Rogues, Thieves And the Rule of Law: The Problem Of Law Enforcement In North-East England, 1718-1820

Rogues, thieves and the rule of law Rogues, thieves and the rule of law The problem of law enforcement in north-east ...

Author: Gwenda Morgan

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Rogues, thieves and the rule of law

Rogues, thieves and the rule of law The problem of law enforcement in north-east England, 1718– 1800

Gwenda Morgan and Peter Rushton

© Gwenda Morgan and Peter Rushton 1998 This book is copyright under the Berne Convention. No reproduction without permission. All rights reserved. First published in 1998 by UCL Press UCL Press Limited 1 Gunpowder Square London EC4A 3DE UK and 1900 Frost Road, Suite 101 Bristol Pennsylvania 19007–1598 USA The name of University College London (UCL) is a registered trade mark used by UCL Press with the consent of the owner. This edition published in the Taylor & Francis e-Library, 2005. “To purchase your own copy of this or any of Taylor & Francis or Routledge’s collection of thousands of eBooks please go to www.eBookstore.tandf.co.uk.” British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data are available ISBN 0-203-98228-2 Master e-book ISBN

ISBN: 1-85728-116-0 HB

Contents

Acknowledgements

vii

Glossary

ix

Short list of printed works

x

List of tables

xi

List of illustrations

xii

Introduction

1

1

The character of north-east England

9

2

Enforcing the law

27

3

The patterns of crimes and punishments

47

4

The social organization of crime

77

5

Common and unnatural crimes: women and north-east crime

95

6

Learning their lesson: the use of public punishments

121

7

Transportation

149

8

Correction and imprisonment

165

9

Law and order

185

Conclusion

207

Notes

211

Manuscript sources

263

Bibliography

265

Index

285

v

This book is dedicated to our mothers, Peggy Morgan and the late M.H. Rushton, and to the memory of Cy Morgan.

Acknowledgements

For their patient service over many years we would like to thank the staff of the Public Record Office, at Kew and, particularly, Chancery Lane; those at the three county records offices, namely Durham, Tyne Wear Archives Service, Northumberland (at Wideopen, Morpeth and Berwick), and the librarians at Newcastle Central Library. We would like to thank the latter for their permission to cite manuscripts in their archives: E.A.Rees, Chief Archivist of Tyne Wear Archives Service; S.Bird, Head of Heritage, Northumberland Record Office; J.Gill, County Archivist, Durham Record Office; and The Court Service, the Crown Court, Durham. We have appreciated helpful responses and assistance from Newcastle University and Durham University Libraries (the latter in all its branches), as well as our own University of Sunderland; York City Library; the Institute of Historical Research; the British Library; the Bodleian, Oxford; and the National Library of Scotland (the latter two particularly for their efficient and helpful replies to written and electronic enquiries). For discussions and permission to cite their unpublished PhD theses, we would like to thank Douglas Hay and Peter King. Academic colleagues who have offered us support and help at various times include Jim Sharpe; Chris Brooks; Clive Emsley; John Styles; Peter King; Maureen Meikle; Tony Barrow; Cindy Burgoyne (whose researches seemed to track alongside our own in a very fruitful way); George Bell; Wilfred Prest; Catherine Crawford; Neil Purvis for the map of the region; as well as numerous speakers who responded to various conference papers. For financial support, we would like to acknowledge the British Academy and the Nuffield Foundation.

viii

The School of Social and International Studies of the University of Sunderland awarded us each a sabbatical semester. Trivial but vital: we would like to acknowledge the contributions to research made by the inventor of the IBM-PC, the programmers of the dbase series of databases, and the designers of the Psion 3 series of hand-held computers.

Glossary

ASSI BRO CCCB DRO DURH HCA HO NRO SP TWAS WO

Assize sources, Public Record Office Berwick Record Office Calendar of Common Council Book (Newcastle upon Tyne), Tyne Wear Archives Service Durham Record Office Durham assize sources, Public Record Office High Court of the Admiralty, Public Record Office Home Office papers, Public Record Office Northumberland Record Office State Papers, Public Record Office Tyne Wear Archives Service War Office papers, Public Record Office

Short titles of printed works Albion’s fatal tree D.Hay et al. (eds), Albion’s fatal tree. Crime and society in eighteenthcentury England (London: Allen Lane, 1975). Beattie, Crime and the courts J.M.Beattie, Crime and the courts in England, 1660–1800 (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1986). Brand J.Brand, The history and antiquities of the town and county of Newcastle, including an account of the coal trade of that place [2 vols] (London: 1789). CJ House of Commons Journals Emsley, Crime and society in England C.Emsley, Crime and society in England, 1750–1900 (London: Longman, 1987). Radzinowicz L.Radzinowicz, A history of English criminal law and its administration from 1750 [4 vols] (London: Stevens, 1948–68). Sharpe, Crime in early modem England J.A.Sharpe, Crime in early modem England, 1550–1750 (London: Longman, 1984). Sykes J.Sykes, Local records [2 vols] (Stockton-on-Tees: Patrick & Shotton, 1973; first published 1866).

List of tables

3.1 Numbers of indictments for theft, north-east England, 1719– 1800 3.2 All accused of theft, north-east England, 1719–1800 3.3 Proportion of women accused of theft 3.4 Conviction rates 3.5 Punishments: larceny at the assizes 3.6 Quarter sessions thieves: primary sentences 5.1 Stolen goods: Durham quarter sessions, 1735–1800 5.2 Stolen goods: Northumberland quarter sessions, 1719–1800 5.3 Patterns of solo and co-operative thefts, Newcastle quarter sessions, 1725–1800 5.4 Gender of victims of theft, Newcastle quarter sessions, 1750– 74 5.5 Stolen goods: Newcastle quarter sessions, 1725–74 5.6 Trial verdicts for the murder of newborn infants 7.1 Transportation sentences, 1719–1800 7.2 Transportation sentences at the assizes and Berwick, 1719– 1800 7.3 Quarter sessions transportation sentences 7.4 Proportion of women sentenced to transportation 7.5 All transportees

62 65 67 69 71 74 98 99 100 100 101 114 151 154 155 156 156

List of illustrations

North-East England 1. The branks (Newcastle Central Library) 2. The pillory (Newcastle Central Library) 3. “Wages of Cruelty”: from Thomas Bewick’s Aesop’s Fables (Newcastle Central Library) 4. Gibbet: from Thomas Bewick’s Vignettes, 1827 (Newcastle Central Library) 5. A cell door in Durham’s House of Correction (PR) 6. Berwick gaol, 1752 (PR) 7. Newgate, Newcastle, 1781 (Newcastle Central Library) 8. Hexham gaol (1330–32) (PR) 9. Newcastle: the Garrison Room of the Castle Keep, which served as Northumberland’s assize cell (PR) 10. Tower on the bridge, Newcastle, 1763 (Newcastle Central Library) 11. Staithes: from Thomas Bewick’s Vignettes, 1827 (Newcastle Central Library)

xiii 122 124 129 144 171 173 173 175 175 176 187

North-East England

xiv

Introduction

The past and the present As this book was being completed, a British newspaper headline hailed the “Return of the prison hulk”, over a picture of a huge bulk carrier being towed from New York to its mooring in Portland Harbour on the south coast of England. Underneath, a small Victorian print reminded readers of the “grotesque form of confinement which late 19th-century England thought too primitive to continue”.1 As might be expected from an old liberal paper, this was meant to be a shocking image reminding readers of a part of British heritage we thought we had left behind. The hulks began as a temporary device for housing convicted transportees who could not be shipped across the Atlantic when the American Revolution broke out; they have returned as a means of “warehousing” prisoners on remand awaiting the trials at which many will be acquitted. As before, it is a temporary measure, the public are told, an expediency forced upon the government by the increasing number of criminals. If any justification is needed for another study of eighteenth-century crime, it lies in this modern resort to ancient solutions, a type of fundamentalism that also shapes current political enthusiasm for longer, fixed terms of imprisonment, and fires the emotions of letter-writers to the papers demanding the return of corporal punishment. The politics of British law enforcement is currently pervaded with nostalgia for a time when severity guaranteed respect for the law, criminals were clearly punished, and there was social peace. This is historical nonsense, of course, since there never was such a golden age despite the myths that have been fervently believed at various times in history.2 However, in the modern atmosphere of confused images and politically orchestrated panics, no one can retain their credibility for long in current debates if they fail to appear “tough on crime”. Moreover, it is the example set by

2 ROGUES, THIEVES AND THE RULE OF LAW

late-twentieth-century American imprisonment practices which has led Britain to increase its prison population further by adopting mandatory sentences of incarceration, just as it was nineteenth-century American prison regimes which impressed Victorian England. Yet, ironically, the American system of imprisonment had its origins in the drive to replace “those cruel and vindictive penalties which are in use in the European countries”, as Pennsylvania reformer R.Vaux put it in the 1820s.3 In criminological circles as in politics, severity is back in fashion. This return to the past should serve as a reminder, if any is needed, that history is not endless progress from barbarism to civilization, as traditional liberal views of reform used to assert, but can easily run in the opposite direction. Late-twentieth-century penal policies are probably more historically informed than ever before. The use of the prison for punishing rather than reforming inmates is justified by “conservatives” in terms of the failure of the “liberals” to learn the lessons of history. Yet this dichotomy between severity and reform is as old as the eighteenth century. That period was certainly tough on crime by modern standards: punishments were often bloody, unpleasant at best, deadly at worst. Many convicts were hanged, flogged, or transported. The number of “crimes” was increased, and with it the scope for judicial bloodshed, a process which has rightly earned the law before the nineteenth-century reforms the name of “Bloody Code”.4 Yet in this period some essential aspects of the English justice system were formed. The development of the adversarial system in which lawyers dispute over the truth while the judges, instead of playing an inquisitorial role remain, at least in theory, neutral, was one aspect. The rights of defendants increased, as did the length of their trials. The separation of the functions of judge and jury, the former deciding on matters of law, the latter on matters of fact, became clearer: the jury, it is said, “always had the last word”. As a result, the contrast between continental and English traditions became more definite.5 Also, more careful attention was paid to the quality of evidence, and the niceties of law in areas such as insanity were increasingly observed: both made convictions more difficult. The impression of progress may appear exaggerated, especially when it is realized that a trial for a particularly unpleasant murder in north-east England in 1792 was regarded as exceptionally long because it took more than 14 hours.6 Nevertheless, this culture of formal and increasingly scrupulous legalism contrasted with the amateur tradition of law enforcment, with constables and justices pressured by custom and social expectation to serve their counties unaided, except in emergencies of riot and disorder, by the

INTRODUCTION 3

central government. The “great arch” of the state was remote for most everyday purposes of justice; only the travelling judges served to bring an element of consistency to every part of the country. Yet in many areas of social and economic life, there was a settled, highly organized administration at the lowest level.7 Out of this contradictory period, however, emerged recognizably modern developments, not just in penal practices, which had by 1800 embraced, at least in part, the principle of imprisonment. The forms of penal debates in criminology, for example, still echo today with ideas of eighteenth-century origin. Different ideas of punishment, such as those emphasizing the need to deter through severe public penalties, still vie with concerns for criminals’ rehabilitation, or demands for less severe, and more useful, incarceration. On the causes of crime, theories of the social origins of criminality which stress collective social and economic circumstances such as poverty jostle with doctrines of personal autonomy which emphasize individual responsibility. The presence of large outcast populations—the “underclass” of today is viewed with the same wariness as the wandering poor of earlier centuries—raises the same question: whether the limits of society’s moral consensus are reached when so many are excluded from normal social life. Such moral diversity may be inevitable in a class society, and many historians from the school of English Marxism have pointed to the undoubtedly class character of many eight-eenth-century laws such as those aimed at poaching or the wholesale destruction of common rights to land. In the eyes of many people in the past, justice was a possession of the rich who controlled the law, and the customary freedoms of the people were continually subject to restriction or abolition.8 This also has resonances in modern conflicts over the role of juries, or the rights of travellers to stay on the land, or suspects to remain silent on arrest. Yet for the many poor victims of crime in any century, the poverty of the criminal’s background is not a matter for sympathy: rather, they have always felt a strong need for the law’s protection.9 The problem of how to establish a system of punishments which provides a general defence of society while also addressing the needs of an individual victim or defendant remains a crucial question in justice systems. In a society with widespread inequalities, of differing degrees of access to the law as much as to economic goods, this has always been an unresolved problem. Eighteenth-century critics often took the extreme view of assuming that, as Adam Smith put it:


law and government may be considered in…every case as a combination of the rich to oppress the poor, and preserve to themselves the inequality of the goods which would otherwise be soon destroyed by the attacks of the poor. David Hume agreed, asserting that “judges take from the poor man to give to the rich”.10 But in matters of criminal damage, the problem was that there was no other solution available to many people except the law which had to appear, at least in as many cases as possible, to act in the interests of all classes. Some historians have therefore argued that the criminal justice system was too complex to operate continuously “either on behalf of any single class, institution or interest group, or against any such body”. Instead of being the vehicle of ruling class manipulation, it is said, “the criminal law and its procedures existed to serve and protect the interests of the people who suffered as victims of crime, people who were overwhelmingly non-elite”.11 The eighteenth-century inheritance is therefore subject to contested interpretations and even in its own terms, far from uniform. There were different justifications for punishments, as there are today. Probably there has never been a single theory underlying penal policy in Britain, but the competition between models of punishment as deterrence, just deserts, or a means of reclamation is as old as the eighteenth century.12 This is because it was the first historical period to ask the unusual question, “What is punishment for?” Equally importantly, theorists speculated on how to measure whether any of them worked. There is much, therefore, in modern discussions that Jeremy Bentham or Archdeacon Paley might have recognized.13 Above all, the contrast between optimists who believe that criminals can be rescued for society, and pessimists who feel that all that can be done is to inflict punishment severe enough to deter the weak, while removing the strong criminals from society, can be traced back to the debates of the eighteenth century. Appropriately for their different hopes and despairs, the protagonists hold radically different concepts of human nature and its potential. The audience for the rhetorical deploy ment of these ideas has inevitably changed—the “public” whose opinion counts is today utterly different, but some of the arguments remain unaltered.14 Crimes, punishments: perspectives and uncertainties The reversion to past practices has been possible in the late twentieth century because, in part, of the collapse of certainty among

INTRODUCTION 5

criminologists, all of whom have had a version of history from which they read their own, selective, lessons.15 As interpretations of the social causes of crime, the methods of policing, and the impacts of punishment became more complex and less directive, it has become less and less possible to draw policy recommendations from history as the Webbs did in the early twentieth century, or as many criminologists have been accustomed to do until recently. For historians and criminologists alike, there were once shared assumptions as to how to study crime. Statistics offered the key method, because the source of data, official records of prosecution, offered a secure basis for generalization. Only gradually, as historians began to see the inadequacies of their sources, was there a shift from the positivist assumption that discussing the extent of crime and its origins is a feasible and essentially statistical exercise. Increasingly it is realized that crimes prosecuted in court are the end product of a long process of selection in which many actors (victims, officials, justices) could influence the decisions. It is clearer now than ever before…that the cases that come to trial emerge from a filtering and selection process and that there is no necessary relationship, and certainly no close relationship, between the “real” crime committed and the crime dealt with by the courts. There is also no doubt that anyone inclined to use judicial records to study crime must first confront the difficulties they present.16 Historians reached this level of scepticism because of the uncertainties about their sources without benefit of any serious theoretical selfcriticism. For criminologists, by contrast, their marginalization in the political system of the 1980s coincided with the onset of postmodernist doubts about the possibilities of grand theories. Little could be said with certainty, even if anyone wanted to listen.17 Historians had by then turned from assessing the statistical “facts” to analyzing the judicial process at all levels, hoping that by deconstructing the attitudes and practices of the different participants they could find the key to the production of crimes, and certain types of offenders, in court. The process of quantification was downplayed in favour of studying the judicial processes and institutions, with the aim of analyzing the way that different processes permitted different punishments.18 However, it proved difficult to establish why some processes, such as informal or negotiated settlements, should be used in some cases while others went to trial. Even within the area of formally prosecuted crime, presented


and punished in open courts, the availablity of a diversity of punishments (what has been called “penal pluralism”) poses more problems for analysis. Why should some courts or areas of the country plump one for option rather than another?19 Even if radically different processes of detection, accusation and prosecution were found, for example, in different regions of the country, how would we assess their relative importance without some numerical estimate of their consequences? Things seem to come full circle, once again, to constructing answers to questions about the quantity and seriousness of crimes, the social character and origins of criminals, and the impacts of different types of punishments. The state, the law and the locality This study is placed within these conflicting styles of studying the eighteenth century, with some wider aims than that of answering questions about the extent of crime and the types of punishment. It is accepted that the use of indictments and court appearances alone is liable to produce a narrow and misleading picture of both crime and law enforcement. Secondly, the difficulty of studying a single county has, with honourable exceptions, produced an equally narrow view.20 This is therefore a regional study of the North-East, which encompasses a comparative analysis of three counties (Northumberland, Durham and Newcastle upon Tyne which was an independent entity, a separate county for judicial purposes). There is always difficulty about the concept of region, which may group very dissimilar districts together in a single unit on questionable grounds. In north-east England, there may be little in common, except some general features of the local dialect, between the peoples of the Borders and those of the farming land of lowland Durham nearly 100 miles away. Yet it is customary to treat the three counties as a region in part because, except for a few outlying areas, they form the ancient diocese of the Bishop of Durham, and were bound together both by close relationships between their aristocratic magnates and an increasingly common interest, at all social levels, in the coal trade. Yet the coherence of our chosen area, despite the customary and ancient association of the parts, cannot be asserted without further investigation.21 The difficulty is that “‘regions’ and coherent local areas are not pre-given to analysis, nor are they unchanging. They are continually reproduced in shifting form”, as economic and political relations change.22 It has been suggested that early modern England was a “landscape of regulated and

INTRODUCTION 7

deregulated regions”, where the state lacked the force to exact “uniform compliance”. The North-East undoubtedly belonged to what in the previous century preachers had called “the dark corners of the land” which needed particularly dedicated activists to bring them into the light.23 One essential question, therefore, is whether the region resembled the rest of the country in the way the law was enforced. Second, there is the question whether there were internal differences in the North-East in the extent of successful law enforcement, particularly since local self-help was such a fundamental requirement. The counties can be characterized by the crimes they recorded, the criminals they prosecuted, and the types of penalties inflicted. At the least, this should reveal the contrasting ways in which their local authorities operated, the problems they took seriously and the solutions they favoured. At best, it might indicate fundamental contrasts in aspects of the social and economic character of the region. A broader problem for the North-East was caused by the distance from London, which must have affected its integration into the early modern state. The region is between 250 and 350 miles from London: was it on the periphery of England, the borders between two legal systems (English and Scottish), or the linchpin of the connection between the two kingdoms? Crime may have been local, but as a glance at the surviving correspondence between the region and the government in London can show, the local problem swiftly became a national matter as petitions for pardons and reprieves went swiftly to London and the responses returned. The same was true in times of riot and other disturbances. In some ways distance meant more for ordinary travellers, to judge from the delays and hazards recorded in their diaries and journals, than for official correspondence. The physical link between “parish and Parliament” could be swift: correspondence could be sent and a reply received in a week or less, and the Newcastle papers could report events that had taken place only five days earlier.24 Integration of the state as an organization depended on speedy communication, but that does not mean that it happened on all occasions and for all purposes. Only a detailed examination of the interactions, exchanges and mutual influences between centre and locality can fill out the framework of the state. As in other studies of early modern crime, therefore, one purpose here is to use crime, not just as a reflection of a particular local society and its judicial system, but also as an indication of the way that this locality fitted in with the rest of the country.

8

CHAPTER ONE The character of north-east England

The region and its people The North-East appeared remote and alien to people from the rest of England. For one thing, in the eighteenth century the region had only recently emerged from the Border lawlessness which had characterized it for centuries. Some picaresque accounts of eighteenth-century characters such as the famous piper James Allan suggest that this image remained both powerful and attractive. His wandering, musically creative, intermit-tently criminal, life was dramatized after his death in 1810 (in Durham gaol) by accounts which stressed the casual subculture of the marginal economy of the Borders, with a pattern of individual employment drifting in and out of crime. If even half the story is true, Allan was remarkably lucky to have respectable patrons who rescued him from transportation or even the gallows.1 The problem of evaluating the myth of the wild, lawless and mobile Border people forms an enduring difficulty when confronting contemporary accounts of local north-eastern crimes (see Ch. 4), but it is important to note that locals as well as outsiders were attracted to the image. A second aspect of the North-East’s reputation was simply its geographic location: it is close, perhaps too close, to Scotland. Culturally, in matters of language and religion in particular, north-east England resembled Lowland Scotland more than southern England. Some villages on the English side of the border contained more Presbyterians than Anglicans, as Bishop Chandler’s survey in 1736 demonstrated, and the local dialect was notably more like Scots than English. In other aspects, too, though visitors would have been surprised to know it, north-easterners were closer to their Scottish neighbours: for example, in their literacy rates which were markedly higher than elsewhere in England.2 This may have been the by-product of a much more observable feature which had


attracted attention in the seventeenth century, namely the migration of numerous Scots to the industries of the river valleys of the Tyne and Wear. In the early part of this process, Scottish birth had been a matter of opprobrium. Before 1700, in theory at least, no one born in Scotland could be apprenticed to a trade in Newcastle’s guilds, though evidence suggests that many made a successful entry. Scottishness was used in insults to derogate a person’s character, and, in the early seventeenth century, to allege that someone was a “Scots Runagate Rogue and Vagabond and that no bodie knew from whence he came” would be to invite a slander suit in the church courts. In the Civil War period, it was noted that there were hundreds of Scots, all allegedly fierce Covenanters, in Newcastle. In the eighteenth century, by contrast, Scottish birth was a common feature south of the border, among both rich and poor alike, and was reported without comment. Keelmen, criminals, craftsmen, ministers, and doctors could all have a Scottish connection. The consequence is that, when Scots were condemned or executed in the North-East in the eighteenth century, there were no attributions of criminality to nationality, for it was too common a feature of all social classes.3 For reasons of history and myth, therefore, the North-East did not have a good reputation with regard to either its landscape or its people: most visitors expected both to be strange, wild and dangerous. “Southern consciousness of an alien North” had a long history, going back at least to the fifteenth century, and eighteenth-century views were still shaped by this notion of “northernness”.4 Spencer Cowper, leaving his beloved Kent in 1746 to become Dean at Durham Cathedral, was surprised to find that the countryside was not “wild, heathy country” but well cultivated. The Durham landscape was perhaps the most attractive that visitors encountered. Wesley thought that the road from Durham City to Sunderland passed through “a lovely country”. An American visitor in the 1770s, Jabez Maud Fisher, agreed, viewing Durham as “a country which I can never behold without Delight”. In his view, “The County of Durham is in general rich and highly cultivated, a Succession of Hills and Vallies but no mountains, a great number of Country Seats, Villages and fine Views.” More systematic surveys of the agricultural quality of the region contrasted the fertile plains along the coast or in the river valleys with the rough uplands. There were contrasts in the social relations in farming, too, for Northumberland continued using living-in farm servants long after southern counties had abandoned the custom, and these were often hired as entire families or, at least, in a group containing a man and a woman,

THE CHARACTER OF NORTH-EAST ENGLAND 11

employed together and given a cottage to live in. As the commentator on the Board of Agriculture reports at the end of the eighteenth century remarked: The following particulars relating to the Northumbrian peasantry, will afford matter of amusement, if not of astonishment, to English farmers. The practice of Northumberland is, doubtlessly, a relick of the vassal system, which still prevails in the more northern part of Europe, where farm laborers belong to the land; make part of the live stocks of the farm. In addition, it seemed to outsiders, the apparent system of payment, in food and coals, and the right to run some stock of sheep and cattle on the land, reaffirmed this quaint appearance of feudalism, though it was well suited to both the labourers, hired for a year and able to rear large numbers of sheep in addition to earning wages, and the farmers, who had a secure workforce. Moreover, the pull of industrial employment meant that agricultural wages were generally higher than elsewhere.5 While the landscape had its redeeming features, the towns made an overwhelmingly poor impression. Cowper was not gratified to have his arrival in Durham impeded by great crowds of curious onlookers anxious to see the new Dean, and viewed the town itself as “very nasty and disagreeable, the streets narrow and wretchedly paved, and the houses dirty and black, as if they had no inhabitants but colliers.”6 Others recognized that the place was a centre of power, both ecclesiastical and civil, and saw in the handful of good town houses the residences of those who had influence. Both before the Civil War and 80 years later, when Daniel Defoe passed through, visitors were impressed by Durham’s striking physical appearance, almost surrounded by the sweep of the River Wear. In their “fine houses” the clergy lived “in all magnificence and splendour imaginable”, remarked Defoe. As Fisher summed up his impressions of Durham, “the Streets are very narrow, dirty and irregular, the houses are low mean and old but the Situation fully compensates for these Disadvantages”7. The other major regional centre, Newcastle upon Tyne, provided similar contrasting impressions. The geographic location on the northern side of a river cutting deep between wide cliffs, always seemed to provide a dramatic view of the whole industrial area. Moreover, it was probably the largest purely industrial town in the country, with more than half its men in industrial occupations. Defoe, acknowledging the importance of coal to the South-East, and to London in particular, described the town


as “spacious, extended, infinitely populous”, reflecting its vital role in the national economy. Cowper, by contrast, disliked the town at first, appalled by its appearance—“so filthy, so dirty and disagreeable place I never saw”—but at a second visit was forced to concede that the recently rebuilt areas were an improvement: Our execrations on the filthiness of the place, which before had engaged us so loud that all the street might have heard us, was of force changed into Compliments on the beauty and airyness of Pilgrim Street and the magnificance of the River Tyne.8 Yet his overwhelming impression of dirt formed the dominant tone of his reactions to other towns in the region, such as Sunderland, “a large filthy Town, inhabited by more filthy people”. Others agreed, Defoe calling Chester-le-Street, which he passed through from Durham to Newcastle, “an old, dirty, thoroughfare town”, and in the 1790s Frederick Eden noted that South Shields, despite being an opulent sea port, was dirty and had poor, ill-built houses.9 The small towns straddling the main roads through rural Northumberland seemed even less impressive: visitors noted the unpaved streets, the thatched roofs and meagre amenities. Places such as Rothbury or Wooler impressed only by their poverty and squalor. Even locals agreed: Mrs Elizabeth Montagu, living at Wallsend, described Newcastle in the 1750s as “like the ways of thrift; it is narrow dark and dirty. Some of the streets so steep one is forced to put a dragchain on the wheels.”10 The people were similarly paradoxical. The gentry seemed to live in fine houses in magnificent country, a fitting object for contemporary admiration and the source material for modern historical study of the creation and perpetuation of aristocratic lifestyles.11 The working people were more problematic. Defoe was perhaps alone in arriving in the region with a view prejudiced in their favour, having some sympathy for the plight of the keelman, on which he had written some years earlier. He was critical of class divisions in Newcastle, reflected in the reaction of the town’s elite to the foundation of the Keelman’s Hospital, which, receiving “discouragements from those who ought rather to have assisted so good a work, might have been a noble provision for that numerous and laborious people.”12 Cowper regarded the people as physically filthy but made few comments on their characters, not even briefly, when the danger of riots arose. Other visitors noted that rapid urban growth was producing some problems of


control. An anonymous military commentator, surveying Sunderland’s defences at the end of the century, observed: The people totally unregulated and almost without police, but they are not therefore so morally bad as might be expected, the place having encreased so fast and sprung up like a mushroom, and not by the usual way of growth, in short, by being left at liberty, forms a curious example of the very few rules and regulations necessary in Society. If they have lost the benefits, they have escaped the evils of much regulation… Though they encreased and became rich they are hardly to be considered as advanced, and equally unfit for a state of war, as for the progress of improvement.13 Yet in fact Sunderland was remarkable for the continual improvements throughout the eighteenth century, for without the substantial investment in narrowing the straggling river, and deepening both channel and harbour, there would have been no prosperity. As another visitor, Bishop Richard Pococke, noticed in the 1750s: They are at great expense in improving the harbour. They have large decked boats on which women throw up all the earth and gravel they can get up, and then the boat is taken out, and ’tis shovelled into the water. This incidental observation is one the few comments on women’s urban employment, significantly without any critical edge. There was apparently no tradition of employing women in mining, but, as one of Newcastle’s early-nineteenth-century historians remarked: The singular practice of engaging women as labourers to bricklayers and slaters impresses strangers with an unfavourable and erroneous idea of the delicacy of the inhabitants. As the gentlemen seem not to have sufficient gallantry to reform this abuse, we hope the ladies will exert themselves successfully in abolishing a custom so disgaceful to the town, and in providing employment more suitable and becoming for those poor girls than of mounting high ladders, and crawling over the tops of houses. Like other commentators at the time, he was relieved that conventional industry, with its early employment of the very young as well as of


women, had not spread widely into the region. Where it had, employers were anxiously requested to look to the morals of their workforce as much as their efficiency.14 Some newly arrived clergymen deliberately set about reforming the people. John Tomlinson, curate to his uncle (of the same name) in Rothbury, on the edge of the Cheviots, recorded that local people had at the end of the seventeenth century displayed little propriety in their behaviour: This parish when uncle first came was very rude and degenerate —would come into church and ne’er move their hats till just at the reading desk—and then sitt all the time etc.—he applied to three or four of the best, and instructed them when to sitt, stand and kneel, and then bid the vulgar mind them. In his own time there, in 1717, two men who attempted to rape a woman were addressed in one of his uncle’s sermons about their sin: they, and the rest of the audience, were surprised to discover it was a hanging offence.15 Other clergy tried to curb violent, but less criminal, habits. In Stockton and Newcastle it was the custom in the first half of the eighteenth century on Shrove Tuesday to tether a cock to a post and stone it to death: William Hogarth portrayed this practice as part of his series The Stages of Cruelty. The custom seems to have been a continuation of cockfighting on that day, once common among schoolboys. A vicar, newly arrived in 1742 in Stockton, managed to abolish the “cock-throwing”, and in the 1770s John Brand noted that this “barbarous custom…an amusement fit only for the bloodiest savages, and not for humanized men, much less for Christians!” had died out in Newcastle. But the disapproval of the respectable failed to have any impact on the popular sports of cockfighting and bull-baiting. Only in the 1790s, when sensibilities had changed and, significantly, the town authorities were persuaded to take action, were public bullrings demolished; in Stockton there were several incidents of injury to the public as bulls escaped from the ring into the market place and surrounding streets. Cockfighting continued well into the nineteenth century, as Brand noted: “a favourite sport of the colliers in the North; the clamorous wants of their families solicit them to go to Work in vain, when a match is heard of”.16 It remained a well-reported item in the local press throughout the period. The clergy themselves, mostly from the northern region, and increasingly well educated, however, were not entirely beyond reproach. The Reverend Richard Parker, vicar at


different times of Ponteland and Embleton in the early eighteenth century, was known as “Drunken Davy”, and provided the church authorities with continual disciplinary problems.17 The region was not all bad: John Wesley could count on a welcome at many churches, Sunderland's among them, and found his open-air preaching at Newcastle’s Sandhill, or on Gateshead Fell, well received by poor keelmen and colliers. Indeed, his only lifelessly unresponsive audience seems to have been in Durham City.18 Others believed the reputation for riot and deviance, and found local people beyond conversion. Samuel Bentham, struggling to run a Russian shipyard with local serfs and Tyneside workers, found the latter utterly intractable: “the Newcastle mob—hirelings from that rabble town”. Yet, as Defoe had earlier remarked, “they build ships here to perfection”.19 Were north-easterners beyond any normal constraint? Certainly rebellion and riot were the main substance of reports from the North-East in the London press, but in both the 1715 and the 1745 risings most of the region, apart from some of the Catholic gentry in Northumberland, had been conspicuously loyal. Durham, under the leadership of its bishop, was always reliable in such circumstances, and Newcastle and Berwick provided the main centres of military concentration, as well as the means of importing foreign troops to secure the eastern side of the country during Bonnie Prince Charlie’s progress south. As to riot and general lawlessness, close scrutiny of local community records does not suggest that the coal trade had engendered an entirely distinct subculture with its own values. Certainly some occupational groups possessed distinctive identities, and perhaps dressed differently: the best-known were the men from Crowley's ironworks— “Crowley’s Crew”—whose paternalist employers demanded strict adherence to rules of attendance and used the sound of a bell to regulate working (and sleeping) times. In Ryton and Winlaton, the poor often had to wear a badge reading “Crowley’s Poor”. There was considerable tension between these men and others on the south side of the Tyne, notably in Gateshead, and a kind of industrial gang culture seems to have been created unintentionally by this industrial village. In part it may have originated because Crowley recruited from outside the region, notably from the Midlands.20 Yet the description of a separate society, beyond normal control, seems to date from very self-interested evangelical efforts in the mid-eighteenth century, and it was among the colliers and keelmen that this seems to have been most applicable. “Crowley’s Crew”, by contrast, were far too much under their employer’s influence. In part, the nature of mining work produced a distinctive appearance, and by its pattern of mutual


