Authors: George W. M. Reynolds,James Malcolm Rymer
"I could do that without study",
observed Sir Rupert Harborough. "Is my initiation now complete?"
"There are several other schemes with the cards,"
answered Chichester, "but I think that I have taught you enough for this
evening. One famous device, however, must not be forgotten. You have heard of
the way in which Lord de Roos lately attempted to cheat his noble companions at
the club? The plan practiced by him is called
sauter la coupe
, and enables the dealer to do what he chooses with one particular
card, which of course be has selected for his purpose. Now look how it is done;
for I can better show practically than explain verbally."
Scarcely was this portion of the lesson
accomplished, when steps were heard ascending the stairs; and immediately
afterwards a heavy fist knocked with more violence than courtesy at the parlour
door.
The baronet and Chichester both turned pale.
"They can't have found us out here?" murmured the
one to the other in a hoarse and tremulous tone.
"What shall we do?"
"We must open - happen what will."
Chichester unlocked the door: two ill-looking men entered
the room.
"Mr. Arthur Chichester?" said one.
"He isn't here - we don't know him. My name is Davis -
ask the landlady if it is not," cried Chichester hurriedly, and in a
manner which only served to convince the officer that he was right.
"Come - come, none of that there gammon," said the
bailiff. "I knows you well enough: my name's Garnell; and I'll stand the
risk of your being Chichester. Here's execution out against you for four
hundred and forty-seven pounds. I don't suppose that you can pay - so you'd
better come off at once."
" Where to ?" demanded Chichester, seeing that it
was no use disputing his own identity any longer.
" Where to !" cried the officer; "why - to
Whitecross, to be sure! Where the devil would you go to ?"
"Can I not be allowed to sleep in a sponging-house?"
"No - this is an execution, and a large sum, mind. I
don't dare do it."
"Well, then - here goes for Whitecross Street!"
said Chichester; and after exchanging a few words in a whisper with the
baronet, he left the house with the sheriff's officers.
WHITECROSS-STREET PRISON
A COLD drizzling rain was falling, as Chichester proceeded along
the streets leading to the debtors' prison. The noise of pattens upon the
pavement; the numbers of umbrellas that were up; the splashing of horses' feet
and carriage-wheels in the kennels; the rush of cabs and the shouting of
omnibus-cads, were all characteristic of a wet night in a crowded metropolis.
Chichester shivered - more through nervousness than actual
cold; and he felt an oppressive sensation at the bottom of his stomach, as well
as at the chest.
The officer endeavoured to console him, by observing that
"it was lucky he had been taken so close to the prison on such a rainy
night."
The ruined young man envied many a poor wretch whom he
passed on his way; for he knew that it was far easier to get into a debtors'
gaol than to get out of it.
At length they arrived at the prison.
It was now nine o'clock; and the place, viewed by the
flickering light of the lamp at the gate of the governor's house, wore a
melancholy and sombre appearance. The prisoner was introduced into s small
lobby, where an elderly turnkey with knee-breeches and gaiters, thrust a small
loaf of bread into his hand, and immediately consigned him to the care of
another turnkey, who led him through
several alleys to the staircase
communicating with the Receiving Ward.
The turnkey pulled a wire, which rang a bell on the first
floor.
"Who rings?" cried a voice at the top of the
stairs.
"Sheriff's debtor - Arthur Chichester - L. S.,"
replied the turnkey, in a loud sing-song voice.
Chichester afterwards learnt that he was mentioned as a
sheriff's prisoner, in contra-distinction to one arrested by a warrant from the
Court of Requests, and that L. S. meant London side - an intimation that he had
been arrested in the City of London, and not in the County of Middlesex.
Having ascended a flight of stone steps, Chichester was met
at the door of the Receiving Ward by the steward thereof. This steward was himself
a prisoner, but was considered a trustworthy person, and had therefore been
selected by the governor to preside over that department of the prison.
The Receiving Ward was a long low room with windows secured
by bars, at each end. There were two grates, but only one contained any fire.
The place was remarkably clean - the floor, the deal tables, and the forms
being as white as snow.
The following conversation forthwith took place between the
new prisoner and the steward:-
"What is your name?"
"Arthur Chichester."
"Have you got your bread ?"
"Yes."
"Well - put it in that pigeon-hole. Do you choose to
have sheets to-night on your bed?"
"Certainly."
"Then that will be a shilling the first night, and
sixpence every night after, as long as you remain here. You can, moreover,
sleep in the inner room, and sit up till twelve o'clock. Those who can't afford
to pay for sheets sleep in a room by themselves, and go to bed at a quarter to
ten. You see we know how to separate the gentlemen from the riff-raff."
"And how long shall I be allowed to stay up in the
Receiving Ward ?"
