CHAPTER XLIX.
THE FLEET PRISON.
An Ancient Debtors' Prison—Grievous Abuses—Star Chamber Offenders in the Fleet—Prynne and Lilburne—James Howell, the Letter-writer
—Howard, the Philanthropist, at the Fleet—The Evils of Farming the Fleet—The Cases of Jacob Mendez Solas and Captain Mackpheadris
—A Parliamentary Inquiry into the State of the Fleet Prison—Hogarth's Picture on the Subject—The Poet Thomson's Eulogy of
Mr. Oglethorpe—The Fleet Prison before and after it was Burnt in, 1780—Code of Laws enforced in the Fleet—The Liberty of the
"Rules"—The Gordon Rioters at the Fleet—Weddings in the Fleet—Scandalous Scenes—Mr. Pickwick's Sojourn in the Fleet—Famous
Inmates of the Prison.
It is difficult to carry the mind back and imagine
this old London prison, carted away in 1846, a
building of nearly seven centuries' existence; yet so
it was. Stow, to whom a century was a mere trifle,
traces it back, in his grave, unpretending way (condensing a week's research in a line), as early as
Richard I., who confirmed the custody of his
house at Westminster, and his gaol of the Fleet
at London, to Osbert, brother of William Longshampe, Chancellor of England. King John, also,
says the same writer, handed over the same important, and, as one might perhaps be allowed to
think, somewhat incongruous trusts, to the Archdeacon of Wells. The Fleet is proved to have
been a debtors' prison as early as 1290, but it
does not figure largely in London chronicles. It
was probably as disgraceful and loathsome as other
prisons of those early days, the gaolers levying fees
from the prisoners, and habeas corpus, that Magna
Charta of the unfortunate, being as yet unknown.
The Fleet Prison was formerly held in conjunction with the Manor of Leveland, in Kent, and
appears in a grant from Archbishop Lanfranc as
part of the ancient possessions of the See of Canterbury, soon after the accession of William the
Conqueror. That it was burnt by Wat Tyler's
men is only another proof of the especial dislike
of the mob to such institutions. In Queen Mary's
time some of the Protestant martyrs were confined here. Bishop Hooper, for instance, was twice
thrust in the Fleet, till the fire at Gloucester could
be got ready to burn his opinions out of him. His
bed there is described as "a little pad of straw,
with a rotten covering."
Strype says that about the year 1586 (Elizabeth)
the suffering prisoners of the Fleet petitioned the
Lords of the Council on the matter of certain
grievous abuses in the management of the prison
—abuses that were, indeed, never thoroughly corrected. It was the middleman system that had
led to many evils. The warden, wishing to earn
his money without trouble, had let the prison to two
deputies. These men being poor, and greedy for
money, had established an iniquitous system of
bribery and extortion, inflicting constant fines and
payments, and cruelly punishing all refractory
prisoners who ventured to rebel, or even to remonstrate, stopping their exercise, and forbidding
them to see their friends. A commission was
granted, but nothing satisfactory seems to have
come from it, as we find, in 1593, another groan
arising from the wretched prisoners of the Fleet,
who preferred a bill to Parliament, reciting, in
twenty-eight articles, the misdemeanours and even
murders of the obnoxious deputy-warden. "The
warden's fees in the reign of Elizabeth," says Mr.
Timbs, "were—An archbishop, duke, or duchess,
for his commitment fee, and the first week's
'dyett,' £21 10s.; a lord, spiritual or temporal,
£10 5s. 10d.; a knight, £5; an esquire, £3 6s. 8d.;
and even 'a poor man in the wards, that hath a
part at the box, to pay for his fee, having no dyett,
7s. 4d.' The warden's charge for licence to a
prisoner 'to go abroad' was 20d. per diem."
The fruitless martyrdoms of Mary's reign had
not convinced such narrow-minded bigots as Laud
of the folly of attempting to convert adversaries by
force. The Fleet became the special prison for
Star Chamber offenders, including many dogged
Puritan lampooners and many generous champions
of liberty, and even bishops were crammed into the
Fleet for unorthodox conduct. Two of the most
historical of the theoretical culprits were Prynne
and Lilburne. The former tough old lawyer, for
simply denouncing actresses, with a supposed
glance at the Queen of Charles I., was taken from
the Fleet to the pillory, to have his nostrils slit and
his ears cut off—a revenge for which the king paid
dearly, and gained an inexorable and pitiless foe.
Lilburne, "free-born John," as he was called by
the Republicans, was one of the most extraordinary
men the dens of the Fleet ever contained, or the
Fleet irons ever cramped. For reprinting one of
Prynne's violent books, honest John, who afterwards fought bravely in support of his opinions at
Edgehili and elsewhere, was whipped at the cart's
tail from the Fleet to the pillory at Westminster.
Even at the pillory he threw seditious pamphlets to
the populace, and when he was gagged, to prevent
his indignant orations, he stamped, to express his
indignation. That pleasant letter-writer, James
Howell, was also a prisoner here, from 1643 to
1647, when his glasshouse schemes failed, and on
his return from his business travels in Italy and
Spain. In a letter to the Earl of B—— he describes being arrested by five men armed with
"swords, pistols, and bills;" and he adds, in his
usual cheery way, "as far as I see, I must be at
dead anchor in this Fleet a long time, unless some
gentle gale blow thence, to make me launch out."