dependence and self-regulated skill in facing the hazards of working underground, generated a community feeling among the pitmen. By 1750 it seems that not only were miners of characteristic appearance; they had also acquired a reputation for possessing a distinctive culture.21 Their character, as revealed by Levine’s & Wrightson’s study of Whickham, however, was not entirely different from other labouring people of the time. Surprisingly, for a village that was one of England’s first proletarian industrial communities, Whickham was in its family life and moral problems rather unremarkable: the petty disorders presented to courts, for example, were typical of the seventeenth century, “conventional enough” to suggest that in their everyday life coal communities were not unusual. Yet by 1700 pitmen had developed an antagonistic industrial culture to match that of the keelmen of the northeast rivers, with powerful rituals of solidarity such as spitting on a stone as an oath of loyalty to the collective purpose of industrial action. They had become members of a “regional community of skill”.22 Probably visitors arrived in the North-East expecting trouble to be visible, confirmation of a widespread stereotype about local workers. Their reputation was broadcast by national news reports, and apparently confirmed by well-known accounts such as John Brand’s 1789 history of Newcastle. Such local publications generally endorsed the policies of the town’s elite employers, and found little opportunity to express an appreciation of the working class. Only at the beginning of the nineteenth century did some local historians, writing for a wider, betterinformed and politically more diverse local audience, manage to indicate an alternative view of the contribution of groups of workers to the creation of the region’s economic strength. The sentiments were, like Defoe’s 80 years earlier, ones of regret for the explicit class hostility that characterized employer—worker relations.23 The outsider’s view was no doubt distorted by reputation and partial reporting. Yet Londoners should in particular have been well informed about both the region and the coal trade, for these were vital issues. North-easterners, rich and poor, were familiar figures in London. Political links between local leaders and central authority grew out of the North-East’s economic importance. As one recent overview of the North-South divide puts it: Newcastle was the site of the earliest industrial revolution, based on coal, and the process had immediate repercussions on its relationship with London. By the first quarter of the eighteenth century the coal owners maintained representatives in London,


travelled to and fro, were in the counsels of the great, and were good lobbyists.24 Other links were not so innocent, for there were well-established allegations in the same period that coal owners and the Thames lightermen (who unloaded the collier ships and sold the coal) were in “combination” to maintain artificially high prices in the London market. Even if cheaper coal arrived from Sunderland ahead of the Newcastle ships, it would not be unloaded until the Newcastle coal had been sold at advantageous prices.25 Poorer north-easterners worked as coal-heavers in the London docks, where refugee keelmen could be found by parliamentary enquirers seeking information on Tyneside disturbances. A skilled man, as the engraver Thomas Bewick recalled, could find their local papers on display in a Fleet Street tavern where they could meet and exchange news of home, though local people might mistake him for a “Scotchman”.26 The North-East therefore presented different faces to the capital, and although this should have aided familiarity, it more likely served to foster the mixture of curiosity and wariness about local people shown by many visitors. The region therefore appeared distinctive, and certainly both its economy and people seemed to present a character very different from any other part of England. The regional character and the law The diversity of the region, with its many rivalries, particularly between urban centres of power, and between ecclesiastical and lay authorities as well as between different county jurisdictions, together with the problems of policing a long border, intractable uplands and 100 miles of coast, should all have militated against coherent and co-operative law enforcement. Yet the peculiar pattern of geographic and legal structures of the three counties seemed to impose co-operative habits on their judicial authorities. The very shapes of the counties by themselves dictated close collaboration: for one thing parts of Durham were separated from one another by nearly 60 miles of Northumberland territory, since a small strip along the Scottish border and the Farne Islands were within its jurisdiction. When criminals fled south across the river from the entirely independent town of Berwick-upon-Tweed to its suburb of Tweedmouth they escaped to County Durham. From there the only direct route to Durham City lay across Northumberland and through Newcastle. Similarly, the transport network imposed close


relationships between Newcastle and Northumberland, for the latter could move its apprehended criminals easily from the western areas such as Allendale and Haltwhistle to the county seat at Morpeth only by using the Carlisle—Newcastle road, at least before the opening of a diagonal toll-road running north-east across the county in the 1750s.27 The lie of the land was constantly exploited by criminals stealing goods in one place and disposing of them in another. Northumberland’s horsethieves naturally moved towards Newcastle or Durham as well as Scotland, and Newcastle’s thieves could move to another county simply by exiting through almost any gate in the town. Stolen watches and banknotes could be exchanged or sold in Sunderland by Newcastle’s thieves as easily as could Sunderland’s in Newcastle. Arresting suspects, investigating their doings and their characters, and building a case for prosecution were therefore often a matter of local officials scooping up a selection of people in the locality and finding that their actions and origins affected communities and authorities across the entire region, or even further afield. Just as Northumberland’s stolen horses and other property were sometimes recovered from North Yorkshire or Carlisle, so many of those arrested in Newcastle had begun their criminal careers in Durham or as far away as Edinburgh. From the local region, the co-operation in law enforcement after 1750 increasingly involved a near-national network of contacts, built up as the problems of individual cases or correspondence from vigorous magistrates around the country forced north-eastern authorities to maintain contacts over an even wider area. The process of co-operation was enhanced by the coherence of the northern circuit (of which all three counties were participants), whose judges on their summer visits progressed north from York to Durham, then to Newcastle for both Newcastle’s and Northumberland’s assizes, and thence west to Carlisle. The close bonds between the trials were most striking at Newcastle, where the two assizes were held within the same week in two buildings a short distance away from each other on the riverside. Outsiders had to be reminded of Newcastle’s status as a separate county, as John Hewitt of Coventry was when he wrote to the authorities in Newcastle enquiring about criminals who had been transported by Northumberland: the latter was “a county at large entirely distinct from though it adjoins to this corporation which is a town and county of itself distinct from Northumberland”, the town clerk explained28. Ironically, for assize week Northumberland moved its accused prisoners south from Morpeth to the old castle in Newcastle from which the town derived its name. Yet this shared framework at the


highest level of the judicial process obscured many variations in the local arrangements of criminal and civil law. Since assize courts (as well as quarter sessions) could hear civil litigation, the local forms of civil dispute settlement probably shaped the apparently small contribution the civil law made to north-east assize business. Local civil courts flourished in the business centres of Newcastle, Berwick and Durham, hearing many cases of debt, trespass and other private disputes. These were usually presided over by the mayors and seem to have provided a vital outlet, both cheap and accessible, for the disputes arising from the growing numbers of businesses in the eighteenth century.29 In Durham a more independent judicial framework existed for, as a Palatinate, the civil courts such as the chancery had the powers of the royal courts. These courts gave Durham an atmosphere of judicial independence in civil matters, which was in fact defended well into the latter half of the twentieth century. Such courts were supposed to be independent of Westminster, which had no jurisdiction in the first instance in civil cases (though appeal was to the King’s Bench in London). Moreover, lawyers trained in Durham were forced to take an oath not to remove cases from the county as part of a framework in which “foreign” lawyers were forbidden to practise in Durham courts. There was a full range of courts in County Durham at this period such as, in Sunderland, a Vice-Admiralty Court, which could affect the administration of civil justice, particularly with regard to maritime affairs on the Durham coast. Maritime offences of a more serious kind raised difficulties concerning the borders of jurisdictions: in one murder case, in 1736, a Sunderland mariner was transferred from the assize to the Admiralty Court to stand trial for murder.30 There had been an attempt to abolish the Palatinate in the heady days of 1688’s Glorious Revolution, but local petitions for its preservation were vehement. Durham tradesmen complained that their business would decline if people did not travel to the city for the court days. More generally, the ease of local access to the courts made them popular. Yet independence was qualified by appeals to London, especially when the civil disputants were local authorities in the county. A number of poor law disputes, arising when parish authorities challenged quarter sessions orders, went to London, only to be refused on the grounds that, in such matters, the justices sitting in quarter sessions were the final authority. Yet even in the nineteenth century, it was said “the privileges of the Palatinate are still very considerable”.31 In the administration of criminal courts of the assize, Durham had been steadily integrated into the northern circuit by


the early seventeenth century, though the Bishop of Durham retained some influence over the commissions of the peace, particularly in recommending candidates for the magistracy to the Lord Chancellor. When the level of disturbances in South Shields rose in the 1790s to be an annual nuisance, the absence of co-resident magistrates was blamed on the bishop in complaining letters to London, and unfavourable comparisons were made with the situation on the other side of the Tyne in North Shields. Two years later the acting magistrate still lived ten miles away, to the south of the Wear: “’Till we have some spirited Honest Men, Magistrates in this Town, we shall be in perpetual broils,” complained one local. The bishop was quick to complain in his turn, however, if the government sent Privy Council orders on civil matters to the Lord Lieutenant and not to him.32 In mundane administrative matters, too, Durham seems to have retained its distinctiveness. The records of Durham assize cases were kept apart from those of the rest of the circuit, and there are signs, in the way that judges made separate reports on Durham trials, that the county was viewed as somewhat distinct from the rest. In some criminal laws, too, Durham’s palatinate status produced difficulties. The palatinates (including Chester and Lancaster) were omitted from the scope of some late-seventeenth- and early-eighteenth-century laws, and special legislation had to be introduced, for example to extend certain aspects of the 1723 Waltham Black Act to those areas. Durham was also excluded from some of the laws permitting the payment of rewards to those helping to convict highwaymen and other felons, and the local authorities felt forced to bring a special bill before Parliament in 1774 to rectify this. The preamble states that since the judges had refused on legal grounds to grant such rewards, “for want of such encouragement, the said County Palatine has already, in many instances, and will, in many other, become a Place of Resort and Refuge for the most desperate and determined Villains.”33 In the maintenance of good order, too, there were many differences between communities. In some towns of the region borough courts flourished as a means of dealing with minor infringements of bye-laws such as street nuisances and intrusions or infringements on common land or waters. But in Hexham and elsewhere these courts had punitive rules about allowing settlement of paupers who lacked proper employment and inflicted heavy fines on those who harboured or “entertained” them. These misdemeanours were also subject to occasional indictment at the quarter sessions. In Morpeth there are hints that the officials exercised summary justice powers in punishing anti-


social behaviour and thefts, for the use of the “branks” (the local variant of the scold’s bridle) for verbal insults, and whipping for a thief, are reported as being inflicted by the town’s bailiffs in the 1740s.34 Unlike Newcastle, Berwick and Durham, however, these small towns had to rely on any co-resident magistrate rather than a magistracy incorporated within the borough administration to send cases to the assizes or quarter sessions. Those towns had a distinctive judicial structure, their quarter sessions staffed by the mayor and aldermen who ran the bench under the guidance of a recorder. This gave them an independence in managing urban affairs which, in Newcastle at least, sometimes brought the magistracy into conflict with the wider constituency of the freemen who elected them. But no local judicial authority was as powerful as the town government of Berwick, who in their quarter sessions had the power of gaol delivery (like that of assize judges): uniquely, they could try serious felonies and condemn criminals to death. This was the last example of such powers of severity retained by north-east magistrates. The assize system was not extended to Berwick until 1843. Yet Berwick’s court business was largely made up of the traditional concerns of these small town communities, the illegal settlement of paupers and their children, and, at least in the first half of the eighteenth century, a drive to enforce the Sabbath observance which was a more familiar feature of seventeenth-century regulation.35 This pattern of diversity in one region makes the North-East resemble precisely the kind of unsystematic legal system nineteenth-century reformers set out to abolish. Much of this framework was the inheritance of the past, and remained because the older institutions found renewed functions in the eighteenth century. The best example of this is the surprising vigour of the special border laws passed in the previous century to address the problem of law enforcement along a border between two kingdoms with incompatible legal systems. This took the form both of special arrangements for the trial of criminals on either side of the border, wherever they had committed their crimes, and for specific methods of law enforcement embodied in the “country keeping” system. The last act for this purpose was the 1662 Act for the Preventing of Theft and Rapine upon the Northern Borders of England, which set up a unique system of law enforcement on the borders in the counties of Cumberland and Northumberland. It seems to have been both expensive and popular. The act derived from the supposed need to suppress “moss-troopers” who infested the border, and aimed to relieve private citizens of the expense of maintaining their own “parties of horse” to defend their property. It empowered the justices to:


Appoint and imploy from time to time, if occasion require, any person or persons to have the conduct, and command of a certain number of men, not exceeding the number of thirty men, in the county of Northumberland, and twelve in the county of Cumberland, whereby the malefactors aforesaid may be searched out, discovered, pursued, apprehended and brought to tryal of the law. Moreover, the two counties could compensate inhabitants for stolen goods as long as the thefts were proven before two magistrates, and the property not found or recovered from the thieves: specific assistants or bookkeepers were also appointed in each district of Northumberland, in addition to the County Treasurer authorized by the act to maintain records of thefts and payments, which by chance provide a rare glimpse of eighteenth-century “recorded crime” figures (see Ch. 3). The senior county officer appointed was known as the Country (for county) Keeper or “General Rider”, and the men he commanded were his assistant keepers, or “riders”, often called “bookkeepers” as well. The financial limit imposed—£500 for Northumberland—restricted both the number of men and the amount of compensation that the authorities could afford on the basis of a 10– or 20-shilling rate. As Ferguson points out, the budget available was large, so an assiduous keeper had a great incentive to produce a surplus for himself at the end of the year by pursuing and recovering property (in practice, nearly always involving stolen animals) on which no compensation would be due. Moreover, the popularity of the system must have derived from the guaranteed compensation it provided for those suffering thefts. On the other hand the temptations towards fraud were strong, such as by making a false claim for theft: since all horse sales had to be certificated at fairs, there was always supposed proof of ownership, but far less evidence was needed to demonstrate a “theft”.36 The original act was to be renewed after five years, but the system proved so popular that it survived in Northumberland, in different ways, until the 1740s. The precise judicial function of the keepers is obscure, but their primary role seems to have been the pursuit and recovery of stolen animals and the arrest and presentation of the offenders if caught. The result was that they worked over a wide area, on both sides of the border. Whether they were there as a deliberate plan to maintain and perpetuate the north’s reputation for being “obnoxious to thieving”, as Roger North observed in the 1660s, it is hard to say. Certainly there was


little of the swift justice and multiple hangings in the eighteenth century which he claimed to have observed earlier.37 The system did not remain unaltered in the eighteenth century for there were several modifications both to the structure and the methods of operation. It is unclear precisely what kind of men were attracted to the posts. Ferguson claimed that the gentry attempted to monopolize the senior post (certainly indicative of this is the servicc of men such as Widdrington in North’s time), but in the early eighteenth century the men involved were not from well-known families, though some in 1713 occupying the senior posts were described as gentlemen. In the 1731 appointments there are signs in the way that candidates were sponsored by important local magistrates, that control of this was vital to the maintenance of local influence, and the posts invited great rivalry. But the men appointed were not of high status: only in the early 1740s, as the system came under increasing pressure from the magistracy, did well-known gentry figures attempt to serve.38 In the surviving documents of the quarter sessions there are rather vague discussions of the failures of the system and proposals for reform. The system may have been contracted out to “private undertakers” before 1713, and a restatement of the principles of the system in that year made it clear that it was part of the magistrates’ responsibility in their respective districts to use the keepers (and cooperate with each other) to enforce the law. Other reforms in 1726 involved the reduction of the divisions of the county from ten to six, with one assistant keeper for each, acting as “bookkeepers of stolen goods” at twice the previous salary. The senior two officers were paid £30 a year by 1731. Whether these measures improved the system it is hard to say, for as often as the grand juries requested its renewal, so complaints were just as frequently made of malpractice by individual keepers, involving either arbitrary arrest or financial fraud through the false reporting of thefts and recoveries.39 Corruption certainly existed within the Country Keeper system, though how deep-rooted it was is hard to estimate: two cases suggest that it flourished at the borders of Northumberland where adjoining counties offered opportunities of refuge and profit. It is likely that two men, Thomas Meggee and Edward Laidler, both transported in 1733 for horse-thieving, were the assistant country keepers involved in previous years in many accusations of blackmail and fraud at the quarter sessions. Meggee’s technique seems to have been to pursue missing animals and their suspected thieves only if the owners paid him an illegal fee, either in money or in some of the animals themselves. On another occasion he allegedly asked for a bribe to let an arrested thief go free. Ironically,


given his later trial, both incidents involved sheep. Laidler, by contrast, ran a network of horse-thieves into County Durham, using a public house in Gateshead as a storage place, then moving the horses to Sunderland for sale. His prosecution probably arose because the Durham justices became alert to their end of the operation when his associates were arrested. He seems to have employed several men, one a keelman, to run errands for him to as far away as Scotland, as well as look after the stolen horses. Other accusations were similar: in 1721 another assistant keeper was accused of demanding bribes as an inducement to let a thief escape to Scotland and of collaborating in an elaborate masquerade in which he deliberately pursued a woman dressed in man’s clothes while her husband, a horse-thief, fled in the opposite direction. In 1729 George Bell, a bookkeeper, hid a mare and then offered to buy it from the owner for a guinea (before he had set out to “find” her). For this, and for charging double fees for registering animals as missing, he was fined 50 shillings and dismissed. These kinds of cases lend some plausibility to the allegations in Northumberland that the Country Keeper himself was corrupt: in 1707 it was said by the grand jury that he was in league with rogues and thieves, and his assistants took the horses of local inhabitants and rode them for a year until they were good for nothing. In this case the accusation was not upheld in court.40 The financial burden of the system seems to have attracted repeated attempts in the mid-1720s to abolish the right to automatic compensation and replace it with rewards for convictions. Certainly the county was spending close to its £500 limit in that period, though expenditure was gradually reduced. The grand jury in 1726 suggested that it would be cheaper to pay £10 as reward for every convicted felon and any additional expenses incurred in the prosecution, and cancel the salaries for the keepers and the compensation for stolen goods, but this contradicted the general attitude of previous and subsequent petitions which endorsed the status quo. In the end Northumberland ran both systems for another 15 years at least; the keepers were still paid their salaries, and individual members of the public were paid their costs in searching for their goods and the thieves responsible, and bringing the subsequent prosecutions. In the Michaelmas session of 1744 the court suspended the country keeping system, and ordered notices to be posted in market towns informing the public that “the several persons employed as country keepers be severally removed and displaced from their said office”. At the midsummer session of both 1745 and 1746 the grand jury presented their protests, arguing that “the farmers and occupiers of lands in this county have suffered greatly” and requesting


the act’s renewal. The justices delayed by promising to find a “method” by the next assizes, but the less dramatic language of the grand jury plea of 1746 suggests that they simply let the matter lapse. This petition was published in the Newcastle Courant, inviting all those who approved of the country keeping system to express their opinion at the next sessions, but little seems to have come of it. The refusal of the magistrates to renew the system despite their promises to the grand jury brought Northumberland into line with other counties’ law enforcement systems. From then on, payment would be made on the prosecution and trial of the felon, not the loss of goods; the pursuit would be conducted by constables and magistrates as well as victims, and prosecution brought by private citizens: the uniqueness of the Border area was brought to an end.41

26

CHAPTER TWO Enforcing the law

Personnel and methods The methods of law enforcement were not as such defined by the law itself: much depended on local initiative and investment in time, money and staff. The number of active magistrates was clearly a product of the feelings of obligation of local gentry in the countryside; in Newcastle it was primarily the corollary of holding local civic office. In Northumberland, where many justices were absent on duties such as war service, the growth in numbers on the county commission during the century may simply indicate that membership was a badge of status rather than a sign of any increased devotion to law enforcement by local gentry.1 Below that level there was much variation, from village constables to urban watch-men. There are few signs of systematic policing; even the border keepers were reactive rather than preventative in their actions, although there are indications that they knew the familiar haunts of the illegal cross-border traffic. On two occasions they intercepted stolen horses at Thirlwall Gate near Greenhead, at the western end of the military road that ran alongside the Roman wall. This was at the point of the western passage through to Scotland, and in 1740 stolen horses, from both Scotland and England, were discovered there on offer for sale.2 The most distinctive example of local development of systematic policing was in the area of the greatest apparent crime rate, Newcastle, whose compact area favoured such an approach. The town was divided into 25 wards, with most commonly two constables a ward, but some had four or even six. In all, there were about 60 constables in the 1730s, about one for every 340 or so inhabitants, with 12 magistrates. In addition, inhabitants contributed to the watch system, which provided a squad both by night and day to survey the properties and streets of the town. It seems to have been the


task of the parish constables to recruit these watchers, who “with arms well provided” were to gather at St Nicholas’ church porch at eight every night. Refusal to serve incurred a financial penalty. Lists from the summer of the Guildhall riot (1740) suggest that each guild or occupational group had to contribute regular numbers, and that if businesses were run by women, they would participate. Some households seem to have avoided their personal contributions by being put on a list of houses “watching for themselves”. The resulting patrol system involved hostmen and merchants serving side by side with colliers and weavers (the latter specifically “by their own request”), with 40 or 50 people serving by day and as many as 90 at night. The watching system was under the civic supervision of a salaried appointee of the Common Council (usually a member of one of the richer trades), and the constables in each ward, who, one memorandum implies, would be excused night duty if sufficient watchmen were found. Nevertheless, some constables or serjeants-at-mace did serve at night. When a serious crime had occurred, the watch were instructed to provide extra patrols and keep particular look-out for suspects.3 The town also invested in improved lighting in 1763, after the second or third attempt at a parliamentary bill. This was a development which, though it is but an impression, may have allowed some criminal cases to result from successful night-time identification of suspects: London had set the example by adopting street lighting earlier in the century as a means of crime prevention and detection. Popular views certainly endorsed the development, as one earlier murder in 1755 was adjudged to show “the want of a regular watch, and having the streets well lighted”. Nevertheless, the watchmen and constables were not necessarily respected by many of the population, being subject to frequent assaults and, in one case, homicide. With the evidence of all this effort, however, it is hard to agree that the involvement of urban corporations in law and order in the eighteenth century was “nebulous”. Newcastle, like other areas in the north-east, was acutely aware of disorder, and determined in many instances to combat it. It has been said that while rural constables were neither a detective nor a preventative force, the urban watch system was the nearest the provincial eighteenth-century town came to providing a full police service.4 Employing people to enforce the law, however, did not necessarily result in great eagerness to do so. Whatever the system of policing, there was always a danger that the notion of order being upheld was that of the policed population rather than that of the judicial authorities; this is perhaps inevitable when, in the absence of a professional force,

ENFORCING THE LAW 29

“the inhabitants of England were turned policemen on themselves”. Even in France the police force established under the ancien régime, although a more directed and uniformed body, adapted to the needs and wishes of those they were hired to control, The evidence of this gulf between official and popular priorities indicates that there may have been serious differences in attitudes to morality and law enforcement. More dramatically, it has been suggested that there was much support in England for those accused of offences such as smuggling or poaching which were not popularly thought of as real crimes. An examination of the strengths and failures of constables in this period would be a valuable future study, but a glance at their alleged misdeeds suggests that they sometimes favoured informal arrangements which accommodated popular feeling. In North-umberland constables might neglect to make a proper return of alehouse-keepers or fail to whip a miscreant, or, more seriously, allow them to escape from custody: the beneficiaries were commonly women. As in the cases of corrupt Country Keepers, constables sometimes exploited the situation to financial advantage: in 1726, allegedly, one Northumberland officer extorted money from a woman under arrest, letting her “go about” for three weeks instead of taking her straight to the house of correction, on the promise of negotiating an agreement with the man who had brought a complaint against her. In other instances, constables were charged with elementary failures of duty such as refusing to attend court, or in the cases of high constables and (in Newcastle) serjeants-at-arms, refusal to serve in the office or carry out its basic duties such as summoning the juries. Despite these individual failures, there is a firm impression from the records of the serious cases at the assizes that generally constables made great efforts to be available, and worked hard to ascertain the whereabouts of both stolen goods and the thieves, and were eager to pursue fleeing killers. There are few examples of constables in court being punished for anything except elementary lapses in duty. None equalled the Newcastle turnkey Thomas Tate who moonlighted as a burglar, detected when he unwisely gave some stolen cloth to his godchild. On his arrest he broke out of his own gaol in less than a quarter of an hour, as he had boasted he could, opening all the locks on his chains, and had to be permanently guarded. He was subsequently transported for petty larceny.5 Thus law enforcement may not have been as inefficient or diverse as later critics supposed. Modern historians have been forced to the conclusion that:


it is becoming increasingly clear that there were constables who took their role in the community seriously, that improvements were being made to the urban watches, and that, overall, the situation was by no means as bleak as has been portrayed.6 Reports and accusations Yet, even in the presence of country keepers, urban watchmen and rural constables, the victim of crime had a primary duty to begin the process. As the Northumberland justices phrased it: Every owner from whom goods are stolen are hereby oblidged imediately after missing to pursue personally or appoint such as they can entrust to pursue at least five miles around for their goods stolen or strayed and after they have so done oath is to be made of the place and places where and times when they pursued, they must likewise gett the same goods called in the parish church and marketts as formerly used and accustomed.7 In theory, therefore, law enforcement should have been a relatively simple matter of private complaint and official reaction. It would be no exaggeration to say that individuals “created” the crime, with the assistance of the constables and justices, by turning personal wrongs into official accusations. That this could be a process interrupted at any stage, either because the aggrieved individuals were persuaded to give up, or because they were satisfied with the amount of nuisance their accusation had already caused to their opponent, has been rightly stressed by recent studies of the contemporary situation in London and Middlesex. But whether the interim stages of recognizance and indictment, which forced an accused to produce substantial sureties to appear in court or to face a public complaint formalized in an indictment, should be regarded as a means of penalizing deviance is more doubtful. Unlike those involving serious crimes of theft or homicide, many allegations of unneighbourly behaviour (assaults, public nuisances and so on) seem to have been brought through official channels as a means of demanding repayment or reconciliation. There is much evidence to suggest that in some areas magistrates encouraged informal settlements rather than formal punishments. While using the forms of the law, the aim of such cases seems to have been the restoration of normal social relations. In Newcastle contestants in the quarter sessions spoke of the “matter in difference” between them


having been settled as cases were agreed and discharged; in Northumberland indictments were quashed by “common consent”, and in Durham “discharged by consent” of the prosecutors. As many Berwick complainants expressed it in court, they were withdrawing their case and the formal indictment because they had received “satisfaction for the injury done”. The justices in that town took a poor view of people who failed to turn up to withdraw the indictments they had initiated, suggesting that, as leaders in a small community, they were interested in seeing peace publicly established before letting the matter lapse.8 The paradoxical image of this legal process, that there were many complaints but remarkably few prosecutions, has caused confusion among historians attempting to assess the role of law in pre-industrial society. Either the English were aimlessly litigious, going to law for the sake of it and then giving up, or they were reluctant to prosecute to the full extent of the law.9 Some reasons why complaints far outnumbered criminal prosecutions emerge from the data in the few surviving justices’ note-books, which indicate that on many occasions the role of the magistrate was more as mediator in personal disputes than enforcer of the criminal law. One north-eastern JP’S notebook survives for the middle of the century. The Reverend Edmund Tew was rector of Boldon in County Durham for 35 years, and an active magistrate. The notebook is a crammed record of nearly 15 years’ judicial activity involving hundreds of complaints which only exceptionally reached court. In the 1750s he ordered only 20 people to gaol or the house of correction, usually because they lacked the financial sureties for their good behaviour or because he wanted to intimidate them. Most of these orders were immediately “superseded” or cancelled within a couple of days. One man who had threatened both Tew and a constable was confined in gaol a day and a night, before being let out after the intercession of two men, but not before, as Tew recorded, “his asking pardon upon his knees before all my parish and the constable”. Only four incarcerations concerned alleged felonies. Tew’s usual response, whatever the complaint, was to broker an agreement between the parties, sometimes with a financial recompense for the aggrieved. This was the case in the majority of sexual assaults, as well as allegations of theft or fraud. While one Sunderland man was committed to trial for raping a 10-year-old girl and giving her “the foul distemper”, other cases involving an 11-year-old and a servant girl were “agreed”. There is similar ambivalence towards marital violence: in one instance Tew refused to take the oath of a wife against her husband for “further ill


usage”. With regard to theft, Tew was far more likely to condemn false and malicious accusations than uphold the allegations. The necessity of weeding out the cases brought for deceitful purposes is reflected in an unusually frank Northumberland case in 1741 which was thrown out because the justices agreed with the allegation that the accuser was: a cunning hussy, and only wants to make a penny of the man, for since the quarrel happened, she has proferred to clear him for a guinea, and threatens if he doth not pay her guinea she will go to Hexham and swear the peace afresh against him, and hold him bound over for ever.10 Justices had to decide whether a complaint was a justifiable reflection of a wrong suffered, or an attempt at what was called “vexatious prosecution” by which an accuser, by using the forms of the law, could inflict harm on the person against whom they felt aggrieved for other reasons. In Tew’s book, there are many cases of complainants protesting about false accusations and other forms of defamatory behaviour, and of compensation for loss of their “good name and fame”. This kind of slander occasionally came before the quarter sessions in the early eighteenth century, and would have been the prerogative of the church courts in the preceding period, but by 1750 seems to have been handled informally by justices. Tew occasionally “convicted” people, mostly for drunkenness or keeping unlicensed alehouses, fines for which were customarily given to the overseers for the benefit of the poor. One drankard was put in the newly restored stocks in Boldon, but his was the only sentence in years. While some of these scarce judgements were “returned” to the quarter sessions, most seem to have been accepted by the participants. The largest group of complaints arose from the breakdown in the relationship between masters and mistresses and their servants or apprentices, producing allegations by the former of desertion or idleness, and by the latter of physical abuse, ejection, refusal to pay wages, or teach them a trade, or even starvation. Most had a negotiated outcome. Only the idlest servant or the most abusive employer would be threatened with temporary incarceration until they improved their behaviour.11 This reliance on non-judicial processes of agreement and settlement was responsible for the apparently indecisive behaviour of the magistrates evinced in the court record. For example, many disputes between servants and their employers in Northumberland were left at a summons or recognizance, with no further appearance in court: this


suggests that the justices were using the delay as a means of exhorting the protagonists to come to an agreement before the next sessions when they were due to appear. The tendency to local and relatively cheap resolution was thus continually reinforced. Perhaps the habit of reconciliation became institutionalized: in the late eighteenth century a newspaper advertisment was taken out by Richard Carter as a means of asking pardon of the man he had attacked in Darlington market and who had “justly commenced a prosecution”. Though the case had been dropped at the intercession of Carter’s landlord, he was still seeking a public pardon and promised never to be “guilty of such vile conduct again”. Informal but not haphazard processes were at the heart of the local law enforcement system, which consequently bore little resemblance to the strict letter of the law as laid down in Westminster. The magistracy of the North-East was not unusual in its actions. Justices handled individual complaints in their own houses and held regular petty sessions for purposes such as licensing alehouses as well as for poor law matters and summary justice. Little survives to form the basis of analysis compared with elsewhere in England, though appeals against magistrates’ decisions of private and petty sessions do occur in the quarter sessions records. The justices themselves sometimes referred cases to the quarter sessions that would normally be handled locally. Sir Edward Blackett reported to the Northumberland sessions in 1742 that he had little choice but to commit Thomas Fenwick to gaol because, when brought before him for assaulting a woman, Fenwick had refused to enter a recognizance, had sworn at him, and threatened to “beat several persons of my family”. He then assaulted a constable and made his escape, leaving Blackett to send men to secure him so that the people of Hexham could live in peace. Blackett hoped his brother magistrates would endorse his decision to commit Fenwick. In general, it seems that magistrates of the period, particularly those in rural districts, preferred to deal with many problems without formal court appearances. Analysis of the few remaining notebooks suggest that, while urban justices were comparatively keen to deal with complaints through judicial processes, their rural colleagues preferred to settle the majority of cases informally. The contrast between the actions of Henry Norris in Hackney, who sent more than a third of complaints to court, and William Hunt in Wiltshire who settled more than half informally and prosecuted less than a tenth, is striking. Edmund Tew, though dealing with cases arising from fractious social relations on the fringes of two of Durham’s burgeoning urban centres, Sunderland and South Shields, seems to have continued to act in a rural manner, as befits his


role as a vicar of a small village in between. Much has been made of the rise of “state” law and the diminishing place of “community” law in the eighteenth century, which seems a valuable model when marking the decline of manorial or church courts in the period. But in stressing formal rather than informal processes, it is perhaps an exaggeration. Social peace rather than formal punishment remained a central aim of justices’ policies in the eighteenth century, and there are similar elements of negotiated or community justice in the nineteenth-century police court in Newcastle, where it was not uncommon for magistrates to settle violent disputes between married couples, or dismiss very young offenders because they were “very little”, with simply an admonition.12 This type of evidence has led some historians to regard “crime” as little more than a relatively small by-product of the much larger processes of settling disputes between neighbours. Just as much of today’s crime goes unreported, so we have to assume that there was far more deviant activity in early modern society than appeared in court, because the strict criminal judicial process was regarded as a poor means of serving the diverse social purposes of those discovering the deviance.13 The detection process, therefore, however apparently certain as to the pattern of events, did not produce simple results in law. There were still many choices to be made, as to which law had been broken, and how badly; practically, there were decisions as to what kind of accusation to bring, and before which court. Many of these decisions were clearly made in the light of, and in accordance with, the wishes of local magistrates. Policies can only be inferentially established from contrasts between counties or sudden changes in the treatment of particular issues. The process began with identifying the offence, or more probably, the offender. Identifying the suspect Why some people are prosecuted and not others, despite the identical nature of their actions, is rather mysterious. It is often thought that there must be something distinctive about the “deviant” in the eye of the beholder that marks them as suitable for pursuit. It might plausibly be suggested that it was not necessarily something done but some character or rumoured quality of the actor which led to prosecution. In a society where reputation still mattered, it is at least possible that rumour and public reputation were a key influence in leading to arrest. As Tew’s notebook confirms, a damaged reputation could still lead to severe


