Tyburn Tree. Alfred Marks
compensation should be made, according to the custom of Savoy, by those responsible for the safety of the district. But the new plan came to nothing.[5]
On a calm review of the facts it is difficult to resist the conclusion that civilisation has been immeasurably more favourable to the predatory classes than to any other class whatsoever. The coarse, rude methods of early times have given place to vastly improved ways of “conveying” a neighbour’s goods. In the Paston Letters we read of nobles and great men laying siege with an armed force to a coveted house. The appropriation of “unearned increment” is at once more scientific and more productive. The arts of engraving and printing have been turned to the greatest advantage. A design, more or less elaborate, is produced, purporting to represent a certain value expressed by numerals, as L. 1, L. 50, or L. 100. Persons of high social position are found to assure the public that the pieces of paper on which these designs are printed are worth much more than the expressed amount (known as the “face value”). Accomplices pretend to buy these pieces of paper at an enhanced price, the public follows suit, and in this way “shares,” as they are called, which will never bring sixpence of revenue to the holder, have been known to be eagerly bought at many times the “face value.” Many are the paths opened by civilisation to rapid accumulation. In addition to the company-monger, we have the “bucket-shop” keeper, the betting man, the army contractor, the loan-monger, the owner of yellow and blackmailing journals. Each of these, if only his operations are on a sufficiently large scale, may and does rise to high social position. Each generation sees a vast extension and improvement of method. A man who was in his day the greatest of the tribe of company-mongers is said to have shed tears of bitter self-reproach for lost opportunities as he surveyed the operations of his successors.
It must, in fairness, be admitted that the public finds its account in the new arts of relieving it of its money. Of old time Dunning, operating in the forests of Ciltria, too often took the life as well as the money of his victims. There is to-day no need of violence, and as all that a man has will he give for his life, the improvement of method is beneficial to the community generally. Thus all is for the best in the best of all possible worlds.
Little could the pioneers foresee of the triumphs of their successors. “William the Sacrist,” if William it was who planned the robbery of the King’s treasury in 1303, perhaps the greatest burglary ever attempted, must have been a man of the highest genius. Had he lived in the nineteenth century he would have adopted more finished methods. He fell upon evil times, and his skin illustrates a door in the cloisters of Westminster Abbey (see p. 25).
Yes, William, you and your like lived in cruel times! You were called harsh names, fures, latrones, vespiliones, raptores, grassatores, robatores. To extirpate these old-time thieves, to bring them to the gallows, was, if not the whole duty of man, at least the first duty of the citizen. “Theft,” writes Sir James Fitzjames Stephen, “seems to have been the crime of crimes. The laws are inexorable towards it. They assume everywhere that thieves are to be pursued, taken and put to death then and there.” Bracton[6] gives instructions for the swearing-in of the whole male population over fifteen years of age for the purpose of hunting down malefactors. The justiciaries on their circuits are to call before them the greater men of the county, and to explain to them how it has been provided by the king and his council that all, as well knights as others of fifteen years of age and upwards, ought to swear that they will not harbour outlaws and murderers, robbers or burglars, nor hold converse either with them or their harbourers: that if they come to know any such, they will declare it to the sheriff or his bailiffs. And if they shall hear the Hutesium—the Hue and Cry—they shall immediately follow with their household and the men of their land. Let them follow the track to the boundary of their land, and show it to the lord of the adjoining land, so that pursuit may be made with all diligence from land to land till the malefactors are captured. There must be no delay in following the track; it must be continued till nightfall. Such was the famous Hutesium—the Hue and Cry—the name of which remains with us to the present day. One of the old chroniclers tells how, in 1212, the Hue and Cry was raised causelessly, in a panic, and spread over almost the whole of England.[7]
The truth is that in the simple life of those days no robber nor thief had the smallest chance of posing as a great man. The field, too, was limited. Thieves and robbers could but operate on movable property or clip the coin. It was the misfortune of the depredators living in “the dark ages,” that a thief not only was a thief, but was of all men known to be one.
One begins to understand the fury with which robbers and thieves were pursued. Mr. Freeman says most justly, “In our settled times we hardly understand how rigour, often barbarous rigour, against thieves and murderers, should have been looked on as the first merit of a governor, one which was always enough to cover a multitude of sins.”[8] To the same cause we may, no doubt, ascribe the singular fact that ecclesiastics, forbidden to shed blood, yet hanged men by the hands of their bailiffs.[9] An abbat, for example, had two parts to fulfil. As an ecclesiastic he gave shelter to thieves, as lord of the manor he hanged them. The abbat of Westminster had his servants waiting in Thieving Lane to show thieves the way to sanctuary: on the other hand, he had sixteen gallows in Middlesex alone.[10] The contradiction is placed in the strongest light by the charter of Glastonbury, granted by Edgar (A.D. 958–975). The charter concedes “infangethef and utfangethef,” the right to try and assuredly to hang thieves. But the very same charter grants that, if anywhere in the kingdom, the abbat or one of his monks should meet a thief being taken to the gallows, or otherwise in danger of his life, he could stay the execution of the sentence.[11]
The insight into the state of the country in the late thirteenth century, given by the two publications of the Records Commission, Rotuli Hundredorum, and Placita de Quo Waranto, is so valuable that it may be permitted to glance at them. The preliminary to the first of these is the Act of the fourth of Edward I. (1276), the statute for assigning justices to the work. The statute, called “Rageman,” a term of doubtful etymology, enacted that justices should go through the land inquiring into, hearing, and determining all complaints and suits for trespasses within twenty-five years last past, as well by the king’s bailiffs as by all other persons whomsoever. These commissioners did their work with a thoroughness amazing when we consider the difficulty of travel in the times. The results are recorded in the Rotuli Hundredorum. On the evidence furnished by the Rotuli Hundredorum was passed the statute of Gloucester, in the sixth of Edward I. (1278). This Act put the burden of proof of lawful claim to franchises on the persons exercising them. The statute enacts that whereas prelates, earls, barons, and others of the kingdom claim to have divers franchises, persons may continue to exercise these franchises without prejudice to the king’s rights until the next coming of the king into the county, or the next coming of the justices in Eyre, or until the king otherwise order. The sheriffs are to make proclamation that all who claim to have any franchise by charter or otherwise shall come at a certain day to a place assigned, to state what franchises they claim and by what title.
In 1281 was issued, according to the annals of Waverley, a mandate “called by the people Quo Waranto, directed to certain justices, for inquiring respecting lands, tenements, rents, alleged to be alienated from the king, as well as regarding franchises held from him: by reason of which mandate archbishops, bishops, abbats, priors, earls, barons, and others holding franchises, as well religious as others, were subjected to trouble and expense, although the king got little profit thereby.”[12]
The statements found in the presentments of jurors in the Rotuli Hundredorum are, as might be surmised, somewhat in the nature of hearsay. They have not the value, as material for investigating the social condition of the time, of the more formal charges contained in the Placita de Quo Waranto. Thus we find, in the Rotuli Hundredorum, that the abbat of Westminster was presented by the jurors of three several wards of the City of London as having gallows at Tyburn: in other cases gallows are mentioned as erected by the abbat in Middlesex, two places only being specified. But when we come to the Placita de Quo Waranto, we find that the abbat had gallows in fifteen places in Middlesex in addition to one in the ville of Westminster. These places were, Eye (a district of Westminster), Teddington, Knightsbridge, Greenford, Chelsea, Brentford, Paddington, Iveney, Laleham, Hampstead, Ecclesford, Staines, Halliford, Westbourne,