After the abolition of Laud's detestable Star
Chamber court, in 1641, the Fleet Prison was reserved for debtors only, and for contempt of the
Courts of Chancery, Common Pleas, and Exchequer. The prison was burnt down in the
Great Fire, when the prisoners were removed for a
time to Caroone House, South Lambeth, the mansion of the Netherlands ambassador in the reigns
of Elizabeth and James.
Howard, the philanthropist, visited the Fleet
for the first time in April, 1774, and, in his "State
of the Prisons in England and Wales," speaks of
it five years later, as clean and free from offensive
odours. The building was burnt by the rioters in
1780, but was immediately rebuilt on the old plan.
The new gaol is thus described by Howard:—
"At the front," he says, "is a narrow court. At
each end of the building there is a small projection, or wing. There are four floors—they call them
galleries—besides the cellar floor, called 'Bartholomew Fair.' Each gallery consists of a passage in
the middle the whole length of the prison, 66
yards; and rooms on each side of it about 14½
feet by 12½ and 9½ feet high; a chimney and
window in every room. The passages are narrow
(not 7 feet wide) and darkish, having only a window
at each end. On the first floor, the hall-gallery, to
which you ascend by eight steps, are a chapel, a
tap-room, a coffee-room (made out of two rooms
for debtors), a room for the turnkey, another for the
watchman, and eighteen rooms for prisoners. Besides the coffee-room and tap-room, two of those
eighteen rooms, and all the cellar-floor, except a
lock-up room to confine the disorderly, and another
room for the turnkey, were held by the tapster,
John Cartwright, who bought the remainder of the
lease at public auction in 1775. The cellar-floor
is sixteen steps below the hall-gallery. It consists
of the two rooms just now mentioned, the tapster's
kitchen, his four large beer and wine cellars, and
fifteen rooms for prisoners. These fifteen, and the
two before mentioned on the hall-gallery, the tapster
lets to prisoners for from 4s. to 8s. a week. On
the second floor (that next above the hall-gallery)
are twenty-five rooms for prisoners; on the next
gallery, twenty-seven. One of them, fronting the
staircase, is their committee-room. A room at one
end is an infirmary; at the other end, in a large
room over the chapel, is a dirty billiard-table, kept
by the prisoner who sleeps in that room. On the
highest storey are twenty-seven rooms. Some of
these upper rooms—viz., those in the wings—are
larger than the rest, being over the chapel, the taproom, &c. All the rooms I have mentioned are
for Master's Side debtors. The weekly rent of those
not held by the tapster is 1s. 3d., unfurnished.
They fall to the prisoners in succession; thus, when
a room becomes vacant, the first prisoner upon the
list of such as have paid their entrance-fees takes
possession of it. When the prison was built, the
warder gave each prisoner his choice of a room,
according to his seniority as prisoner. If all the
rooms be occupied, a new comer must hire of some
tenant a part of his room, or shift as he can. Prisoners are excluded from all right of succession to
the rooms held by the tapster, and let at the high
rents aforesaid. The apartments for Common
Side debtors are only part of the right wing of the
prison. Besides the cellar (which was intended
for their kitchen, but is occupied with lumber, and
shut up) there are four floors. On each floor is a
room about twenty-four or twenty-five feet square,
with a fireplace; and on the sides, seven closets
or cabins to sleep in. Such of these prisoners as
swear in court, or before a commissioner, that they
are not worth £5, and cannot subsist without
charity, have the donations which are sent to the
prison, the begging-box, and the grate. Of them
there were at one of my visits sixteen, at some
other times not so many."
In 1726, the evils of farming the Fleet having
increased to a disgraceful and perfectly unbearable
pitch, a Parliamentary investigation took place,
and Huggins, the farmer, and Bambridge, a low,
greedy fellow, who was his lessee, were tried for
murder. The examination of the witnesses led to
some ghastly disclosures, which Hogarth, who was
present, immortalised in a picture which at once
made him celebrated. The following extract from
the governor's report discloses infamous cruelty:—
"Jacob Mendez Solas, a Portuguese, was, as far
as it appeared to the committee, one of the first
prisoners for debt that ever was loaded with irons
at the Fleet. The said Bambridge one day called
him into the gatehouse of the prison called the
Lodge, where he caused him to be seized, fettered,
and carried to Corbett's the spunging-house, and
there kept for upwards of a week; and when
brought back into the prison, Bambridge caused
him to be turned into the dungeon called the
Strong-room of the Master's Side.
"The place is a vault, like those in which the
dead are interred, and wherein the bodies of persons
dying in the said prison are usually deposited, till
the coroner's inquest hath passed upon them. It
has no chimney nor fireplace, nor any light but
what comes over the door, or through a hole of
about eight inches square. It is neither paved nor
boarded; and the rough bricks appear both on the
sides and top, being neither wainscoted nor plastered. What adds to the dampness and stench of
the place is its being built over the common
shore, and adjoining to the sink and dunghill,
where all the nastiness of the prison is cast. In this
miserable place the poor wretch was kept by the
said Bambridge, manacled and shackled, for near
two months. At length, on receiving five guineas
from Mr. Kemp, a friend of Solas's, Bambridge
released the prisoner from his cruel confinement.
But though his chains were taken off, his terror still
remained, and the unhappy man was prevailed
upon by that terror not only to labour gratis for
the said Bambridge, but to swear also at random
all that he hath required of him. And this committee themselves saw an instance of the deep
impression his sufferings had made upon him; for,
on his surmising, from something said, that Bambridge was to return again as warden of the Fleet,
he fainted, and the blood started out of his mouth
and nose.