social and other penalties; it was something worth defending, to the point where the assize courts heard cases, for example, arising from a conspiracy to accuse a man of fathering an illegitimate child. Local judgements of opinion could be swift, uncritical and severe. Tew himself provides many marginal notes which indicate a moral condemnation of those involved: they were “touchy”, of “bad character”, “quarrelsome”, “a common brawler”, “all whores and rogues”, while some women were “proved a whore, perjured”, “a bad girl”, “common strumpets”.14 The towns too displayed an obsession with the underground community of the disreputable. Like Berwick, with its periodic repression of “lewd and disorderly women”, Newcastle attempted to control its “lewd” women and “mischievous, quarrelsome and disorderly men”. A small batch of files reflect the authorities’ efforts both to contain cheats and gamblers at the fairs and races in the town, and provide detailed intelligence of the bawdy-houses, the prostitutes and their menfolk. Official anxiety was reflected in the newspaper advertisements warning the public about the fraudsters infesting the area at fair time. At the November fair in 1775 a mass of arrests were made and short case histories drawn up of the “lewd women taken in the bawdy houses” and “idle and disorderly persons and vagrants” taken into custody. Others of dubious appearance or character were interviewed at length. Typical seems to have been the case in 1777 of John Gillan “by common fame a noted pickpocket connected with a gang of sharpers [card-sharpers] and pickpockets”, aged about 18, who was sent by vagrant’s pass back to Scotland with his parents. Two others appeared in court, one of them receiving two months in prison for theft. Later lists involved “lewd and disorderly women”, their locations in the town, and associations, suggesting that for some reason the Newcastle authorities had suddenly become concerned about the trades inevitably associated with a sea-going port. The character references have all of Tew’s bluntness: women were “notorious”, “young but hardened in lewdness”, or “a noted Brimstone”. The details sometimes included the women’s husbands or partners, many of whom were beggars, pedlars or alehouse-keepers. One extended biography was of Jane Turner, who lodged in the house of her brother-in-law William Slater, shoemaker, of the Longstairs: she was a “lewd woman” who, with other young women, used the house for her purposes. Turner had once been a “common night walker” who frequented the soldiers at their guardhouse, but more recently had been “taken into keeping” by some gentlemen and presented a more “genteel appearance”. While


much of the anxiety focused on the area of prostitution near the river, a few yards from the Guildhall itself, other more general lists addressed members of the population who were “turbulent peace breakers”. Inevitably many of the latter were men. Some of those in the lists had been encouraged to leave or, in the case of one woman, threatened with a whipping if she returned, but little decisive judicial action seems to have resulted against most of the members of this deviant underclass: one “lewd and disorderly” man, William Wear, maltmaker of Upper Bridge Street, was fined by the mayor (under summary powers) for keeping false weights.15 In Northumberland, similar processes seem to have been at work, particularly before 1750, when those apprehended wandering in the county were fearful of being regarded as “vagues” (an old word for vagabond, used commonly in the region by magistrates and petitioners alike). This was not a crime as such, but there are examples of severe punishment of some of these, most notably through whipping in Durham and transportation in Northumberland. Similarly, in Newcastle, there are reported cases of beggars and vagabonds, unsuccessful and successful thieves, and fortune-tellers receiving short prison sentences from the magistrates without formal indictments and court appearances. Aldermen, who had the care of the poor in their parishes, were particularly assiduous in sweeping the streets of the unwanted. Typical was a report that: on Saturday last a Person who appeared to be a Vagrant was detected begging in the market here by Alderman Clayton, who ordered him to be confined till Monday, when upon examination he pretended to have his Tongue cut out by the Turks; but on being threatened with hard Labour, he thought proper to speak; he says his Name is William Robinson, was born in Jamaica, and has followed the Employment of a Pedlar in the South Country for some time; upon which he was sent back to the House of Correction.16 Another incident involved a group of keelmen who in 1755 went up river and extorted money from local people by pretending to be a pressgang open to bribery. On arrest, they were immediately sent to the tender on the river to serve in the navy. In the absence of systematic petty sessions records, it is unknown how much of this kind of punishment went on, but it is notable that much of it was directed at cases which lay along the ill-defined borderline between the criminal


and poor laws. With these cases, however, we have strayed over the boundary between the merely labelled and the severely punished. While many may have achieved local notoriety, and even made numerous court appearances, there is a minority of offenders who were pursued by victims and authorities with determination. These were not the repeatedly drunk or disorderly who repeatedly turned up in the quarter sessions on assault charges, nor the poacher whom Thomas Bewick so clearly remembered, a “village Hampden” who relished his times in gaol for the good treatment and the leisure time to reread his Bible. He was typical of the minor deviants, whom Herrup has called “offenders”. Rather, those appearing in court on serious charges were real “criminals”.17 Pursuit and prosecution It is hard to say precisely what distinguished the prosecutable “criminal” offence from the diverse, vaguely defined forms of deviance which seem to have been dealt with outside court. What seems immediately apparent from many cases is that criminal prosecutions generally had a more definite shape from the outset, both in reporting the crime, pursuing the stolen goods or the suspected offender, and bringing the case to court. Mainly it was matter of private determination and effort, but also in part one of the degree of public endorsement and support, and the degree of official response and mobilization, that the crime engendered. These court cases included many misdemeanours such as assaults, nuisances and failures of public duty; some seem to reflect the desire of aggrieved victims to push the case to the point of a public decision, suggesting that they may have refused the informal alternatives. Identifying and prosecuting suspects depended on willingness to follow through a case to the bitter end, and for this to be effective the victim had to alert the public. Publicity was essential at the beginning, and the role of handbills and, later, newspaper advertisements, in broadcasting descriptions of crimes and the stolen goods was crucial in many cases where criminals had managed to move quickly over long distances. There was rarely any doubt about the suspects, many of whom were identified almost immediately. Hence the victim or the immediate community both discovered and, to a large extent, provided a definition of, the offence as well as the identity of the offender. Sometimes the discovery of a criminal was purely accidental, as in 1753 when two gentlemen came across and apprehended a highwayman on the road from Bishop Auckland to the city of Durham:


though of local origin, he was known to be a wanted man in Middlesex. In most instances, however, the owner of property or the victim of the crime initiated the reports and took the first steps. In many cases of theft the thief was immediately traced and seized, and constables sent for. Where no thieves presented themselves, the owners reported the theft to the local authorities, and set off in pursuit or search, either by themselves or with the constables. Sometimes search was made of suspects’ houses, but if no obvious suspect was in mind, publication of the details was made, as victims “got handbills printed and dispersed through the county”. The offer of a reward, usually on conviction, may have been an effective means of inducing people to make an effort to report possible sightings. The Newcastle newspapers, with their distribution across the northern region from coast to coast, were vital. A constable in Guisborough (North Yorkshire) read of a watch stolen in Whalton, Northumberland, and spotted it in the possession of a man passing through the town: he tracked him a further 20 miles to Whitby before making an arrest and recovering the property. Persistence was needed to recover items from far away, as was shown in the case of an owner who followed reports of his horses south from Northumberland, eventually retrieving them in Lincolnshire, 200 miles away. It is not surprising, therefore, that so many advertisements for lost or stolen property, particularly concerning horses and other animals, appeared in the papers, or that aggrieved owners should incur heavy costs through printing and publishing them.18 Detection was in part a duty of the public, particularly in cases of homicide or infanticide where they acted for the victim. Murder of adults was usually a straightforward matter if the action occurred in the pursuit of other crimes such as theft and robbery. A killing in the midst of a violent theft was always regarded as the most serious crime, and given the most severe punishment. Murder of an elderly woman during a burglary of an isolated farmhouse, such as William Winter and the two Clark “girls” committed in 1792 in northern Northumberland, was not usually a matter of debate (see Ch. 4). More variable public responses were evoked by domestic homicides and infanticide. Richard Brown, who killed his 17-year-old daughter by kicking her down the stairs of his Newcastle tenement, naturally aroused the entire house to the event, but the coroner’s jury gave him the considerate verdict of accidental death. The town justices, however, promptly arrested and charged him with murder, for which he went to the gallows. This kind of case confirms that while in homicide cases “gentlemen jumped to their duty with astonishing speed”, their opinion was not always


universally shared.19 A clash in values is clearly reflected in the contrasting pattern in which many infanticide prosecutions ended in acquittal. Yet most of these cases were pursued with vigour by constables, overseers and midwives, often acting under pressure from local women. Some of the more official–or officious–members of the community were reluctant to let the rumoured death of a child go uninvestigated or without prosecution. The midwives and surgeons were the nearest in the period to today’s expert witnesses, called in to inspect the bodies of mother and child alike. Midwives reported retrospectively on the state of both mother’s and child’s bodies: as one reported after a suspicious death in Northumberland in 1763: the infant suffered by the mismanagement of the mother, besides the violent marks upon it at the time of Delivery she not having any assistance at that time. That she is very sensible the Infant was come to its full birth and if proper assistance or people of judgement had been called in time the infant might have been preserved and that the said Eliz Ormston must most certainly be the death thereof. The surgeon disagreed with the diagnosis of signs of violence, but concurred that “if proper assistance had been present to…assist her in her delivery in his opinion the child would have been saved”.20 The discovery of a child’s body provoked a search for a likely mother, as in Morpeth in 1779 when the body of a six-month-old was found in the River Wansbeck. Investigations always involved neighbours in identifying the likely suspect, and they were frequently participants in the search for the body or the mother. In one Durham case the neighbours seem to have insisted that the midwife should conduct the medical dissection of the child in their presence, presumably so that they could confirm the evidence. Much of the testimony was therefore medical, but admittedly not infallible: one Newcastle surgeon, after carrying out the test of floating the corpse’s lungs in water, to see if they had drawn breath, reports that, though the test was positive, it did not provide an “infallible criterion”. Whatever the effort involved, there were few convictions: even in a case which had been reported as an arrest and confession, a young woman was acquitted. One factor may have been the very privacy of the birth and the difficulties in proving that the child was born alive; another was the support that some women derived from their family which shielded them from scrutiny at the crucial moment. Isolated women, working away from home as servants,


or without nearby kin, were the most vulnerable. In these cases public outrage—of a public which may have consisted of self-appointed representatives, admittedly—played an essential part in the detection and accusation process. The same may have been true in the few cases of sexual deviance, involving activities such as homosexuality and bestiality, or rape of young children. But such public support for judicial action did not necessarily result in convictions.21 The authorities’ usual response to a reported crime was a general alert. The old notion of “hue and cry” still operated, albeit with different methods. As a Durham justice wrote to all constables and officers, after a gang of thieves had been reported to him: These are therefore to require you to search diligently within your several precincts for said robbers and likewise to make hue and cry after them from town to town and from one country to another as well by horsemen as footmen and if you should find any of the said felons or have reason to suspect any person or persons…that you apprehend him her or them and carry him her or them or either of them before some JP where he she or they shall be taken. Hence fail not. When the authorities received a report that the suspects had been sighted, another victim recorded, “immediately upon this a posse was raised and the county searched”.22 Increasingly, however, the expensive business of raising the hue and cry, and the provision of rewards for finding stolen property or the thieves, were taken up by organized associations of local propertied people who subscribed to cover the costs of advertising. These associations provided a parallel organization to that of the magistracy, although their scope tended to be strictly local. It has been suggested that in many ways their rise reflected the weaknesses of traditional forms of law enforcement; equally, their creation indicates the sense of frustration among the propertied at the level of crime, particularly in a time of rapid social change. There were about 40 associations in north-east England in the eighteenth century, evenly distributed between the two rural counties: Newcastle seems to have been entirely lacking in this kind of initiative until the nineteenth century. The earliest, and one of the most comprehensive, developed in the Durham parish of Ryton in the 1740s, orchestrated by the rector, who was also the largest contributor. Most quarters of the parish raised money in small amounts from large numbers of parishioners. At the opposite end of the county scale, the Northumberland grand jury in


1751 created a subscription list to raise funds to prosecute offenders and, more persistently, advertised a similar fund for game offences. Game seems to have been a feature of similar organizations and advertisements elsewhere in the region in the 1750s and 1760s, and it was not until the 1770s that Durham towns such as Darlington and Wolsingham began to form typical associations for prosecuting felons. Funding had long been available from local authorities for prosecuting felons, and was enshrined in law after 1752, so these self-help groups, often made up of shopkeepers or farmers, and supervised by the local magistrates, were adding an extra source of reward. The efficacy of these organizations may not necessarily have been in the numbers of people prosecuted, though they reported their few triumphs—or made sure that the newspapers noted them. Rather, it is likely that while offering some reassurance to local property-holders, the associations hoped that publicity would have a deterrent effect: “we hope this will serve as a caution to others”. Stamfordham in Northumberland issued a general threat in its printed notices to prosecute rogues and thieves, and bring all “strollers and beggars”, together with those who harboured them, before the justices. A more cynical interpretation might attribute their impact to their financial viability and the relative certainty of informers receiving their rewards. Yet they were active and influential, even after the successful conviction. In 1790 the Fatfield association (Durham) petitioned the Home Office to plead that, four years after his sentence to seven years’ transportation for stealing wedding clothes, John Didbury, then in the hulk Ceres, should not be sent to Australia. He was, they said, “born of reputable parents who gave him a good education”, and was now “sensible of the enormity of his crime”; they were “well convinced of his penitence”, and requested that he be allowed to take up his former profession of seaman, this time in the navy.23 Once a crime had been detected, and a suspect arrested, the mode of prosecution needed to be fixed. When an offender was arrested in a neighbouring jurisdiction, co-operation between authorities was usually routine and friendly, with debate turning on the issue of the best strategy to adopt in a particular case. For example, the town clerk of Newcastle assessed the situation of one offender from County Durham arrested in the town: and that tho’ this crime is burglary yet as there was an actual breaking into and stealing out of the house I presume Durham will be the properest county to try him in and that you will meet with


no difficulty in obtaining a habeus corpus. He may to be sure be tried here for the simple felony but I take it he cannot for larceny from a house in another county.24 There are similar letters in the files of the Northumberland sessions, indicating a pattern of close co-operation and, significantly, negotiation, about the prosecution of serious offenders. Scotland, Cumberland and York were the main centres to which surviving criminal correspondence suggests a close relationship. Good relations with Scotland were a particular priority, since many serious criminals were of Scottish birth or had recently migrated from Scotland, though it is impossible to quantify precisely how many. Moreover, many stolen goods such as horses were recovered there. The resulting correspondence with key figures such as the Provosts of Jedburgh (just over the border and a key place for fleeing suspects) and Edinburgh show how vital the maintenance of relations northwards was for both Northumberland and Newcastle. Descriptions of offenders and goods were exchanged, information requested concerning recently apprehended suspects, and warnings given if it was believed a notorious offender or group was about to move the base of their operations. Northumberland’s keepers and other representatives were accustomed to travel long distances. In 1720 it was reported that 16 horses had been recovered from Yorkshire, and a correspondent attended the York assizes that year to keep the judge informed concerning the trial of a father and son, advising the return of the son to Northumberland before his father was hanged. Northumberland’s officials were used to going to places such as Glasgow to recover wanted criminals, just as gaolers from other counties passed through Newcastle collecting or transporting suspects and convicts.25 Though such relationships existed, they depended for their efficacy on good communications. In some cases, where the offender had been identified, a desire to rid the county of the perpetrator might take priority over the wish to pursue a serious charge. In 1723 a suspected horse thief was apparently encouraged by a Northumberland justice to enlist in a regiment going to Holland, but after he had departed, another magistrate wrote to him complaining that had he been informed earlier he could have provided sufficient evidence to have the man charged with theft in Scotland (and rightly posing the extreme difficulty of recovering him from the army for prosecution once he had left the country). Unfortunately a letter had gone astray and by the time it was


received the accused man had been bundled out of the country. Coordination even within a county had broken down.26 Towards a national system The correspondence of officials in the region widened to embrace the Midlands and London after 1760. National figures such as John Hewitt of Coventry and Sir John Fielding wrote to Newcastle to request information, particularly as criminals elsewhere in the country were discovered to have north-eastern connections or origins. The authorities in the north were accustomed to observing strangers, particularly those off the London coaches: in 1728 two coiners, one of whom had broken out of Newgate (London), arrived in Newcastle, to be arrested at the instigation of two Newcastle gentlemen in a cider cellar who immediately spotted something unusual about them. They were returned to London in shackles, apparently without any warrant having been received for them. This was exceptional, for what characterizes the later patterns of mutual co-operation is the exchange of detailed descriptions and names of suspects. But, throughout the period, careful attention to a stranger’s accent or style made identification of potential outsiders relatively easy. Equally, north-easterners returning from elsewhere in the hope of escaping detection were soon found, as though they were easily identifiable in relatively small communities.27 John Hewitt contacted the Newcastle and Northumberland authorities in 1763 in the belief that he was dealing with a nationally organized gang: indeed, they were supposed to be operating internationally, as many had allegedly returned from transportation, “having friends ready as soon as landed in America to purchase their liberty and a fund established to defray the expense of their return”. This gang, numbering nearly 100 members, was supposed to have a “safe house” in Northumberland. Three members of a Northumberland gang had been arrested in Coventry as returned transportees, and Hewitt wished to confirm this. He sent his printed lists of those arrested to Newcastle, with the result that the town clerk, combining information from both Northumberland and his own town, exchanged lists of transportees with Hewitt, going back 14 years, in an attempt to confirm the Coventry offenders’ identity. While this was an unusually detailed correspondence, concerning an exceptional gang (to be discussed in Ch. 4), it shows what could be achieved by local justices working together.28


Relations with Bow Street under Sir John Fielding developed rapidly in the 1760s, involving a regular exchange of descriptions of offenders and suspects. In 1762 Richard Stevens was arrested at a Durham cockfight on Fielding’s warrant, accusing him of many crimes including defrauding his master of £80. In 1764, Newcastle’s clerk sent to Bow Street descriptions of suspicious chimneysweeps arrested locally, expressing regret that there was insufficient evidence for him to bring a prosecution, but hoping that they might be wanted in London. This may have been the first response to Fielding’s advertisement in the local papers the previous November warning the region that numerous cheats and felons were escaping from London to the provinces. In subsequent years he sent printed warrants for suspects to Newcastle, requesting the “immediate attention of all magistrates”, and some of these efforts resulted in arrests. In 1768 a porter from St Thomas’ hospital London, absconding to avoid prosecution for sodomy, was seized in Newcastle and returned by the mayor. The co-ordination with Bow Street became easier, and the association stronger, as from 1772 the Newcastle Courant routinely published the details of criminals wanted in London in its front page “Hue and Cry” section. The local justices had approved Fielding’s plan of that year for a national criminal intelligence system, as did many of their provincial colleagues, and from then on frequently exchanged detailed descriptions of those arrested and held in their gaols, although now and then Fielding had to send a reminder, asking why no information was forthcoming “as it is a circumstance of great service to the community”. Typical of the criminals arrested was Holdsworth Hill, a Newcastle apprentice who had fled his service in London, and only returned home to escape the consequences of stealing large quantities of gold and silver from a lawyer. Alerted by Fielding’s notice, Hill was arrested the second time he tried to exchange his goods at a watchmaker’s in Newcastle, and promptly sent back to London where he was hanged. The arrests of north-eastern criminals in London was less frequent than the reverse, but was possible, as is shown by Fielding’s seizure of John Dick in 1774 and John Matthison in 1779, both wanted for passing forged banknotes. By establishing these links to the capital in criminal matters, the justices were only applying to a new area a policy they had long adopted with regard to political and industrial troubles. For much of the century the North-East’s capacity for riotous disturbances had been the occasion of anxious exchanges of advice and recommendations between the local authorities and London (see Ch. 9). What is surprising, perhaps, is that it took so long for the same kind of relationships to develop with regard to mundane forms of


crime. However, the distinctive characteristic of this kind of collaboration is that it was between equals, the magistrates forming a network of local authorities integrated horizontally rather vertically, with little subordination of the local to the centre in a relationship of dependence on higher authority. As one of Fielding’s circulars remarked, this “communication and intercourse between the Civil Power in the Country and the Metropolis” would not only be an effective means of crime prevention, but in saving many lives would be “pleasing to Humanity, agreeable to Policy, and an Honour to Government”.29 Limitations on the forms of international relations, however, made enforcing the law outside the boundaries of Britain almost impossible. There were many instances of north-east miscreants escaping abroad, or taking up crime there. For example, a Newcastle man called Sutton turned privateer for the French, and, having captured Captain Forster and his ship, used his wife “in a barbarous manner”. Forster later found Sutton in the neutral port of Rotterdam, where he enquired of Forster “how all his family were”. There was little redress that anyone could take in law, leaving the editor of the newspaper report to express the pious sentiment that “’Tis to be hoped this Traitor will meet with the deserved Punishment”. In a fraud case the crew of the ship Peggy sold the cargo and sank the vessel in the Channel; the captain was subsequently identified by a fellow Newcastle captain in the port of Copenhagen, and despite attempts by the mayor to persuade the Secretary of State to retrieve the suspects, nothing could be done. The mayor was informed that It is not usual to apply ministerially to foreign courts to deliver up criminals, except in cases of the highest enormity, and wherein the guilt of the particular person is clearly ascertained, and even then the success of such applications is, from the peculiar circumstances of our constitution, by no means certain. This exceptional measure would not apply in cases which consisted “so much of private injury”, and merely at the instance of “persons who do not appear to have any immediate interest in it, or to have been affected by it”, such as the local magistrates.30 In such a crime, the private character of the fraud apparently precluded any action by government. But escape across the sea did not necessarily guarantee successful evasion of the law, as long as it was under the same central authority. In 1737, five years after he had killed his own newborn child by his maidservant, Patrick Donald was recognized in Newcastle by an Irish


piper from the same area near Drogheda, arrested and, after two years in Newcastle gaol, sent back for trial. He must have counted this identification the very worst of bad luck. These cases confirm that the seagoing communities in particular formed a relatively small community, and mobility, far from necessitating the severance of ties, seems in many cases to have established networks of information and contact which made it difficult for criminals to escape notice entirely.31

CHAPTER THREE The patterns of crimes and punishments

At first glance, the records of the criminal courts in the eighteenth century look perfect material for quantification. There are many cases of all types brought before the courts, and the issues, evidence and resulting sentences are sufficiently well recorded to provide a numerical picture of the extent of crime and the punishments inflicted on the guilty. Yet the attractively neat character of the data which has encouraged statistical analysis has also aroused suspicions that, compared with the rich qualitative sources available in many continental countries, we are deceived by the simplicity of the results into believing that we have a true picture of crimes, the criminals and the processes of law enforcement. “Take heed of computation! How woefully and wretchedly we have been misled by it!” warned John Owen, a late-seventeenth-century Chancellor of the University of Oxford.1 Certainly some historians have attempted bold generalizations of the trends in crime across the centuries, arguing that any variations in detecting or recording would have little effect on the long-term direction of change. One striking interpretation, for example, is the analysis of homicide rates in England since the middle ages, which seem to show an uneven but persistent decline down to the early twentieth century. This pattern seems to confirm the impression from other sources of a society that became increasingly pacified with capitalist industrialization, as personal habits of self control became more prevalent. There are great difficulties with this kind of broad-brush approach, as detailed analysis of one county over several centuries has shown, but the general direction towards less violence seems clear. The assumption of a wholesale “civilising process” underlying changes in crime, however, is too sweeping.2 More careful use of figures of thefts, particularly petty thefts, as an index of poverty and dearth suggests that crime statistics may be a reflection of the real extent of criminal activity in times of declining economic fortune. The persuasive conclusion from a number


of studies is that economic necessity in bad times induced the poor to commit more thefts, as reflected in the court records, even allowing for the propensity of the controlling authorities to make extra efforts at suppression, and so bring more prosecutions, in times when disorder threatened. This type of association cannot be established for other crimes, such as rape, forgery or infanticide, where there were no obvious social conditions which might have led to more cases.3 As the previous chapter has shown, there were too many variable factors affecting the detection and prosecution of cases such as infanticide to justify confidence that the court cases reflect their actual occurrence. Consequently, it is acknowledged that the statistical use of early modern records is “fraught with dangers and difficulties”, partly because many of the factors that led to victims and witnesses reporting (or not reporting) crimes are unknown, and the consequences of enforcement policies adopted by local authorities can only be guessed at, given the general shortage of private notes and papers from justices and officials. Yet despite misgivings, and on condition that the findings are treated with proper caution, the statistical treatment of English sources remains essential.4 One major difficulty in trying to create an overall picture of early modern crime is knowing what “crimes” to count. The evidence of offences at the assize courts is clearly only a selection of the most clearcut serious crimes. At the quarter sessions, by contrast, a wide range of charges was tried, and those felonies such as theft which could result in severe punishments were in a minority. There were many infringements of law or other regulations which justices had to deal with, such as the many aspects of the poor law including removal of paupers to their parishes (and the refusal of overseers to receive them), the repairs of roads and bridges, the suppression of public nuisances, and the many indictments of men and women, both as individuals and in groups, embroiled in personal disputes which appear in court as trespasses or assaults. Outside the processes of formal indictment, many judicial decisions were taken either in the petty sessions or in the privacy of the justices’ own homes; few of these are recorded. The ideal method of analysis, it has been suggested, would be to cover as comprehensively as possible all levels of judicial activity. This has rarely been possible for whole counties, though some striking results have been obtained by taking individual villages as the focus in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.5 In that period the picture was complicated by the vigour of the courts run by both manor and church in addition to the criminal legal system. After 1700 these were no longer so important, though the

THE PATTERNS OF CRIMES AND PUNISHMENTS 49

paucity of local records in north-east England make this a necessarily tentative conclusion. There is evidence of judgements by the church courts on issues of marriage and reputation suggesting that they remained locally vital in personal matters; one spilled over into the assize courts towards the end of the century.6 Nevertheless, there is sufficient evidence of summary activity by justices to suggest that the court cases of indicted offenders were supplemented by numerous instances of rapid trial and sentence which left no court record. The cases reported by the Newcastle newspapers, for example, range from the trivial offence of swearing profanely at the respectable, which earned ten days’ hard labour, to the kidnapping of a child as an aid to more effective begging, which received three months. Many of the known instances of summary justice involved women offenders.7 Counting crimes is therefore an inevitable part of the process of analyzing eighteenth-century law, but there can be no absolute confidence that what is found is typical of all the offences committed, or even offenders sentenced. Just as today’s surveys suggest that far more crimes are committed than are recorded by a highly organized and professional police force, perhaps to a factor of three or four times more, so we have to assume that in the past there was a great deal more offensive behaviour than appeared in the official records.8 The problems of interpreting the criminal record are no easier in the NorthEast than anywhere else in early modern England. Outside the official sources of indictments and court trials, we have little idea of the extent of the “dark figure” of unrecorded crime; within the judicial system there were few efforts to record crimes when reported to the local authorities.9 Only in Northumberland, under the compensation system created by the Border laws, was a log kept of the thefts endured by local people. In the year 1712–13, from Michaelmas to Michaelmas, the financial accounts of the Country Keeper report the claims of Northumberland’s inhabitants and the compensation they received. It appears that 268 animals, mostly sheep, were stolen from more than 100 victims in a single year. Since Northumberland rarely prosecuted more than a handful of horse and sheep thieves in any annual assize in the eighteenth century, this represents an extraordinarily high crime rate. The number, probably exaggerated, may indicate that the suspicions expressed by the justices and grand juries (see Ch. 1) were not unfounded: a compensation system encouraged reports of thefts rather than prosecution of thieves. Such large figures of losses therefore must be treated sceptically.10 The second source of reported crime was one which derives from the increasing role of the local newspapers in the


eighteenth century, which printed frequent notices and accounts. The efforts of victims to broadcast their losses, alert the public to danger, and mobilize the forces of detection provide evidence of many crimes. They also reflect on the process of local panic, as repeated alerts generated fear.11 One difficulty suffered by victims of crime in the North-East was that they needed access to the regional centre of Newcastle where the newspapers were edited, and this was easier for some than others. Examining all the reported crimes for a single year at mid-century shows that while many were reported, some rather vaguely, most of those with specific details as to victims and the nature of the offences they suffered were subsequently dealt with in court. This was because many crimes were reported only after a suspect had been arrested. Overall, there was some under-reporting of offences from the more remote areas, and of the more trivial thefts, so that in fact in 1750 more crimes were prosecuted than appeared in the newspapers. Certainly some crimes went without any sign of judicial action, but they were not, unlike today, a majority. Neither of these types of reports, therefore, solves the problem of the true extent of crime in the region in the eighteenth century, nor of how to measure the efficiency of the law enforcers in combating it, so we shall rely on the records of indictments and court appearances as our major sources. The real extent of the “dark figure” of unrecorded crime is probably unknowable for most of the period, but that does not mean that the recorded crimes are uninformative. On the contrary, as well as providing useful data on official activities of law enforcement, arrest and prosecution, they tell us a great deal about the types of offenders and crimes which were regarded as sufficiently serious to warrant public proceedings. Above all, the pattern of prosecuted crime can provide the critical evidence concerning one aspect of the law: the changing patterns of punishments.12 Varieties of crimes and misdemeanours in north-east England The preceding discussion suggests the necessity of a quantitative overview of the types of offences prosecuted in the courts of north-east England. The most frequent crimes, and those which resulted in the bulk of the punishments discussed in later chapters, were thefts of various kinds. Accused thieves formed a substantial minority of quarter session business, rising to about a third of all indictments by the end of the eighteenth century, and in the two large counties of Northumberland


and Durham formed a majority of those before the assize courts.13 Crimes such as theft may have been easier to detect and prosecute for reasons examined in the previous chapter: the goods were identifiable by the owners; the thieves were usually known to their victims, and rarely achieved great mobility in escaping or much subtlety in hiding or disposing of the stolen items; and the community had few doubts about assisting in the process. With a fairly efficient system of local alert and pursuit, the chances of a determined victim bringing a prosecution may have been comparatively high. The only area where thefts proved very difficult to prosecute was that of highway robbery. The newspapers reported many cases of assault and robbery on the streets and roads, frequently committed in the dark, which did not result in any arrests. Even where evidence existed pointing to the likely perpetrators, success was not certain. In 1742 it was reported: On Saturday Night Mr. Adam Bird, of North Shields, returning home from this place, was attack’d on the Road, about two miles out of Town, by a Person on Foot, who, seizing hold of his Horse’s Bridle, and at the same time presenting a Pistol to his Breast, demanded his money. Mr Bird, ask’d him if he was in earnest? The Villain answer’d, with a G—d d—n his B—d! he was; and if he did not immediately deliver, he’d blow his Brains out. He had no sooner got the Word out of his Mouth, than Mr. Bird gave him so hearty a Stroke over the Head with the But-end of his Whip that it knock’d him down. Here a sad Misfortune had likely to have happened, for in the Fall the Pistol went off; but it providentially did no Execution, the Ball only grazing his ear. Mr Bird hereupon dismounted; but, being lame of one of his Feet, occasion’d by an Anchor of 15 or 16 Ct. Wt. falling on it only the week before, was not quick enough to secure the rogue, who, having recover’d himself, had got over the Hedge into the Fields, and so escap’d. A week later, Bird was drinking in a public house in the Side, Newcastle, when he thought he recognized his attacker and summoned a constable to make an arrest. The accused was identified as a “man of unabashed Impudence, and true Hibernian Courage” named Alexander Campbell who, despite this graphic detail and convincing identification, was nevertheless acquitted at the next assize.14 Where the attackers were identically dressed, as in the case of soldiers, identification was almost impossible. In 1750 sailor Alexander Watson was attacked upon


