one of the fleet of Richard Cœur de Lion, on its way to the Holy Land.

In a great storm at sea there appeared to them three times St. Thomas of Canterbury, who said to them, “Fear not, for I and the Blessed Martyr Edmund, and the Blessed Confessor Nicholas have taken charge of this ship of the King of England. And if the men of this ship will eschew evil and seek pardon for past offences, God will give them a prosperous voyage.” Having thrice said this, he vanished and the storm ceased. This was in 1190. Richard, on his return, was captured and held to ransom by the emperor. The raising of the ransom proved very grievous to the people. There was trouble in the City of London as to the way of assessing the burden. The poorer sort claimed that the citizens should not be called on to pay so much per head, whether rich or poor, but that the assessment should be according to means. William Longbeard took the part of the poor citizens: it came to be a matter to be fought to the death between the magnates and Longbeard. Moreover, Longbeard had accused of extortion Hubert, Archbishop of Canterbury and Justiciar. An armed band was told off to arrest Longbeard. He resisted, slew two chiefs of the band, but was compelled to fly for protection to the church of St. Mary-le-Bow. Then the archbishop did a thing unheard of. He, a churchman, bound by every consideration to guard the privileges of the church, set at nought the right of sanctuary, kindled a fire, and drove Longbeard out of the church. In his attempt to escape Longbeard was wounded by the son of one of those whom he had killed in trying to escape arrest. He was hurried to trial: the great men of the city and the king’s officers joined in urging the justiciar to inflict the severest punishment on the offender. This was the punishment: His upper garments were taken off, then his hands were bound behind his back, and, attached by ropes to a horse, he was dragged from the Tower through the City to Tyburn, and there hanged alive by a chain.

What was he, unscrupulous demagogue or martyr in the cause of the poor? Each view was held by his contemporaries. He seems to have behaved very badly to his elder brother, whose care for him during his youth he repaid by bringing against him a charge of treason. On the other hand, it is clear that Longbeard’s enemies had against him a case which it was necessary to strengthen by baseless accusations. He was charged with blaspheming the Virgin Mary, and with taking his concubine into Bow Church. The last charge seems disproved by the circumstances in which Longbeard fled to the church for refuge. It was also set about that he was put to death for “heresy and cursed doctrine,” whereas it is obvious that his offence was political. Be this as it may, his enemies triumphed; Longbeard was drawn and hanged with nine of his fellows. But “the simple people honoured him as a Martyre, insomuch that they steale away the gibbet whereon he was hanged, & pared away the earth, that was be-bled with his blood, and kept the same as holy reliques to heale sicke men.” Hubert, the archbishop, drove them away. But two years later the monks of Canterbury presented to the Pope charges against Hubert. The first is that he had violated the peace of the Church of Bow by forcing out Longbeard and his fellows. The Pope advised Richard to remove Hubert from the office of justiciar, and not to employ churchmen in secular offices. Hubert resisted for a while, but in the end accepted his dismissal.

Stow, in his “Survey” (ed. Thomas, p. 96), says that Longbeard was hanged at “the Elms in Smithfield,” but there is no authority for this.

The evidence that “The Elms” of Tyburn was the place of execution is full: “Ad furcas prope Tyburnam,” Chronicle of Ralph de Diceto, ed. Stubbs, ii. 143; “ad furcas prope Tiburcinam,” Roger of Wendover, ed. Coxe, iii. 95, ed. Hewlett, i. 244; Gervase of Canterbury has “ad Ulmos,” ed. Stubbs, i. 533-4; “ad Ulmetum,” Matthew Paris, Chron. Maj., ed. Luard, ii. 419; Hist. Anglor., ed. Madden, ii. 57-8.

Diceto, Dean of St. Paul’s, is believed to have died about 1202; Roger of Wendover died in 1236: their evidence is, therefore, first-hand.