"That depends. Do you mean to live at my table? I
charge six pence for tea, the same for breakfast, a shilling for dinner, and
four-pence for supper."
"Well - I shall be most happy to live at your
table."
"In that case, write a note to the governor to say you
are certain to be able to settle your affairs in the course of a week, and I
will take care he shall have it the very first thing to-morrow morning.''
"But I am sure of not being able to settle in a
week."
"Do as you like. You won't be allowed to stay up here
unless you do."
"Oh! in that case I will do so at once. Can you oblige
me with a sheet of writing-paper ?"
"Certainly. Here is one. A penny, if you please."
Chichester paid for the paper, wrote the letter, and handed
it to the Steward.
He then cast a glance round the room ; and saw three or four
tolerably decent-looking persons warming themselves at the fire, while fifteen
or sixteen wretched-looking men, dressed for the most part as labourers, were
sitting on the forms round the walls, at a considerable distance from the
blazing grate.
The Steward, perceiving that the new prisoner threw a look
of inquiry towards him, said,- "Those
gentlemen
at the fire are Sheriff's Debtors, and live at my table: those
chaps
over there are Court of Requests' Men, and haven't a shilling to
bless themselves with. So, of course, I can't allow them to associate with the
others."
"How many prisoners, upon an average, pass through the
Receiving Ward - in the course of one year?"
" About three thousand three hundred as near as I can
guess. All the Debtors receive each so much bread and meat a-week. The prison
costs the City close upon nine thousand pounds a year."
"Nine thousand a-year, spent to lock men up, away from
their families !" exclaimed Chichester. " That sum would pay the
debts of the greater portion of those who are unfortunate enough to be brought
here."
"You may well say
that
," returned the Steward.
"Why, half the prisoners who come here are poor working-men, snatched away
from their labour, and obliged to know that their wives and children will
starve during their absence. That man over there, with the little bundle tied
up in a blue cotton handkerchief, is only arrested for 8d. The costs are three
and sixpence."
"He is actually a prisoner, then, for four and
two-pence."
"Exactly. The man next to him is arrested for 3d., the
balance of a chandler's shop debt; his costs are five shillings. But the case
of that poor devil who is crying so up in the corner, is the worst. It appears
that he had an account at a tally-shop, and paid one shilling a-week towards
its liquidation. He was in full work, and earned eighteen shillings a week; and
so he regularly gave his wife the money every Saturday night to put away for
the tally-man. But the woman is fond of tippling, and she spent the money in
gin. Well, the tally-man takes out a summons from the Court of Requests; the
wife receives it, and is afraid to tell her husband. Next week comes the
Rules
this the woman also hides,
hoping, somehow or another, to get together the debt and costs, and settle it
unknown to her husband. But no such thing : so this morning, as the poor fellow
was going home to dinner, he was arrested for four shillings debt, and six
shillings costs."
"This was cruel indeed," observed Chichester, to
whom all these details were perfectly new.
"Yes," continued the Steward; "but that is nothing
to the things that I have heard men tell up in this room. Loan-Societies,
Tally-Shops. and the low pettifogging lawyers, keep this place
well-filled."
It was now a quarter to ten; and the poor wretches who could not
afford to pay for sheets were huddled off to bed. Chichester, and the "
gentlemen
who boarded at the Steward's table
," remained up, smoking cigars and
drinking ale, until twelve.
Chichester was then introduced into a large room containing
ten or a dozen beds, whose frame-work was made of iron. One miserably thin
blanket, a horse-cloth, and a straw mattress and pillow, were all provided for
each couch, by the Corporation of the City of London!
Oh! how generous - how philanthropic - how noble to tear men
away from their homes and give them straw, wrapped up in coarse ticking, to
sleep upon!
On the following morning Chichester awoke early, and rose
with every bone aching from the hardness of his bed. He performed his toilette
in a species of scullery attached to the Receiving
Ward; and the enjoyment of this luxury was attended with the
following disbursement:- Towel, 2d; Use of Soap, ld; Loan of Razor and
Lather-box, ld.
Breakfast, consisting of coffee and dry toast, was then
served up.
Those who boarded with the steward sate down and commenced a
desperate attempt upon the provisions; and those who fancied an egg or a rasher
of bacon with their meal, paid twopence extra. The conversation was entirely
associated with the prison affairs; it appeared as if those men, when once they
set foot in the prison, discarded all thoughts of the great world without, from
which they have been snatched away. Even when the morning newspaper came in,
attention was first directed, by a strange kind of sympathy, to the list of
Bankrupts and to the Law Notices, the latter of which afforded them the
pleasing and interesting intelligence of who were that day to appear before the
Commissioners of the Insolvent Court.