Byker Hill, on the road east of Newcastle, by three soldiers, who robbed him of all his goods. Two of the villains were for murdering him and throwing him down a Pit, but the other not consenting, they beat him in an unmerciful manner, stabbed him with their bayonets in the hand etc., tied him by the Neck and heels and left him. Despite the fact that all the soldiers in the town were mustered for him to inspect, the “poor sailor” was unable to identify his assailants.15 Later in the century, reports became more confident of success: on the occasion of three pitmen committing robbbery on Gateshead Fell, it was asserted that they would not get away, as “scarce one in a Hundred who have attempted Highway robbery in this neighbourhood have escaped”. In fact by the 1780s, it was said, most criminals were caught: Felons, at the time of their committing felonies, always flatter themselves with the delusive hopes of escaping justice; but in vain are all their hopes, for justice, sooner or later, overtakes them, and points them out as a warning to others. Happy for them who timely take warning and reform.16 Yet difficulty was found in prosecuting the most serious violent felonies such as homicides and rape. These were comparatively rare, homicides for example making up overall less than a tenth of those charged at the assizes. In these cases there was doubt about whether a crime had taken place at all, and traditionally discretion had been common at the outset of the judicial process. Superficially, homicides should have been easy to identify, since bodies, particularly of adults, were hard to hide; even in infanticide cases, the close-knit character of local communities meant that subterfuge was difficult. Most historians have therefore concluded that indictments for murder and manslaughter of adults reflected the real extent of the problem in the eighteenth century.17 Yet coroners’ juries sometimes did not regard a killing as illegal, as was the case of Richard Brown’s murder of his daughter in 1751, discussed in Chapter 2. One problem was that killings took place in many circumstances, some of them as unobserved as highway robberies. In 1739, five men were acquitted of killing William Wilson, a miller, in Newcastle, after they had all been drinking. They had been seen hustling him along the quayside while his brother Matthew was obstructed from following: catching up with William, Matthew


discovered he had been stabbed and was dead. Although both a constable and a surgeon were speedily summoned, the evidence was thought insufficient by the assize jury.18 Other slayings were highly public, as for example in the case of two keelmen who fought in an innyard over a challenge. Edward Mann claimed that he did not want to fight John Lamb, but because he was insulted and “seeing himself in danger and likely to be very ill treated in case he did not fight the said Lamb and defend himself”, he accepted the challenge, fought and Lamb died from a blow. This was portrayed by Mann as a requirement of masculinity, with the fighting governed by rules, an interpretation which the assize jury probably accepted when they acquitted him. In other homicides, where the violence arose from drunken disputes and challenges, the jury was more likely to attribute some guilt to the accused. For example, when widow Rebecca Gascoigne intervened to complain of William Barker’s mistreatment of a dumb man, he repeatedly assaulted her, and she died. He was convicted of manslaughter. This was common in cases where some kind of provocation might have been offered, but also where victims seem to have become only reluctantly embroiled in violence. Robert Walker, a Scot, was the subject of an attack by keelman John Brown in Newcastle in 1752: Brown boasted of his skill in fighting Scotsmen, and challenged the nearest one available. Walker died from a blow to the throat, and Brown was convicted of manslaughter. So were four drummers who attacked a Newcastle man in the street outside a public house where they had been drinking, but the witnesses were unsure what caused the violence. Even in the case of the town watchman William Briscoe, who died after an assault by Thomas Pearson, the verdict was manslaughter, though Briscoe had been on duty at the time. However, Pearson was transported for the crime.19 These cases highlight a key paradox in eighteenth-century law enforcement. On the one hand, there was steady progress in effective policing, as the prompt responses by constables and surgeons to reported homicides confirm (particularly evident in towns). Yet, at the same time, criteria for accepting evidence as conclusive proof were becoming stricter, as medical expertise was deployed more frequently, and a certain scepticism was applied to the evidence. This certainly affected conviction rates in in-fancticide cases, where surgeons were careful to throw doubt on popular tests of the baby’s being born alive (see the case discussed in Ch. 2). The result may have been that while investigations and arrests were conducted more speedily and effectively than before, the judicial results were less certain. “Apprehending murderers was only half the battle; the other half was finding adequate


proof with which to convict them as evidential standards rose.”20 Certainly convictions were not plentiful: overall, only about a quarter were found guilty as charged. Statistically, women could expect to be acquitted of charges of murder, particularly if the victim was a baby, with only about one in eight being found guilty. Men, by contrast, whose victims were usually also adult men, were three times more likely to be convicted, although in half of the cases on the lesser charge of manslaughter. With regard to infanticide it is hard to disagree with the idea that early modern England possessed an attitude combining “fascination and horror”: in the North-East this was true of the public’s response if not that of the juries at the assizes (see Ch. 5).21 As a result of this low rate of conviction, very few of homicide cases led to the gallows: only 19 people were hanged for murder in the region, less than half of those actually sentenced.22 As a proportion of more than 250 charged, this suggests that murder was either a relatively easy crime to commit, or a difficult one for which to achieve a conviction. As has been suggested, legal niceties were increasingly intruding to make convictions more difficult. At each stage of the legal process there was opportunity for different actors to exercise benefit of the doubt.23 One concerned the mental state of the accused. Several defendants were found to be mad, although the process of definition took some time. Anne Vardy, charged with murdering her aunt Jane Young in 1736, and declared mad at the assizes that summer, was nevertheless reviewed by a jury for several years until in 1739 they decided she was a “Lunatick from the visitation of God”. Isabel Sheaval, accused in 1739 of being an accessory in her servant Michael Curry’s murder of her husband, was speedily declared mad. Others were also defined as mentally ill long before the trial: Mark Selby in 1792 was being guarded at night by two men, as a result of his peculiar behaviour, such as shouting “murder” when a gun was discharged. One man, whom he knew less well, disturbed him in the night playing with a knife, and was stabbed to death. Selby was acquitted on mental grounds. George Davison, who stabbed the Reverend Brocklebank of Corbridge one morning in 1779 as he was on his way to church, was acquitted at the summer assize with the distinctive verdict by the jury that they found him “guilty of the fact but find him in a state of lunacy”. The Hexham overseers were ordered to take care of him, but three years later he escaped from the workhouse. Legal caution, or public scepticism, is reflected in the length of some of these proceedings.24


Even if the jury was not kind enough to convict on a lesser charge, the death sentence was not what it appeared to be. One factor in many cases was the process of appeals against death sentences: where the local authorities had some sympathy for the condemned, highly organized petitions were launched. When in 1728 Anne Milburne, the 18-year-old daughter of a dissenting minister, was condemned at Newcastle assizes for murdering her child, an extraordinary number of the regional establishment sought her pardon. At the instigation of the “Mayor and Magistracy and Ministers of my corporation of Berwick and a number of relations in Newcastle and elsewhere” the Member of Parliament George Liddell wrote to London, requesting “not an Absolute pardon, but a conditionall one”, which would substitute transportation for execution. He, like others, viewed her as being “next to an ideot”, “very foolish and weak… incapable of being sent on any errand or receiving a common message”, but the judge did not share their opinion despite her appearing “dull and stupid” at her trial. Accounts suggested she had been made pregnant by being “debauched by a mariner in the fields”, and in trying to smother the child’s cries had killed it. The judge noted that the “magistrates of the Town were moreover concerned that any should suffer there where the Order of Government had been soe remarkable that none had been executed there above 20 years past”, though he did not find any evidence apart from her youth in her favour. She was reprieved.25 In other cases the jury themselves played a key part in instigating the appeal process: “the jury hath since reflected on their Verdict, and are so much concerned thereat that they had sent a certificate of their dissatisfaction”, reported Liddell in another Newcastle case in 1739, when a man was judged by them to have died of either physical assault or a fever, the lack of medical clarity sparking their concern. Three Northumberland men convicted of murder in 1753 were saved by a swift petition from “many of the Grand Jury and other Gentlemen of Distinction earnestly requesting a respite of their sentence” at the trial itself. Direct approaches to the judges were not unusual: “I found the Mayor and Aldermen very desirous to have the Man’s life spared on account of some circumstances which (they said) had come to their knowledge since the trial” reported the assize judge in 1757, finding scant evidence for leniency in the case of Richard Curtis who had killed one of the men trying to arrest his father-in-law. Interestingly, Curtis’s sympathizers also hinted at his mental weakness, something which, the judges noted both in this case and in Anne Milburne’s, had not been mentioned at the trial. This kind of local pressure, doubtless exercised at formal and informal gatherings during


the assize week, explains why some convicts were reprieved by the judges as soon as they were sentenced, while others had to wait a few days to be reprieved “before the judges left town”. In 1750 the judges waited until their last morning in town, having been grandly entertained the previous day by William Ord at his house at Fenham. In murder cases where the killing was part of a robbery or burglary, however, there was less likelihood of either public misgivings or sympathy.26 If women apparently benefited from male benevolence in cases of infanticide, they suffered grievous prejudice when complaining of rape, for convictions for this crime were very few indeed. It is not known if Matthew Hale’s dictum about rape was widely believed, though it was quoted by William Blackstone: “it is an accusation easy to be made, hard to be proved, but harder to be defended by the party accused, though innocent”. The sentiment was embodied unknowingly in the willingness of juries to acquit men, and in some of the pre-trial tactics of the accused’s supporters. A rare bundle of applications for bail in Durham includes some evidence of the systematic derogation of the women involved in rape accusations, particularly undermining their integrity through attacks on their sexual reputations. Witnesses were seemingly rounded up to testify to Mary Porter’s previous sexual activity as a common prostitute in Richmond (North Yorkshire) for 16 years before she moved to Sunderland where she reputedly continued her trade. Months later, the two men she accused were acquitted. This was not untypical: only two men in the region were convicted of rape, and three more of lesser charges of assault: convictions were most likely where the victims were young. Only one man was hanged, George Davison in Northumberland in 1774. His victim was a servant girl, Elizabeth Blair, who had been put in his custody one night by her mistress who was anxious to see her guarded safely on her way home; a factor in the case was the sympathetic assistance she received from her elders as well as her willingness to make an immediate com-plaint.27 Few other young women were as well supported, even if the evidence seemed clear. Elizabeth Wilkinson, another servant girl, was raped in Tynemouth barracks by a Lieutenant Quin, while collecting her mistress’s property from him: he locked the door, forced wine into her mouth and attacked her. With the sympathetic information supplied by Wilkinson’s mistress, the constable arrested Quin but he escaped on the way to Morpeth gaol, and although an offer of £5 reward and a description were published in the “Hue and Cry” section of the newspapers, was never brought to trial. In other cases where the evidence was solely the victim’s testimony, little action was possible.


Even when the victim was exceptionally young and abducted or enticed in some way into unwanted sexual intercourse, the case might not come to trial at all: one Newcastle charge involving the rape of a 12-year-old girl was rejected by the grand jury. In two Durham cases, both involving the rape of young girls who subsequently developed venereal disease, there was only one conviction, on the lesser charge of assault. Significantly, the man was pilloried in the community where the offence occurred.28 This confirms the evidence from elsewhere in northern England that rape was the most difficult charge to make, because male juries were always willing to give men the benefit of the doubt. Yet, despite Hale’s remark, there was only one case of false accusation of rape: a Durham surgeon—apothecary Thomas Huntley and Anne Heaton conspired to bring a charge against John Chapman in 1763 as a means of extorting money. In a number of burglaries and robberies, rape or attempted rape formed part of the initial accusation, but it is significant that these charges were either dropped long before the trial, or never put to the jury, the prosecution presumably preferring to make the safer accusation of crimes against property rather than against women. One man’s crime was remembered despite the failure of the case against him: Richard Trotter, the local press recalled, had been accused in 1749 of robbery and attempted rape of Margaret Jobling in Newcastle. When arrested again the next year, the hope was expressed in the press that this time he would receive his due reward (as he did). Only in cases of extreme horror was conviction likely: William Heugh, who fathered a child on his own daughter, was hanged in Durham in 1757.29 In general, though, the context of the sexual assaults, many in the fields and on the roads, undermined even the strongest cases. To use a term from modern feminist analysis of twentieth-century rape cases, women out in the public arena were viewed by their assailants and the courts as “open-territory victims” who, in unwisely placing themselves in the public arena, had in some way invited the attacks. In these cases in the eighteenth century, we have some of the clearest examples of the ideology of the compromised, guilty victim.30 These violent cases made up a small proportion of assize business, for even if included with the many assault accusations, offences against the person comprised no more than a fifth of the indictments. Significantly, the highest proportion was found in Newcastle, suggesting that the town remained a place of drink, violence and assault by strangers. Crudely, Northumberland emerges as the less dangerous rural county, for with an almost identical population it produced fewer than half of the alleged homicides of Durham; but Newcastle, with a


tiny population by comparison, managed to exceed Northumberland’s total. It may be significant that the town also showed a high proportion of assaults in the quarter sessions, too, rising steadily over the century from about a quarter to more than a third, though this was shared by Northumberland. These cases are more difficult to analyze, and have considerably puzzled historians. In John Beattie’s view, “assault charges could arise from such a wide variety of events and behaviour that they do not form a category of offence that can be usefully analyzed from the court records”. Were all these affrays and disputes, often described as “riots and assaults” serious cases of violence? Certainly they were not punished as such, the usual penalties imposed by the justices being a small fine. Only in exceptional circumstances, involving either use of firearms or the injuries to the victim, were other punishments such as imprisonment or unusually heavy fines used. Too much severity at the quarter sessions, however, could generate the same appeals as from assize condemnations: in a rare petition a Northumberland man sentenced in 1775 to a £100 fine and a year’s imprisonment for wounding a man with a pistol in a fight managed to have both overturned. Ten years earlier a soldier who had shot at a postboy in his chaise had been executed for attempted murder.31 The diversity of assaults provides a reminder, however, that there were many relatively minor cases before the courts at all levels. Even misdemeanours came to the assizes to be tried and, although not numerous overall, could provide much time-consuming business for the London judges. Many charges seem to reflect the priorities of local communities rather than those of the judiciary, for presumably a case of illicit practice by an unqualified grocer mattered greatly only to the grocers’ guild in Newcastle who were defending their trade and its training requirements. It may be that in using a court presided over by outsiders, however, Newcastle’s economic elite avoided any accusation of personal or political bias. Until the last third of the century, Newcastle’s assizes heard many cases of untrained masons, glovers, joiners and other tradesmen, forming the largest category of misdemeanants apart from those involved in assaults. These minor cases were less important elsewhere, but in Newcastle, together with assaults, they formed a fifth of the business at the assizes. Moreover, one in ten of indictments in Newcastle were for actions taken during riots, industrial and economic disputes of various kinds: most of these were treated as misdemeanours, with the exception of those involved in the 1740 Guildhall riot (see Ch. 9). In being highly concerned with matters of economic as well as public order, Newcastle’s senior court was more


reminiscent of some seventeenth-century assizes such as that in the North Riding of Yorkshire in dealing with a larger number of nonfelonious cases.32 The quarter sessions too heard many accusations of un-neighbourly conduct. In particular, nuisances were common throughout the century in both town and country as citizens allowed their pigs to run wild, butchers erected “shambles” (butchers’ tables) in the streets of towns, or neighbours broke into fields to trample the grass or dump manure. Everywhere highways were continually being blocked or dug up.33 Officials were little better, as overseers continually defied poor law maintenance orders: at the beginning, justices seem to have sworn out summonses for them to answer for this insolence, but by the hard times of the 1780s Northumberland overseers and churchwardens were appearing on indictments and being publicly fined for their disobedience. Perhaps the earlier co-operative relations between justices and parochial officials began to break down under pressure of local poverty. As elsewhere in England, some offenders disappear from the court proceedings, notably those accused of poaching. In the south, this trend has been explained by the adoption of summary justice procedures by landowners dealing with matters themselves. In Northumberland, there were many salmon poachers in the quarter sessions before 1750 (and in the Durham courts covering the banks of the Tweed), but with negligible results apart from a few fines. Perhaps because of this failure, Northumberland founded some of the earliest associations to raise money to prosecute felons, some, like the parish of Stamfordham in 1753, specifically to deal with poachers. Nevertheless, few offenders came before the courts in the second half of the century. The decline of prosecutions in central Northumberland may have been due to a more prosaic cause—the disappearance of opportunity as alterations in the management of Northumberland rivers such as the Coquet diminished the fish stocks. But it may be the case that game offenders were dealt with almost privately after 1750.34 The most serious game laws in the century were hardly used. Two men were successfully convicted and condemned at the assizes in 1738 under the Waltham Black Act for being in disguise with their faces blacked while poaching on the River Coquet, but a speedy pardon was arranged. A 1783 charge against the Reverend Dr James Scott (Rector of Simonburn), brought by Thomas Aynsley, a “hind” of local landowner James Allgood of Nunwick, for shooting at him when pursuing poachers on his master’s orders, was the scene of a great drama at the assizes when the accused conducted his own successful defence, to great popular acclaim. This law was


controversially extended to a Sunderland incident where a householder fired a gun to repel two intruders, and this too was an unsuccessful prosecution.35 With regard to other serious crimes such as smuggling or wrecking, there was much noise in the press but few prosecutions. The North Yorkshire coast was particularly favourable for smuggling, and there was only an occasional seizure of ships off Durham or Northumberland. In 1793, the excise found a convoy of nine horses inshore from the Northumberland village of Bulmer, apparently heading for the west coast with 22 ankers (barrels) of spirits; this was one of the few successes. Perhaps because the excise cutters were stationed on the Tyne, the smugglers avoided the area. There were few incidents of deliberate wrecking of ships, though any cargoes coming ashore were clearly regarded by local people as fair game. When in 1774 a ship ran aground in Teesside laden with cheeses it was plundered by “a set of barbarians” in a “savage manner”. A similar incident in Northumberland in 1755 involved the collection of cloth and clothing from a ship stranded near Amble: on this occasion, however, a group of seven men were prosecuted at the quarter sessions at the behest of the ship’s master, and two were publicly whipped while three others received short sentences of imprisonment. This was the most serious case involving wrecks, suggesting that such actions were normally treated by the local authorities as thefts.36 Theft and the courts Property offences, that is, theft in all its varieties, formed the main focus of law enforcement in the early modern period. Thefts comprised the largest category of business at the assizes, and were the object of the most severe punishments available to the magistrates at the quarter sessions. Criminals convicted for property crimes provided the bulk of those hanged, transported, whipped or imprisoned during the eighteenth century. In the assizes these offenders made up about half of the business, in the quarter sessions about a third. As such, evidence from theft cases offers the main sources of interpretation of crime and punishment in this period. The data can be examined in different ways: for example, by relating overall numbers of crimes to the population to estimate the extent of crime at any one time, a trend can be calculated to see if crime was rising or falling over the century. In addition, the kinds of accused and their crimes can be explored to evaluate the nature of crimes and criminals prosecuted in north-east England compared with elsewhere. Finally, with a view to establishing the types of punishment


favoured by the courts and their development in the region, it is possible to analyze the patterns of penalties inflicted on those convicted. The purpose is, in part, to outline the main features of thefts and the people indicted, convicted and punished for them. A simple statistical overview, however, of nearly 4,400 people accused of a range of crimes from petty larceny to highway robbery, and their fate in the different courts of the region, would be somewhat uninformative. Yet the bald figure suggests one immediate conclusion: for a notoriously wild region, one which in the subsequent period of nineteenth-century romanticism lived off its reputation, an average of little more than 50 prosecutions for theft a year between 1718 and 1800, across 100 miles of English territory, with a population that rose to about a third of a million, seems paltry. Although the total fluctuated over the period, even in the worst year of 1787, when 116 were accused, the rate per head of the population was about 39 per 100,000. In a more normal year, such as during the 1750s or 1770s, the rate was half that. Other parts of the country, particularly those nearer to London, even in the rural areas, suffered far worse than the North-East.37 This kind of overall statistic provides no explanation for why contemporaries were more concerned about crime, and more vehement in their public discussions, at the end of the century than at the beginning. Partly this was because better communications through the medium of newspapers and handbills spread the news of spectacular or shocking crimes more effectively: one item of horror was usually enough to make an impression. But there is also the undoubted fact that there was more crime by the 1780s than ever before. The rise was uneven across the period, with some years of steep increase and others of equally abrupt decline, but by the end of the century the number of theft cases in the region had doubled by comparison with the 1720s or 1730s (see Figure 3.1 and Table 3.1 for decadal totals). This phenomenon was also experienced in other areas of England such as Essex, Surrey, and Sussex. It could be that more efficient policing methods, greater numbers of active justices, a more determined attitude to prosecution, and more financial support for the victims and witnesses combined to make prosecution more likely in the latter half of the century. Moreover, many more crimes had become capital offences, increasing the scope for potential prosecutors: this was particularly notable in the case of sheep-stealing, which became a hanging offence only in 1742, and was an important problem in rural counties such as Durham and Northumberland. This line of argument lays stress on the law enforcers and their motivations and opportunities for bringing people to trial. In


Table 3.1 Numbers of indictments for theft, north-east England, 1719–1800

part, the greater enthusiasm of the authorities, and the growing sense of urgency among the victims, are assumed rather than demonstrated. Victims certainly received greater assistance than before, from both public and private sources, but financial aid had a long history in the region, at least since the beginning of the century. However, it is worth noting the apparently weak impact of prosecuting associations in bringing large numbers of poachers or other criminals to court in the region, and the general impression of such associations is that they merely followed the general increase in concern, perhaps encouraging victims to make complaints and reassuring them about the costs, but may not have instigated a more efficient system of pursuit and prosecution. In a similar fashion, the heightened anxiety about rogues and disorderly persons, shown by the way the Newcastle’s authorities kept detailed files in the latter part of the century, seemingly resulted in few prosecutions.38 A more critical argument might be that, in the context of an overall rise in population, the increased numbers of accused did not actually represent a growth in the crime rate: crime merely kept pace with the general increase. This is a more difficult relationship to analyze, given the generally poor state of demographic information on the eighteenthcentury North-East. Certainly the most optimistic estimates calculate the growth of the region’s population at no more than half between 1720 and 1800, while others place it much lower, at closer to a third. The growth of Newcastle, for example, was relatively slow, and the town dropped down the rankings of English cities compared with its seventeenth-century standing.39 Whatever the rate of population growth, it is likely that it was not sufficient to explain what appears to have been a genuine increase in crimes which, for example, grew by more than a third between 1750 and the end of the century. The fluctuations in the process, though, are similar to those found elsewhere in England,


and pose similar problems of explanation. National times of dearth such as 1740–41 were everywhere characterized by a sudden great increase in the number of thefts. Postwar years were also particularly bad times for crime, and all three wars occurring within this period (1740–48, 1756–63, 1776–83) produced a couple of years of exceptional numbers of thefts, mostly at the assizes. This pattern may not indicate that the crimes committed at these peaks were more serious, only that the authorities were more determined to adopt severe policies in times of potential disorder. Twentieth-century experience of economic recessions certainly suggests that the authorities become both more alert and more severe in times of large-scale unemployment: apparent increases in criminality in bad times have been in part the outcome of official reactions. The 1780s probably produced an ex ceptional and continuing rise in crimes after the end of the war because they coincided with an increasingly severe economic situation in many areas of the country. As soon as war began again in 1793, thefts dropped throughout the region. This connection between peace and crime was clear to contemporary observers: John Howard published figures of executions for London and Middlesex between 1749 and 1788 which strongly indicated that crime increased with the onset of peace, and was lower in times of war. The release of so many young men into the population at the end of a war, frequently moving along the roads as they returned home, was a clear factor. Other contemporaries provided a more cultural explanation, suggesting that the experience of war had an unfortunate effect on soldiers’ morals. As Romilly observed in the 1780s, “after employing your people in robbing the Dutch, is it strange, being out of that employ by peace, they still continue robbing and rob one another?”40 The geographic distribution of thefts in the region was also strikingly uneven. The criminal reputation of urban areas has been well established by studies of southern England, for not only London but even small towns produced more criminals in court than the surrounding countryside. So it is not surprising to find that Newcastle had a higher rate of theft than the two rural counties, but what is unexpected is that the town, whose population of about 28,000 in 1800 was less than a tenth of the region’s as a whole, accounted for more than a third of the known indicted thieves—almost as many as County Durham, and considerably more than North-umberland. In the view of jaundiced Newcastle observers there was a clear explanation for Northumberland’s lower crime rate, for they believed that its criminally


Figure 3.1 Thefts in north-east England, 1719–99: all courts

poor and deviant had migrated to their town with the deliberate intention of being troublesome to the authorities and a burden on the poor rate. One embittered Newcastle parishioner, who suggested it would be cheaper to send the paupers back to the country and keep them there, commented: “I do not wonder that the Country Beggars flock to this Town; but why the Town should be content to receive them is beyond imagination.”41 Migration from the north was a constant factor in Newcastle’s growth throughout the early modern period, but the presence of strangers seems unlikely to have been the sole cause of higher crime rates. Some offenders did go to towns to commit their crimes, as markets and horse fairs provided attractive opportunities for picking pockets or passing stolen animals and goods. But this was a feature of all the small towns of the region, of Morpeth and Sunderland as much as Newcastle, which suggests that it was the character of urban life, its attractions as the focus of a new consumerism, and its attendant stresses of poverty, that produced more crimes. To speculate a little, we can say that it was the developing social and economic nature of early modern towns that concentrated crime there. This was a radical reversal of the medieval pattern in which rural areas were the places of greatest hazard and criminal activity. In the northern region, the pacification of the borders and the use of toll gates on new roads reinforced a trend of declining criminal opportunities in the countryside, even for animal thefts which were naturally concentrated there. Although highway robbery and attacks on remote farmhouses remained a serious threat to many country people in the eighteenth century, the mass of petty crimes, thefts, cheating, and forgery was concentrated in towns. Certainly this


Table 3.2 All accused of theft, north-east England, 1719–1800

was the pattern which developed in the counties near London in the eighteenth century. Simply put, therefore, the more urbanized an area, the greater the number of crimes before the justices. The most rural areas such as Northumberland became characterized by relatively low crime rates, whatever their inhabitants feared. This urban concentration may have been reinforced by the widespread adoption of more effective detection methods, with better street lighting and watch patrols, as well as a higher ratio of law-enforcement personnel to the local population: both would make victims’ complaints more welcome and official action swifter and more effective, leading to more cases before the courts. Yet city life itself seems to have become more criminal.42 The numbers and types of crimes varied according to the context and the opportunities, and so did the accused. Some of the contemporary stereotypes held good: horse-stealing was concentrated in the countryside, and the accused were usually male. When George Bolton was executed in Northumberland in 1790, the press commented: The spirited prosecutions carried on against the too prevalent practice of horse-stealing, and the many fatal victims that have fallen a sacrifice to the offended laws of their country, in all the last circuits, bid fair to check this dangerous species of depredation, which has lately encreased to a truly alarming height.43 Nevertheless, stealing animals was not as common at the end of the century as in earlier decades. In the early seventeenth century, by contrast, thefts of horses and sheep had accounted for half the assize indictments in Northumberland: by the eighteenth century it was below a fifth. Other contemporary images are also deceptive. Despite the individual cases of robbery on the rural highways by armed attackers,


the various crimes of stealing from the person, including violent assault, were a higher proportion of the serious crimes in Newcastle than in the countryside. Because of higher overall figures of indictments, the rural counties produced greater absolute numbers of such crimes, but there were too many robberies and attacks in the streets or open areas of Newcastle and Gateshead for people to feel safe.44 Other aspects of contemporary accounts are apparently valid. Many criminals were young, some very young indeed. Charles and William Graham, for example, two Glasgow-born boys accused of stealing silver-ware and altar cloths from Northumberland churches, were 16 and 11 respectively. John Mills, accused with his father in Durham in 1731, was 13 or 14, while George Wilson, who was used by his mother Frances Atkinson to steal from a Newcastle shop while she distracted the servant, was only six. At the other end of the scale, Sylvanus Broadwater was 50 when he was hanged for horse-stealing, the same age as one of the few women sought for stealing horses, Isabella Wilson. One was locally notorious: Tom Armstrong (or William Cooper), also known as “Socky Tom”, was supposed to be 92 in 1750 when condemned at the Northumberland assizes for horse-stealing, and immediately reprieved for life imprisonment. Both extreme youth and old age were factors which petitioners deployed when pleading for clemency, requesting either reprieve from death, or release from transportation to Australia. After the scandalously high mortality of the second fleet to Botany Bay the Secretary of State demanded guarantees of the health of transportees, and this reinforced the impulse to be merciful, particularly to the elderly. The North-East has not yielded a large enough sample to enable a very sophisticated analysis of age to be undertaken (most data derive from incidental reports rather than systematic records), but from the available evidence the average age of accused thieves was about 28, half being 25 years old or under. The local authorities were not unaware of the difficulty of prosecuting extremely young thieves: as the Newcastle justices recorded: John Young and William Allison being committed for stealing tobacco but not prosecuted by reason of their tender years being but little boys. It is ordered that they be discharged they haveing promised not to be guilty of the like again.45 One striking feature of early modern crime is the high proportion of women accused, at least if compared with today. Whereas in latetwentieth-century Britain about a quarter of those convicted of minor


thefts are women, their involvement in the more serious crimes such as robbery or burglary is negligible. By contrast, in the eighteenth-century courts of north-east England women accounted for at least a fifth of defendants on serious theft charges, and a much higher proportion of those accused of minor thefts. The only major crimes in which their participation was relatively unimportant were stealing horses or sheep, both capital offences. The contrast between petty thefts at quarter sessions and the serious crimes at assizes is reflected in the proportions of women accused: nowhere in the quarter sessions did the number of women fall below a third, and in Newcastle it was a clear majority. The pattern in Newcastle is particularly striking before the American War of Independence, and only in the last part of the century do men claim a slight majority. This suggests that eighteenth-century law enforcement faced a double problem, not only of the urban concentration of crimes but also of its female character. In other urban areas in eighteenthcentury England there were relatively higher proportions of women committing theft, though nothing seems to match Newcastle’s extraordinary majority.46 Therefore any history of pre-modern crime has to address the role of women. This has led to increasingly grand speculative explanations of the decline (and the more recent rise and rediscovery) of women’s criminality, much of it concerning the Victorian or Edwardian exclusion or closeting of women which may have forced them out of social settings where crime was a temptation or a possibility. Gender demands a separate treatment here (see Ch. 5), but it is worth noting at this stage the differences between courts and counties in the region. This suggests an additional factor to those discussed above, that of specifically female experiences and circumstances leading to crime: so far most of the big ideas among historians have concentrated on factors causing distress in men’s lives (such as war and unemployment). There is also the parallel but distinctly different experience of women in town and countryside to consider.47 Table 3.3 Proportion of women accused of theft


The development of punishments in the eighteenth century Trials in the courts of north-east England reveal the paradoxes of the eighteenth-century criminal law: severity in sentence mingled with leniency in execution. While in theory the law could have hanged hundreds, in fact only a minority of the condemned went to the gallows. Eight eenth-century justice was dominated by these contradictory processes, reflected in the increasing number of capital statutes and the steady fall in the rate of execution. Whereas in the seventeenth century a quarter of those who stood trial were hanged, this had halved by the mid-eighteenth century, and fell further by 1800. The process of decline was uneven, for there were wide variations in conviction and execution rates throughout the country, both between counties and between different crimes. But the increasing severity of the law was nowhere matched by an increase in the strict application of the most extreme punishment.48 In the North-East contemporary reports adopted a satisfied tone when recounting an assize where no one was sentenced to death—a “maiden” or “virgin” assize: there was a distinct feeling of relief that no one was condemned. In these years, comprising between a fifth and a quarter of the assizes in Durham and Northumberland in the eighteenth century, and a majority of years in Newcastle, there were no criticisms of the authorities for failure to enforce the law to the maximum severity. On the contrary it was celebrated by the presentation of “rich gloves” to the presiding judge.49 In the North-East, those standing trial for theft faced different chances of conviction, but generally a half to three-quarters were found guilty. Everywhere in the region women were usually more likely to be convicted, in a jurisdiction such as Newcastle by a wide margin. This may reflect men’s greater expertise at challenging verbal accusations and questioning the accuracy of written documents, rather than prejudice against women as such: men were more likely to have had some experience of the law in their communities. Certainly at quarter sessions men’s indictments were more likely to be quashed on technical grounds or be declared invalid by the grand jury which reviewed the indictments before trial: in Northumberland one in five of their theft indictments fell by the wayside, nearly twice the proportion of women’s. The grounds were often simple faults in the charges—there was no such parish, or the names were misspelled.50 At the assizes, the higher female conviction rate is somewhat deceptive, for many women were found guilty on lesser charges than those in the original indictments (on what


historians, following eighteenth-century commentators, have termed “partial” verdicts). By downgrading the charge in this way, juries took steps either to ensure that women were convicted of a non-capital offence, or to issue a signal to the judge that mercy was appropriate in a particular case. Probably this decision to reduce the offence was undertaken with the judge’s tacit consent. In the North-East these partial verdicts were heavily concentrated in the offences of robbery from the person and stealing from houses or buildings, where there was the greatest danger of a death sentence. This suggests that as long as the charges were reduced by the jury, the judges were able to choose a satisfactory alternative to capital punishment. At quarter sessions the partial verdict was not possible as all the thefts were already defined as of low value, below a shilling, even if the actual object stolen, or amount of cash, was clearly worth more. In these cases, the victims of the theft probably debated with the justices how to bring in a charge of petty theft which directly contradicted the value of the goods stolen, as a means of bumping the indictment down to a non-capital charge.51 Table 3.4 Conviction rates

Despite these careful reductions, many were condemned at the assizes but did not travel to an inevitable conclusion at the gallows. Overall, about 18% of the condemned in the region were executed, but this fate was more common in convictions for crimes such as coining, forgery


and murder than theft. Among the convicted thieves, there was great disparity: those found guilty of horse- and sheep-stealing were far less likely to be executed than those convicted for robbery or stealing from houses and buildings, more than a fifth of whom died. Horse- and sheepthieves were executed, of course, but fewer than a tenth of the condemned could expect to die. There were some differences between the counties, suggesting that the authorities responded to their contrasting criminal problems. Robberies, forgers and coiners, and homicides were at times a major difficulty in Newcastle, and this is in part reflected in a higher execution rate than in the other two jurisdictions: overall almost a quarter of the condemned were executed. This is despite the reluctance to execute which seems to have dominated their petitions in the first three decades of the century (cited by the judge in the Anne Milburne case above). There the rate of executions remained constant over the period, once they had started in 1733. Though it is not revealed fully anywhere in the historical record, juries must have been aware of the likely consequences of their actions. Horsethieves must have known that the chances were that they would be reprieved and transported, while those thieves who made threats to people face-to-face in robberies, or destroyed the security of their farms, shops or warehouses, were more likely to face death.52 The ultimate penalty was reserved for a few, as the growth of alternatives developed in the eighteenth century. The use of transportation was made possible in 1718, and became the most common punishment at the assizes for grand larcenies. From the start the assize judges applied both old and new punishments, retaining whipping and branding, but also elevating transportation to the most important form of penalty by the mid-century. In this way the London judges acted didactically as the importers of innovation in styles of punishment, for they used transportation as soon as the 1718 Act came into force. Conventional interpretations also stress their role in other ways, for once transatlantic transportation virtually ceased in 1776, it is usually assumed that assize judges were instrumental in developing imprisonment and other alternatives. Certainly the northern circuit judges sentenced convicts to imprisonment in the houses of correction “as a penitentiary” in the 1780s, suggesting that they were deliberately attempting to introduce a new philosophy of punishment following the 1779 Penitentiary Act. The proposed national institution was never built, but the idea of reformative imprisonment had clearly become part of judicial culture (see Ch. 8). Moreover, as the use of branding also declined, the need for a viable alternative seems to have reinforced a


trend towards combining the house of correction with corporal punishment. However, this attribution of new directions solely to the assize judges would be misleading, for much had been developed by the justices at the local level long before this.53 Table 3.5 Punishments: larceny at the assizes