=1177.= From the accounts of the execution of Longbeard it is quite clear that in 1196 Tyburn was established as the place of execution; in the detailed accounts given there is no hint that this was the first execution carried out here. It has been shown that gallows existed here as early, probably, as 1170. When, therefore, we find mention of an execution of a date earlier than that of Longbeard, taking place at London, for a crime of which the royal court would necessarily have cognisance, it is at least highly probable that Tyburn, though not expressly mentioned, was the place of execution.

The crime of 1177 is one of those few social crimes, as distinguished from political offences, of which the chroniclers make mention; the story reveals a strange picture of the manners of the time.

During a council held at London the brother of the Earl of Ferrers was murdered in his inn, the body being afterwards thrown into the mud of the street. When the king heard of this he was greatly moved, and swore that he would visit the crime heavily upon the citizens of London. For it was said that a hundred and more of the sons and relatives of the nobles of the City were in the habit of breaking into the houses of wealthy men for the purpose of robbery. And if they found any one going by night about the streets they forthwith murdered him without pity, so that for fear of them few dared to go about the City by night. So it came about that in the third year before this, the sons and nephews of certain nobles of the City, meeting together by night, for the sake of plunder broke into the stone house of a certain rich man of London, using iron wedges for the purpose of making an opening, by which they entered. But the head of the house had been warned beforehand of their intent, wherefore he put on a leather cuirass, and had with him several nobles and trusty servants also protected by armour, sitting with him in a corner of the house. And when he saw one of those thieves, by name Andrew Bucquinte, pressing on in front of the others with glowing face, he brought forward a pot full of live coals, and hurriedly kindled some wax tapers which he carried in his hand, and rushed upon him. Which beholding, the said Andrew Bucquinte drew his knife from its sheath and struck the master of the house; but he failed to wound him because the blow fell upon the cuirass. And the master of the house quickly drawing his sword from its sheath, returned the blow, and lopped off the right hand of the said Andrew Bucquinte, crying with a loud voice, “Thieves, thieves!” and hearing this all fled except him who had lost his hand, he being held by the master of the house. And when day broke he took him to Richard de Lucy, the king’s justice, who threw him into prison. And the thief, on promise of life and limb, gave up the names of his companions, many of whom were taken, though many also escaped. Among those taken was a certain very noble and very rich citizen of London, by name John Senex, who being unable to clear himself by the ordeal of water, offered to the king five hundred marks of silver for his life. But as he was condemned by the ordeal of water, the king refused to accept the money, and ordered that judgment should be done upon him, and he was hanged.[113]

=1222.= In one of the ancient records of the City of London, the “Liber de Antiquis Legibus,” there occur two short notices:—

A.D. 1197, Constantine Fitz-Athulf and Robert le Bel (as
Sheriffs).

A.D. 1221. In this year Constantine Fitz-Athulf was hanged, and
that without trial.

The story of the execution without trial of one who had been sheriff of the great and powerful City compels attention. It is thus told by the chroniclers, the date assigned being 1222 or 1223:—