"Captain John Mackpheadris, who was bred a
merchant, is another melancholy instance of the
cruel use the said Bambridge hath made of his
assumed authority. Mackpheadris was a considerable trader, and in a very flourishing condition, until
the year 1720, when, being bound for large sums
to the Crown, for a person afterwards ruined by the
misfortunes of that year, he was undone. In June,
1727, he was prisoner in the Fleet, and although
he had before paid his commitment-fee, the like fee
was extorted from him a second time; and he
having furnished a room, Bambridge demanded an
extravagant price for it, which he refused to pay,
and urged that it was unlawful for the warden to
demand extravagant rents, and offered to pay what
was legally due. Notwithstanding which, the said
Bambridge, assisted by the said James Barnes, and
other accomplices, broke open his room and took
away several things of great value, amongst others,
the king's Extent in aid of the prisoner (which was
to have been returned in a few days, in order to
procure the debt to the Crown, and the prisoner's
enlargement), which Bambridge still detains. Not
content with this, Bambridge locked the prisoner
out of his room, and forced him to lie in the open
yard, called the 'Bare.' He sat quietly under his
wrongs, and getting some poor materials, built a
little hut, to protect himself as well as he could
from the injuries of the weather. The said
Bambridge, seeing his unconcernedness, said,
'—him! he is easy! I will put him into the
Strong-room before to-morrow!' and ordered Barnes
to pull down his little hut, which was done accordingly. The poor prisoner, being in an ill state of
health, and the night rainy, was put to great distress. Some time after this he was (about eleven
o'clock at night) assaulted by Bambridge, with
several other persons, his accomplices, in a violent
manner; and Bambridge, though the prisoner was
unarmed, attacked him with his sword, but by
good fortune was prevented from killing him; and
several other prisoners coming out upon the noise,
they carried Mackpheadris for safety into another
gentleman's room; soon after which Bambridge,
coming with one Savage, and several others, broke
open the door, and Bambridge strove with his
sword to kill the prisoner, but he again got away,
and hid himself in another room. Next morning
the said Bambridge entered the prison with a
detachment of soldiers, and ordered the prisoner
to be dragged to the lodge, and ironed with great
irons. On which he, desiring to know for what
cause and by what authority he was to be so
cruelly used, Bambridge replied, it was by his own
authority, and, —him, he would do it, and
have his life. The prisoner desired he might be
carried before a magistrate, that he might know
his crime before he was punished; but Bambridge
refused, and put irons upon his legs which were
too little, so that in forcing them on his legs were
like to have been broken, and the torture was impossible to be endured. Upon which the prisoner,
complaining of the grievous pain and straitness of
the irons, Bambridge answered, that he did it on
purpose to torture him. On which the prisoner
replying that by the law of England no man ought
to be tortured, Bambridge declared that he would
do it first and answer for it afterwards; and caused
him to be dragged away to the dungeon, where
he lay without a bed, loaded with irons so close
riveted, that they kept him in continual torture,
and mortified his legs. After long application his
irons were changed, and a surgeon directed to
dress his legs; but his lameness is not, nor can be,
cured. He was kept in this miserable condition
for three weeks, by which his sight is greatly
prejudiced, and in danger of being lost.
"The prisoner, upon this usage, petitioned the
judges; and after several meetings, and a full
hearing, the judges reprimanded Mr. Huggins and
Bambridge, and declared that a gaoler could not
answer the ironing of a man before he was found
guilty of a crime, but it being out of term, they
could not give the prisoner any relief or satisfaction."
Notwithstanding the judges' remonstrance, Bambridge, cruel and greedy to the last, did not release
the captain from his irons till he had wrung from
him six guineas, and indicted him for an imaginary
assault. But the case of Captain David Sinclair,
an old officer of courage and honour, was even a
worse one. Bambridge, who disliked his prisoner,
had boasted to one of his turnkeys that he would
have Sinclair's blood. Selecting the king's birthday, when he thought the captain would be warm
with wine, he rushed into Sinclair's room with his
escort, armed with musket and bayonet, struck
him with his cane, and ordered the men to stab
the poor wretch with their bayonets if he resisted
being dragged down to the Strong-room. In that
damp and dark dungeon Sinclair was confined, till
he lost the use of his limbs and also his memory;
and when near dying he was taken into a better
room, where he was left four days without food.
In the case of Mr. John Holder, a Spanish merchant,
the prisoner died from an illness produced by
horror at the miseries of the Common Side to
which he had been consigned.
Bambridge is said to have been the first gaoler
of the Fleet who put mere debtors in irons. The
old method of punishing drunken and disorderly
persons in this prison was the stocks; while those
who escaped, or tried to escape, were either set
in tubs at the prison gate, or locked in their
rooms for several days. This cruel gaoler seems to
have defied even habeas corpus, to have stolen
charitable bequests, and bribed or frightened the
lawyers who came to defend ill-used prisoners.