The lower courts dealt with about two-thirds of theft accusations in the region, whatever the apparent value of the stolen goods: here lay the greatest opportunities for both variation and innovation in patterns of punishment, offered to magistrates with little outside interference. The dominance of the quarter sessions, however, was not uniform, for while in Durham the magistrates dealt with less than half of the theft cases, in Northumberland and Newcastle they handled a large majority, in the latter more than 80 per cent (see Table 3.2). In part the role of quarter sessions was determined by the fact that there was only one assize a year: the gaols would have been severely overcrowded if the justices had not handled many accusations themselves. This necessarily resulted in these authorities making use of an appropriate range of non-capital punishments, and seems to have been decisive in the development of distinctive policies of punishment, involving both transportation and hard labour in the house of correction. The process of change is summarized over three approximately quarter-century periods (Table 3.6). There are a number of striking features in these varied patterns of punishment: first, the adoption of transportation was highly uneven, Northumberland’s authorities particularly keen in the 1720s and 1730s, but Durham’s ignoring it completely until after 1750. It is significant, however, that nowhere in the region was transportation ever the major punishment for petty theft at quarter sessions: it was always outweighed by either whipping or imprisonment. Secondly, the use of incarceration is a striking characteristic of the policies of two counties


in the region, Northumberland and Newcastle, where after 1750 the majority of convicted thieves were sentenced to the house of correction with hard labour, usually spared additional punishment such as whipping. This rise in the use of imprisonment went hand-in-hand with that in transportation, thus undermining the idea that one was treated as a substitute for the other: certainly the long-term effect of the 1718 Transportation Act was not to discourage imprisonment. It seems that it was the old habit of whipping that was replaced by prison in the middle of the century when it fell to about a seventh of sentences in Newcastle and Northumberland, though Durham remained wedded to it for far longer. The shift in Newcastle was very abrupt: whereas a majority of men and women convicted for theft in the 1740s were given whipping as the sole sentence, it had dropped to a tenth in the 1750s. By contrast, in the 1750s two-thirds were sentenced to imprisonment at hard labour with no additional corporal punishment. The majority of Newcastle’s convicts at quarter sessions were women (in every decade except the 1780s), and imprisonment was particularly used for them. Significantly, a decade-by-decade analysis reveals a return to whipping in the 1770s and 1780s, as transportation was interrupted. For example, in Newcastle as many as a third of all thieves convicted at quarter sessions were sentenced to some form of whipping, commonly combined with imprisonment, between 1770 and 1790, representing a substantial increase compared with the previous 20 years, before it once again became a rarity in the 1790s. The general shape of fluctuations in penal development in Newcastle is shown in Figure 3.2. Thus, while the crisis in transportation provoked the assizes to adopt imprisonment, the same factor provoked the justices to revert to more “traditional” methods of punishment.54 The range of punishments therefore permitted the development of regional variations in policy that are hard to explain, though some of the institutional and practical context will be explored in subsequent chapters. One safe conclusion is that it was perfectly possible for county benches to promote styles of punishment entirely distinct from those of their neighbours. Durham seems different from Newcastle and Northumberland, but was perhaps more typical of some of the counties further south that also largely rejected both transportation and imprisonment for much of the century. It has been said that the public discussion of the utility of hard labour for thieves was ignored by many magistrates: certainly in some counties it was rarely practised at all. One factor may have been the diverse priorities adopted for houses of correction, which in some areas were used more for disciplining


Figure 3.2 Newcastle quarter sessions, 1719–1800

vagrants, incorrigible servants and workers rather than as a penal institution. Together with the variety of penal policies in the north-east region, moreover, there was no simple evolution from “traditional” to “modern” forms of punishment. The interruptions and crises in forms of penalties available forced local authorities and assize judges alike into using the full range in different ways at different times. While whipping in the public streets undoubtedly declined over the century, there was no wholesale rejection of it. Similarly, while imprisonment was a major punishment after 1750, particularly for women, there was no guarantee that they would escape flogging or transportation. Finally, there is no simple relationship between the practices of the assizes and quarter sessions. It has rightly been pointed out that “when transportation ended abruptly in 1776 the punishment that would take its place had already emerged in the practice of the courts”: in the North-East, however, it was the lower courts run by the magistrates that had already pioneered the use of imprisonment.55 Long before the national debate about penitentiaries, and before the London judges began to use it, the house of correction had become a place of useful punishment, the standard


Table 3.6 Quarter sessions thieves: primary sentences

penalty for petty theft in two counties of the North-East. The link with attitudes to women may be decisive: the same embittered author who complained of the rural invasion of Newcastle in the 1750s also accused the female migrants in particular of being reluctant to work. The hard labour supposed to constitute the regime in the houses of correction would have been his ideal solution. By the 1780s it was not entirely obvious that rehabilitation was the major aim of the sentences handed out by local justices. However, at the level of rhetoric few would have found much to criticize in a press recommendation for criminals, that “reformation is the best and happiest thing they can set


about”. By this time the debate had begun to shift from questions of whether to imprison to ones of how to do so most effectively.56

76

CHAPTER FOUR The social organization of crime

Images of crime In July 1785 the Newcastle authorities placed an advertisement in the Newcastle Courant announcing that there were: Three Boys, Natives of Scotland, in Custody at Newcastle suspected to belong to a Gang of Thieves and Pick-Pockets … They lately came from Edinburgh, have all the Scots accent, and were last at Stagshaw Bank Fair, where they appeared to be connected with a gang of several other suspected persons. They were not very formidable: the eldest, Thomas Boag, was 25 years of age and only about 5 feet in height, while his companions Daniel McKie and Steel McColloch, or McCalow, were about 15 and 14, and under 4 feet 10 inches.1 Nothing came of this alarm, though individual Scottish boy-pickpockets were prosecuted in subsequent years. This account is typical of the language used in eighteenth-century crime reporting, reflecting a very distinctive notion of criminal danger. Criminal activity was often described as involving gangs of mobile outsiders. Exaggerated anxiety about organized crime was not unique to this region, for images of early modern crime were shaped by the myth of the gang and its dominance of a criminal underworld of organized professionals, a picture that had been common since at least the sixteenth century. According to this portrait, the underworld possessed its own language (“cant”), forms of leadership, and economic resources. It seemed an alternative to the respectable community and beyond any control by conventional methods. Picaresque Elizabethan guidebooks were written to help the respectable understand the quaint language and


deceptive techniques of this world of rogues and vagabonds who preyed on society, and this tradition of titillating the public continued in subsequent centuries. More serious were the allegations that some punishments were reduced to mere inconveniences by the gangs’ collective wealth: it was widely reported that transported members would return within months as their comrades bought both their freedom from servitude and a speedy passage home.2 In part, while the image of the underworld was as exaggerated as any modern media story, it provided a convenient ideology which encouraged the authorities to distinguish between the relatively trivial and local criminal, perhaps driven to crime by moral weakness or economic hardship, with whom they could sympathize, and the serious offenders for whom severe punishment was suitable. But it also seems to have reflected a deeprooted popular fear of the mobile, professional and unscrupulous deviant. Contemporary accounts from many different sources certainly confirm the extent of local anxiety in north-east England about lawless groups or gangs. The authorities were sure that gangs were hiding everywhere. Repeatedly, when one individual was arrested for a serious crime, the rumour was spread that he or she was part of a gang. “Robert Carr alias Robert Ord a person returned from transportation and diverse other vagrant idle and disorderly persons both men and women lurk in severall parts of the County”, reported the Northumberland quarter sessions in 1726, offering 45 shillings for the arrest of a man, and 20 for a woman. Carr was associated with a group who met at a house in Westgate, Newcastle as well as with “persons of ill fame and repute [who] have from time to time…lurked and lodged in and about Wooler and places adjacent and have in that time committed divers outrages and disorders”. Many were known as “baileys” or “faws” (see below), and though often found in possession of valuable goods they proved difficult to charge. Attempts to make an arrest usually invited violence from the associates: on one occasion several friends made sure that Carr could flee, attacking one Country Keeper and leaving him “for dead”, badly cut and bruised. No help was forthcoming from local people against such determined groups, as the keeper involved complained bitterly in his report to the justices. Carr was eventually condemned and reprieved for transportation in Durham. In the 1720s, with gangs like this to the north, Northumber land’s authorities suspected they were the focus of a pincer movement by the disorderly, as they also employed newspaper notices to threaten the inhabitants of Newcastle to the south coming into the county to kill gentlemen’s game.3

THE SOCIAL ORGANIZATION OF CRIME 79

The more spectacular examples of gangs discovered throughout the century seem to have confirmed this perception that serious crimes tended to be collective, a view that was constantly reaffirmed in the local press. Characteristically, reports appeared both authoritative and alarming: We hear from Durham, that on Tuesday a man was found murdered near Shincliffe, and on Thursday a woman was found murdered near Whitworth, both in that county: there are three men and a woman taken up on suspicion, one of which has turned informer, and says they belong to a gang of 30 in this country. The repetitive use of stock phrases suggests that the myth of gangs formed an essential part of a series of small “moral panics” throughout the century. One or two hard facts, an air of apprehension, and some convincing details about the gang encouraged local fear. The knowledge that people could be frightened gave some of those arrested an opportunity to try to blackmail their way out of captivity. John Mills, under arrest in Durham in 1731, claimed that he had “23 or more persons, his confederates” who were strong enough to attack the justices who had committed him; he threatened one witness that he would bring as many as were needed to burn the town.4 Estimating the degree of truth behind these reports is not easy. The statistical analysis of Chapter 3 is of little help: instead of individual court appearances we need an overview of the connections between cases, and some clues as to whether they indicate organized criminality over a period of time. Quantitative treatment takes the individual as the key unit rather than collectivities and groups.5 By concentrating on the way that punishments were fitted to the individual, numerical overviews of court appearances are therefore an inadequate method of gauging participation in a series of connected crimes, or the organization of which they were a part. An individual punished several times over the years would appear through a statistical survey as a series of separate judicial decisions. To take one example, by treating each court appearance separately, we would miss the fact that Robert Westgarth, a Newcastle butcher, was repeatedly in trouble in the quarter sessions for a range of offences from minor assaults to continual public nuisance prosecutions occasioned by his insistence on trying to erect a “shambles” in the public street. Moreover, we would not spot that he and his father were as bad as each other, and that their activities (for which few punishments of any kind were inflicted) spanned several


decades in the quarter sessions records. With other members of the family, they managed at least 12 court appearances in a single decade from 1764 to 1773. This kind of pattern confirms the need for a deeper exploration of the available supporting documents so that the connections between individuals may be established and any organizational structures revealed. This is the most difficult type of analysis because of the way that in many court cases individuals are more visible than groups, particularly where the gang members were pursued person-by-person over several years.6 Eighteenth-century legal practice also encouraged treating criminals individually because the person, not the group, may have offered the authorities a safer focus of prosecution, allowing them to link a person with a particular aspect of the crime. Moreover, legal doctrine held that with regard to married couples involved in a crime together the wife must be acting under her husband’s authority. Marriage united “two souls” in one person—and “that person was the husband”. In theory, therefore, married partners in crime ought not to have been prosecutable: only the man could be charged. Nevertheless, there are examples of joint prosecution in the north-east records, with only one expression of legalistic misgivings, when Mary Mitchelson was arrested in Sunderland with her husband for stealing a watch. He was convicted of a lesser charge, and sentenced to transportation, but she was acquitted: a marginal note added that she “should not have been indicted”.7 A similar rule probably obtained in cases where children or young people were collaborating with their elders. In 1786 Frances Atkinson (later transported from Berwick) distracted a shopkeeper in Newcastle while her young son George Wilson stole 13 yards of cloth and ran out of the shop. The authorities recorded the local legal opinions, not only on the age of discretion when young people could be charged with crimes, but on the even more complex matter of how to prosecute Atkinson as the prime agent in the crime. The mayor was informed that if the child was viewed as her “innocent instrument”, then the mother could be prosecuted as the “principal felon”, and because the boy was only six, he was too young to prosecute, though he might have to appear in court to provide the key evidence. Atkinson was tried for stealing from a shop but was found guilty of the lesser charge of grand larceny. Even in the apparently straightforward case of two men who stole two horses in Northumberland and rode them to Cumberland, there were doubts about whether they could be prosecuted together unless both were seen riding both horses. Indicted for both thefts at the 1791 assizes, the men were acquitted on the order of the judge, who made the legal point that each


man had only been seen riding one horse: “this seems to make it necessary where two people steal two horses to indict them separately,” observed the commentator on the judgement. Although other judges disagreed subsequently, the case still did not provide a clear rule for local justices to follow.8 The realities of small-scale crime Court records therefore do not permit easy evaluation of the popular imagery, for the overwhelming majority of criminals in court were accused as individuals. In quarter sessions, for example, three-quarters of petty thieves faced individual indictments. The proportion was lower in the assizes, particularly in Newcastle, where nearly half of the accused were in pairs or groups, and this was most striking in the cases of women. This contrast between lower and higher courts may be the outcome of a self-fulfilling process whereby serious crime was defined as collective, and so any collective effort was likely to be regarded as serious and be prosecuted in a joint indictment in the higher court. However, many of the separate indictments in quarter sessions disguise networks of thieves and their associated receivers. In Newcastle’s quarter sessions there were many women accused of receiving goods stolen by men. Because of alleged marriages, it may be that the authorities charged the wives with a different offence to avoid the legal rule described earlier under which wives were deemed to be under the authority of their husbands when committing a crime in their presence. Yet even in cases of receiving, it was later said in legal handbooks that a wife could not be indicted as an accessory to her husband after the fact, so it may be significant that the marital relationship had to be questioned in charging women (“alias wife of“being a typically sceptical phrase).9 It is because of this kind of difficulty that careful exploration of the wider context is required if the significance of individual crimes is to be established: was this a lifetime habit, or an impulse? Were the crimes part of a collective practice of a gang or an activity of a group which met only on that occasion? Were the prosecuted the leaders or the followers of others? If people really acted alone, how were they detected? The sources on which such an exploration must be based are the words of the accusers and accused themselves recorded at the time of the arrest and first interrogation, as well as the local newspaper reports of their activities. Neither source can be trusted entirely. The absence of any legal restraints on the press (such as the modern contempt-of-court


law) allowed reports to convey apparently convincing accounts of actions and attributions of criminality that were not always upheld by the courts. Sometimes the newspaper report and the legal depositions are so similar that it suggests the editors had access to some of the clerk’s papers as soon as statements were taken down. Newspapers may have been searching for spectacular news to reinforce their reputation for reporting criminal matters and, without any professional crime reporters, probably drew on correspondents who may have been the witnesses or victims of the crime themselves. While the Newcastle Courant’s “Hue and Cry” section of printed notices of wanted criminals was confident in alleging serious crimes, these early reports were frequently misleading, and in many cases there were few ultimate convictions. The problem of reliable evidence for criminal organization is therefore not easily resolved, given that the victims, witnesses and the accused frequently held incompatible views on the danger posed by the criminals and their activities.10 Some crimes were unquestionably individual in nature, and accepted as such by all concerned. Typically frank was 19-year-old Cuthbert Thompson, who in 1764 robbed the house of his former mistress Ann Douglas, a widow. Passing late one night he noticed a ladder against the wall of the house, and “conceived a desire and intention to get into the said house and to get some money there”; he went straight to the dressing room and stole some guineas, returning immediately to his master’s house and hiding them in his chest. His swift confession was perhaps made more credible by the disclaimer that “no person or persons whomsoever were [privy] to the abovementioned fact…or in anywise concerned with him therein”. He was sentenced to death, but reprieved in large part because of the heartfelt plea by Ann Douglas, who wrote to support his version that the crime was quite out of character for him.11 This seems an unproblematic case, as there are no incompatible accounts competing for official acceptance. It also seems typical of the rather opportunistic nature of servants’ crimes, and the ease with which they were detected. Some were induced by others to steal from their masters: in 1783 Anne Briscoe, servant to a Newcastle shopkeeper, John Nicholson, was persuaded by Martha Hankin, a mariner’s wife, to steal cloth from her master. Claiming in her first examination that she had only stolen a handkerchief, she was forced to admit, after the discovery of the goods in her mother’s house in Hexham 20 miles away, that she had sent two bundles by the carrier out of town. She told her mother that she was not going to “bring disgrace upon her and any of her


family”, which was probably the reason for the open confession. Hankin, by contrast, at first alleged she had just been the receiver of the goods, but had to admit that she had assisted in breaking open the shop door and repairing it after the thefts. The case was easily solved, the arrest of the servant and the searching of her family home producing immediate evidence of guilt. Perhaps because of this relative honesty, both women were found guilty of the lesser charge of larceny and whipped.12 Criminals often worked in pairs, particularly urban women, some of whom had male partners. Jean Grey, an innkeeper and wife of a pensioner, became embroiled with Thomas Jameson, a prominent Newcastle printer and engraver, in passing forged banknotes. According to Grey, Jameson was so deeply in debt that he conceived the forgery plan to rescue himself from imminent bankruptcy. He engraved the plate, printed between 10 and 12 £5 notes which she used in “various businesses”, and afterwards destroyed the plate. Both parties were arrested and prosecuted, but Grey seems to have repudiated her earlier accusation and Jameson was acquitted at the assizes in 1766. She was subsequently prosecuted and pilloried for perjury before being transported. Jameson fled the town after his trial, a fact remembered years later by Thomas Bewick, who was apprenticed to the only substantial engraving business left in the town after this case.13 In one way this relationship of forger to the person passing the forged goods, particularly at commercial outlets, was typical. One of the few real gangs, that involving James Maben the coiner and his associates, was characterized by this structure, having a core of technically competent men and a larger periphery of both sexes engaged in passing the coins. Like forging, coining was a skilled crime, and Maben and his Scottish companions seem to have been well educated. Another ringleader, John Dodds, had broken out of Edinburgh gaol, and met up with his wife in Northumberland. According to Maben, who tried to turn King’s evidence, Dodds was the key figure in setting up the plan, initially to manufacture Portuguese 36-shilling pieces (“portugals”, foreign currency being less hazardous to make, he said) but in the end they made shillings and guineas. Dodds already had Thomas Syms, a local innkeeper, ready to help pass the coins, and Maben recruited local keelman John Samuel to the gang. Another Scot, John Leithead, announcing himself as a school-master, nevertheless attempted to commission the equipment required and was immediately suspected by the whitesmiths (metalworkers) he approached. The wives of Syms and Dodds were also suspected and interrogated but later released. After the


arrest of Dodds, Maben and Samuel, Syms and Leithead fled, the latter successfully. Three people, two men and a woman, tried to break Maben out of gaol by passing him a “gravelock” through the window, and were subsequently transported for it. Maben himself had to be confined in “entire darkness” until his trial after the attempted escape, writing an embittered pamphlet about his sufferings at the hands of conspiring fellow-prisoners who, he claimed, duped his friends into attempting a gaolbreak. In all, this was a highly skilled gang, but seems to have proceeded in a somewhat haphazard fashion. They alerted local artisans unnecessarily, and were actually seen through the window in Syms’ house late at night handling the pieces of coin. They admitted making 6 guineas and 36 shillings, but the equipment found suggested to the searchers that they could have made much more. Of the gang, Maben and Samuel were condemned and executed, but Syms was acquitted, at the Northumberland assizes in 1744. Probably the gaol escapes and the size of the operation combined to ensure the execution of the apparent ringleaders.14 This level of professionalism was rare, and found in few other areas of crime. It has been suggested that skilled tradesmen such as butchers were heavily involved in sheep-stealing or at least buying the stolen animals. In Yorkshire at the end of the century this seems to have produced a highly organized business operating over large areas. There are few hints of such a system in north-east England, though some cases suggest the possibility. Robert and William Brown were accused in 1772 of sheep-stealing by Robert Headley, of Warkworth, a butcher, who saw James Brown in the moonlight on a bay mare with William Coward on foot, and suspected they were going to steal sheep as “he had several time bought sheep skins and tallow of the said James Brown which he suspected to have been stolen as the wool on several of the said skins was clipt off whereon the owners mark had been set”, so he stood in front of the bay mare and told Brown to return the sheep or “he would hang him, but that James Brown replied never mind you and I will make it up in the morning”. Subsequently Brown offered him money to remain silent. Headley was never charged, or even accused, but clearly had few scruples about buying sheep without asking any questions. This was not untypical of other cases where dealers bought the stolen goods before, rather belatedly, turning in their sellers as suspected thieves. In 1765 John Currey, a Hexham “boy”, in Hexham church one day at a wedding noticed lead from the roof lying loose, returned and stole some pieces, selling them to an older man, Isaac Newton. Suspicion seems to have been aroused by a shopkeeper, Joseph


Richardson, who was asked to weigh the lead and purchased some of it. Currey was found guilty and branded, but Newton was acquitted. Although professionals were ambiguously involved in cases of this kind, there was no evidence that they participated in a real “gang”.15 Networks, groups and gangs What characterized such an organization? In part, if we were to say that a “gang” was a matter of perception by others, we would have to accept any report of collective action deemed as such to be an example of organized crime. So the determination of the accusers to push a case to a grim conclusion, and the use of gang membership in allegations even if unsubstantiated by other evidence, would suffice. Alternatively, absence of clear evidence of gang membership could be equally damning. One Durham criminal, James Graham, was hanged in 1732 partly because, despite confessing freely to a string of crimes committed with others, the Bishop of Durham found him confming the evidence “artfully to himself” instead of providing the means of indicting his gang. He admitted being an associate of at least two men subsequently tried for serious crimes, but somehow had disappointed both the undersheriff and the bishop by his failure to provide proof of conspiracies.16 Maben’s gang, however, had real characteristics which made them formidable: mobility, professional skill, and determination to evade the law, all features that represented real danger to the public. These elements were shared by very few others. Most collective thefts or crimes seem to have been as opportunistic as individual offences. This suggests that there were at least three types of organization at work: networks, in which individuals performed different parts of the overall crime separately, for example, stealing and receiving the goods; groups who joined together to commit a crime but did not operate regularly to plan and carry out crimes; and gangs who constituted a more permanent organization, perhaps with specialized functions allocated to individual members, which operated over greater distances or periods of time. Thus James Graham can be seen to have been part of a network, while those associated with Maben formed a true gang of organized specialists. Authentic gangs may have possessed no particular criminal skill, but the threat they posed to the authorities’ confidence and assertion of control was considerable. Without adopting a strict formula as to minimum membership or type of offence, such as suggested by a recent study of Netherlands gangs, the following seem to be the primary gangs of the region in the eighteenth century.17


The “Faws” 1711–30 Also known as the “Baileys”, this group may have consisted of traditional travellers or gypsies. Faw or Faa had been a well-known surname for gypsy families on both sides of the border since the sixteenth century, and it became a generic word for gypsy in both local dialect and official records. However, Bailey, Bayley (or Balliol) was lowland Scots in origin, and was the most common name of those arrested in the region during this period.18 The alarm was raised in Northumberland in 1711, when the “Faws” were accused of carrying out “evil practices” such as burglaries and thefts, threatening to burn people’s houses, and “riding armed to the great terror of her Majesty’s subjects”. Precise numbers in the gang are difficult to establish, but when the majority were arrested in 1712 they comprised two brothers called Bailey, their two grown sons and their families, an adult daughter, and a couple called Carr who were probably related. The men broke out of Morpeth gaol, leaving the costs, not only of repairs to a breach in the “defences”, but also of maintaining the women and children, to the county. In 1713 14 people were indicted for vagrancy as “incorrigible vagabonds”, and four women were whipped, but the men named in the indictments were still at large, with warrants still outstanding for their arrest. In 1717 seven of their children, aged between three and twelve, were reported apprenticed or maintained by the county, while “several” adults were transported. Some of the women and the “fawes children” were a cause of considerable expense to the authorities for about five years more, money having to be paid to an assistant Country Keeper for their maintenance. One man in the gang, Robert Carr alias Ord, was a returned transportee in 1725–6 (see above), and was arrested with great difficulty in midsummer 1726, tried and transported once more. As late as 1730 a known associate of the gang of the “Falls”, James Spotswood, was reported arrested in Berwick, though no trial seems to have followed.19 There seems to have been no coherent criminality among this gang, despite the many exaggerated allegations, and this is reflected in the lack of formal indictments for serious crimes or criminal sentences of transportation. It had been legal since Elizabethan times to transport “rogues” and others under anti-vagabond laws. An order in council had been sought by the Northumberland magistrates as early as 1712, but it looks as though the men’s escape forestalled this move. In 1713 an act repeating the earlier legislation for punishing vagabonds used “gypsies” for the first time (instead of the previously customary “Egyptians”), and


may have been a spur to the renewed measures taken in Northumberland. There was a parallel drive against “faws” on the Scottish side of the border, with one man whipped and mutilated by having his ears cut off, and others transported to Virginia (dispatched from Glasgow), all instigated by the Jedburgh authorities. This appears to have been an instance of cross-border collaboration, reminiscent of drives a century earlier to repress the moss-troopers, which resulted in the wholesale removal of the men of a large group of related families. It is interesting to note the contemporary continental parallels, for local authorities in The Netherlands and the German States sometimes resorted to extreme measures in repressing gypsies in the early eighteenth century.20 William Brown and his family Known throughout his career as “Sir” William, and described as such without comment in the newspapers, William Brown led a group which once again looks more like a criminal family than an example of modern organized crime. He had been in gaol in Morpeth in 1731, and had broken out. His next trouble came in 1741 when he was sentenced to seven years’ transportation at the Durham assizes for stealing grain from a barn. He was sent to Maryland that winter on the Esther but had returned by autumn 1742, when he and his brother were arrested in Ogle, Northumberland. His identity was confirmed by the Esther’s captain, Matthias Giles, who also produced the certificate proving that he had reached Annapolis. Brown was charged with being a returned transportee, and condemned and executed in 1743. He took the pronouncement of his sentence badly, expecting to be transported again, and was one of the few to react publicly (see Ch. 6). At the same time, his two sons were under arrest in Newcastle, where his wife Mary (also known as Mary White) went, ostensibly to recover one her husband’s horses which had been seized by the sheriff’s bailiff, only to be arrested for pickpocketing and transported by Newcastle assizes for seven years. Their (presumably young) sons had been tried for theft at the quarter sessions in Newcastle in early 1743 and acquitted, in keeping with two women who were reputed to be members of the same gang. As an epilogue to the story, in 1771 a John Nicholson, alias William Brown, “who from his archness and competency of villainy is supposed to be one of the descendants of Sir William Brown (once so well known in this country)”, was in Durham gaol on a charge of horse-stealing, from which he was only with difficulty prevented from escaping.21


This relatively small group seems hardly to warrant the term “gang”, but the wholesale prosecution of all its members suggests that there was a determined co-ordination between the Northumberland and Newcastle authorities to rid themselves of this nuisance. Once again, the effort seems out of proportion to the crimes committed, but the leadership of the group by a returned transportee may have been the convincing factor in establishing its reputation as a “gang”. William Fall and the Clarkes 1752–67 Early in 1752 “a gang of those people called faws” was rumoured to be active in County Durham, stealing and telling fraudulent fortunes; in Northumberland in February seven people were arrested and committed to Morpeth gaol, while “several more were pursued to the Mountain but could not be come at on account of the snow”. Nevertheless, a number of arrests were subsequently made. One of the gang, Peter Brown, attempted to break prisoners out of Morpeth gaol by smuggling files in to them and organizing the violent seizure of the gaoler’s wife and sister. At the spring sessions, Northumberland justices sentenced to transportation three men and a woman, John and William Fall, William Clarke and Alice Gibson, for breaking into William Amos’ shop in the town of Rothbury and stealing cloth, Peter Brown for attempted gaolbreaking, and two other men for petty thefts. At the same time a group of seven women and three men were under arrest, and: being severally convicted and adjudged at this Sessions to be Rogues Vagabonds and Sturdy Beggars, within the True Intent and meaning of an Act of Parliament made and passed in the thirteenth and fourteenth years of the reign of his late Majesty King Charles the Second Intitled an act for the better relief of the poor of this Kingdom. It is therefore ordered that they be severally transported to some of his Majesty’s colonies and plantations in America for the term of Seven Years. Among them were the wives of John and William Fall, and Elizabeth wife of Robert Clarke, two women called Gregg, and two called Wilson. They were not formally indicted with any crime, but joined the three men in a large group—at least 17—of the “faws or strollers who could give no account of themselves” transported that April at the cost of £85.22


This was the group about whom John Hewitt wrote from Coventry 12 years later, as infesting Staffordshire and the Midlands after returning from transportation. Whether all those arrested and sentenced were part of the same gang, given the geographic range and diversity of the alleged activities, is difficult to establish, but this was not a matter of doubt in the minds of contemporaries. Certainly the extraordinary use of the Act of Settlement to transport the secondary members suggests an overwhelming desire of the authorities to rid themselves of these people. But this punishment failed, since William Fall and 12 of his gang were posted in a detailed newspaper advertisement as returning in 1754: one, Robert Armstrong, transported for petty theft, was described as “of a swarthy complexion, like a gypsey”, and the others, including the two Gregg women (both called Jane) and Elizabeth Clarke, were all given careful descriptions and ages. William Fall was about 27, John about 30, and both they and Robert Clarke had returned with their wives. There is no further record of the gang in the North-East in the 1750s, though, perhaps as a result of their fame, many “faws” were reported arrested or escaped from gaol. The word had become a generic term for the wandering suspect.23 Little more is heard of them until the trials of the Coventry gang in 1763. Though spellings naturally vary a little, both Clark and Falls were aliases of members of this group, and it may be that both men and women from Northumberland were present there. Certainly John Hewitt thought so, for he was sure that they had a “safe house” in the NorthEast. The ringleader “Long Peg”, known to Sir John Fielding as a shoplifter, was sometimes known as Margaret Clark, married to a Robert, and another member went by numerous aliases, among them John Falls. That there was a Midlands connection is suggested by the discovery of William Fall in Hinkley, Leicestershire in 1764, and the recognizance for John Hewitt to appear against him at the Northumberland assizes in 1765.24 Even more convincing is the published autobiography of Richard Clark (from a manuscript he produced in gaol before he went to the gallows in York in 1767 for grand larceny) where the movement of the gang over the preceding 15 years was carefully chronicled. He was born in 1739 in Spittal near Berwick, and his parents (presumably Robert and Isobel, also known as Elizabeth, Clark) had been transported in 1752 with the Falls. The account warrants a full quotation: About a year after he met with a cousin at Richmond Fair, who had returned from transportation before the expiration of the term,


and soon after met with his father and mother who had also returned from transportation, and travelled about the country as pedlars, and at different places put him to school. They afterwards went to Ireland where they, with four or five more of the gang, were imprisoned for theft, but discharged for want of evidence. From thence they returned to England, where they continued their old practices of house-breaking, horse-stealing and pocketpicking. About eight years ago he was convicted here of a highway robbery, and transported, but returned in less than a year, and joined his father and mother with the rest of the gang. In 1762 he was convicted of horse-stealing at Shrewsbury, where he received sentence of death, but was reprieved the day before that fixed for his execution, and afterwards transported to Maryland, from whence he also soon returned, and coming to Warrington, in Lancashire, he was informed of his wife’s being hanged at Coven try. He then went in quest of his mother, and met with her at Newcastle. A short time after he was committed to Carlisle gaol for house-breaking of which he was convicted and in 1765 transported to Virginia, but soon returned from thence, met with his mother once more at Newcastle, and broke several houses last summer, but got little money or other effects, except for a house near Durham, from whence he took about £13 and what he got in Mark Hattersley’s house for which he suffered. Several times, when short of money, he enlisted for a soldier, but always soon deserted.25 This narrative comprises the most comprehensive and frank life story of a gang member’s career in the North-East. With so many transportation sentences, and the ease with which he returned from them, Richard Clarke resembles the embodiment of the nightmare which haunted the eighteenth-century law enforcer. However, the uniqueness of the record suggests that we should not conclude that every transportee was able to effect a return so easily. The sister he mentioned was probably Jane Smith alias Fall, wife of William, executed at Coventry in 1764. William Fall himself, on trial in Northumberland in 1765 as a returned transportee, was at first sentenced to death but then, after reprieve, again transported, this time for 14 years.26 In terms of their general characteristics, this gang seems typical: comprising married couples linked by blood, showing great mobility and an almost contemptuous speed with which they returned from transportation, they resemble the earlier Faws or William Brown’s


group. The extreme measures taken by the authorities against members of both genders also suggest that the law needed to be stretched to breaking point to deal with them. In one respect, however, they are unique: the spread of their activities outside the region in what seems to have been a loose but effective network of contacts across many miles’ distance was not achieved by any other north-east gang. The Winter-Clark gang. This group comprised the members of two families, John Winter and his three sons John, Robert and William, and Walter and Jane Clark with their daughters Jane and Eleanor; on the periphery were John Clark, Jane and Joseph Polworth and Margaret Winter. Between them they suffered six executions in five years, and for that reason alone provide a contrast with all the other gangs. Two of the younger Winters, William and the younger John, were the first to appear before the courts, convicted in 1784 of stealing rags from a warehouse. They claimed to be occupied in the characteristic trades of the migrant poor, making baskets and dealing in mugs or pots, and were sentenced to seven years’ hard labour in the hulks. In 1788 the rest of the Winters, and the first of the Clarks, were prosecuted for two apparently distinct series of crimes. The elder John Winter and his son Robert were charged with horsestealing and burglary: they broke into William Hogg’s house, and held him and his wife prisoner, threatening to kill them if they did not reveal the location of their goods. With no money to steal, they removed linen and other household items. Later, these victims easily identified both men, who were condemned at the Northumberland assizes and executed in 1788. On the scaffold, Robert spoke of his upbringing, devoid of any religion, so that “at an early age he was arrived at the full maturity of vice”, while his father seemed insensible to what was happening. At the same assizes, Walter Clark, with the Polworths and a family called Drummond, were accused by a traitorous associate, John Clark, of stealing wool and cheeses from a house near Doddington, from which they escaped to nearby Berwick. In the midst of these allegations, John Clark also accused the two Winters of the burglary, at which he seems to have been present. While the latter accusation was believed, Walter Clark and the Polworths were acquitted.27 The next arrests were in September 1791, when William Winter, who had returned from the hulks less than a month before, was arrested with all three Clark women for burglary and murder of an elderly woman, Margaret Crozier of The Raw, near Elsdon. He immediately made a full


confession, alleging that the elder Jane Clark had suggested Margaret Crozier as the target because she had seen valuable cloth in her small shop when buying tobacco there earlier in the year. Winter narrated how the two Clark girls, Jane and Eleanor, had accompanied him to Elsdon with an ass, and, while he ransacked the house, they strangled the old woman in restraining her in her bed. By the time he went into the bedroom, she was dead. Foolishly, they allowed themselves to be seen by several local people both on the way to and returning from The Raw, and left in Margaret Crozier’s bed a knife with a distinctive haft or handle which was immediately recognized by witnesses. While the elder Jane was also tried for her involvement in the crime, but acquitted, all three of the main participants were condemned and executed, Winter being hanged in chains near the place of his crime, the women anatomized. They were all very young, William Winter about 27, and the others described as “girls” (see Ch. 6). The next year, Walter Clark and two women (one allegedly his wife) were tried for burglary of a house in Wooler, and on this occasion, while the women were convicted, and transported, Clark was hanged. He disappointed the crowd at his execution by refusing to speak of his involvement with the gang.28 This gang’s career was characterized by their repeated prosecution for crimes across the region, and the severity of the punishments. Given their general willingness to use violent force against householders resulting in the death of one of them, the number of executions was not surprising. They adopted these tactics in a period of general anxiety about the vulnerability of remote houses in rural areas, and moreover at a time when the authorities were showing a greater willingness to execute than at any previous time in the century. As with the other gangs, the full involvement of women in the crimes is striking, as is the determination of the authorities to pursue both genders to the bitter end. They also achieved the distinction of being remembered for years afterwards, recast as members of a “Faws” gang, memorialized in local publications which drew upon oral testimony from people in the Elsdon area, and in the careful repeated restoration of William Winter’s gibbet, which still stands to this day.29 Gateshead Fell-Bishop Auckland gang This gang had a more tenuous identity, with some apparently confident references in the press, often to members of the Clark family, and many arrests, but few serious crimes confirmed in court. In addition, there is no evidence of definite ringleaders or organization. Indeed, Gateshead