In this year, on the feast of St. James the Apostle, July 25, the inhabitants of London and those of the neighbouring country, having challenged one another to a wrestling match, met near the hospital of Queen Matilda, outside the City (St. Katherine’s Hospital, near the Tower) to decide who were the stronger in this sport. The contest was long, and after great efforts on both sides, the citizens of London had the best of the contest, to the chagrin of their adversaries. He who took the defeat most to heart was the seneschal of the abbat of Westminster, who devised means to avenge the defeat of his party. Having formed in his mind a plan of vengeance, he issued a fresh challenge for the feast of St. Peter’s Chains (August 1st), and sent word for everyone to come to Westminster to wrestle, promising a ram as a prize. That being done the said seneschal got together strong and practised wrestlers, so that the victory might be thus gained. The citizens of London, wishing to distinguish themselves a second time, came in great numbers to the appointed place. The contest began, those on one side and the other trying to throw their opponents to the ground, but the seneschal of whom mention has been made, having brought up people from the neighbourhood and from the country, turned the contest into a fight which would satisfy his revenge. He took up arms without provocation and furiously charged, not without bloodshed, the unarmed citizens of London. The citizens, wounded and insulted, fled in disorder to the City. There ensued a great tumult: the common bell was rung and brought the people together. The story went about, every one gave his opinion, and proposed his plan of revenge. At last the Mayor, Serle, a man prudent and peaceful, advised that complaint should be made to the abbat of Westminster, and said that if he would consent to make suitable reparation, every one should then be satisfied. But Constantine, who had great power in the City, declared amid great applause that it would be better to throw down all the houses belonging to the abbat of Westminster, as well as the seneschal’s house. Forthwith an order was drawn up, enjoining the immediate execution of Constantine’s project. A blind multitude, a mad populace, entrusted Constantine with this civil war, flung itself in a tumult on the possessions of the abbat, demolished several houses, and did great damage. In the midst of this scene was Constantine, continually reciting the order, and crying with all his might, “Montjoie! Montjoie! God and our lord Louis be our help!”

This cry, more than anything else, provoked the king’s friends, and made them determine to exact punishment for this sedition, as we will now tell. The facts soon got about, and came to the ear of Hubert de Burgh, the justiciar, who, having got together a number of knights, put himself at their head and went to the Tower of London, from which he sent a message to the elders to come to him without delay. When they were before him he asked who were the principal movers in the sedition; who were they who had dared to trouble the royal city, and break the king’s peace? Then Constantine, constant in his presumption and pride, answered otherwise than was either becoming or prudent. “It is I,” he said, “what wilt thou?” He declared that he was protected by treaty, that he could justify what he had done, which was even less than he ought to have done. He trusted to the oath taken by the king as well as by Prince Louis, by the terms of which the friends and partisans of one or the other were to be left in peace.

The justiciar, hearing this avowal of Constantine, detained him and two of his abettors, without exciting any disturbance. The next morning he sent Fawkes de Bréauté (known to him as a man ready for any cruelty) with an armed force to carry Constantine by way of the Thames to be hanged at The Elms. Quickly and secretly they carried him thither, and when Constantine had the rope round his neck, he offered fifteen thousand marks of silver if his life might be spared. To whom answer was made that never more should he get up a riot in the king’s city. Hanged therefore he was, together with Constantine, his nephew, and a certain Geoffrey, who had proclaimed the order in the City.

Thus was the sentence on Constantine carried out unknown to the citizens, and without disorder. That done, the justiciar made his entry into London, with Fawkes and the armed men who had gone with him. He arrested all known to have taken part in the riot, threw them into prison, and let them out only when he had caused their feet or hands to be lopped off. Numbers fled and never returned. The king took sixty citizens as hostages, and deposed the magistrates and put others in their room. Moreover, he ordered that a great gallows should be set up.[114]

=1236.= About this time some bold but rash nobles in England, seduced by we know not what spirit, conspired together, and entered into an execrable alliance to ravage England like robbers and night-thieves. Their design, however, became known, and the chief of the conspiracy—to wit, Peter de Buffer, one of the king’s doorkeepers—was taken prisoner, and by him others were accused. In order to whose execution a dreadful machine, commonly called a gibbet, was set up in London, and on it two of the chief conspirators were hanged, after having engaged in single combat. One of them was killed in the fight, and was hanged with his head cleft open, and the other, hanged alive, breathed forth his wretched life on the same gibbet amid the lamentations of the assembled multitude.[115]