At five minutes past nine, a violent ring at the bell called
the Steward in haste to the door. This was the summons of a turnkey who came to
remove new prisoners to the respective departments of the establishment to
which they belonged. Thus
they were classified into
Middlesex Sheriffs' Debtors, London Sheriffs' Debtors, and City Freemen who
were also Sheriffs' Debtors; and London Court of Requests' Debtors, and
Middlesex Court of Requests' Debtors.
Chichester was ordered to remove to the Poultry Ward, on the
London side, the governor declining to comply with the request contained in his
letter.
It will be seen from what we have already said, that
Whitecross-street prison is essentially different from the Bench, descriptions
of which have been given in so many different works, and the leading
features of which are so familiar to a large portion of the community, either
from hearsay or experience. If a man cannot muster four or five pounds to
transfer himself from the custody of the Sheriffs to that of the Judges, by a
habeas corpus
writ, he must remain in
Whitecross-street prison, while the more wealthy debtor enjoys every luxury and
privilege in the Bench. And yet, we are constantly assured that there is the
same law for the poor as there is for the rich!
The system of imprisonment for debt is in itself impolitic,
unwise, and cruel in the extreme:- it ruins the honest man, and destroys
the little remnant of good feeling existing in the heart of the callous one. It
establishes the absurd doctrine, that if a man cannot pay his debts while he is
allowed the exercise of his talents, his labour, and his acquirements, he can
when shut up in the narrow compass of a prison, where his talents, his labour.,
and his acquirements are useless. How eminently narrow-sighted are English
legislators! They fear totally to abolish this absurd custom, because they
dread that credit will suffer. Why - credit is altogether begotten in
confidence, and never arises from the preconceived intention on the part of him
who gives it, to avail himself of this law against him who receives it. Larceny
and theft are punished by a limited imprisonment, with an allowance of food;
but debtors, who commit no crime, may linger and languish - and
starve in gaol
.
The Poultry Ward was a long, dark, low room, with seven or
eight barred windows on each side, sawdust upon the stone floor, and about a
dozen or fourteen small tables arranged, like those of a coffee house, around
the walls. The room was full of debtors of all appearances - from the
shabby-genteel down to the absolutely ragged. Here a prisoner was occupied in
drawing up his schedule for the Insolvent Debtors' Court ;- there an emaciated
old man was writing a letter, over which he shed bitter and scalding tears ; -
at another table a young farmer's labourer-looking man was breakfasting off
bread and cheese and onions, which he washed down with porter ;- close by was a
stout, seedy-looking person with grey hair, who did not seem to have any
breakfast at all ;- in this nook a poor pale wretch was reading a newspaper ;-
in that corner another individual was examining a pile of letters ;-
several were gathered round the fire in the scullery or kitchen attached to the
Ward, preparing their breakfasts ;- and others were lounging up and down the
room, laughing, and talking over the amusements of the preceding night up in
the sleeping rooms.
The steward of the Poultry Ward had just finished his
breakfast when the turnkey introduced Mr. Chichester.
"Well, Mr. Thaynes," said the Steward, quite
delighted to see the new prisoner, "I began to think we should have had
none down this morning. Pray takes a seat, sir."
This invitation was addressed to Chichester, who sat down
accordingly.
The Steward, after exchanging a few observations with the
turnkey, produced a book from a drawer in the table, and addressing himself in
a semi-mysterious tone to Mr. Chichester, said "These are our rules and
regulations. Every new member is required to pay an entrance fee of one pound
and sixpence; and this goes towards the fund for paying the officers and
servants of the ward, providing coals, avid administering generally to the
comforts of the place."
"I am quite satisfied with the justice of the
charge," said Chichester; and he paid it accordingly.
"I suppose you will live at my table?"
enquired the Steward. "Same charges as up-stairs in the Receiving
Ward."
"Oh! certainly," answered Chichester. "Have
you any body here of any consequence at all ?"
"Not particularly at this moment. Lord William Priggins
stayed a couple of days with us, and went over to the Bench yesterday
morning."
"Who is that gentleman walking up and down the narrow
court outside ?" enquired Chichester, glancing towards a window through
which might be seen a tall slim young man, with black moustachios, a long faded
cotton dressing-gown, a dingy velvet skull cap, and pantaloons hanging low and
loose, because the owner had forgotten his braces.
" Oh! that is Count Pitchantoss - a celebrated Russian
nobleman, who was cleaned out some weeks since at a West-end Hell, and got put
into prison for his hotel bill."
"And who is that respectable old gentleman with the
bald head, and dressed in black?"
"That is a clergyman, the Rev. Henry Sharper; he
is an excellent preacher, they say - and the best securer of a die that I ever
saw in my life."
"And that very sickly pale-faced youth, who seems to be
scarcely twenty ?"