Fell, south of Gateshead on the way to Sunderland, one of the few wild places left in north Durham, might be regarded more as uncontrolled territory where crime took place and stolen goods were sold. Walter Clark and his wife Jane Trotter apparently lived there, and groups of thieves and pickpockets arrested in the 1780s were associated with the place. A group of married couples, William and Ann Douglas, Thomas and John and their wives, and a young David Douglas, were all said in 1782 to come from there. They had: all lately resided or lodged at or about the head of Gateshead, and on Gateshead Fell, the other part of the gang reside at or near Bishop Auckland. They often change their names, and frequently rendezvous at the Crown and Cannon at Gateshead Fell and have a ware room for their stolen goods, at or near the head of Gateshead, and another on the Fell. Associated with the Douglases were Henry Cunningham, tried in various places in the region in the 1780s, and Thomas Colpitts, who had achieved the accolade of becoming locally “notorious” in the newspapers, with arrests reported in 1782 for stealing geese and in 1783 for killing sheep, from which he escaped. He was described as a “tinker”, and his wife Ann Watson was convicted in the Newcastle quarter sessions in 1782. He was next heard of in Cumberland, where he was committed for stealing handkerchiefs from a shop in Keswick.30 Despite the apparent certainty in the designation, the Gateshead Fell gang were not sufficiently identifiable or formidable to be pursued with the same ferocity as others discussed here. Indeed, the local opinion was that in some ways the territory was well controlled. By the early nineteenth century the wild days were over. As a rather ironic view put it, Thirty years ago the fell was studded with miserable mud cottages, inhabited by tinkers, cloggers, travelling potters, besom makers, egglers, and others of that worthy race called faws. A good cottage is now a rarity even on Gateshead Fell.31 Did gangs exist? A note of scepticism should pervade all discussions of organized crime in the eighteenth century. Partly this is because the word “gang” was used by contemporaries too loosely; partly because organized crime seems very much a twentieth-century phenomenon, if by the term we


mean a non-familial professional group which derives all its income from crime. As can be seen from these examples, most gangs were based on alliances of some kind, usually of married couples and their children and relatives. But beyond that, they shared few characteristics, apart from their rural base: a useful reminder, if one is needed, that organized crime is not necessarily an urban phenomenon. One (the Faws) seems to have committed few real crimes, while others (the Maben gang or the Winters and Clarkes) were determined criminals. With the rare exceptions of coiners and forgers, these gangs lacked any real professional expertise, but did pursue money from criminal activities to the point where they took foolish risks in committing crimes. Despite, or because of, the official panic, they did not elude the authorities for long. Only the Falls gang managed to avoid capture for a decade, and they had to leave the region entirely: in this, they represent the ultimate achievement among eighteenth-century criminals, the nationally mobile gang.32 Five of the six displayed determined skill in escaping from gaols or returning from transportation. What marked all of them out from the ordinary criminal, apparently, was the lack of any mitigating circumstances in their crimes, their determination to escape from justice and their skill in doing so, and, perhaps most essentially, their status as outsiders in the small communities on which they preyed.

CHAPTER FIVE Common and unnatural crimes: women and north-east crime

Historians and female criminality Statistical overviews of modern female criminality identify gendered patterns of crime in which women’s actions appear less violent and less threatening than those of men. Evidence indicates the presence of a judicial response, derived from powerful gender ideologies, which produces very different sentencing practices from those used in the cases of men. Gender ideologies have assigned women to nurturing and caring roles in a domestic sphere as though they were innate, which are then used to deny them a primary economic function outside the home. Consequently, female criminality is seen as deviant and against nature while much of male criminality accords with notions of masculinity. Explanations of low female criminality depend on either a psychology of deviance—only abnormal women commit murder—or models of female socialization—their upbringing and social world preclude this type of act —or economic factors which emphasize women’s marginalization in the labour market which in times of necessity and want thrusts them into criminally aberrant behaviour.1 Historians, while maintaining that women were less likely to face prosecution in the courts than men and, with few exceptions, that if prosecuted they received more favourable treatment as the principal beneficiaries of partial verdicts and acquittals, have tended to favour the second and third of these explanations. They have also interpreted gender differences in prosecution rates to mean that females posed less of a threat to lives, property and order than did males, a view they attribute to contemporaries.2 In the recent “crime wave” in historical writing, women’s criminality in the eighteenth century has attracted less interest than men’s. The early focus on “social crime” was male centred, female participation being confined to the margins. The shift in


focus to more quantitative approaches was no more favourable to the study of female experience since it tended to confirm women’s marginality. Nor has the privileging of law at the centre of eighteenth century culture, and the study of processes and punishments, done much to redress the imbalance. Yet in the 20 years which separates Beattie’s 1975 essay from the pathbreaking collection of essays edited by Kermode and Walker, literary scholars and economic and political historians informed by gendered perspectives sought to recover the female subject.3 Criminal records represent, as Frances Dolan wrote of accounts of domestic violence, “one set of scripts in which women could be cast as agents, albeit in problematic terms”. Subjects do have agency but they are not “unified, autonomous individuals exercising free will, but rather subjects whose agency is created through situations and statuses conferred on them”.4 Eighteenth-century ideology and social status confined most women to an inferior and lowly position. Subordinated to husbands, fathers and brothers, married or to be married, they were characterized as creatures of emotion rather than reason, the larger share of which was allocated to males. When a woman such as Jenny Diver, “the most noted pickpocket of her times”, inverted normal power relations, she was an object of intense curiosity, but when fate ultimately intervened her end occasioned little surprise; her story sold well.5 Women who ended their lives on the gallows displayed certain common behavioural characteristics, beginning with their youthful rejection of subordination to the authority of others, be it parents, masters, mistresses, nurses or others, in a futile assertion of independence, yet being “too idle and too proud to think of earning a subsistence”. Their malignity lured many a young man from the path of virtue, as the Ordinary of Newgate chronicled. Debauchery and extravagance were “rocks upon which so many of the female sex are split, especially in and about London and Westminster”, wrote one Gentleman of the Law in 1759. Nothing tended to pervert the female heart, according to Jonas Hanway, “so much as the habit of spending much time and money in amusement and the decoration of their persons”. Prey to whims and desires, women turned to prostitution and criminality in order to gratify them.6 John Fielding’s view was more firmly grounded when he described prostitution as a trap into which women fell for want of adequate earning power. Widows had only “the wash-tub, green-stall, or barrow”. Few went so far as one correspondent of the Gentleman’s Magazine who urged that all female offenders should be transported for their very first offence.7

COMMON AND UNNATURAL CRIMES 97

North-east England’s female offenders were not destined to achieve lasting notoriety and enter popular consciousness, though Elizabeth Herring, who in 1773 was burnt at the stake in London for the murder of her husband, was reputedly born in Newcastle.8 They bequeathed no last dying speeches deemed worthy of publication and there were only occasional references to female offenders as “notorious”, “well known” or “infamous”. Images of the North-East were overwhelmingly masculine and linked to a lawless past and a riot-torn present from which women were almost entirely omitted.9 The courts of north-east England encountered women as assailants, rioters, prostitutes and murderers but most especially as thieves. Between 1718 and 1800 women constituted 38% of all accused thieves: as outlined in Chapter 3, they were a substantial minority of those accused in the quarter sessions of Durham and Northumberland, but a majority in the towns of Newcastle (55.1%) and Berwick (51.5%). Women figured less prominently at assizes but, even here, their numbers were not negligible, accounting for between a fifth and a quarter of theft charges (excluding animal theft which was almost exclusively a male preserve).10 Women may have engaged most closely with the legal system at its base. Evidence is fragmentary (limited to newspaper reports of summary justice in Newcastle), but the survival of one justice’s notebook, that of Edmund Tew, Rector of Boldon, showing large numbers of women among complainants and accused, tends to support this view.11 Though these figures are higher than those found elsewhere during the period, the overall pattern conforms to the character of crime identified elsewhere in England, continental Europe and North America.12 The world of goods Theft accusations against women, single, married and widowed, grew as a proportion of all prosecutions of women at quarter sessions during the course of the eighteenth century. While it is true that the proportion of men charged with similar offences in the lower courts also increased over the same period, property theft among men never assumed the same significance as it did among women. In part, this was because men committed a greater diversity of offences: many were private assault charges, but others derived from holding public office or causing public nuisances, suggesting that their presence in the “public” sphere generated opportunities for other forms of deviance.13


Table 5.1 Stolen goods: Durham quarter sessions, 1735–1800

Within the region, local variations were shaped by topography, economy, demography, and gender. Animal theft was negligible in Newcastle and Berwick while the theft of iron goods, noticeable in the industrial parishes of Durham where the Crowley ironworks were located, was predictably insignificant in Northumberland. The existence of collieries in both counties led to the theft of coal but whereas ironware was likely to be sold, the latter was for consumption. Gender distinctions were sharpest in Northumberland and the garrison town of Berwick and least evident in Newcastle. In Berwick female criminality, much as Hufton depicted in eighteenth-century France, concentrated on petty theft and prostitution.14 Very likely it was the absence of wealthy towns and the pattern of scattered, relatively poor settlements, that kept overall figures low in Northumberland. There, women were predominantly involved in stealing textiles (see Table 5.2). Theft in the region was gender-related rather than gender-specific. In Berwick, Newcastle and the counties of Durham and Northumberland women specialized in the theft of clothing but clothing was also commonly associated with male theft. As the most sought-after commodity of the day and the second most important item of household expenditure, “clothing was negotiable, portable and rapidly converted into cash or kind”.15


Table 5.2 Stolen goods: Northumberland quarter sessions, 1719–1800

Newcastle The interesting aspect of the region in relation to gender is Newcastle, the regional “metropolis”, where the incidence of women prosecuted for theft at quarter sessions exceeded that of men. Until 1783, the year in which the American War of Independence formally ended, women constituted a majority of accused thieves in Newcastle. Most thieves worked alone there: to a greater extent than in the rural counties, theft in Newcastle rarely involved more than one person. Generally, women were more likely to work alone than men, but if they did work with others, the group was often made up of relatives—mothers and children, or sisters acting together. In whatever way they operated, the chosen victims of either gender were remarkably similar. About a quarter of those recorded as complaining about losses of goods were female. This was higher than elsewhere, suggesting a more affluent population of female victims and an equality of temptation among potential thieves.16 Analysis of what was stolen indicates significantly different patterns from that found in the countryside. There was no animal theft to speak of, little theft of grain except in times of dearth and riot, and, despite male work-related theft, there was much overlap between the genders.17 The value of the stolen goods alleged in quarter sessions cases was sometimes considerable, certainly sufficient in many cases to justify an assize trial. But the evidence suggests that Newcastle justices disregarded the real value of the goods in order to retain control over the fate of the accused. Unlike rural thieves, Newcastle’s criminals were more likely to steal valuable silverware, watches, household linen,


tools, and utensils, and clothing made of the more luxurious fabrics such as decorated cotton and fine linen (see Table 5.3 Patterns of solo and co-operative thefts, Newcastle quarter sessions

Table 5.5). Many items were relatively small, light and valuable. Accessories such as caps, silver or gold buckles, and handkerchiefs were particularly tempting, all fashion items which announced the wearer’s taste.


Table 5.4 Gender of victims of theft, Newcastle quarter sessions, 1750–74

Table 5.5 Stolen goods: Newcastle quarter sessions, 1725–74

Explanations for the predominance of female theft in Newcastle must remain rather speculative. Newcastle lacks the detailed age, occupational and marital data so assiduously exploited in a recent study of women appearing at the Old Bailey between 1791 and 1793.18 Nevertheless, the evidence suggests that in the last half of the eighteenth century the marital status of accused female thieves at Newcastle quarter sessions was rather different from the London study. There were roughly equal proportions of married and single women before the court, both accounting for about two-fifths of the accused, and there was an unusually large proportion of widows. This was in distinct contrast to the situation in Northumberland where, as in London, the majority of women accused at the quarter sessions were single, and only a minority were married or widowed.19 It is likely that the distinctive economic life of the town drove more married and widowed women towards crime. The slow growth of the town, the character of male employment, the top-heavy class structure of society, and the presence of many poor taverns, pubs, and disorderly houses underscored the


impoverishment of many of Newcastle’s inhabitants. Eighteenthcentury Newcastle was a place of squalor and affluence, “filthy” and “disagreable”, yet with “the riches and trade of London in some degree”.20 There were sharper distinctions of wealth and status than in many other English towns. There were many poor people, a “prodigious number”, said Defoe, many of whom depended on employment related to the river or the sea: hundreds of shipwrights, watermen, keelmen, and seamen lived east of the town in Sandgate and All Saints, too poor to pay the hearth tax at the end of the seventeenth century. When John Wesley visited the place for the first time in 1742, it was still “the poorest and most contemptible part of the town”. Much work was seasonal; keelmen did not work during the winter months, pitmen worked less than a full year, and seamen were away from home for weeks, possibly longer. There were times when nothing could move on the river or be carried from the staithes or the pit heads.21 But if poverty might propel some women towards illegal activity in certain circumstances and at certain times in their lives, there were others who might have responded to different stimuli. Newcastle did not lag behind in the consumer revolution of the eighteenth century. Through the coal trade, the town’s links with London were close and some household and consumer goods were more readily available in the area “than almost anywhere else in England”. The economy of the region has been characterized as possessing “very advanced aspects…especially in the towns, alongside rather backward rural elements”. Moreover, it flourished as a cultural centre during the course of the century with many of the badges of affluence—gentry residences, assembly rooms, clubs and societies, libraries, theatrical and musical performances, lectures, newspapers, and a vigorous political life.22 Higher rates of female prosecution in urban centres than in the countryside were not unusual in the eighteenth century, but female majorities were rare, though they existed on the continent in declining textile towns such as Leiden from which male emigration was high and cities like Amsterdam where men were away at sea.23 Female criminality in cities and towns has been associated with migration patterns that resulted in female-dominated urban populations. Women outnumbered men in many urban centres in England as a result of migration from rural areas. New-castle’s proportion of females in the population was rather higher than in other towns in the North.24 In urban centres women enjoyed greater independence and faced greater risks. The city and the town offered opportunity, diversion and relative freedom from patriarchal constraints. Job opportunities were restricted


to a narrow and poorly paid range of employment but cities and towns provided the prospect of better wages than in the countryside and choices among potential employers. For married women, casual or seasonal work, regular or temporary, might make the difference between poverty and destitution, though it has also been argued that their additional earning power helped to fuel a consumer revolution. For servants the provision of food and lodging minimized the problem of low wages, but single women and widows not in service and living outside the family might survive by resorting to “an economy of expedients, multiple makeshifts which together permitted some kind of existence” which included theft, prostitution and trickery.25 Too little information is available on how Newcastle thefts prosecuted at quarter sessions were committed or where they occurred, making it difficult to ascertain whether women’s crimes stemmed from necessity or material motives, were planned or opportunist.26 Stolen goods, however, can be divided into those which were pre-eminently useful or practical, such as food and drink, and those whose utility consisted in their exchange value, such as silverware and money. Clothing falls into both categories. The theft of items of clothing and food, which may have been occasioned by need, were more likely planned. It was probably necessity that caused Ann Brown, the wife of a Gateshead barber, to be apprehended early one morning and charged with the theft of food and clothing from the house of William Dixon, another barber, in Sandgate.27 The single theft of a precious item, on the other hand, was more likely to be impulsive or opportunist. The value of silverware doubtless contributed to its allure but beakers, tankards, jugs, cups, dishes and especially spoons were also relatively easy to conceal and carry off. Unlike the pattern found in late medieval England, there were few thefts of large quantities of food and drink. Except in the area of clothing, the character of female theft bore little relationship to women’s domestic preoccupations. Clothing was endowed with particular meaning for women and men. It was a measure of social status and an expression of personal taste; it could be conveyed to others as “valuable goods and personal tokens”. It signified individual identity, personality and fashion.28 Means and opportunities Theft was a matter of opportunity but not necessarily opportunist. Women’s access to premises and goods was more restricted than that of men but as a servant, lodger, frequenter of alehouses, markets and fairs,


a customer in a shop, pedestrian on the streets of a large or small town, or traveller along the highway, women necessitous or ambitious, desperate or inventive, devised strategies to acquire money and goods. While the rural crimes of horse-stealing and sheep-stealing were largely the preserve of males, most other forms of felonious theft were practised by women and men and in ways that were held in common. A female subculture of illegal activity most certainly existed, but women also operated outside this world, frequently selecting men as their principal targets. At the assizes, women tried for robbery and burglary had generally committed their crimes in locations with which they were familiar, or about which they acquired some information which would facilitate the removal of goods and money: this was equally true of men.29 Newcastle’s markets, streets, shops, laundries, and innumerable taverns and public places presented plentiful opportunity. Many crimes were committed by women in open spaces. Mary White, the wife of the famous “Sir” William Brown, was accused by a woman of picking her pocket in the Flesh Market. Similarly, Mary Elliott, a married woman, working with two men neither of whom was her husband, was accused of picking Anthony Heron’s pocket as he stood listening to the Reverend George Whitefield preach at Castle Garth. Durham market likewise attracted would-be thieves, such as Mary Low, the wife of a Newcastle hawker, transported for picking the pocket of a local farmer.30 Women behaving badly were identified closely with pickpocketing, often found in bawdy-houses and on the streets. Women working together, especially late at night, approached lone men. Mary Malvin and Catherine Richardson were accused by Charles Staples, a captain in the Royal British Fencibles, of stealing money from him. According to his information, having met the two single women on the street, he went to a house in Long Stairs (Newcastle) with them, going upstairs “for a short time”, where he lost £15 “in the company of the said girls”.31 Women made use of their detailed local knowledge to target houses when they were conveniently empty. Isobel Adamson broke into the house of widow Elizabeth Taylor in the parish of Whitburn while she was at church, and in similar fashion Jane Gelson broke into Jane Robinson’s house after the latter had left at eight in the morning to work on the harvest.32 Such knowledge of other people’s (in fact often other women’s) daily routines created opportunities for theft. When Mary Reed was out selling milk, Mary Thompson asked her youngest child where her mother put her milk money. When Ann Clark “was abroad


upon her usual occupation of spinning”, having secured the door and windows, Magdalen Clark was recruited by Mary Millwood to break into the house “and get out what she could”.33 Shops were another source of money and goods, depending on the stock they carried.34 Shoes were among the most frequently available ready-made articles, which may explain why they figure in a large number of thefts. Drapers, mercers and shopkeepers carried large numbers of accessories but only a handful of outer and inner garments.35 Shops could be broken into during the night or early morning and goods seized or lifted during the day by a series of stratagems. Shopkeepers and shop assistants could be distracted by a group working together and goods on display secreted in clothing or passed to another customer. Children and young people might be used as decoys, assistants or principals. Widow Mary Stuart and her two daughters were apprehended for breaking into the shop of Henry and John Forster and stealing a quantity of shoes and boots. All three were tried before the assizes but only the mother was convicted and she was sentenced to transportation. Similarly, informed by his servant Mary Walker that she “had catched a girl in his shop” in Chester-le-Street, George Sherlock pursued and caught her. Hearing a noise in the shop at eight in the morning, Mary Walker had found Christian Carrick opening the door. “Perceiving her petticoat up”, she pulled it down and found two webs of cloth. Carrick asked her not to tell her master “because you have got your own”. Though an assize jury found her guilty of petit larceny “to the value of 10 pence” rather than shoplifting, she was sentenced to transportation.36 Female lodgers may have stolen because they were lodgers but, alternatively, they may have become lodgers in order to steal. Some left taking goods with them; others returned shortly afterwards, helping themselves to chosen items. “Under pretence of being benighted”, Jane Wilson alias Mary Brown described as a “fresh able young woman”, of middle size with “dark coloured Hair and a remarkable Scar above her right eye”, came to the house of widow Ann Lairmouth and her daughter and desired “to lay there all night by the fireside”. She left before seven the next morning having broken open a locked chest and taken money and clothing. In a similar case, the day after two sisters who had lodged with her for three weeks left for Newcastle, Margaret Jackson, a Gateshead widow, found her door broken open and goods worth £7 missing. A month later the women were apprehended in Sunderland when they tried to fence some of the goods.37 Others also committed thefts “in the guise of a lodger”, raiding the houses where


they had been given shelter. But few were as inventive as Margaret Collister. Calling herself James Moore, she took lodgings near Alnwick but left early the next day carrying off 28 guineas, three portugals and some clothes. At Alnwick she took the postchaise for the North. Apprehended at Berwick and having already sold a coat but with the greater part of the money still on her, she was brought back to Alnwick where “a discovery was made of her sex”.38 The initiative required of landladies in this self-help system of recovering stolen goods and prosecuting thieves is exemplified in the case of Jane Atkinson, who lost no time when at three in the morning she found that her lodgers, southerners James and Ann Keys, had departed clandestinely with six guineas and four silk handkerchiefs taken from a locked chest. She pursued them to Chester-le-Street and along the turnpike to Durham City and, with the help of a coachman and constable, managed to have them lured into custody.39 Servants were particularly well placed to steal from employers: some servants had barely begun their employment when they succumbed to temptation. Eighteen-year-old Ann Robson had been in Mr Wandless’ employ only a week when she was committed to Morpeth gaol on suspicion of stealing a quantity of clothes. It was also reported that she had attempted to burn down the dwelling house and barn and that a tinder box and matches were found in her possession. Others stole towards the end of their employment. Ann Cresswell, a servant in Gateshead, confessed to stealing a portugal and four half-crowns out of a locked drawer from her master John Anderson and 16 pence from a bag belonging to his wife, explaining that she had given the money to a neighbour to buy clothes when she left his service. Others exploited the same kinds of opportunities as non-residential thieves. The fact that William Coleman, a yeoman of Lanchester parish, was away from home for three or four days may have prompted his maidservant Frances Gray to break into a locked drawer and flee with clothing belonging to his wife and £6 in cash. When overtaken a mile or so from the house, she had two bundles with her. When she was stripped, “a purse or pocket then dropped from her”.40 Access to silverware was a feature of inns and public houses. Ann Stephenson, servant to Joseph Turnbull, innkeeper of the Angel in Alnwick, confessed to stealing a pair of silver salts. Mary Cooper, servant of a Newcastle innkeeper, Ralph Steel, was accused by her mistress and a kitchenmaid of stealing the “mouths” of two silver spoons and the “shank” of another. Suspecting they were stolen from her master, she asked no questions when urged by the kitchenmaid, Elizabeth Donaldson, to sell them to a silversmith in the


town and give her half the money. She sold one piece to a man she did not know, hiding the remainder in shavings in her garret, where they were found by a fellow servant, Ann Beadall.41 Selling goods on The act of disposing of stolen goods made female thieves vulnerable for a second time. Though some thieves may have kept the choicest articles for themselves, there was a vast and flourishing market in second-hand clothes. The demand for wearing apparel made of the new lighter fabrics of cotton and linen could not keep up with demand and was supplied by the second-hand trade, legitimate and illegitimate.42 Clothes had to be exchanged or sold quickly, for owners could identity them too easily. By the time Isabel Robinson and her daughter had traced Rachel Dove to Newcastle, she had already exchanged the silk gown stolen from Robinson’s house for one of “jersey stuff” with a woman in Gateshead. Silverware, too, was traceable because it was initialled, its loss widely advertised and silversmiths and pawnbrokers cautioned against accepting it. A poor woman exposing a silver beaker for sale or offering it to pawnbrokers and silversmiths was an object of suspicion. When Mary Kirkupp tried to sell a gold ring to Robert Peatt, a silversmith, he saw it was new and suspected it was stolen, so went to see a goldsmith, William Dalton, who confirmed that he had lost such a ring earlier that day when a woman came into his shop asking to buy one. Isabel Gross was not so hasty. She waited two weeks after stealing a silver beaker from a house in the Groat Market before offering pieces of silver for sale, which she claimed to have found, to two different establishments. In her examination, she changed her story, claiming to have bought the beaker and a pewter basin in the Flesh Market from a man whose name she did not know. Even if melted down quickly, silverware could be traced by its owner.43 Money, stolen from people or houses, was most easily disposable but women, especially servants, seen with silver and gold coins, and unable to give a credible explanation, soon aroused suspicion. Elizabeth Weddell, the wife of a chapman, described in her deposition how Margaret Stafford, a servant of the Reverend Thomas Smythe of Bedlington, had come to her shop to buy some cotton goods, and given her a £10 note “desiring the deponent to inform her of the value of the paper and change it into money”. Weddell was much surprised, “expressing her amazement in the following words ‘Ten pounds is a great deal of money. Why! ten pounds is a good fortune now a days’”.44


Networking and networks Young servants pilfering from shops and businesses might do so at the behest of older women, but whether the activities of these women could be described in terms of criminal networks is doubtful. One problem is that it is difficult to tell how much of women’s co-operative activities have been captured in the legal records, even at the assizes. The crimes of Jane Mangham in South Shields and Margaret Floyd in Durham City illustrate the difficulties of reconstructing the organization of female thieves. Both women lived in small urban communities where it seems unlikely that their activities could have continued undetected for long. When widow Martha Ayre lost goods from her shop in South Shields, she accused her father’s servant Mary Grainger of taking them. In her examination Grainger confessed how at Jane Mangham’s frequent instigation she “constantly” carried ribbon, cotton and checked linen to her. A shoemaker’s wife, Mangham confessed to paying Grainger 12 shillings for the goods found at her house. More were found at Mary Taylor’s and Thomas Richardson’s, who claimed to have bought them from Mangham. Grainger and Mangham were convicted at assizes, the former of stealing from a house to the value of 40 shillings, the latter of receiving. Margaret Floyd, also the wife of a shoemaker, used her daughter Isobel as a go-between to collect tallow from Margaret Gardiner, a servant of the father of a tallow chandler, Cuthbert Marshall, in the city of Durham. In her examination, Gardiner related how over a number of months since the last Durham races Margaret Floyd had persuaded her to steal pieces of tallow, which Isobel collected in a poke. George Hugall, an apprentice, bought pieces of tallow from her, at first not supposing them stolen but “by her coming so often he began to suspect they were stolen”. His master questioned the girl but she told him she got it from the college. He was ordered to follow her, but she went straight home. Margaret Floyd did not pay Gardiner for the tallow but promised her as much jersey, woollen or yarn as would make her a gown. Floyd was convicted of receiving but her daughter was acquitted. Gardiner was also charged and convicted.45 The extent to which there existed professional criminal networks centring around receivers with backward and forward linkages, made up largely if not exclusively of women, is difficult to ascertain from the evidence of the courts; and whether those identified in the county of Durham in 1750s and 1760s were representative of more general patterns in the region or justify the term networks is arguable. Those discussed here comprise cases where at least two females were charged


with different offences and there is evidence that stolen goods were sold on by receivers to largely female purchasers over a number of months. For example, Mary Arson, alias Heaviside, who admitted to a series of thefts in Sedgefield, implicated Ann Newton and Lydia Laws, both of whom were charged with receiving. On learning that a warrant had been granted to apprehend her on suspicion of stealing goods from Richard Chipchase, she approached a Sedgefield merchant, John Ralph, informing him that “she was inclined to make some discovery”, but she gained nothing by it. In her examination, Arson confessed to theft of goods from several men and women “by the persuasion and allurement of… Ann Newton and Lydia Laws”, they “buying them at a trifling price and greatly under their value”. Elizabeth Towers gave evidence concerning a Scotch plaid waist-coat, belonging to her servant James, Newton’s son, whom she heard had bought the cloth from his mother for one shilling a yard. His mother told him that she had bought it off a pedlar. Other informants were also female. Elizabeth and Thomasine Middleton stated that Lydia Laws had offered “stripped jammy” (cloth) for sale which they had purchased and they identified Isobel Richardson as another female purchaser.46 Typically, as in the case of Elizabeth Godfrey, the arrest of the thief unravelled the enterprise. Godfrey, a single woman of Crossgate in the city of Durham, claimed that Mary Parkinson and Jane Hutchinson, two carpenters’ wives from Framwellgate, encouraged her to steal: by telling her that bring what she would, they would give it house room and that if anybody came to enquire after any thing, never any one should know and they often bid her go and get more hankerchiefs. She sold the goods at very small prices and greatly under the real value thereof. Over a period of six months Godfrey stole handkerchiefs, usually made of silk, in different colours, spotted or checked, from eight Durham shops, two of them run by women. She sold them to a growing number of local women on a regular basis. Taken up by a constable when she robbed Richard Waugh’s shop for a second time, Godfrey was convicted of larceny and Parkinson of receiving.47 The small number of these cases in Durham suggests one conclusion about purely female networks in north-east England: that they were limited in nature and extent, short-lived and contained few identifiable links.