=1239.= A certain messenger of the king, named William, had been convicted of manifold crimes, and lay in prison under sentence of death. He brought accusations of treason against several nobles; he also made a criminal charge against Ralph Briton, a priest and canon of the Church of St. Paul’s, London, who had for some time been a familiar friend of the king, and had held the office of treasurer. On this coming to the king’s ears he by letter ordered the Mayor of London, William Gromer (or Gerard Batt), to seize Ralph and imprison him in the Tower of London, and the Mayor obeying the king rather than God, at once carried the king’s orders into effect. He dragged the said Ralph with violence from his house near St. Paul’s, and imprisoned him in the Tower, securing him with chains, commonly called rings. The Dean of London, Master G. de Lucy, informed of this, took counsel with his fellow canons (the bishop being absent), and pronounced a general sentence of excommunication against all the presumptuous perpetrators of this enormity, and placed St. Paul’s Church under an interdict. The king, however, although warned by the bishop, did not amend his faults, but continued with threats to heap evils on evils, so that the bishop was about to place the whole of the City of London, which was subject to him, under an interdict: but when the archbishop of Canterbury, as well as the legate, the bishop of London, and many other prelates, were prepared to lay a heavy hand on the City, the king, although unwillingly, ordered the said Ralph to be released, and allowed to depart in peace. But when the king sought to add the condition that Ralph should be so kept as to be ready to give an explanation when the king required it, the churchmen replied that they would not on any account keep him in this manner, like an imprisoned man, but that the church should receive him as absolutely free, just as when the king’s attendants tore him by force from his house. In this manner then was Ralph released.

Not long afterwards, the before-named villain, who had, as above stated, calumniated the nobles and the aforesaid Ralph, was ignominiously hanged outside the City of London, on that instrument of punishment called a gibbet: and when he saw that death was certain, he, although late, openly confessed before the people and his executioners that he had made the aforesaid accusations only for the purpose of prolonging his life.[116]

=1242.= William de Marisco, or Marsh, was the son of Geoffrey, justiciar or viceroy of Ireland. In 1235 Henry Clement, a messenger from the Irish peers to the king, was murdered in London. William Marsh was accused of the murder, but he always protested his innocence. William was also accused of being implicated in the attempted assassination of the king at Woodstock (p. 30). His father, Geoffrey, was also suspected of being privy to the attempt, and his lands being seized on this account, he fled to Scotland, whence he was finally driven out at the king’s instance, dying friendless and poor in France. This is the chronicler’s account of the doings of William after his father’s fall:—

William sought refuge in a certain island not far from Bristol, Devon, or Cornwall, named Lundy, an impregnable retreat. Here, having drawn to himself a number of outlaws and fugitives, he lived by piracy; he gave himself up to plunder and rapine, seizing the goods of merchants trading in those parts, especially wine and provisions. He also made sudden descents on the coasts, carrying off booty, injuring greatly thereby the kingdom of England, by preying upon merchants, both native and foreign. Now, a great number of nobles, English as well as Irish, who could not honourably dwell at home while the king was engaged in war in parts beyond the sea, journeyed across the countries not far distant from the said island, and ascertained beyond doubt that the said William and his band could be taken only by stratagem. They told the king that he must proceed in the matter not violently, but cautiously, in order to capture these devastators. The king therefore gave his orders to trusted men, engaging them by the promise of a rich reward to undertake the capture of this man and the deliverance of their country. The said William was hateful to the king, because he suspected him of being privy, together with his father, Geoffrey, to the attempted assassination, and to have been wickedly guilty of treason by sending the wretch who went by night to Woodstock to cut the king’s throat; also to have killed in London, in the king’s presence, a certain messenger sent by an Irish nobleman. William’s denial of the charges was not believed, nor even listened to. Therefore he imprudently sought safety in remote places, living like an outlaw and a fugitive.

After narrating other events, the chronicler continues:—

About this time, William Marsh, a knight, of whom mention has been made, while he was still in the above-mentioned island, plundering and planning ambushes, was himself captured by a stratagem, carried out by the king’s loyal servants, loaded with chains, brought to London and thrown into the Tower. His capture was brought about by the treachery of some of his band. His stronghold was situated on a very high rock, surrounded on all sides by the sea, absolutely impregnable, for none could get access to it otherwise than by a ladder, and that in but one place. William sitting down to table, during foggy weather, had imprudently left the watch of this post to a man who, being detained by William by force, was therefore ready to betray him.

