by Phil Clarke
The Keepers of the Gaol
One of the reasons why Newgate was always in such bad shape comes down to those responsible for its upkeep. These were the keepers of the gaol who had been appointed by the sheriff to run the day-to-day administration as well as the maintainance of the building. On the whole, those that applied for such a role were not the most discerning and particular of men, and so it is unsurprising then that the prison was forever in a state of disrepair.
Indeed, these turnkeys were often contemptible characters, extorting money from all inmates and inflicting vile tortures upon their person. They would lead a new prisoner into the darkest, most squalid chamber of the gaol and place as many irons – each weighing as much as 3.6 kilograms (8 pounds) – upon his legs as they could manage, then offer the unfortunate prisoner the chance to pay his way out. The wealth of a Newgate victim would be systematically stripped by these gaolers, who squeezed every penny from the condemned in order to line their own filthy pockets, and would often leave destitute those lucky enough to leave free men. These fees were known as ‘garnish’ and helped the keepers turn a profit. If a prisoner failed to pay the going rate, their lives were made yet more miserable. The meagre menu would be forbidden to those who did not pay and they would be given no water. They would be placed in heavier restraints and iron collars, then bound by chains fixed to the wall or sometimes to the dirty parasite-ridden floor. The payment of these fees persisted until the nineteenth century despite various acts outlawing the custom. The keepers continued with their racketeering even after 1734, when they were eventually paid a wage of £200 a year, and it was not until 1823 when these illicit payments were effectively abolished after it was discovered that many of those incarcerated had been detained for up to thirteen years for minor debts.
The Inmates
Those that had been sentenced to death at the Old Bailey were taken to the prison to await their fate. These could well be considered the lucky ones, for they at least could see an end to the foul and fetid conditions to which they were subjected. These prisoners would be escorted into the Lodge and then into the Condemned Hold, often called Limbo, from which we get the term, ‘in limbo’. They were not trapped inside the rotten cells of Newgate for long, especially if their crime was murder. After 1752, such a conviction ensured their death would come within two days of sentencing. The only exception was if the sessions took place on a Sunday, in which case the prisoner was executed the next day. On the whole, sentencing took place on a Friday, allowing the condemned the weekend to come to terms with their fate. The majority who had not killed but had been given the death penalty for lesser crimes could face a more lengthy stay; anything between two weeks and four months languishing within the confines of an overcrowded, unventilated chamber.
This protracted wait gave these prisoners time to hope for a reprieve. The more optimistic inmates crossed their fingers that the recorder’s report suggested they should have their sentences commuted. This report was submitted to the king and the Privy Council after the Sessions at the Old Bailey had ended, and it detailed those the court felt should be executed and those that should be granted a reprieve. The king and council would then meet in what was called the Hanging Cabinet, where they would ultimately decide the fate of each individual listed in the report.
If no reprieve was forthcoming, then there existed only two other ways to dodge the drop. It was fairly common for prisoners to escape their cells. The poor condition of the walls seems to have made it relatively easy to break out of Newgate. In fact, its history is littered with many successful escapes. In 1275, there was a mass breakout when nineteen prisoners successfully found their way to freedom. There are instances in 1758 and 1763 of further mass breakouts where the prisoners attempted to saw through the bars, and in 1679 seven convicts escaped by picking the stone from the walls. Some prisoners found it so easy that they repeatedly escaped, such as condemned robber Daniel Malden who escaped twice in 1736 and 1737, not forgetting the most infamous Newgate escape artist, Jack Sheppard, who did the same more than ten years earlier.
Before making a mockery of London’s first prison, Sheppard made a name for himself by escaping from St Giles’ Round House and New Prison in Clerkenwell. He was given the death penalty on 12 August 1724 and sent to Newgate which only managed to hold him for nineteen days. On Monday 31 August he broke out through loosened bars and is thought to have dressed in women’s clothes to effect his escape. Despite being proficient at prison breaks, he clearly was not as talented at evading capture, for he was arrested again on the 9 September and returned to Newgate. After two further foiled attempts that month, his gaolers transferred him to a fortified room known as the Castle, fixing him in leg irons and chaining him to the floor. Even these measures could not hold him as he took a delight in showing his keepers how he could pick the locks with a small nail.
Stories of this defiant scoundrel brought many curious visitors to his cell before his second breakout. This was quite an accomplishment. He scaled a chimney, broke through six barred doors and lowered himself down from the prison roof using a blanket, all the while bound by leg irons. Predictably, Jack Sheppard was soon caught yet again and found himself back at Newgate from where he was unable to escape a third time.