In the case of Sir William Rich, a prisoner who
was unable to pay up his arrears for lodging,
Barnes, a turnkey, tried to burn him with a red-hot
poker; while the warden threatened to fire at him,
struck him with a stick, and slashed at him with
a hanger. Rich was then loaded with heavy irons,
thrown into the dungeon on the Master's Side, and
kept there ten days for having, almost unconsciously, in the midst of these cruelties, wounded
Bambridge with a shoemaker's knife. For an
application to the Court of Common Pleas Sir
William had to pay £14, the motion costing him
£2 13s. 7d. In another case the prisoner paid,
at his entrance into the Fleet, to judges' clerks,
tipstaff, and warden, £45 16s.
Although the rascally Huggins and the wretch
Bambridge escaped with a fright and a short imprisonment, there is no doubt this Parliamentary
inquiry eventually led to reforms in this vilelymanaged prison. A picture by Hogarth of the
Fleet Prison Committee was that painter's first
real step to popularity. Sir James Thornhill probably obtained his son-in-law permission to sketch
the scene, of which Horace Walpole says:—
"The scene is the committee. On the table
are the instruments of torture. A prisoner in rags,
half-starved, appears before them. The poor man
has a good countenance, that adds to the interest.
On the other hand is the inhuman gaoler. It is
the very figure that Salvator Rosa would have
drawn for Iago in the moment of detection.
Villainy, fear, and conscience are mixed in yellow
and livid on his countenance. His lips are contracted by tremor, his face advances as eager to
lie, his legs step back as thinking to make his
escape. One hand is thrust precipitately into his
bosom, the fingers of the other are catching uncertainly at his button-holes. If this was a portrait,
it is the most striking that ever was drawn; if it
was not, it is still finer."
The poet Thomson, in his "Seasons," finds an
opportunity to culogise Mr. Oglethorpe, whose
generous hatred of cruelty led to the formation of
the Fleet Committee. With his usual high-toned
enthusiasm for what is good, the poet sings:—
"And here can I forget the generous band
Who, touch'd with human woe, redressive search'd
Into the horrors of the gloomy jail,
Unpitied and unheard, where Misery moans,
Where Sickness pines, where Thirst and Hunger burn,
And poor Misfortune feels the lash of vice?
THE LAST REMAINS OF THE FLEET PRISON.
Howard, the philanthropist, describes the Fleet
as an ill-managed prison, even in 1776.
"The prisoners," he says, "play in the courtyard at skittles, mississippi, fives, tennis, &c. And
not only the prisoners. I saw among them several
butchers and others from the market, who are admitted here, as at another public-house. The
same may be seen in many other prisons where the
gaoler keeps or lets the tap. Besides the inconvenience of this to prisoners, the frequenting a
prison lessens the dread of being confined in one.
On Monday night there was a wine club; on
Thursday night a beer club; each lasting usually
till one or two in the morning. I need not say
how much riot these occasion, and how the sober
prisoners, and those that are sick, are annoyed by
them. "Seeing the prison crowded with women
and children, I procured an accurate list of them,
and found that on (or about) the 6th April, 1776,
there were on the Master's Side 213 prisoners, on
the Common Side 30, total 243; their wives and
children were 475."
The Fleet after the fire of 1780 was rebuilt on
the old plan. The floors of the cellar, the hall,
and the first storey were stone, and arched with
brick. The tapster still had all the cellar-floor.
He and several of the prisoners kept dogs. The
billiard and mississippi tables were, however, put
down, and the little code of laws (referred to by
Howard), was abolished.
The "little code of laws," eighteen in number,
enacted by the Master-Side debtors, and printed
by D. Jones, 1774, established a president, a
secretary, and a committee, which was to be
chosen every month, and was to consist of three
members from each gallery. These were to meet
in the committee-room every Thursday, and at
other times when summoned by the crier, at command of the president, or of a majority of their
own number. They were to raise contributions
by assessment; to hear complaints, determine
disputes, levy fines, and seize goods for payment.
Their sense was to be deemed the sense of the
whole house. The president or secretary was to
hold the cash, the committee to dispose of it.
Their scavenger was to wash the galleries once a
week, to water and sweep them every morning
before eight, and to light the lamps all over the
house. No person was to throw out water, &c.
anywhere but at the sinks in the yard. The crier
might take of a stranger a penny for calling a
prisoner to him, and of a complainant twopence for
summoning a special committee. For blasphemy,
swearing, riot, drunkenness, &c., the committee
was to fine at discretion. For damaging a lamp the
fine was a shilling. They were to take from a new
comer, on the first Sunday, besides the two shillings,
"garnish," to be spent in wine, one shilling and
sixpence, to be appropriated to the use of the
house. Common-side prisoners were to be confined to their own apartments, and not to associate
with these law-makers.
A WEDDING IN THE FLEET. (From a Print of the Early Part of the Eighteenth Century.)
"The liberty of the rules, and the 'day rules' of
the Fleet, may be traced," says Mr. Timbs, "to the
time of Richard II., when prisoners were allowed
to go at large by bail, or with a 'baston' (tipstaff),
for nights and days together. This licence was
paid at eightpence per day, and twelvepence for
his keeper that shall be with him. These were
day rules. However, they were confirmed by a
rule of court during the reign of James I. The
rules wherein prisoners were allowed to lodge were
enlarged in 1824, so as to include the churches of
St. Bride's and St. Martin's, Ludgate; New Bridge
Street, Blackfriars, to the Thames; Dorset Street
and Salisbury Square; and part of Fleet Street,
Ludgate Hill, and Ludgate Street, to the entrance
of St. Paul's Churchyard, the Old Bailey, and the
lanes, courts, &c., in the vicinity of the above; the
extreme circumference of the liberty being about a
mile and a half. Those requiring the rules had to
provide sureties for their forthcoming and keeping
within the boundaries, and to pay a per-centage on
the amount of debts for which they were detained,
which also entitled them to the liberty of the day
rules, enabling them during term, or the sitting of
the courts at Westminster, to go abroad during the
day, to transact or arrange their affairs, &c. The
Fleet and the Queen's Bench were the only prisons
in the kingdom to which these privileges had for
centuries been attached." For certain payments
favoured prisoners were allowed to be long absent;
and Mr. Dickens tells a story of one old resident,
whose heaviest punishment was being locked out
for the night.