On the eve of St. James [July 25], by virtue of the king’s mandate, the said William and sixteen of his band, taken with him, were judicially condemned, and put to death ignominiously, for so the king willed.

First, therefore, he was drawn from Westminster to the Tower of London, and thence to that instrument of punishment, commonly called a gibbet: when he had there breathed out his wretched soul, he was hanged on one of the hooks, and when the body was stiff it was let down and disembowelled, and the bowels were at once burnt on the spot. Then the miserable body was divided into four parts, which were sent to four of the chief cities, so that this lamentable spectacle might inspire fear in all beholders. All his sixteen companions were drawn at the tails of horses through the City of London, and hanged on the gallows. But the said William, after sentence was passed on him, and when he was about to face death, protested to his last breath, invoking the divine judgment, that he was innocent, pure, and wholly without blame, as well in respect of the criminal attempt on the king, as of the death of the above-mentioned messenger, that is to say, Clement. Nor did he take refuge in the said island except to avoid by his flight the king’s anger, which he had above all things desired to appease, either by ordeal of any kind, or otherwise by submission. But after he had fled to the said island, and had got together his band, he had no choice but to plunder in order to maintain a wretched existence. He poured out his soul to God, in confession to John of St. Giles, a friar of the order of preachers: with contrition and tears he admitted his sins, not seeking to extenuate them, but even accusing himself. Therefore the friar preacher, a discreet man, who received his confession, gave him gentle consolation, and dismissed him in peace, exhorting him to suffer his punishment with patience, as a means of penance. And, therefore, as has been said, he suffered—dreadful to tell—not one death only, but several horrible deaths.[117]

=1255.= The story of Little St. Hugh, the Martyr of Lincoln, comes into the Annals of Tyburn through the execution of eighteen Jews supposed to have been guilty. It is interesting to see what Chaucer has made out of this squalid tragedy in the Prioress’s Tale, one of the most beautiful of the Canterbury Tales. The reader will not need to be reminded that Norwich had its boy-martyr, St. William, supposed to be done to death in the same way in 1144. Bury St. Edmund’s had also its boy-martyr.[118]

Matthew Paris tells the story:—

About the time of the feast of the Apostles Peter and Paul, the Jews of Lincoln stole a boy named Hugh, about eight years of age. They kept him shut up in a very secret room, where they gave him milk, and other food such as is given to children, and sent word to most of the cities of England in which Jews dwelt, summoning from each some Jews to be present at the sacrifice which was to take place in Lincoln, in contempt and derision of Jesus Christ. For, as they said, they had a child hidden in preparation for the sacrifice. And many assembled at Lincoln; and when they were gathered together, they appointed a Jew as judge, as it were Pilate, by whose sentence, approved by all, the boy suffered various tortures. He was beaten till blood was drawn and his body was black and blue: crowned with thorns: spat upon and overwhelmed with jibes: then each one pricked him with knives of the kind called anelaces: he was made to drink gall, and, jeering at him, and grinding their teeth, they called him false prophet. And when they had thus mocked him in many ways, they crucified him, and thrust a lance into his heart. And when the boy was dead, they took the body down from the cross and took the bowels out of the little body, for what purpose is not known, but it is said that it was for some practice of magic.