"He is only twenty-one and a month. He was arrested the
day after he came of age for blank acceptances which he had given, during his
minority, to the tune of three thousand pounds, and for which he never received
more than three hundred."
"And that quiet-looking old gentleman at the table
opposite?"
"He is a Chancery prisoner -committed for contempt. It
appears that he was one morning walking by the Auction Mart, and saw large
posting-bills announcing the immediate sale of an estate consisting of thirteen
houses somewhere in Finsbury, under a decree of the Court of Chancery. My
gentleman hadn't a guinea in his pocket, nor the means of raising one at the
time. Nevertheless he walked into the Mart as bold as brass, strode upstairs to
the auctioneer's rooms, and bid for the estate. There were plenty of
competitors; but he didn't care - he bid away: and at last the estate was
knocked down to him for four thousand three hundred pounds. When sales are
affected under an order of the Chancellor, no deposit-money us required. This
may seem arrange to you, but it is not the less a fact. So off walks my
gentleman, quite rejoiced at his bargain. The first thing he does is to go and
collect all the arrears of rent he can from the tenants of the houses, and to
distrain upon those who couldn't or wouldn't pay. Lord! what a game he did
play, to be sure! He called into request the services of half the brokers in
Finsbury, and made the tenant cash up to the very last farthing that was due.
Well, the lawyers employed for the sale of the estate, drew up the deeds
of conveyance and the abstract of
the title; but my gentleman never meant paying - so at last the Chancery Court,
getting tired of his excuses, and finding that he would not disgorge the amount
he had already received for rents, nor yet come down with a shilling towards
the purchase-money, clapt him into limbo under some form or another; - and so
here he is.
In this manner did the steward of the Poultry Ward render
the new prisoner familiar with the leading characters of that department of the
prison. In addition to the few instances of flagrant dishonesty, or culpable
extravagance which were pointed out to Chichester, information was given him of
many - very many cases of pure and unadulterated misfortune. The churchyard has
known no sorrow - the death-chamber has known no anguish equal to that acute
and poignant suffering which many an inmate endures within the walls of that
prison. If he be an affectionate father, he thinks of his absent little ones -
and he feels shocked at the cold cruelty of the rules which only permit
children to visit their incarcerated sire twice a week - on Wednesday and
Sunday - and then only for three hours each time. If he be a kind husband, and
possesses a tender and a loving wife, he dreads the fatal hour of five of an
evening, which is the signal for all strangers and visitors to leave these
walls. Misery - lank, lean, palpable misery - is the characteristic of
Whitecross Street prison.
The legislature says - "We only allow men to be locked
up in order to prevent them from running away without paying the debts they
owe." - Then why treat them as felons? Why impose upon them rules and regulations,
the severity of which is as galling to their souls as the iron chains of
Newgate are to the felons' flesh? Why break their spins and crush their good
and generous feelings by compelling them all to herd together - the high and
the low - the polite and the vulgar - the temperate and the drunkard - the
cleanly and the filthy - the religious and the profane - the sedate and the
ribald?
O excellent legislators! do you believe that a man ever went
out. of the debtor's gaol more moral and better disposed then he was when he
went in? The answer to this question will, in one word, teach you the efficacy
of Imprisonment for Debt.
Chichester walked out into a large stone-paved court
attached to the ward, and bearing the attractive but somewhat illusive name of
the "Park." At twelve o'clock the beer men from the public-houses in
Whitecross-street were allowed admittance; and then commenced the debauchery of
the day. The seats round the "Park" were soon crowded with prisoners
and visitors, drinking, smoking, laughing, and swearing.
Many poor wretches, who could not boast of much strength of
mind, but were in reality well disposed, took to this occupation
to kill care.
And who will blame them? Not you,
proud peer, who bury your vexations in crystal goblets sparkling with the
choicest juice of Epernay's grape - nor you, ,fine gentleman, who seek in
gaming at your club a relief from the anxieties and petty troubles which now
and then interrupt the otherwise even tenure of your way!
In the course of the day Mr. Chichester wrote a very
penitent letter to his father, the pawnbroker, lamenting past follies, and
promising future good conduct. The postscript contained an intimation that
prison was bad enough when one possessed plenty of money; but that it was ten
thousand times worse when associated with empty pockets. This precious epistle
succeeded in inducing the "old gentleman," as Chichester denominated
his father, to loosen his purse strings, and remit a few pounds to supply
immediate wants.
Chichester was thus enabled to live at the Steward's table
and smoke his cigars and drink his ale to his heart's content. In a small
community like that of a ward in Whitecross Street, as well as in the great
world without, he who has the most money is the most "looked up to" -
which is a phrase perfectly understood, and almost synonymous with respected;
and thus Mr. Chichester very speedily became the "star" of that
department of the prison to which he had been assigned.