The Fleet was one of the prisons burnt by the
insane rioters of Lord George Gordon's mob, in
1780. The polite rioters sent a notice the night
before that the work must be done, but delayed
it some hours, at the request of their restricted
friends. The papers of the time mention only one
special occurrence during the fire, and that was the
behaviour of a ringleader dressed like a chimney
sweep, whom every one seems to have insisted on
dubbing a nobleman in disguise; or if not himself
a nobleman, says a writer in the Gentleman's Magazine, an agent, at least, entrusted with his purse,
to enlist conspirators and promote sedition. This
quasi-nobleman had, however, more of foolhardiness
than cunning in his composition, for he perched himself upon the tiles of the market-house, over against
the Fleet Prison, as a mark for the soldiers to shoot
at; and as he was on the opposite side of the roof
to that where they were posted, at every discharge
he popped up his head and assailed them with
tiles, till a ball passing through the roof lodged in
his heart and tumbled him down. He had gold
in his pockets, it is true, but he had no commission, nor was he any other than a pilfering thief,
who had well lined his pockets in what to him was
a fair way of trade.
In the seventeenth and early part of the eighteenth
centuries couples desiring to be secretly married
came to the Fleet and King's Bench prisons, where
degraded clergymen could easily be found among
the herd of debtors to perform the ceremony.
In Charles I.'s time a chapel in the Tower (in
the White Tower) was a favourite place for clandestine marriages. On Archbishop Laud stopping
these illegal practices, hurried lovers then betook
themselves to one of two churches at the east end
of London—St. James's, Duke's Place, or Trinity, in
the Minories. A register of marriages preserved at
the former church proves that in twenty-seven years
from 1664 nearly 40,000 marriages were celebrated.
The fee seems to have fluctuated from between two
crowns to a guinea.
The Fleet Chapel was used for debtors' marriages till 1686, when the incumbent of St. James's,
Duke's Place, Aldgate, being suspended by the
Commissioners for Ecclesiastical Causes, made it
too popular as a place for secret marriages; and
the chapel becoming the haunt of dangerous
lookers-on, the degraded clergymen of the prison
and neighbourhood began to celebrate secret marriages in rooms of adjoining taverns, or in private
houses adjacent to Fleet Street, Ludgate Hill, and
the Mint, keeping registers, to give an appearance
of legality, and employing touts, to attract and
bring in victims.
Mr. J. C. Jeaffreson, in his valuable work, "Brides
and Bridals," has taken great pains with this subject
of Fleet parsons, and has ransacked all possible
books, old or new, for information about them.
"Scanty particulars," he says, "have been preserved of about forty persons who were keepers of
marrying-houses. Some of these persons were turnkeys, or subordinate officials, in the Fleet Prison,
like Bartholomew Bassett, who was clerk of the
Fleet Chapel, and tenant, at the exorbitant rent of
£100, of the Fleet cellars, where marriages were
solemnised secretly. It was at Bassett's office, or
private chapel, that Beau Fielding married his first
wife, before he fixed his affections on the Duchess
of Cleveland. A few of the forty negotiators in
wedlock were women, who had come into possession
of a register and marrying business by inheritance.
Most of them, however, had in the first instance
been simple innkeepers, supplying the public with
adulterated liquors before they entered the matrimonial trade.
"Standing in the chief thoroughfares or side-alleys
and by-yards of the Fleet quarter, their taverns
had signs, some of which still pertain to hostelries
of the locality. For instance: 'The Cock,' near
Fleet Bridge, and 'The Rainbow' Coffee House,
at the corner of Fleet Ditch, were famous marryinghouses, with signs honourably known at the present
day to frequenters of Fleet Street taverns. The
'Cock and Acorn,' the 'Fighting Cocks,' the
'Shepherd and Goat,' the 'Golden Lion,' the
'Bishop Blaze,' the 'Two Lawyers,' the 'Wheatsheaf,' the 'Horseshoe and Magpie,' the 'King's
Head,' the 'Lamb,' the 'Swan,' the 'Hoop and
Bunch of Grapes,' were some of the taverns in or
near Fleet Street and Fleet Market, provided with
chaplains and chapels, or private rooms, in which
marriages were solemnised on every day and night
of the year. William Wyatt—brother of the notorious and very successful Fleet parson, Walter Wyatt
—was landlord, first of a public-house in Sea Coal
Lane, and afterwards of the 'New Market House,'
Fleet Lane, in both of which houses he drove a
great trade, and flourished under his stately brother's
patronage. The 'Hand and Pen' was a sign which
proved so attractive to the generality of spouses,
that after it had brought success in trade to one
house, competitors of the original 'Hand and Pen'
public-house adopted it. Joshua Lilley's 'Hand
and Pen' stood near Fleet Bridge; Matthias
Wilson's 'Hand and Pen' looked out on the Fleet
Ditch; John Burnford's 'Hand and Pen' kept
open door at the foot of Ludgate Hill; and Mrs.