Now the mother of the child diligently sought for her son during many days. In the end the neighbours told her that they had last seen the boy playing with some Jewish boys of his own age, and that he went into the house of a certain Jew. At once, therefore, the woman went into that house, where she saw the body of her son, which had been thrown into a well. The bailiffs of the city, having been cautiously got together, the body was found and taken out of the well, and exhibited to the people. But the mother of the boy, crying aloud and lamenting, excited to tears and sighs, all, yes, all the citizens who had flocked together. Now there was present Sir John of Lexinton, a man circumspect, discreet and of elegant literary acquirements, who said: “We had already heard that the Jews have not feared to do such things in contempt of our crucified Lord, Jesus Christ.” And one Jew being arrested, into whose house the boy had gone, in playing about, on whom therefore suspicion fell rather than upon others, he said to him: “Wretch, thou knowest that all thou hast to expect is swift destruction. All the gold of England cannot suffice to free or redeem thee. Nevertheless, I tell thee, however unworthy thou art, how thou canst save thy life, and thy limbs from torture. Both things I promise to thee if thou dost not fear to tell me without falsehood all that has taken place.” Then the Jew, whose name was Copin, thinking he had found a way of escape, said: “Sir John, if your deeds are as good as your words I will tell you strange things.” And Sir John carefully heartened him and pressed him. Then said the Jew: “What the Christians say is true. The Jews nearly every year crucify a boy in derision and contempt of Jesus Christ. But this is not found out every year, because it is done secretly and in remote and hidden places. But our Jews have most pitilessly crucified this boy, named Hugh, and when he was dead and they wished to conceal his death they knew not how either to bury or to hide him. For they had no further need of the body of the innocent for augury: for that purpose they had taken out the bowels. But in the morning, when they thought it was hidden, the earth rejected it and threw it up, and the body appeared for a while on the earth, unburied, which frightened the Jews. Then they threw the body into a well, but even so it could not be hidden. The mother, making enquiry, found the body and gave notice to the bailiffs.” Sir John had the Jew put in chains.

And when the canons of the cathedral church of Lincoln learnt of these things, they begged that the little body might be given to them, and this was done. And when it had been seen by a great number of people, the body was buried in the church of Lincoln, as that of a precious martyr. It is to be noted that the Jews had kept the boy alive ten days, and had fed him upon milk, so that he might live to bear all kinds of torture.

When the king returned from the northern parts of England and was informed of what had passed, he blamed Sir John for promising life and limb to such a wretch, and he refused to ratify this, for this blasphemer and murderer had deserved many deaths. And when the criminal saw that an irrevocable sentence threatened him, he said: “Death threatens me, nor can Sir John save me. Now will I tell the truth to all of you. Almost all the Jews of England consented to the boy’s death of which they are accused. And from almost every city of England in which Jews dwell, certain men, chosen for the purpose, came to the immolation of the child, as to a sacrifice of Passover.”

When he had said other hateful things, he was made fast to the tail of a horse and drawn to the gallows, and given over body and soul to the evil demons of the air. And other Jews, accomplices in the crime, to the number of ninety-one, were taken in carts to London and put in prison. If perchance some Christians shed tears for their fate, their lot was bemoaned with dry eyes by the Caursins, their rivals.

Afterwards, by enquiry made by the justices of our lord the king, it was discovered that the Jews of England, by common accord, had killed this innocent boy by crucifixion, after having beaten him for several days. Later, the mother of the said boy pressed upon the king her accusation of those guilty of the death, and God, the Lord of Vengeance, meted out to them retribution according to their deserts. For on the feast of St. Clement, eighteen of the richest and greatest of the Jews of Lincoln were drawn to new gallows, prepared for them, and left to the winds. And in the Tower of London sixty more were kept in prison, expecting the same fate.

=1256.= At this same time, certain Jews, infamous by reason of the unhappy death of the boy crucified at Lincoln, found guilty by the oath of twenty-five knights, and condemned to death, lay in prison, to the number of three score and eleven, in order that they might be hanged. They sent, as their rivals declare, secret messengers to the minorite friars with the view that they should intercede for them, that they might be released from prison, notwithstanding that they were worthy of a most ignominious death. The friars, as the world said (if the world is to be believed in such a matter), were induced by money to procure the freedom of the Jews by their prayers and intercession, from the imprisonment and death they had deserved. But in my opinion, it is to be believed that the friars acted from piety, guided by a spirit of compassion, because, so long as any one is alive in this world, he can still use his will, so that there is hope of him. But for the devil and for those manifestly damned, one can neither hope nor pray, because there is no hope for them. Now death and a final sentence had irrevocably ensnared them. But this way of looking at the matter cannot excuse the friars, nor prevent scandal from blackening their character. The people drew back their hands from giving them alms as they had before done. So it fell out that the devotion of Londoners towards the minorites grew lukewarm, just as the charity of the Parisians grew cold towards the preachers, who there sought to weaken the ancient and approved customs of the University.