Women and homicide Just over one-third (34.8%) of all homicide charges in the region were brought against women, a relatively high proportion when compared with Surrey but comprehensible in light of the fact that two-thirds of them were for newborn child murder, a preoccupation of rural areas and small towns rather than a large urban centre like Newcastle or the urban parishes to be found in Surrey.48 Homicide charges constituted 15.1% of accusations brought against females at assizes and 6.6% of those brought against males.49 With few exceptions, women’s victims other than new-born infants were family members, neighbours or others known to the accused, suggesting that female homicide occurred almost wholly within the context of a breakdown in family or other close relationships. There was little interpersonal violence among strangers of the sort that led to the majority of murder and manslaughter charges brought against men (see Ch. 3). The murder in 1791 of an elderly shopkeeper in Northumberland during the course of a robbery, allegedly by Jane and Eleanor Clark, was exceptional (see Ch. 4). Widow Alice Dixon, indicted for the murder of a fellow inmate at the Newcastle workhouse in 1789, probably knew her victim. Some deaths were accidental. Jane Kell’s argument with Elizabeth Stanforth ended in a murder indictment when, hurling a spade at her, she killed her two-yearold daughter; however, witnesses were willing to testify that her action was not intentional.50 Isobel Sheavel was indicted with her servant Michael Curry for her husband’s murder in 1739 but he denied her complicity in the affair. She was acquitted because she “prov’d lunatic”. Lunacy was also a factor in the acquittal of Ann Vardy, accused of murdering an aunt.51 A lunacy plea also saved Ann Wilson, convicted of murder and petit treason for the killing of her husband with an axe, for which the traditional punishment was burning at the stake. Reserved for women found guilty of petit treason to which the law gave special attention, the charge embraced not only the murder of husbands by their wives but that of masters and mistresses by their servants, and coining, held to be a treasonable offence against the king. Ann Wilson was not for burning, the court deciding “she [was] mad and disordered in her senses at the time of the fact committed and continues so”.52 Margaret Scott’s killing of her husband in 1789 was in some respect not unlike the pattern of male homicide in which drunken brawls, often between strangers, resulted in unpremeditated murder leading to partial verdicts of manslaughter and mild punishments. Margaret Scott benefited from a similar verdict though charged with the “wilful and


treaterous murder of her husband”. After a domestic dispute, she had drunk away the night in Newcastle only to return home no more reconciled than when she had left. Caught by a poker she had thrown at him, he died several days later in the infirmary, leaving her to face a charge of petit treason, one of only two brought in the region between 1718 and 1800.53 Indictments for newborn child murder, the largest category of homicide charges, were less than one per year, a figure comparable to that found by Malcolmson for Staffordshire over a 60-year period but higher than that for Surrey, where there were 35 indictments between 1722 and 1800.54 The relative absence of prosecutions in urban areas probably had more to do with urban conditions than the incidence of infanticide, while the evidence against those who were prosecuted is hardly compelling. In some newspaper accounts and inquests there was only the body of a child to report or examine with no clue as to the identity of the mother. Boys playing near the Leazes pond on the outskirts of Newcastle discovered what they supposed was a bundle of clothes, “but on drawing it out, it was found to contain the body of a new-born male child”. Not all babies were allegedly strangled, choked or drowned within minutes or hours of birth. One county clerk placed a notice in the Newcastle Courant in 1763 offering a reward of ten guineas for information leading to the discovery of the person or persons who left a five-week-old child “exposed in the fields, near Kilham, in the parish of Kirk-newton, and County of Northumberland, on Sunday the 23rd of October last…so that he, she, or they, may be brought justice.” A two-week-old child wrapped in a blanket and left at the entrance of a public house at 9pm was clearly intended to be found.55 Infanticide, regarded with peculiar horror in early modern Europe, remained a high-profile crime in eighteenth-century England, ranking alongside highway robbery and burglary in the expanding field of crime reportage and as a continuing popular literary theme. Yet the very severity of the 1624 statute which made concealment of the birth of a child tantamount to proof of its murder may have discredited it among some law enforcement authorities, legal commentators and jurors during the course of the eighteenth century; however, this did not mean that women ceased to be accused, subjected to physical examination and intimidation, charged by inquest juries with wilful murder and committed for trial by grand juries. Rational and scientific approaches to the law of evidence favoured the acquittal of most accused women but the impetus behind their exposure derived from women’s commitment to the uniquely female world of childbirth. As in the


pursuit of female thieves, it was other women who often provided the momentum for discovery and accusation, but their revulsion was not shared by many male juries.56 Rumour was critical in establishing a crime. Reports that an unmarried woman, single or widowed, was carrying a child might circulate among servants and neighbours, but only following the birth were authorities, overseers of the poor, local women, fellow servants and employers alerted to the possibility of a felony. Joseph Havelock became suspicious when he saw George Pickering’s maidservant Elizabeth Watson on a pit heap at South Birtley colliery. From the report “going about the inhabitants of Birtley she delivered of a child” and “since there was no path to the pit he suspected her of throwing the child down the pit”: the body was recovered by a coal-viewer, John Bedlington, 40 yards down and brought up by rope. At an inquest on the body of the child, the surgeon giving evidence “supposed” the child was born alive but could not say why it died. He inferred that there was an intent to deprive it of life from fractures it had sustained and the fact that the umbilical cord was not tied. Jane Stephenson with whom Elizabeth Watson lodged identified a poke in which the child was found and testified that she washed bloodstained clothes at a neighbour’s. None of this evidence was sufficient to bring about a murder conviction, and Elizabeth Watson was acquitted at Durham assizes.57 In most depositions relating to newborn child murder, it was women who were instrumental in detecting and determining the crime. It was women who circulated information about the condition of the accused and who noted the changes in her appearance. Their first step was to challenge the accused concerning her condition, a task usually undertaken not by one but by several women acting together and demanding to see the child. After sending for a midwife or midwives, they physically examined the accused woman, at which point she might confess to have given birth to a child but claimed it was born dead. If she persisted in her denials, the women would be suspicious that she had destroyed the child and would search for it. Bodies were found temporarily hidden in beds, cupboards, chests, boxes and baskets belonging to the accused. Childbirth was at the centre of a uniquely female world, one of female solidarity in which female relatives, neighbours and professionals gathered to observe the rituals of lying-in and childbirth which gave support to the mother, aided in the delivery of the child and celebrated its birth. It was a world essentially policed by women.58 The offence of newborn child murder negated women’s role as givers of life, violated the behavioural code surrounding childbirth, and invited


the intrusion of male authorities. Furthermore, by disposing of the body of the infant among the filth and excrement of “necessary houses”, down wells and pits or in streams, rivers and the sea from which they were difficult to recover undamaged, accused women deprived their children of a Christian burial. Some mothers defended themselves carefully against such an allegation. Servant Anne Bell bore her child in Thomas Dawson’s barn (he was the father of the child), and hid its body in a cupboard, removing it the next day to a field near Hexham where she covered it with “mold and grass” but was careful to tell her interrogators “untill such time as she had an opportunity to bury it in the church yard”. Margaret Richardson was on her way to visit a friend when the pain of labour overcame her. She gave birth by the roadside and buried the child in a dike. George Gordan pulled the body out and carried it away for burial.59 Though some left to avoid detection, many women gave birth in the place where they lived and worked, in secret, alone and unaided, endeavouring to conceal their pregnancy or deny it if challenged. Most were abandoned by the men they were involved with, though one, John Mailing, gentleman of Sunderland, promised his father’s employee Ann Appleby that he would support her “in future”, if she would “father the child on some sailor who was on board a ship of war”. He gave her a mixture to drink, and she lost the child at about five months, and he was indicted with being an accessory to murder.60 Mary Atkinson, a single woman from Guisborough (Yorkshire), fled to Stockton and took a room where she bore a child. No one was present. Mary Wilson, her landlady, told the inquest jury that she found blood seeping from Atkinson’s room and went to investigate. Atkinson told her she was miscarrying. Atkinson testified that she had fallen from a ladder going to her room in the garret which she believed had occasioned a miscarriage. The child was not at full term and she cast it into the river Tees.61 Once discovered, a single mother might well receive help from her family that had been denied her before the birth. Parents and siblings had good reason to safeguard the reputation and standing of their family as well as to shield a daughter or a sister from the shame associated with bastardy, but their denials were contradicted by the observations of neighbours, midwives and surgeons. Yet some mothers claimed that they knew nothing of their daughters’ situation. Common law rules of evidence required more than the presumption that a child was born alive in order to convict the mother of causing its death. Preparations for the child’s birth were accepted evidence in a woman’s favour and could be demonstrated in a number of ways. The


absence of such evidence compounded suspicions that its life had been snuffed out by violence. Eleanor Bryson, who lived in Sandgate, Newcastle, was a familiar figure “being accustomed to go about this town and neighbourhood selling earthenware”, when in March 1775 the Newcastle Journal reported why an inquest jury saw fit to commit her for trial at the ensuing assizes for the “wilful murder” of her bastard child. The circumstances against her, were, the calling no assistance when in labour, tho’ a woman lodged in the adjoining room; her not having prepared any bed linen for the child; and after her delivery in secreting the infant in a coal-hole which with the appearance of the lungs of the child, on an examination by a surgeon, gave the jury every reason to believe the infant had been murdered.62 Midwives provided expert testimony, and together with women neighbours gave evidence concerning the physical condition of mothers and children. They confirmed that a woman had recently given birth, that her breasts were full of milk, that a baby was full term or not, was born dead or alive, whether there were marks of violence on the child’s body, and how the child might have died, whether through the carelessness and ignorance of the mother in failing to summon assistance or through violence perpetrated by her.63 Inquest juries and grand juries generally supported the community’s view, yet convictions were low: 10.9%. Out of 64 prosecutions in Durham, Northumberland, Newcastle and Berwick, there were only seven convictions, three in Newcastle, one in Northumberland, two in Berwick, and one in Durham, where more than half of all cases originated.64 There were few witnesses as to what had occurred, evidence was often circumstantial, and there were doubts about medical tests used even among the surgeons performing them. Women accused of newborn child murder in particular benefited from concern over evidence, despite the widespread horror felt by fellow women at the crime of child-killing.65


Table 5.6 Trial verdicts for the murder of newborn infants

Hanging A reluctance to hang women has been identified by many historians as characteristic of English law in action. Some have associated it with the development of a chivalric ideal while others give credence to the development of a romantic or humanistic sensibility during the course of the eighteenth century. “A slow death by strangulation”, in other words hanging, was the ultimate legal sanction. While women in the region stood a higher chance of being convicted than men, there was less likelihood they would be hanged. The region was relatively free from judicial violence, not merely the excessive violence that marked London and Dublin, but the much lower levels of violence to be found in provincial England.66 A quarter of the total number of women condemned to death were hanged. Inevitably, the number of males capitally convicted in north-east England was, as elsewhere, much higher. Sixty-four men (18.8% of the condemned) were hanged in the region. Yet fewer men were sentenced to death in the North-East than were actually hanged in Surrey.67 The low level of female execution has been identified as a striking feature of capital punishment in eighteenth-century England and, if numbers were everything, then the hanging of ten women in north-east England might warrant a similar observation, but for Blackstone’s comments that “the natural modesty of the sex forbids the exposing and publicly mangling their bodies” and the fact that half the hanged women were also dissected. Their bodies were handed over to two or more surgeons who in public lectures delivered to wholly male audiences engaged in their dissection and anatomization. Only 15% of condemned men (9) merited aggravated forms of execution, either dissection (7) or gibbeting (hanging the corpse in chains) (2). Women also represented a


higher proportion of the total hanged (13.5%) than the 5% to 7% found in London, Surrey and Dublin. The execution and dissection of these women created a powerful impression. The condemned women were neither “exceptionally unlucky” nor “exceptionally wicked” but the nature of their crimes, the character of the women and, in cases of robbery, the timing of their offences all contributed to their destruction necessitating the infliction of further bodily punishment imposed by the assize judges.68 Dorothy Gatenby was the first woman to be condemned under the 1752 Murder Act “for better preventing the horrid crime of murder” which extended the scope of dissection and gibbeting by authorizing the courts to add “some further terror and peculiar mark of infamy” to the punishment of murder, the government response to a perceived crime wave in the aftermath of yet another war. The inquest jury on “a dead new born child” found in the Burn-Bank accused Gatenby of wilful murder and on the same day she was committed to Newgate by the Mayor of Newcastle. In August, the assize jury found her guilty of killing her illegitimate child “born in secret”, and she was hanged within two days. By all accounts, she had a “good death”. Execution was to take place the day after sentencing, or the day after that if a Sunday, virtually excluding all possibility of a pardon. It was a sentence more feared than gibbeting with which it shared the distinction of denying wrongdoers a grave.69 Very rarely were women convicted of infanticide. In Gatenby’s case, there were factors that might have mitigated her fate for she was a widow with three children, but other considerations appear to have weighed more against her with both jury and judges. She was an older woman, her children were already in service, and she was known to the Newcastle magistrates as an old offender. The case of Margaret Middleton, alias Coulson, in 1763 also involved the death of an illegitimate child though the child was not her own but one placed in her care by the father, with the approval of the mother’s family, who wanted to be rid of it and paid her £3 to take it. She had asked for £6. In her examination, Coulson told how she had picked up the child late at night on the turnpike lest the child’s mother intervene to prevent it “when she came to know she was but a travelling Woman”. Fearful that the child reported drowned some five miles from Durham was hers, Isobel Curry went to the place to view the body, only to learn that it had already been buried in Elvet churchyard whereupon she had the grave opened. She identified the child from a birthmark and “from a Gown, a Cap and a Ribbon which it had on”. One witness described how


Coulson had been drinking and “seemed a good deal concern’d in liquor”. Margaret Laverick took care of the child when Coulson fell asleep, gave it milk, and tried to keep it quiet. When she saw her the next day it was at a public house at Butcher Raw, where she asked her what she had done with “her little child”. When told “she had sent it forwa’d upon the Road”, Laverick told her “she suspected she had made an end of the Child”.70 The case against Coulson was not dissimilar to one which came before the assizes 15 years later. On that occasion Christian Gowther, a pedlar’s wife from Morpeth, was charged with murdering Jane Gatis’ bastard child, who was a few months old, whom she had contracted to care for, by abandoning and exposing it in the parish of Lanchester. Despite evidence of the child’s identity, a jury acquitted Gowther. Two factors distinguished her case from that of Coulson which may have influenced the jury: Christian Gowther was not a local woman or known to the authorities, and the child was still alive when found.71 Most famous was Margaret Tinkler, the wife of a Bishop Auckland innkeeper, a midwife who faced two indictments at the Durham assizes in 1781: as a consequence of a botched abortion, she was charged with killing Jane Parkinson, made pregnant by a man not her husband: by thrusting and inserting 2 pieces of wood into & against the private parts & womb of the said Jane giving to the said Jane diverse mortal wounds punctures and bruises of which she languished from 1st to 23rd July & then died. Tinkler faced a second indictment for “counselling inciting moving procuring aiding and abetting the said Jane to commit the said felony and murder”. Parkinson accused Tinkler in a death-bed deposition, the admissibility of which was delayed until referred back by the judges. Parkinson’s deposition was finally admitted as evidence against Tinkler on the grounds that it was made when Parkinson knew she was dying and, it was reasoned, could not therefore have made it in order to exculpate herself from a capital charge. Women were key witnesses in both the Coulson and Tinkler cases, where their evidence was critical in both establishing the crime and condemning the accused, depicting a world of female concerns and priorities.72 The women at the centre of these trials were not young women, the sort juries almost invariably acquitted of killing newborn infants despite the conclusions reached by successive inquest juries and the testimony of witnesses. Apparently without reputation in their own communities,


these older females were hanged and dissected because they were held responsible for the deaths of infants born and unborn, which denied their primary function as women and could not, in their cases, be attributed to youth, ignorance or sexual exploitation. Although no examination or depositions survive from the Gatenby case, those concerning Coulson and Tinkler reflect a world populated almost exclusively by females. It was a woman who recruited and recommended Margaret Coulson to take Lucy Curry, and it was female witnesses who provided all the evidence against her as did the female friends and neighbours of Jane Parkinson against Margaret Tinkler. Yet youth would not be enough to save Jane and Eleanor Clark (alias Douglas) from the gallows and the surgeon’s hall in a notorious Northumberland case which inverted key features of the Gatenby, Coulson and Tinkler trials, in that they killed a much older woman in the course of a burglary. In the game of pardons, youth and character were vital factors. Apart from Mary Nicholson, whose execution was delayed for one year, and then further delayed on the scaffold when the rope broke, none of the condemned women could marshal any support on their behalf. With the exception of Margaret Tinkler, they were poor women whose plight did not attract the intervention of local notables and who unlike Margaret Tinkler lacked the skills to appeal to the judges in their own right. Midwives were usually women of some standing in their communities but Tinkler may have forfeited hers well before the death of Parkinson. Revealingly, she was the only condemned woman to hang who was able to write to the judges, claiming in a vain attempt to save herself that she was pregnant. Equally revealing is the fact that her claim was disregarded and she was hanged before the truth of her statement was investigated. In dissecting her body, the three surgeons found two large black wire pins, probably hairpins, but no evidence of pregnancy.73 One of three women hanged in the region for burglary (but the only one hanged in Newcastle), widow Alice Williamson, probably died on the gallows to satisfy Newcastle magistrates’ need for a more potent example of exemplary punishment. Apprehended in the act of robbing Robert Marshall’s house in the Groat Market, she was caught with three keys in her possession and a poke filled with various items of bed linen and children’s clothing. She was already known to the authorities as an old offender having served in Newcastle’s House of Correction after conviction for theft at the quarter sessions. In a town where most accused thieves were female, and female transportation was at its height, Williamson appears to have been left to die because Newcastle


magistrates declined to advocate her reprieve before the judges left town.74 Other women seemingly were hanged at times of official severity, newspaper exaggeration and public pressure concerning crime. Isobel Patterson, hanged in Durham in 1785, had previously appeared before Durham assizes in 1779. Moreover, claiming to be the wife of William Hamilton with whom she stood trial, her marital status was contested by the court, and she was tried as a single woman, thereby enabling the judges to impose sentence on her unencumbered by considerations relating to her subordination to her husband’s will. Accused of violent burglary at a remote and isolated farmhouse, she was one of five people executed in the county that year, a number that was unusually large for Durham but one which was replicated nationally and also in Ireland. Patterson was the only one to speak at the place of execution, where she desired that “no reflections might be thrown on her children, or mother, for her untimely end”. But she was “so hardened”, reported the Newcastle Courant, that when sentence was pronounced she railed angrily against the old woman on whose evidence she and her confederates had been condemned.75 Margaret Dunn, a soldier’s wife, was also a victim of the more punitive policies the early 1790s. She was charged with burglary for the theft of £120 and several articles of clothing from the house of a Corbridge widow, Mary Sommerbell, where she lodged overnight. Though no violence was offered, the amount of money stolen and the evidence of a number of witnesses against her were damning.76 Hanged women were therefore in part victims of bad timing: they carried out their crimes at times when the authorities were in no mood to be lenient to those who had committed unnatural or dangerous crimes, or who showed none of the signs of innocence or remorse which might have appealed to their compassion. Strikingly, the hanged were older and more experienced criminals for whom mitigating circumstances might have been hard to find. On the occasion of their executions, there were no dying speeches, and six of the women hanged made no admission of guilt. Without these elements, the full drama of the gallows could not be fulfilled. The complicity of the condemned, and the witness of the crowds gathered to see them brought to the gallows, could not combine as it did with the hangings of so many men. In these cases, the spectacle of suffering became indeed a theatre of cruelty.77


Conclusion The criminality of women, on the evidence of north-east England in the eighteenth century, was mostly confined to small-scale thefts of goods which were attractive, part of the new consumer culture of the period, easily available to steal, exchange or sell. Opportunities for theft arose in the everyday working lives of most women, as lodgers and servants, travellers and participants in the public culture of taverns and markets, particularly in Newcastle. While there were some signs of a distinctive gender specialization in what was stolen, and how it was stolen (men tending to steal horses and sheep, and use violence when robbing from the person), both genders were attracted to clothing and small household valuables. Women often targeted other women, and were therefore pursued and accused by them, but their victims were also the men they met in their communities—employers, strangers and shop-owners. In such a face-to-face society detection was not difficult, and many women were easily identified by the victims of their crimes. Reputation and appearance counted for much, and punishment was often the outcome of how a woman appeared on arrest, accusation and trial. Local control of the process ensured that most women were tried at the quarter sessions and therefore did not risk the gallows. The most extreme crime, the killing of the newborn, was regarded by the community, and particularly by its female leaders, with great horror, but most accused of the offence were treated sympathetically by male juries. Only when public horror was mirrored by the official reaction were women liable to be executed; this happened in a small number of significant cases. If there was a culture of official chivalry towards the female criminal, it had its limitations: in north-east England, at least, women could go to the gallows if the local community and its justices were determined on it.

CHAPTER SIX Learning their lesson: the use of public punishments

Eighteenth-century law relied on the use of bodily punishments inflicted in public for maximum effect. The demonstration that justice had been done, and the criminal punished, was made possible only by such public spectacles. Criminals’ bodies were the object of damage, mutilation or destruction through the use of whipping, branding or hanging. Only gradually were alternatives to these corporal punishments explored: policies of reforming the convicts by changing their minds through using reformative imprisonment were a late development (see Ch. 3). Opposition to corporal punishment was rare, criticism being confined to what might be called technical aspects of the process such as crowd control or the location of the event. Few late-eighteenth-century reformers rejected flogging or hanging as such: much of the discussion centred on the need to make them more effective. Others emphasized the need for public performance as a means of political accountability, an essential check on the state when it killed: otherwise, there would be secret killings or private reprieves.1 While alternatives might be praised, there were few criticisms of corporal punishment on humanitarian grounds. It was not obvious to all eighteenth-century commentators that, as a later reformer put it, it was “absurd to suppose that by tormenting the body” the law could “reform and render virtuous the mind”.2 While sensibilities slowly changed, there were no reforms in England to match those of Pennsylvania, which in 1786 abolished the public whipping-post and, in 1794, confined capital punishment to those convicted of first-degree murder. By contrast, the English clung to what John Howard called “the gothic mode of correction, viz., the rigorous severity which often hardens the heart; while many foreigners pursue the more rational plan of softening the mind in order to its amendment”3.


1. The branks (Newcastle Central Library).

Traditional punishments The ancient humiliating punishments of exposure to public ridicule and abuse were still available throughout the eighteenth century. The stocks, together with the ducking-stool, are frequently associated with an earlier era of informal punishments in predominantly small village communities, as was the scold’s bridle or its northern form, the “branks”. By contrast to these community penalties, the pillory had a metropolitan history of judicial use as a form of repressing dissent and punishing critics of royal policy (such as John Lilburne, and other later commentators on the Stuarts). In the eighteenth century the pillory also aroused official anxiety.

LEARNING THEIR LESSON: THE USE OF PUBLIC PUNISHMENTS 123

As Cockburn points out, by the 1780s it was regarded by secretaries of state as potentially dangerous, and, because several offenders had been killed by mobs, sentences were regularly reprieved on appeal. Yet the public hatred of homosexuals in particular seems to have been given official sanction through the pillory, both in the early campaigns for the reformation of manners and in a second wave of purity movements in the early nineteenth century. In 1810 one man was blinded by women who were applauded by the spectators as they exacted the “vengeance of the weaker sex”. Those involved in killing victims in the pillory were sentenced to death, though this sometimes went against the tenor of local public opinion. Exactly how common pillory sentences were for more ordinary offenders is unclear. Beattie’s survey of sentencing in Surrey found only eight examples over the 62 years sampled: the pillory was used particularly to punish men for the rape of young girls. Throughout the century it may have had national novelty value as an unusual device, for London and Dublin usages were reported in the news extracted for the Newcastle press.4 In the North-East these forms of humiliation retained their place in the repertoire of local punishments. The ducking-stool featured occasionally in seventeenth-century parish accounts when justices ordered one repaired, but there are few clues as to the frequency of its use. The traditional branks, too, though illustrated in a number of seventeenth-century texts, was used in only one isolated incident, in Morpeth in 1741, when a married woman was punished for using “opprobrious language” to several persons in the town, including the bailiffs who ordered the punishment. Use of the stocks, however, was intermittently recorded in many places until the early nineteenth century. The only cases with formal court appearances were in Berwick in the first half of the century, where those sentenced were a diverse group consisting of a drunk who could not afford the usual five-shilling fine, a woman of bad character who had enticed another woman into the company of army officers for the purpose of “debauchery and vitiation”, and two petty larcenists. Later expense accounts suggest the continued and frequent use of the stocks in the town as late as the midnineteenth century on the summary orders of the justices. Other instances in the region are also probably outcomes of this kind of community justice inflicted by constables and other parish or urban authorities keen to enforce community norms such as Sunday observance without the bother of formal indictment or court appearance.


2. The pillory (Newcastle Central Library).

For example, in a 1764 newspaper report from York, which may have had oddity value in the editor’s view, a barber was reported as being put in the stocks for shaving customers on a Sunday. As late as 1771 new sabbatarian rules were being passed there making gaming on a Sunday punishable in the same way. Other evidence may support the conclusion that the stocks remained part of the everyday life of small communities: many survive in reasonable physical condition to this day (including Berwick’s), and there are occasional references in churchwardens’ accounts to the costs of keeping them in good repair well into the early nineteenth century. Wallsend parish vestry decided in 1816 to build two pairs of stocks, one in the churchyard and one in the public street, to provide a deterrent against Sabbath-breaking. There is no record of their use, but in Newcastle in 1826 a joiner was put in the stocks outside St


Nicholas’ church for being drank and shouting out loudly during the Sunday service.5 In the North-East the pillory, though unusual, was used throughout the century, but seems to have been more common towards the end: more than two-thirds of the 29 known sentences were after 1750, half the total after 1770. Partly this is the outcome of a flurry of pillory sentences by magistrates in the Durham quarter sessions in 1779 and 1780, mainly inflicted on people for vaguely defined forms of conspiracy and women for keeping a disorderly house. But the Durham assize judges, too, seem to have sentenced wrongdoers to the humiliation of the pillory more frequently in particular years—for two men for false pretences in 1769, one for rape in 1781, and two for riot in 1794. The same pattern occurs in Newcastle, where four usages of the pillory by the magistrates after 1750 were for false pretences and telling fortunes. Susanna Fleming, sentenced in 1758 to the pillory every three months for a year, nearly strangled, either because of the clothes she was wearing “or, as some say, by her fainting and shrinking down”, and had to be rescued by a sailor in the crowd, who carried her down the ladder. As a result of this hazardous incident she petitioned London for reprieve in a letter passed to Sir Walter Blackett by “several ladys in Newcastle”, addressed to his wife: To the Honourable Lady Blackett, the petition of Susannah Fleming, Humbly sheweth— That at the last Christmas Sessions held before His Majestys Justices of the Peace for Newcastle your petitioner was tryed for telling fortunes and the several persons of great Credit appeared in Court and spoke to the Knowledge of your Petitioner for thirty years and of her having during that time bore a fair unblemished character yet she was on the Evidence of two wicked abandoned women (really unknown to your petitioner) convicted of the offence and ordered to be imprisoned for one year and to be set on the pillory once each Quarter. That your petitioner is upwards of 80 years of age of a tender constitution and at present in a very bad state of health and the dread and apprehension of the pillory adds greatly to her Disorder and allows her little Hope of Recovery and should that Punishment be inflicted it would most certainly put a period to her life. That your Ladyships tenderness and humanity (which is not extended to Individuals only but diffused throughout the


whole Species) induced your Petitioner to crave your Ladyships assistance in this her Deplorable Situation. Your petitioner therefore most humbly prays your Ladyship to make such Application for pardon of the punishment of the pillory as your Ladyship shall think fit. This was endorsed by a group who asserted that the petitioner is a woman of fair good character and we verily believe the Facts stated in the above petition to be true and most heartily recommend her as a proper object of mercy.6 Assize sentences to the pillory in Newcastle were few. One was in 1736, when John “Tricky” Hall was exposed in the Flesh Market for trying to forge a bond, for which he was “severely pelted”. He had been sentenced three years before, in a complex case going back to 1727, for using a forged document to collect a supposed debt posthumously from the estate of a Lancashire gentleman. Hall had spent some years since the trial in the Fleet prison and the Newcastle authorities were forced to wait for him to be conveyed north for the punishment to be effected. The second assize sentence was on a perjuror, Jean Grey, who (as described in Chapter 4) had been convicted in 1766 of forgery in association with an engraver, Thomas Jameson. It was for trying to implicate him that she was pilloried before her transportation. In Northumberland the pillory is recorded in the quarter sessions as punishment for only two men, one guilty of false pretences, the other, James Lawson, for “pretending to tell fortunes and find lost goods”, for which he stood four separate times in the pillory in 1755. As with the earlier generations of “witches” who offered this service, there was a suspicion that those who found lost goods had been responsible for their absence in the first place. Berwick’s only known sentence was in 1742, on John Rule, guilty of assaulting two soldiers and attempting the “most horrible and sodomistical crime (among Christians not to be named) called buggery”, for which he received two sessions in the pillory 11 days apart. He “was severely pelted by the populace”.7 These sentences were typical usages of the pillory in early modern England to punish crimes of deceit or sexual abuse. Few “political” crimes are recorded as punished: one was in the rebellious year of 1715 when Henry James was pilloried in Durham by the assizes for remarking that George I was “neither protestant nor churchman, and I will prove it, and he never did good since he came into England and I hope in a short time to be quit of


him”. In a later case, in 1756, a Venetian inhabitant of Sunderland was mistaken for a French spy, accused of disloyalty and sentenced to six months in prison and one session in the pillory. A long petition by many of the “loyal neighbourhood” lodged in protest forced a repeal of the sentence and a pardon. Public opinion may have been a key factor in another serious case when two men, the butler and gardener of a powerful local businessman, William Cotesworth, were tried for attempting to poison him; they were sentenced to quarterly sessions in the pillory as part of a complex sentence involving five years’ and three years’ imprisonment respectively and whipping on the anniversary of the crime.8 The pillory was often combined with fines or terms of imprisonment, particularly later in the century, suggesting that the judiciary did not regard the pillory alone as sufficient penalty. Perhaps it served to advertise the fact that someone was being officially punished for those types of offence, acting as both a deterrent to other offenders and a dramatization of the willingness of the magistrates to respond to public complaints. This kind of symbolic demonstration was sometimes used as an additional penalty in more ordinary crimes such as theft, as in the case of Alice Sinclair, who in 1774 was sentenced by Newcastle justices to two months in the house of correction for stealing some gold and silver, and moreover “to be led round the Sandhill and to Sandgate Gate with a paper on her forehead” reading “Notorious Thief”. In 1780 and 1794 two women who had been whipped (one publicly) were also paraded in this way. This kind of dramatic humiliation is more reminiscent of religious discipline such as that imposed by the church courts in previous centuries, and is a surprising survival in the era of the penitentiary.9 What can be concluded, therefore, is that there was no abandonment of punishments designed to humiliate the convict and invite public scorn after 1700. On the contrary, there seems to have been something of a revival of the pillory in the second half of the eighteenth century. The punishment, as Cockburn points out, was primarily reserved for those who committed some kind of fraud or who had offended public decency. That it was used for rapists and a sodomist is perhaps significant, since these were crimes where accusations had a remarkably low conviction rate, so the few punishments were given maximum publicity. The pressure on the authorities may have increased later in the period, as public anxiety about crime grew, or as the ending of transportation to America provoked a search for more demonstrative forms of judicial action. Introducing public feelings into interpretations of the judicial process, however, is mostly to argue from silence. There are few hints


as to the public’s reaction to these events; newspapers record that some wrongdoers were pelted by the crowd, and that “several thousand spectators” turned out to view Jean Grey in the pillory, but their emotions go unreported. Susanna Fleming, it was specifically noted, was “not molested by the populace”. At the last recorded use of the pillory, in Sunderland in 1811, it is said that 20,000 people turned out to watch Thomas Elliott exposed for assaulting a young girl. The crowd apparently “behaved in the most orderly manner, hardly a single insult being offered to the delinquent”, being more interested in the “novelty of the scene”, which seems to miss the point of the exercise. Exactly what lesson was learnt from this occasion remains obscure.10 Whipping Whipping was such a common punishment in the eighteenth century, for both civilian and military purposes, that it has entered the very image of the period. Some changes in sensibility and political theory led to criticism of these acts of official violence before 1800. Significantly, public flogging was first abolished for women, in 1817, a reflection of a new sense of propriety in these matters. Radical critics indicted the armed forces for excessive cruelty, the denunciation of the “floggers” in both army and navy entering the language of politics in the 1790s as one of the essential criticisms of the English ancien régime. Local representatives of this trend, such as a seaman, John Everitt, charged with “seditious words” in 1796, expressed their sympathy with the navy’s mutineers and simultaneously damned the captain of the naval tender (which held pressed men on the Tyne) as “one of your flogging fellows”. The image of a society brutalized by being witness to a theatre of cruelty seems at first glance well established. Inevitably this view has come under sceptical scrutiny recently, criticized as both a misinterpretation of the period and the worst way of writing history according to twentieth-century values. Like public hang-ing, judicial corporal punishment had a much longer history, being abolished in Britain, but not in the remaining colonies, only in 1948. Cynical analysts of this long tradition, matched by the even longer perpetuation of beating in schools (only finally suppressed in state schools in the 1980s after a ruling of the European Court of Human Rights), might well see flogging as the “English vice”, although this too imposes a twentieth-century, heavily Freudian and sexualized interpretation on history. It is nevertheless easy to understand why Foucault regarded England, despite the development of alternative systems of punishment,


3. “Wages of Cruelty”: from Thomas Bewick’s Aesop’s Fables (Newcastle Central Library).

as an exception to the European trend, paired with Russia and Prussia as one of the more reactionary societies. Flogging was yet another peculiarity of the English.11 A full understanding of the place of whipping in eighteenth-century society is therefore difficult, as is the interpretation of the public spectacle.12 Few of the critics of systems of punishment found it obnoxious; on the contrary, Beccaria, Howard and Bentham all saw that it might have an effective place in the repertoire of punishments. What worried Bentham was that legislation could not regulate the degree of severity of the punishment, producing little standardization of the pain. That pain was necessary, he supposed, for without it: there will be little in the chastisement but the ignominy attached to it; and this would have but little effect upon that class of delinquents upon whom such punishments are generally inflicted. The quantity of suffering ought, therefore, if possible, to be regulated by the laws.13