Balls had her 'Hand and Pen' office and registry
of marriages within sight of the other three establishments of the same name. When Ben the
Bunter married fair Kitty of Kent Street, he went
to the 'Hand and Pen,' and was fast bound to his
damsel by a stout and florid clergyman, for the
moderate fee of half-a-crown."
A collection by some enthusiastic collector on
this subject exists at the British Museum; he has
illustrated a small poem called "The Humours of
the Fleet," with many sketches of the low prison
life. The following quotations paint the Fleet
parson, and the noisy touts who wrangled for each
new arrival, in bold colours:—
"Scarce had the coach discharged its trusty fare,
But gaping crowds surround th' amorous pair;
The busy plyers make a mighty stir,
And whispering cry, 'D'ye want the parson, sir?
Pray step this way—just to the "Pen in Hand,"
The doctor's ready there at your command.'
'This way!' another cries. 'Sir, I declare,
The true and ancient register is here.'
The alarmèd parsons quickly hear the din,
And haste with soothing words to invite 'em in.
In this confusion, jostled to and fro,
The inamoured couple know not where to go,
Till slow advancing from the coach's side,
The experienced matron came (an artful guide);
She led the way without regarding either,
And the first parson spliced 'em both together.
* * * * * *
Where lead my wandering footsteps now?—the Fleet
Presents her tattered sons in Luxury's cause;
Here venerable crape and scarlet cheeks,
With nose of purple hue, high, eminent,
And squinting, leering looks, now strikes the eye.
B—s—p of hell, once in the precincts call'd,
Renown'd for making thoughtless contracts, here
He reigned in bloated majesty,
And passed in sottishness and smoke his time.
Revered by gin's adorers and the tribe
Who pass in brawls, lewd jests, and drink, their days;
Sons of low growling riot and debauch.
Here cleric grave from Oxford ready stands,
Obsequious to conclude the Gordian knot,
Entwin'd beyond all dissolution sure;
A regular this from Cambridge; both alike
In artful stratagem to tye the noose,
While women, 'Do you want the parson?' cry."
A writer (May 29, 1736) gives the following
account of what he witnessed during a walk through
the Fleet quarter:—"Gentlemen, having frequently
heard of the many abominable practices of the
Fleet, I had the curiosity, on Sunday, May 23rd,
to take a view of the place as I was accidentally passing by. The first thing observed was one
J. L., by trade a carpenter (whose brother, it is
said, keeps the sign of the B. and G.), cursing and
swearing, and raving in the streets, in the time of
Divine service, with a mob of people about him,
calling one of his fraternity (J. E.), a plyer for weddings, an informing rogue, for informing against
one of their ministers for profane cursing and
swearing, for which he paid three pounds odd
money; the hearing of which pleased me much,
since I could find one in that notorious place
which had some spark of grace left; as was manifested by the dislike he showed to the person that
was guilty of the profanation of God's sacred name.
When the riot was dispersed, I walked about some
small time, and saw a person exceedingly well
dressed in a flowered morning gown, a band, hat,
and wig, who appeared so clean that I took him for
some worthy divine who might accidentally have
come out of the country, and as accidentally be
making the same remarks with myself; but upon
inquiry, was surprised at being assured that he was
one T. C., a watchmaker, who goes in a minister's
dress, personating a clergyman, and taking upon
him the name of 'Doctor,' to the scandal of the
sacred function. He may be seen at any time at
the 'Bull and Garter,' or the great 'Hand and
Pen,' with these words written, 'The Old and True
Register,' near the 'Rainbow' Coffee House.
Please to give this a place in your paper, and you
will not only oblige one of your constant readers,
but may prevent many innocent persons from
being ruined. I am, gentlemen, your humble
servant, T. L."
The Rev. Alexander Keith, who had been
reader at the Rolls Chapel, and afterwards incumbent of a Mayfair proprietary chapel, a great place
for illegal marriages, on being suspended, excommunicated, and committed to Fleet Prison for contempt, in 1743, wrote a pamphlet to defend his
conduct. The following extract gives some curious
examples of the sort of reckless and shameless
marriages that were contracted:—
"As I have married many thousands, and, consequently, have on those occasions seen the
humour of the lower class of people, I have often
asked the married pair how long they have been
acquainted. They would reply, some more, some
less, but the generality did not exceed the acquaintance of a week, some only of a day—half a day.
. . . . Another inconveniency which will arise
from this Act will be, that the expense of being
married will be so great, that few of the lower class
of people can afford it; for I have often heard
a Fleet parson say that many have come to be
married when they have had but half-a-crown in
their pockets, and sixpence to buy a pot of beer, and
for which they have pawned some of their clothes.
. . . . I remember, once upon a time, I was
at a public-house at Radcliff, which was then full of
sailors and their girls. There was fiddling, piping,
jigging, and eating. At length one of the tars starts
up and says, '—— me, Jack, I'll be married
just now; I will have my partner!' The joke
took, and in less than two hours ten couple set out
for the Fleet. I stayed their return. They returned in coaches, five women in each coach; the
tars, some running before, others riding on the
coach-box, and others behind. The cavalcade
being over, the couples went up into an upper
room, where they concluded the evening with great
jollity. The next time I went that way, I called
on my landlord and asked him concerning this
marriage adventure. He at first stared at me, but,
recollecting, he said those things were so frequent,
that he hardly took any notice of them. 'For,'
added he, 'it is a common thing, when a fleet
comes in, to have two or three hundred marriages
in a week's time among the sailors.' . . . .