In the same year, on the Ides of May, four score and eleven Jews were released from the Tower of London, where they had lain in fetters, for the crucifixion of Saint Hugh, the boy of Lincoln. These Jews, I say, were found guilty upon oath, in accordance with the statement of the Jew who at the first was hanged at Lincoln.[119]

=1267.= It happened about the Feast of Saint Katherine [November 25] in this year, that a dispute arose between certain of the craft of the goldsmiths and certain of the craft of tailors: to whom adhered, on the one side and the other, some of the trade of the parmenters [dealers in broadcloth] and some of the tawyers [who prepared fine leather], which persons held great assemblages, and for three nights together went armed through the streets of the City, creating most severe conflicts among themselves. Hence, without doubt, as was said, more than five hundred of these mischievous persons were collected together at night, and in the affray many of them were wounded: but still, no one would act a part that belongs only to the Bailiffs. For every one was waiting by force of arms to take vengeance on his adversary, against the peace and his own fealty to his lordship the King: the Bailiffs and discreet men of the City understanding which, had more than thirty of them seized and imprisoned in Newgate: and these, on the Friday next after the Feast of Saint Katherine, appeared before Laurence de Broc, the Justiciar assigned for gaol delivery, who took proceedings against them in the King’s behalf, saying that they, against the peace and their fealty to his lordship the King, had gone armed in the City, and had at night wickedly and feloniously wounded some persons, and had slain others, whose bodies, it was said, had been thrown into the Thames.

They however denied violence and injury, &c., and as to the same put themselves upon the verdict of the venue. But on the morrow, those who by the said venue were found to have been in the conflict aforesaid, were, by the judgment of the said Justiciar, immediately hanged, although not one among them had been convicted of homicide, mayhem, or robbery. Hence, one Geoffrey, surnamed “de Beverley,” a parmenter by trade, because certain of those misdoers had armed themselves in his house, and he himself had been present with them in arms in the said affray, was hanged, together with twelve others who had been indicted, as well goldsmiths as parmenters and tawyers. All this however was done that others, put in awe thereby, might take warning, that so the peace of his lordship the King by all within the City might be the more rigidly maintained.[120]

=1278.= In the month of November in this year all Jews throughout England were seized on the same day, and imprisoned in London, for clipping the king’s coin. And the Jews gave information as to very many Christians in league with them, and chiefly among the more renowned of London. On this occasion two hundred and eighty Jews of both sexes were hanged at London: in other cities of England a very great multitude. The king exacted an immense sum for the ransom of the Christians, some of whom also were delivered to the gallows.[121]

=1284.= In this year Bow church, which, as we have seen, witnessed a great tragedy in 1196, was once more the scene of a terrible affair. It may be told mainly in the words of Stow:—

In the year 1284, the 13th of Edward I., Laurence Ducket, goldsmith, having grievously wounded one Ralph Crepin in Westcheape, fled into Bow church, into the which, in the night time, entered certain evil persons, friends unto the said Ralph, and slew the said Laurence, lying in the steeple, and then hanged him up, placing him so by the window as if he had hanged himself, and so was it found by inquisition: for the which fact Laurence Ducket, being drawn by the feet, was buried in a ditch without the City: but shortly after, by relation of a boy, who lay with the said Laurence at the time of his death, and had hid himself there for fear, the truth of the matter was disclosed.