The remaining self-made reprieve was for women only and existed as early as 1387. If they were unfortunate enough to fail in receiving a commuted sentence, then many would confess to being pregnant. This was called ‘pleading the belly’ and proved a successful method of escape, as those who were found to be with child by the appointed matrons were often later reprieved. Pregnancy must have been easy to achieve for without any segregation of the sexes, there were always plenty of men with whom to fraternise, including the gaolers who, for a price, would have turned ‘child-getter’ as it was known. It is documented that between 1674 and 1830, 268 women sentenced to death declared they were pregnant, so the authorities soon decreed that no woman could claim a second time, ensuring female convicts could not continually exploit this rule. This practice was only rendered legally invalid by the Sentence of Death Act of 1931.
A Rash of Executions
Newgate was in such a state that even free men and women who passed the prison walls on the outside were inclined to hold their noses at the awful stench emanating from within. For those inmates who were not able to vacate the area and were manacled inside, they would run the risk of a sickness known as ‘gaol fever’. It was such a problem that by the early 1700s for every person who died at Tyburn, four perished in Newgate from this highly infectious disease. For the inmates trapped in these overcrowded, unsanitary quarters, it was not the masked hangman upon the scaffold that they feared but this faceless executioner residing with them in their cells. Gaol fever was easily spread by the rat-riding fleas and lice so rife that the floor crunched under the feet of prisoners and guards.
In June 1419, Ludgate prison was closed and its prisoners transferred to Newgate, however, after four months this move had to be reversed after sixty-four inmates as well as the keepers from both prisons died from the fever. The contagion – effectively typhus fever – manifested itself through a rash of red or purple spots and a high delerium-inducing temperature. The Mayor of London at that time was Richard ‘Dick’ Whittington who, on his death four years later, left sufficient funds to rebuild Ludgate prison which would gain the nickname of Whit’s College – a place where many graduated with dishonour. Even this philanthropic gesture failed to stop the spread of the disease. In 1750, more than sixty people died from the fever including jurors, barristers and past and present mayors. The prison walls were washed down with vinegar in an attempt to protect the prison from further outbreak. Records show that this failed as between 1758 and 1765, eighty-three more prisoners perished from the contagion – sixteen in one month.
The welcome addition of a windmill built on the roof of the gatehouse to improve the air flow brought a brief respite from the fever until it seized up, no doubt from th
e lack of maintenance by the keepers. The illness was allowed to continue in its role as in-house executioner, condemning men and women to death not by noose nor axe but infection.
St Sepulchre’s Church
For those that were lucky enough to survive the fever, but were unlucky not to receive a reprieve, the execution day drew inescapably closer. When they reached their final night on earth, at the stroke of midnight they heard the tolling of a bell across the road at St Sepulchre’s Church. This tradition began in 1605 when London merchant, Robert Dow, left an annuity of fifty pounds to pay for a bell ringer to toll three times the night before a hanging. This was traditional night music for the condemned for almost a further 300 years and along with the bells the bellman would sing out the following:-
All you that in the condemned hole do lie,
Prepare you for tomorrow you shall die;
Watch all and pray: the hour is drawing near
That you before the Almighty must appear;
Examine well yourselves in time repent,
That you may not to eternal flames be sent.
And when St Sepulchre’s Bell in the morning tolls
The Lord above have mercy on your soul.
The last inmate to hear this ominous lullaby was Mary Pearcey on 23 December 1890, when a guest staying at the Viaduct Hotel near the church was taken ill. So as to not concern the sufferer unnecessarily, the vicar of St Sepulchre’s called for the ringing of the bell to stop as hearing such words would not help improve the guest’s health! The bell tolled no more and the prison itself lasted only another twelve years. In August 1902, it was pulled down to make way for the Central Criminal Court – known as the Old Bailey – which still stands today.
Peine Forte et Dure
Many never made the feted trip to Tyburn to receive their slice of fame. Some were subjected to a torturous practice which often resulted in death. This method of execution was known as ‘pressing’ or peine forte et dure, meaning hard and strong punishment. This punishment soon became a capital one administered not by the celebrated and notorious hangmen of the time before bloodthirsty London crowds but by unknown executioners hidden from public view behind the thick walls of Newgate gaol and other prisons around the country.
The reason for this most private of executions stems from a loophole in the law. Criminal justice in medieval times was not as comprehensive as it is today. The courts only involved themselves in prosecution once a charged prisoner had voluntarily submitted themselves to trial. A plea of either guilty or not guilty was required to sentence an arrested individual and without this the courts would be – dare one say – hard-pressed to convict the defendant! If the prisoner stayed silent, or stood mute as it was called, then the case could not proceed. Such a glaring technicality must have been fully exploited by countless suspected criminals. The authorities found it necessary to create a deterrent.
Coercion was needed to make this silent minority speak up and so in 1275, during the reign of Edward Longshanks, the First Statute of Westminster decreed that those who refused to be tried by the Law of the Realm were to be put in a hard and strong prison; a term known as prison forte et dure. Basic incarceration had, by 1406, developed into the peine forte et dure, a more torturous tradition that often became a death sentence. Here, Lord Chief Justice Gascoigne condemned two robbers who had held their tongue in order to delay their death. He sentenced them to receive, ‘. . . as great a weight of iron as they can bear and more . . . and so lie until death’.