If the present Act, in the form it now stands,
should (which I am sure is impossible) be of any
service to my country, I shall then have the satisfaction of having been the occasion of it, because
the compilers thereof have done it with a pure
design of suppressing my chapel, which makes me
the most celebrated man in this kingdom, though
not the greatest." (Vide Keith's "Observations on
the Act for Preventing Clandestine Marriages.")
"One of these comparatively fortunate offenders
against the canons," says Mr. Jeaffreson, whom we
have before quoted, "was the stately Dr. Gaynam,
who lived for many years in Bride Lane, and never
walked down Fleet Street in his silk gown and
bands without drawing attention to his commanding
figure, and handsome though significantly rubicund
face. Nothing ever put the doctor out of humour
or countenance. He was on several occasions required to bring one of his marriage registers to the
Old Bailey, and give evidence in a trial for bigamy;
but no gentleman of the long robe ever disturbed
the equanimity of the shameless ecclesiastic, who,
smiling and bowing courteously to his questioner,
answered, 'Video meliora, deteriora sequor,' when
an advocate asked him, 'Are you not ashamed
to come and own a clandestine marriage in the
face of a court of justice?' Even when Walter
Chandler beat him with a stick, the doctor took
his caning with well-bred composure. The popular
nickname of the doctor declared him the bishop of
an extremely hot diocese, but his manner and
language were never deficient in coolness.
* * * * *
"Mr. John Mottram, who bore for his arms a
chevron argent, charged, with three roses between
three crosslets, or,' used to marry couples within
the walls of the Fleet, not in the chapel of the
prison, but 'in a room of the Fleet they called the
Lord Mayor's Chapel, which was furnished with
chairs, cushions, and proper conveniences.' It is
recorded in the Weekly Journal, respecting this
establishment for weddings, 'that a coalheaver was
generally set to ply at the door, to recommend all
couples that had a mind to be marry'd, to the
prisoner, who would do it cheaper than anybody.'
Mr. Mottram could afford to be moderate in his
charges, for he transacted an enormous amount of
business. From one of its registers, it appears
that he married more than 2,200 couples in a
single year. He was a very obliging gentleman,
and never declined to put on a certificate of marriage the date that was most agreeable to the
feelings of the bride. On the occasion of his trial
at the Guildhall, in 1717, before Lord Chief Justice
Parker, it appeared that this accommodating spirit
had caused him to enrich certificates of his own
penmanship with dates prior to the day of his own
ordination. Convicted of solemnising marriages
unlawfully, Mr. Mottram was fined £200; but this
misadventure did not deter him from persevering
in his practices."
Lando was another of these rascals. "Whoever
thinks meanly," says the author of "Brides and
Bridals," "of the Reverend John Lando, whilom
Chaplain to His Majesty's ship The Falkland,
holds an opinion at variance with that gentleman's
estimate of himself; for Mr. Lando used to inform
the readers of newspaper advertisements that he
was a 'gentleman,' who had 'gloriously distinguished himself in the defence of his king and
country,' and that he was 'determined to have
everything conducted with the utmost decency
and regularity' at his place of business, 'the New
Chapel, next to the china shop, near Fleet Bridge,
London. His charge for officiating at a wedding,
and providing the happy couple with a 'certificate
and crown stamp,' was a guinea. He 'was a regular
bred clergyman,' in spite of the calumnious insinuations of his rivals; and he was 'above committing
those little mean actions that some men impose on
people.' In his zeal for the welfare of society,
he taught young people Latin and French at his
chapel three times a week."
But how can we leave this den of misery and
infamy without reminding our readers that some
years ago a respectable inhabitant of Goswell
Street, through the disgraceful duplicity of a person
named Bardell, a lodging-house keeper, and the
shameful chicanery of two pettifogging lawyers
named Dodson and Fogg, spent many months
among the sordid population of the Fleet? Need
we say that the stout and respectable gentleman
we refer to was no other than the celebrated Mr.
Pickwick? On no occasion has Mr. Charles
Dickens sketched a part of London with more
earnest and truthful care.
"These staircases," says Mr. Dickens, describing what first met Mr. Pickwick's eye when
he arrived at the Fleet, "received light from
sundry windows placed at some little distance
above the floor, and looking into a gravelled area
bounded by a high brick wall, with iron chevauxde-frise at the top. This area, it appeared from
Mr. Roker's statement, was the racket-ground;
and it further appeared, on the testimony of the
same gentleman, that there was a smaller area,
in that portion of the prison which was nearest
Farringdon Street, denominated and called 'the
Painted Ground,' from the fact of its walls having
once displayed the semblances of various menof-war in full sail, and other artistical effects,
achieved in bygone times by some imprisoned
draughtsman in his leisure hours.