Silent Motive
Several reasons have been cited as to why these arrested individuals chose to remain mute rather than plead their innocence. The main reason must have been a financial one. It was customary at the time that if a prisoner was found guilty of the crime with which he had been charged, all his possessions and estates would be forfeited to the king. Refusing to plead ensured that one could not be found culpable and, therefore, any wealth would pass to relatives and loved ones rather than disappearing into the Crown’s swollen coffers. This was illustrated with the pressing to death of Walter Calverley at York Castle in August 1605. He had slaughtered two of his sons and attempted to kill his wife at Calverley Hall before pursuing another son, Henry, with murder on his mind. Thankfully, he failed to get close to his remaining son and was arrested. In a complete turnaround, overcome with such remorse, Calverley refused to plead in order that his substantial estates found their way to Henry, the son he had tried to kill.
Further familial grounds for choosing not to plead was to spare one’s relations the pain and suffering that would occur from a public execution. To be executed behind closed doors saved the prisoner’s nearest and dearest the anguish of seeing a loved one put through the theatrical rigmarole of a public execution as well as help them avoid any undue attention from the crowd themselves.
Many have said that another motive for choosing the peine forte et dure could well have been the desire to preserve a reputation. It must have been easier to bear a private death sentence than a public one. The avoidance of an actual sentence would ensure an air of mystery surrounded a man who went to his grave by way of pressing.
Pressing Engagements
On failing to plead either way, the prisoner would return to the gaol and be placed in a more fitting cell for punishment; dank, dirty and dark. The room would have been one of the lowest as the prisoner would soon have no occasion to stand. The gaol keeper would then strip the prisoner down and lay him naked on his back save a piece of ragged cloth to cover his nether regions. A board would then be placed upon his chest upon which various slabs of stone and iron would be balanced and the weight would be incremently increased the longer the man or woman remained mute. As the severe load pressed the chest, ribs broke in the process. The silent sufferer would be given a diet of three morsels of barley bread on the first day of the punishment. The second day they would receive no food but were given only water brought not from any fresh source but from the inside of the prison. This alternating diet would continue until the prisoner uttered his last painful breath.
How long the prisoner survived was dependent on the amount of weights placed on the body as well as the individual’s own pain threshold. Some would quite literally crack under pressure and plead, while others remained silent to the very end such as Henry Jones, who in 1672 perished under torture after forty-eight hours. While two days seems a long time to suffer such pressure, it was considered that anything beyond five or six days in such a state would demand superhuman strength, which makes Cecilia Ridgeway’s case even more extraordinary. It is believed she survived a pressing of forty days without food or water in 1359 and was subsequently pardoned by Edward III, duly acknowledging this superwoman’s staying power.
In addition to the obvious chest pains and asphyxia that such weight would cause, there were other unexpected results. In 1722, a highwayman named Spigot was being pressed in the usual fashion when he turned to the chaplain at his side complaining of a painful weight on his face. The chaplain told the prisoner that there was nothing but a thin veil of cloth there, revealing that Spigot’s veins were being so violently squashed beneath the load that the blood was being forced up into his head. The pain must have been so unbearable for he soon agreed to break his silence and plead. He was eventually found guilty of his crimes and executed at Tyburn the following year.
These in-house executioners made further developments in order to force the accused felon to plead. Sharp stones and jagged pieces of wood were often placed underneath the victim. These would dig into the back and undoubtedly pierce the flesh. This additional atrocity happened to Margaret Clitherow on 25 March 1586 when she had a fist-sized stone placed under her during her imprisonment in York. A 363 kilograms (800 pounds) load was piled on top of her, she died within fifteen minutes.
If death was not forthcoming, these crushing killers had one final move to bring about either their plea or passing. If all else failed, the gaoler – surely not the sveltest of me
n – would add his own considerable weight by standing on top of the slabs of iron and stone. This took place in 1735 when John Weekes received the peine forte et dure after refusing to plead at the Lewes assizes. Pressure from three 45-kilogram (100-pound) weights bore down on Weekes after which the gaoler added two 23-kilogram (50-pound) weights to the load. With the prisoner still alive after withstanding 181 kilograms (400 pounds), the gaoler turned executioner and placed himself on top, killing Weekes in an instant.
The gaoler was not always the executioner, however. Major Strangeways found himself imprisoned in 1676 after killing a man called Fussell, who was his sister’s lover and lawyer. He invited his friends to the low cell where he instructed them to dress him in white along with a mourning cloak and, in some sort of euthanasic ceremony, he called for his friends to promptly pile the heavy stone and iron mass upon his chest in the corner of the press yard to end his life. Unfortunately, this burden was not enough to kill him so they added their own weight by standing on him. This finally brought death to Strangeways who, rather than keeping his death from his loved ones, allowed his friends to play executioner and have a major part in it.