* * * * * *
"It was getting dark, that is to say, a few gas
jets were kindled in this place, which was never
light, by way of compliment to the evening, which
had set in outside. As it was rather warm, some
of the tenants of the numerous little rooms, which
opened into the gallery on either hand, had set
their doors ajar. Mr. Pickwick peeped into them
as he passed along, with great curiosity and interest. Here, four or five great hulking fellows, just
visible through a cloud of tobacco-smoke, were
engaged in noisy and riotous conversation over
half-emptied pots of beer, or playing at all-fours
with a very greasy pack of cards. In the adjoining room some solitary tenant might be seen,
poring, by the light of a feeble tallow candle, over
a bundle of soiled and tattered papers, yellow with
dust, and dropping to pieces from age, writing, for
the hundredth time, some lengthened statement of
his grievances, for the perusal of some great man
whose eyes it would never reach, or whose heart it
would never touch. In a third, a man, with his
wife and a whole crowd of children, might be seen
making up a scanty bed on the ground, or upon a
few chairs, for the younger ones to pass the night
in. And in a fourth, and a fifth, and a sixth, and a
seventh, the noise, and the beer, and the tobaccosmoke, and the cards, all came over again in
greater force than before.
"In the galleries themselves, and more especially
on the staircases, there lingered a great number
of people, who came there, some because their
rooms were empty and lonesome; others because
their rooms were full and hot; the greater part
because they were restless and uncomfortable,
and not possessed of the secret of exactly knowing
what to do with themselves. There were many
classes of people here, from the labouring man in
his fustian jacket, to the broken-down spendthrift
in his shawl dressing-gown, most appropriately out
at elbows; but there was the same air about them
all—a listless, jail-bird, careless swagger, a vagabondish, who's-afraid sort of bearing—which is
wholly indescribable in words; but which any man
can understand in one moment if he wish, by just
setting foot in the nearest debtor's prison, and
looking at the very first group of people he sees
there, with the same interest as Mr. Pickwick did.
* * * * * *
"In this frame of mind he turned again into the
coffee-room gallery, and walked slowly to and fro.
The place was intolerably dirty, and the smell of
tobacco-smoke perfectly suffocating. There was a
perpetual slamming and banging of doors as the
people went in and out, and the noise of their
voices and footsteps echoed and re-echoed through
the passages constantly. A young woman, with a
child in her arms, who seemed scarcely able to
crawl, from emaciation and misery, was walking
up and down the passage in conversation with
her husband, who had no other place to see
her in. As they passed Mr. Pickwick, he could
hear the female sob; and once she burst into
such a passion of grief, that she was compelled
to lean against the wall for support, while the
man took the child in his arms and tried to soothe
her.
A chapter on the Fleet Prison would be incomplete without some notice of the more eminent
persons who have been confined there. Among
these unhappy illustrious, we may mention the
young poet Earl of Surrey, who describes it as
"a noisome place, with a pestilent atmosphere."
Keys was sent here, for daring to marry Lady
Mary Grey, sister of the ill-starred Lady Jane; Dr.
Donne, the poet, when a private tutor, for secretly
marrying the daughter of his patron, Sir George
More, whom he had met at Lord Chancellor
Ellesmere's; Nash, the unhappy poet and truculent
satirist, for writing The Isle of Dogs, a libellous
play; Sir Robert Killigrew (1613), for talking to
Sir Thomas Overbury, at his prison-gate at the
Tower, on returning from a visit to Sir Walter
Raleigh, then also buried alive in the river-side
fortress, by James I.; the Dowager Countess of
Dorset (1610), for pressing into the Council
Chamber, and importuning King James I. Those
sturdy martyrs of liberty, Prynne and honest John
Lilburne, we have already mentioned. Sir Richard
Baker, who wrote the "Chronicle," so much read
by country gentlemen in Addison's time, died
in the Fleet Prison (1644–5). Sir Richard was
sprung from a good old Kentish family, but had
become security for an embarrassed father-in-law.
Wycherly, the rake and wit, was a prisoner in the
Fleet seven years, but it did not tame him much.
Francis Sandford, author of a genealogical history
of great research, died in the Fleet, in 1693. Penn,
the Quaker founder of Pennsylvania, was living
in the Rules of the Fleet, in 1707 (Queen Anne).
Penn was at this time in debt, from a vexatious
lawsuit with the executors of a quondam steward.
He died in 1718. That clever impostor, Richard
Savage, to be safe from his raging creditors, took
lodgings within the Liberties of the Fleet, his
almost tired-out friends sending him an eleemosynary guinea every Monday. Parson Ford, a convivial dissolute parson, and a relative of Dr.
Johnson, died in the Fleet, in 1731, and his ghost,
it was firmly believed, appeared to a waiter, as he
was going down to the cellar of the old "Hummums," in Covent Garden. Robert Lloyd, the
schoolmaster friend of Churchill, died in the Fleet
in 1764; and here ended a reckless life, in 1797,
Miss Cornelys, the celebrated keeper of masqueraderooms in Soho Square, in Hogarth's time.
REMAINS OF OLD HOLBORN BRIDGE. (From a Sketch taken during the alterations, 1844)
HOLBORN VALLEY AND SNOW HILL PREVIOUS TO THE CONSTRUCTION OF THE VIADUCT.
Among the secret marriages in the Fleet we
should not forget Churchill the poet, an abandoned clergyman, and Edward Wortley Montague.
In 1821, says Mr. Timbs, a ton's weight of the
Fleet register books (between 1686 and 1754) was
purchased by Government, and deposited in the
Registry Office of the Bishop of London, Godliman
Street, Doctors' Commons. These registers can
no longer be received in evidence at trials.