Accounts of the whipping of offenders in north-east England, however, make no comment on the pain: indeed, descriptions of the physical consequences are completely lacking. The shame, by contrast, did warrant some notice in a couple of instances. In 1750 William Watson was whipped from the Westgate of Newcastle to the place of his crime, a garden in Benwell from which he had stolen aprons and “wall fruit”, “the shame of which has occasioned him since to abscond”, and in 1787 Archibald Summerville mutilated himself with a razor shortly before he was due to be publicly whipped, forcing the authorities to delay the punishment while he recovered in the infirmary. One continuing difficulty in interpreting the meaning of whipping for eighteenthcentury society lies in this general reticence about the nature of spectacle, for in some ways it was so mundane as to be unworthy of comment.14 Most of the evidence therefore concerns the variety of sentences open to the courts rather than the impact of the punishment on the victim or the public. The most important distinction was between private and public whipping, and if the latter was chosen, the length of the route over which it should take place. Cockburn has recently asserted that “until the eighteenth century whippings were almost always in public, and no distinction made between the genders”. In the eighteenth-century NorthEast it seems that a greater variety of sentences was imposed by magistrates, but the reasons for the differences in particular cases can only be inferred. A substantial minority of offenders were punished in private, usually in the house of correction, and this proportion fluctuated considerably over the century. Before the mid-century the majority of whip-pings, between two-thirds and four-fifths of the sentences, were in the public streets. After that, there was a general and erratic decline in public punishment for some years, followed by a distinct revival in the last quarter of the century. In Newcastle the period with the lowest proportion of public whippings was between 1750 and 1775, when the majority were in private, perhaps because of the large numbers of women among the guilty. Yet towards the end of the century the overwhelming majority of a declining number of floggings in the region as a whole were again public, and were inflicted mostly, though not exclusively, on men. Despite a general decline in this type of punishment, the public perform ance was once more emphasized in the 1780s and early 1790s. This kind of evidence does confirm the presence of a degree of sensibility about flogging women in public, particularly towards the end of the century. Perhaps the almost nostalgic sexual overtones of Thomas Rowlandson’s deliberately salacious print “The


Fort”, of a woman about to be whipped in front of an eager male audience, indicate that some of the misgivings of twentieth-century observers are correct in seeing in this kind of ritual an explicitly sadistic element. On occasion, sentences would embody some anxiety on this score: Anne Robson, given a year in the Northumberland House of Correction for petty larceny in 1771, was in addition ordered to be “twice privately whipped in the presence of females only”.15 Public whipping was therefore not an everyday occurrence, but it was an expected and regular aspect of the quarter sessions punishments. There were great differences between the counties in the number of sentences and their nature. Newcastle, with the smallest population but the largest number of convicted thieves, experienced more public whippings than Durham. In these two counties there would be an average of no more than one to two public floggings a year, but in Northumberland far fewer than that, perhaps one every two or three years. Certainly no city or town equalled the number in Berwick in one year in the first half of the century: in 1740–41, for example, 18 people were summarily whipped out of town, mostly vagrants and vagabonds, but including eight “lewd and disorderly women”. Criminal conviction was not required for this kind of punishment, as Ann “Willis found when, acquitted of theft in Newcastle in 1746, she was nevertheless publicly whipped for being a “disorderly person and a vagrant”. In Berwick these punishments did not follow a court appearance, for it seems that the town dealt with the wandering poor, and those of whom it disapproved, in a severe and instantaneous way. It is significant, though, that while there were frequent arrests of “lewd women” and vagrants for the rest of the century, this kind of summary whipping declined and, after the 1750s, vanished entirely.16 Urban areas offered the greatest variety of routes, and even in a small place like Berwick the justices could specify the streets and the gate through which the offender could be expelled. Newcastle’s justices made the greatest variations: while the commonest route was from Newgate prison in the north-west of the town, to the blue stone on the bridge over the Tyne, more than half a mile away to the south-east (or vice versa), there were many permutations. Some were merely whipped round the Sandhill by the quay, or along Sandgate nearby; depending on where they were being held, others would be whipped from the house of correction in the north-east part of town, or the Tower on the Bridge, to another gate such as Westgate or Blackgate. Others were directed to their own district, as Isabel Loggan was in 1723, when she was sentenced to be “gently whipped” in the house of correction, and again


at her own door in her house in the Sandgate. Other routes were relatively short, along the quayside or through the market down to the river. No doubt the severity, and length of time, of the punishment varied according to whether the process was uphill (northwards from the river) or downhill. Whether the officials conducting the punishment were always to be trusted is thrown into doubt by the Newcastle magistrates’ order that to ensure: these punishments may be duly inflicted as directed and for the prevention of any favour or forbearance by the officer who is to execute the same, it is ordered that the Marshall and his deputy do go along with and strictly observe that the said officer do duly discharge his duty.17 In some cases the whipping had to be at the door of the victim of the crime, presumably to guarantee some kind of satisfaction for his or her inconvenience or loss, a type of decision that is also found in Northumberland and Berwick. This might be delivered on demand: in Durham one offender was sentenced to be whipped at the Crowley ironworks in Swalwell, at the firm’s own expense. In Newcastle much was left to the discretion of the mayor, who in some cases had the power to waive the whipping if he thought fit, such as when conditions imposed on the offender had been met. This might figure in those cases when whipping sentences were sometimes used in bargaining to persuade the offender to leave the community. In 1743 in Durham, John Sedgwick’s whipping would be respited if he agreed to enlist in the armed forces, and in 1746 a Newcastle woman, Jane Wallis, was threatened with a public whipping unless she agreed to be transported to America.18 Northumberland and Durham did not have the benefit of a compact geographic area, and therefore if the justices wanted the punishment to be conducted where the crime had occurred, they had to incur the additional expense of moving offenders across the county to receive it. Market towns such as Morpeth, Alnwick, Hexham, Durham City, Darlington, South Shields and Sunderland were naturally favoured, but occasional efforts were made to impose punishments in smaller places. With little support from the local community, however, any place outside the county town could present some hazards for the personnel carrying out whipping. In one incident in 1765, the two men sent from Morpeth gaol to flog Thomas Whitaker through the streets of Hexham found themselves facing a hostile crowd. As soon as the punishment


started, the mob crowded round and jostled the two men, forcing them to abandon the whole enterprise, and the men were subsequently found resorting to rather vague and inconclusive accusations in the courts. Indictments were drawn up for the assizes, but apparently never put to a jury: as one of the men admitted, he was a stranger to the town and could scarcely identify anyone among the crowd. It would be stressing one event far too much to seek in it an explanation for the relatively low rate, and small number, of whippings in Northumberland, although such incidents are not unknown elsewhere; but the geographical difficulties of such a large county would certainly have made the local display of punishment difficult and expensive.19 Rather than the sight of actual punishment, the aggrieved public in some cases had only the satisfaction of reports of its occurrence. When the perpetrators were soldiers, the prosecutions were frequently conducted under military law, and the severe consequences were reported in the press. Sentences of 400, 600 and 800 lashes were given in cases of thefts by soldiers based in Newcastle, usually followed by their expulsion from their regiment. On one occasion in 1750 two men were drummed out after 400 lashes, “each with a halter about his Neck and a Label on his Back with these words, a notorious rogue”. Whether this was thought effective is unclear. In 1767 a ship left the Tyne for Virginia with a mixed group of convicts and servants. The newspaper reported that: One of the indented servants, we hear, who formerly belonged to this town, has enlisted into 46 different regiments, been whipt out of 19, sentenced to be shot, but reprieved 6 times, confined in 73 different gaols, appeared under the character of quack doctor in 7 kingdoms, and now is only in the 32nd year of his age. Though the story seems implausible, it may be significant that it was given credence in the press. As the Northumberland gaoler remarked of two women, “stripes will not reclaim them”, and this may have been a widely held opinion about some offenders.20 This view no doubt was one factor in the increasing use of sentences combining imprisonment with corporal punishment, as well as in the growing popularity of transportation. Yet at the end of the century, Newcastle’s more radical paper reported with approval that the Cornwall Fencibles, a regiment then based in Manchester: “Know nothing of that debasing custom, public punishment, the too prominent and disgraceful feature of other regiments; and yet a more sober, clean and better-disciplined corps is


not to be met with under the Crown.” The regiment lived “as one family” under a colonel who realized that “conciliation will do what coercion cannot”, using rewards as an incentive.21 Sentiments were, perhaps, beginning to change. With the most serious crimes, however, it was still considered that only the extreme public penalty was suitable for some offenders. Executions The gallows was at the centre of English justice in the eighteenth century, as it had been for centuries. Within a framework of increasing numbers of capital statutes, it posed a greater potential threat than ever before. This public theatre of justice, with its capacity for both terror and popularity, has fascinated historians. The almost ritual pattern of the actual execution seems to have been established before 1700 and followed consistently. While there was an official procedure, who was really in charge of the events at the hanging? Henry Fielding thought the supposed victims were, for in their triumphant procession to Tyburn and their dying speeches the condemned could show their courage and teach the watching apprentice criminals to imitate their “intrepidity”: the experience would prove useless as a deterrent. Modern scholars have emphasized the collaboration of the condemned in the process of execution which resembled a morality tale of confession and penitence, in that the hanging and the hanged exercised an essential didactic function in the reproduction and promulgation of established values. Other views have highlighted the behaviour of the crowd, who were often hostile to the incompetent executioner or to the surgeons who preyed on the body (perhaps prematurely if not truly dead, as happened in cases of the “half-hanged” who revived subsequently): the public’s festive behaviour showed their lack of fear at what was supposed to be a terrible process. If Linebaugh is right, the attempt to cow the people of London with a “thanatocracy”, that is, repetitive exhibitions of large numbers of hangings, failed in the face of class hostility, and in Laqueur’s view this was partly because the poorly organized and haphazardly performed hangings allowed the crowd to reclaim the event as a carnival of their own making.22 Commentators in the eighteenth century noted the propensity for disorder at these events, and highlighted the uncertainties in the sentencing process. How could any lessons be learned from a sentence that was carried out in only a minority of cases? Most were let off at some stage or another. It was neither certain nor terrible. Fielding and


Bentham agreed on the need to make punishments certain, so that the relationship between crime and its consequences could be clear. As it was, the moral lesson of executions depended on a prolonged process of appeals and reprieves, and, if these were unsuccessful, on the unpredictable behaviour of the accused at the place of execution. In what has recently been called the “game with pardons”, there was no guarantee of a hanging nor of the condemned behaving appropriately.23 One difficulty we have with the dramaturgical model of execution is that the equivalent of theatre critics were absent at events outside London. While Tyburn and, later, Newgate hangings are well documented and illustrated, provincial executions are rarely described at all. Reconstructing the scene is difficult and can be done only by drawing together scanty references. Many counties in England were unusual in Europe in having no permanent scaffold (though the northeast counties seem to have been an exception), nor encouraging a kind of permanent place that by itself would generate awe. In The Netherlands mere exposure on the scaffold, even without any other punishment, was regarded as a severe sentence. Equally important, the place of punishment was a clearly designated part of the town.24 It is therefore unsurprising to find little visual material on eighteenthcentury executions in north-east England, and only brief descriptions of how they were conducted. In Newcastle the hangings took place outside the town on the town moor, a little to the north, conveniently reached by the road leading from Newgate prison (and also near the barracks on the moor in case of disorder). This location obviated the need for a procession of the condemned through the town. The only portrait of an execution here is the much-used illustration in Ralph Gardner’s book of the 1650 hangings of witches, though it is largely a didactic exercise implying criticism of the many participants portrayed, including the main “players” such as the bellman who called out the witches, and the witchfinder who identified them (who is shown in one corner of the picture collecting his blood money). The area is sketched only vaguely, since this was not a piece of artistic realism. Many gallows and gibbets occur in the late-eighteenth- and early-nineteenth-century vignettes of the local artist, Thomas Bewick, whose woodcuts achieved national fame. Some at least have some realism in them, for in the background there are depictions of the distinctive lantern spire of St Nicholas’ church, Newcastle. Although they may be fanciful or just marginal in their purpose (most are vignettes in books illustrating birds or Aesop’s fables), these few may have a relation to the real situation in his childhood when, according to John Brand, a permanent gallows existed


on the town moor. The impression given confirms that of many depositions of victims mugged or robbed on the moor, of a surprisingly bleak and open space, and the town boundary clearly seen on the southern side. Northumberland’s permanent gallows were placed outside the town’s Westgate, at least until the second half of the century, and Newcastle provided many travellers on the main roads with reminders of the consequences of crime.25 By contrast, Northumberland’s prisoners, some of whom were executed outside Newcastle’s Westgate on the nearest piece of Northumberland territory, would have been paraded through the town from the castle, or they would have had to be transported back to Morpeth for execution there. In both Durham and Berwick the move from the prison to the place of execution outside was through the main streets and marketplace of the town. In Durham the gallows outside Framwellgate may have provided a useful focus for public anger, since it was demolished in 1756, “cut down and broke in a clandestine manner”, as the justices remarked when ordering the construction of a new one. Both Newcastle and Berwick paid a permanent executioner, though neither had much work to do. In Newcastle, as in areas of continental Europe, he was also the officer mainly responsible for dealing with animals roaming the street, and was known as the “whipper and hougher” because he would cut the sinews (houghs) of pigs found in the thoroughfares of the town. Gatrell alleges that “until the very end of public hanging in 1868, and thereafter in prisons, hangmen were unreliable executioners”, even with the new technology of the drop. There were only 74 known executions by civilian authorities in the region (including Berwick) after 1718, and the experience for public or executioner was not a common one. Sometimes the rope slipped or broke from the gallows and the victim had to be “turned off” again. Not surprisingly this happened in Newcastle in 1733, when the hangman bungled one of the first executions there for 30 years: the burglar, Bartholomew Morrison, his face hurt by the fall, had to climb the ladder once more. At the execution of the 1761 rioter Peter Patterson, the rope broke and a new halter had to be found; here the execution was off the back of a cart rather than a ladder. The longest delay was in 1799, when Mary Nicholson fell to the ground as the rope snapped, and, after recovering her senses, “continued to pray fervently for near three quarters of an hour till another rope was procured” and the execution was carried out.26 The relative paucity of executions in the region may have produced problems of this kind, and there might have been a danger that neither


officials nor condemned knew the appropriate modes of behaviour in this supremely awkward but dramatic situation. But perhaps the scarcity of executions had a disproportionate effect, the reverse of the satiety which Linebaugh argues affected London, where the assizes were held every six weeks. As one local historian of Newcastle remarked of Gallowgate, “To the honour…of the inhabitants of Newcastle, there are fewer culprits pass this lamentable road, to receive the legal reward of their crimes, than probably any town in England of its size and numerous employments.”27 The North-East was not unusual in having long periods without a hanging, yet this was one form of punishment where frequent witness may not have been deemed necessary. The published accounts of both the crimes and of the pursuit of criminals through their arrest, prosecution, trial and execution provided the public with dramatic stories of sin and its penalties, a kind of recurrent morality play that ended on the gallows. The rise of the popular press, and the publication of many criminal biographies and speeches at the gallows, provided not only detailed evidence of crime but, it is said, “played a major part in the development of a culture of violence centred on the gallows”. In many ways, the death of the criminal was incidental to the main purpose of teaching a moral lesson, not only that committing crime was wrong, but that repentance was an essential aspect of making peace in society. The criminals to be hanged could not save their lives, but through penitence and frank admission of their wrong-doings could set an example. “At the scaffold a wicked example was turned to good use. Evil became altered: the whole ritual became a sermon and even the condemned were invited to play a part that might redeem them.” The performances of the condemned, in gaol after sentencing, on the road to the gallows, and at the scaffold were therefore seemingly orchestrated and carefully structured. They were “neither fortuitous nor unpremeditated”.28 As has been shown above, hanging, like many other forms of public drama, was fraught with dangers of shoddy or inadequate performance, not least by the directors of the play. But here the key performers needed to understand their role: as in other forms of the ars moriendi, the victims had to be willing participants, and convinced of the righteousness of what was being done to them. The hanged in some ways had to be victorious at the moment of their deaths. Whatever the cause of death, those dying in this period had a duty both to God and the living. The important duty was to be reconciled to their conscience, to those left behind, and to God. The condemned, like all the dying, had to make the equivalent of a will, ensuring that all debts (in their case,


moral ones) were settled and the justice both of humans and God acknowledged: above all, their legacy was the truth about themselves. In some ways, therefore, everyone was exhorted to make a good death: the performance was a kind of theatre of complicity. This was, for criminals, a Rake’s Progress in reverse; from the moment of being sentenced to death, they had a chance to overturn the pattern of their former life, and recover the way of virtue, if not save their lives. Like the Rake, the condemned went through predictable stages on the way to their exit. Their behaviour at the trial, in gaol while the requests for reprieve were made and refused (or not made at all), during the procession to the place of execution, and at the gallows, all staked a claim to re-enter human society at the point of leaving.29 The features of the good death in executions were well established in the seventeenth century, for both aristocratic and poor criminals alike. Some scholars have supposed that after 1700 this culture disintegrated, as the death process became more gruesome and the crowd more hostile: the increased use of gibbeting and the allocation of the bodies for surgical dissection after 1752, are widely thought to have undermined the consensual ritual. In the North-East, however, throughout the eighteenth century, the majority of the condemned died a good, conventional death, accepting the justice of their sentences and expressing suitable penitence at the gallows. In gaol they received the ministrations of clergy, and (in a few instances) allowed their confessions to be printed for the edification of the public. At the gallows they thanked the ministers, confessed the justice of what was happening, warned the young against doing as they had done, and died well. Each stage was carefully scrutinized and reported in the press.30 The first stage on the road to the gallows was the trial itself. Accepting the sentence was the first requirement. The poor behaviour of “Sir” William Brown, the returned transportee condemned in 1743, was reported. Surprised, he begged earnestly to be transported again, but the judge giving no ear to him, Sir William broke out into all the opprobrious language he could think of against both the judge and the whole court, and wished that G—d Almighty might d—n their Souls to H—ll. But as the day grew nearer, he, like a number of others, had a fit of remorse and allowed the minister to attend him, and made proper preparation for death: he apologized for his bad behaviour and “declared


he died a Member of the Church of England, and desired the prayers of all spectators”.31 A Newcastle murderer also behaved with “great indecency for some time after he received sentence of death” but became penitent after religious counsel in gaol. Some spent their time providing the clerics with written accounts of their lives and errors, for the edification of the public, though few matched the output of William Alexander, a forger hanged in 1783, who also wrote many religious letters and sermons to be published with the didactic autobiography. While Alexander freely confessed his crimes, others provided printed statements for a variety of motives. The soldier Owen or Ewen MacDonald, admitting that he had murdered a fellow drinker in a Newcastle inn in 1752, explained that “as I cannot speak good English, I have committed my last Sentiments to Writing”. Others spoke or wrote to re-emphasize their denials of guilt. A surprising proportion of these documents refuse any sign of confession: Richard Brown, for killing his daughter in 1751, the two Clark girls in 1792, and two condemned for horse-stealing, Sylvanus Broadwater and Joseph Marshall, also in 1792. Broadwater and Marshall had a novel defence: their alleged horse theft occurred when they were taking smuggled goods from Whitehaven to Newcastle along the road from Carlisle. While Broadwater could have discussed his previous record, and they both admitted they had planned what the broadsheet called “intended mischief and depredations” to be committed on arrival in Northumberland, they were both adamant about their innocence on the charges for which they were executed. If the condemned did not rush into print, there were versifiers at hand to produce instant melodramatic accounts in bad poetry, particularly if the details were satisfyingly gruesome. In London and Edinburgh there was a trade in prints, many of them using stock illustrations of executions, drawing on the latest reports of crimes in the provinces. William Stevenson’s murder of his pregnant lover in 1727, by throwing her down the cliffs near Hartlepool, was celebrated in a long ballad with many prurient and bloody details whose verses were remembered locally for decades afterwards. It is highly ambiguous concerning the innocence of the victim, Mary Fawden, ending: Let all men beware when married they are, Lewd women are surely a dangerous snare; Then love your own wives, those men only thrives That are most pious and chaste in their lives.


Other verse efforts are equally sanctimonious, particularly the curious tale of Thomas Vert, who had to be hanged twice in Durham in 1732 for murdering his younger sister, since, according to an Edinburgh publication, he revived in his coffin after the first hanging. This is the sole source on his execution, as well as the double event, and is in such a high-flown style, designed to highlight the victim’s personal testimony of the existence of the afterlife (about which he was questioned by a minister), that it is hard to evaluate without any other evidence. Despite the inventive nineteenth-century story of “half-hung MacDonald” (the Ewen whose leaflet was published), there were no other valid accounts of recovery after the hanging, though one was reported at York in 1745.32 The requirement to be frank and honest in these statements also extended to the demand for information about accomplices. This is a great paradox: while there was frequently open contempt for those who saved their own lives by turning King’s evidence against their accomplices, there was also criticism of those who took the truth about their crimes and associates to their graves. In 1739 Michael Curry, convicted of murdering his master by cutting his throat, gave public reassurance in his gaol testimony that his alleged accomplice, the victim’s wife (and according to rumour his lover), was not involved as an accessory. Fortunately she was also diagnosed as a lunatic at the time of the trial. In other cases, the reluctance of the condemned to inform the public about the details of criminal operations was noted: Walter Clarke, the sixth and last of the Clarke-Winter gang to be executed, in 1793, acknowledged his guilt, but refused to comment on the “practices” of the gang, with whom it was supposed he was connected (and two of whom, his young daughters, had been hanged the previous year).33 Proper preparation in gaol was followed by appropriate behaviour on the day of execution. The procession to the gallows was closely observed. Robert Hazlitt, hanged in 1770 in Durham for highway robbery, emerged from the gaol and, “looking earnestly at the cart, said, ‘This is indeed terrible; but as my life has been injurious, I hope that my death will be useful to mankind’”. Others behaved badly, such as Joseph Humphreys who was hanged in 1776: “his behaviour was very sullen, lying down in the cart from the gaol to the place of execution, without speaking”. Such a criminal compounded his crime by committing the sin of failing to display the correct sensibility of his situation and social duty. Another Durham man hanged, who was said to have been in a “state of stupidity” throughout, and said nothing before dying, can be said to have failed the test completely. Displays of fear and cowardice


were not demanded, however, for penitence required courage and commanded respect. Of two Durham house-breakers, it was said, “They met their melancholy fate with that resigned fortitude which is ever the consequence of true repentance, and were launched into eternity in the presence of some thousands of pitying spectators.”34 But it was understood that the terror of the situation would undermine this determined courage, and complete depression was a forgivable reaction. One man, hanged in Newcastle in 1792, was “so oppressed with fear at his approaching fate, as to refuse all sustenance for some time, and would give no account of himself, or why he committed the crime for which he suffered”. Another tried to speak at the gallows, but could manage only a few words.35 At the gallows itself, some were well prepared, and played the conventional parts, confessing and expressing penitence. Some of these events sound like a play written by the victims, perhaps the outcome of considerable education in the appropriate literature. William Alexander, it was said, after all his literary efforts, was agreed to have died a “penitent and happy man”. James Maben, hanged with fellow Scot John Samuel for coining in 1744, made it an elaborate affair: being a Man of good Education and Abilities, and, in some part of his life, of good Circumstances and Reputation, received a great many Visits from Persons of all Ranks after he received Sentence of Death; and the Publick, being much divided in their Sentiments as to his Principles, he left an Account of them, and some of his Misfortunes in jail, Signed by himself and attested by 14 Witnesses, now printed and sold of 1d. Maben and Samuel were dressed in white, and drawn on a Sledge and Lister in a cart, to the place of Execution; where Maben called to the Under Sheriff for a Glass of Wine, which was immediately ordered him, and repeated: The Rev. Mr Gordon prayed a considerable Time, and sung a Psalm; after which Maben took Leave of his Acquaintance, ascended the Ladder to the Scaffold, and audibly read the 16th chapter of Drelincourt’s Consolations against the Fears of Death; then said Farewell vain Worlde, fixed the Rope about his Neck and went off. Samuel was observed to Tremble all the Time they were at the place of Execution, but Maben never shrinked, or discovered the least Horror, only seemed a little confused in fixing the Rope about his Neck.


His printed account detailed his woes, concentrating on how he had been enticed by John Dodds into committing conterfeiting, and how, after his arrest, ill-disposed fellow-prisoners conspired to induce some friends to break him out of gaol. They were transported.36 This was the most elaborate performance, carefully thought out, and may show the influence of the 1739 execution of Dick Turpin at York: he had paid five mourners to follow the cart. A Berwick thief and housebreaker, hanged in 1740 apparently provided a precise comparison acknowledging his sentence as just, and dying with “no less intrepidity than the famous Turpin, not being daunted in the least”. Other performances were welcomed precisely because they were not anticipated. In 1788 one of the first of the Winter gang to be hanged made a “very unexpectedly pathetic speech” about his life, having been brought up, he said, “without any regard to morality or religion, [that] the progress of evil had so rapidly overrun his inclination, that at an early age he was arrived at the full maturity of vice”. Like others, he warned the young against the practice of “evil deeds” and recommended they pay particular attention to religion, especially the observation of the Sabbath. This advice was paralleled in James Chamber’s dying speech in 1784 when he confessed to many robberies, several of them pick-pocketing committed at an execution on that spot on the town moor only a few months before. One man thought that technical information might be useful in addition to the usual exhortation to take his life and fate as an example of the consequence of sin, for he provided a guide to the “cant terms now in use among robbers, pickpockets, house-breakers etc., which he desired to be published for the benefit of the public at large”. Unfortunately the published verse account of this execution is so fanciful that it does not touch on this interesting aspect of criminal culture.37 These were all “good” deaths in the traditional manner. Others went to their deaths denying their guilt and refusing to acknowledge the legitimacy of their sentences. Richard Brown protested at the gallows as well as in print that he had not intended to kill his daughter, a statement that was interpreted as an attempt to “take off the weight of his guilt” through pleading drunkenness. Dorothy Gatenby denied the murder of her child although she behaved at the gallows in a “penitent and discreet manner”, meeting death with “tolerable good courage” (see Ch. 5). Only one man expressed hostility or contempt for the traditional ritual: William Smith, executed for the murder of his second wife in 1739,


made some small Confession to the Rev. Mr Wilkinson, but insisted that he should not publish it; which was looked upon by the Persons concerned as not worthy the Notice of the Publick, At the Place of Execution, when the Rope was about his Neck, he declared, that if any thing was printed as his Dying Speech, it would be false and a lie, for he had made none, and died seemingly hardened and unconcerned, and desired his Apparel might be given to his Son, a lad of about thirteen, who stood by him when executed.38 The fact that this is a unique sentiment in the North-East suggests that, innocent or guilty, most played their correct part at the gallows. There is one similar instance in Carlisle in 1786, when a sheep-stealer refused to confess, displayed great coolness at the gallows, and said, “Gentlemen, I was asked to make a confession, but I have made none; there is one printed, but I beg you not to buy it, as it is all lies.” Nothing annoyed the press more than a false report of confession, which happened in Durham in 1785: the Newcastle press either received misleading reports, or used stock phrases in anticipation of the condemned doing the proper thing, and were forced to apologize to their readers the following week. This may indicate that nagging doubts about the rituals of the gallows were correct in supposing that there was no guarantee that the right lesson would be taught.39 The absence of public disorder at these events, or of more than curiosity at the public dissections, suggests that hangings were not the occasion for the venting of the region’s many tensions and conflicts. Troops were probably present in Newcastle, but the only specific reference is to two companies drawn up for the occasion of “Sir” William Brown’s execution, the authorities being fearful of his being rescued by his allegedly large gang. The sight of multiple hangings, such as the three members of the Winter-Clarke gang in 1792, was novel and had a great impact: “the scene was awful beyond expression, and seemed to make the greatest impression on the minds of the immense crowd assembled for the occasion”. The hanging remained an unusual and awesome event rather than a vehicle for playing out other emotions and ideologies.40 These were not the only executions in the region, for soldiers were shot, usually for desertion. In Newcastle, these were held on the town moor, and may have been public, though there is no report of public reaction. The most unusual was the shooting of Alexander Anthony in 1746, a soldier who had been captured by the French at the battle of


4. Gibbet: from Thomas Bewick’s Vignettes, 1827 (Newcastle Central Library).

Fontenoy and been persuaded to enter their service; he had re-entered the country with the French troops supporting the Jacobites in the ‘45, and been captured at Culloden. But there was none of the horror of the full execution for treason on this occasion, as happened in York that year, with hanging, drawing and quartering, and the executioner waving the hearts at the crowd. These were the subject of a grim report in the local press. Peter Patterson, executed in Northumberland in 1761 for his actions against the militia laws, was sentence to be quartered, suffered the incident of the broken rope, and “after he had hung the time the law requires, his body was cut down, dismembered etc…”.41 After death, the lesson could continue with the display of the body, either in chains or dissected on the surgeon’s table. This was to increase the ghastliness of the death at the expense of the reintegration of the condemned: with gibbeting or dissection, the body was destroyed as well as banished from ordinary society. Gibbeting was the older custom, while dissection was introduced as a sentence of added horror specifically under the 1752 Murder Act (see Chapter 5). The consequences of that law were clear: the body was not to be buried. Only three men were gibbeted in the North-East, two for murders which aroused great horror: in Northumberland, Michael Curry in 1739 for


murdering his master, and William Winter in 1792 for the burglary and murder of an elderly woman, and in Durham, Robert Hazlitt in 1770 for several highway robberies. All were exhibited near the place of their crimes. After Curry had been gibbeted, there were rumours that “some audacious persons” were planning to cut down the body, and warnings were issued to them in the press. Hazlitt had robbed the Newcastle Mail on Gateshead Common, and it was expressly requested by the Postmaster-General that his body be exhibited there. This must have been the “poor unfortunate wretch” seen nearly six years later by the American Jabez Maud Fisher in the spring of 1776: His Flesh seemed perfect and he could not have been long executed. One would suppose from the Number of these distressing objects which throw themselves in our way in almost every Common in England, that it would have some effect in ridding the Kingdom of those frequent Robberies which are committed in every part of the Country. However this and every other terrible Example have failed.42 It was not improbable that the corpse had been preserved for five years or more, since it was usually after about that amount of time that the Home Office received petitions asking for the distressing object to be removed. It may be a sign of the way these exhibits have retained their gruesome fascination that William Winter’s 1792 gibbet has been lovingly maintained in the same spot ever since, the timbers replaced as they have rotted. Disposal of the bodies of these men remains unrecorded, but the body of one of the last victims of gibbeting in England, William Jobling in 1832, was stolen from the gibbet after less than a month and secretly buried.43 Dissection was another form of deliberate destruction. It was probably regarded with particular horror, the Act introducing it as a formal sentence calling it a “further Terror and peculiar Mark of Infamy”.44 In the panic of the 1780s one correspondent to the Home Office recommended that it should be universally applied to the condemned: By a long attention to the last confessions of our malefactors, I have too often discovered a greater solicitude about the body than the soul: and that they have always confessed more dread at the dissection of their dead bodies than any particular distress about the death on the gallows, which leads me to recommend to your


Lordship’s reflection and superior judgement whether or not it would be a ready means of checking the common crimes of the times by ordering every body for dissection, that was executed? The repeated horrors expressed by our criminals in their last confessions fully convince me that it would.45 As noted in Chapter 5, in the North-East women were far more likely than men to be dissected: half of the women executed in the region after 1750, compared with less than an eighth of the men. This is a striking divergence from the sensibility and propriety which seem to have shaped the decline of the other public punishments for women. In the late eighteenth century there was some intellectual interest in “the sexual potential of medical anatomy” as women’s bodies became the means of exploring the nature of the genders, primarily because it was thought that the essence of people’s lives was written on their bodies. Moreover, dissection had even achieved the status of a fashion among the educated, part of the new science of humanity. But this regional pattern seems to be extreme. The presence of a barber-surgeons’ guild in Newcastle may have been one factor, as a higher proportion of men, too, were dissected there. Apart from the educational value of the dissection, the guild kept the results: the bones of Dorothy Gatenby were given to a senior barbersurgeon six months after her execution in 1754.46 Some local interest was also shown in the public dissections: the “Gentlemen of the Faculty” of barber-surgeons in Newcastle lectured on the corpses to their juniors and “sundry Gentlemen of the Town” who expressed their satisfaction on these occasions. It is striking that most of these sentences were for taking life, as though the extended destruction of the criminal formed a kind of public vengeance. It is not surprising that William Hogarth used anatomization as the last illustration of his series The Reward of Cruelty.47 Conclusion That this was a society strongly committed in principle to the idea of public witness of punishment can hardly be doubted. “The more public the punishment, the greater the influence it has commonly had,” remarked George Osbourne in a sermon to the assizes. Yet the older styles of punishment were not plentiful, and the most terrible of all, hanging, was used sparingly. As another preacher commented in Newcastle in 1752, in England “Publick Justice is wisely tempered with Humanity …where it can be done consistently with the Publick


Good”.48 The most important aspect of these ceremonies (and, however hard we try, the use of metaphors of ritual seems unavoidable) is the way they fitted into a consensus that justice should be seen to be done, and that the values of the law proclaimed in the process were in many respects those of a Christian society. In this, the religiosity reflected in the public culture of the hangings in the North-East in the eighteenth century seems as deep as that among people centuries earlier. By the 1700s, in a town like New-castle, the religious practice was more diverse, as Nonconformist and Catholic clerics were as active as the Anglican in preparing the condemned for their fate, but still powerful. The degrading punishments, actively watched and given approval by the audience, reaffirmed the values of the community. Because of the general inefficiencies of prosecution, the role of these open displays remained essential: “the law was supposed to deter by unpredictable example rather than by certainty of detection or punishment.” However, the lessons taught by these public proceedings were not unambiguous. In London the crowds had ambivalent attitudes, championing some of the condemned and protecting some of the pilloried, while cheering the sufferings of the others. It was in part because of the unpredictability of the crowd’s response that public punishment came to be more widely questioned after 1800. In the North-East before the nineteenth century, however, the basic elements of the moral melodrama remained intact, the audience generally responding as they ought, and the condemned behaving appropriately. In this way, at least, the region remained firmly within the traditional culture of the law.49

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CHAPTER SEVEN Transportation

In the view of the most authoritative overview of transportation to America, the North produced relatively few transportees, less than a tenth of the total for England and Wales. A number of factors may have contributed to this. In part, because of the absence of subsidies for areas outside London and the Home Counties at the outset of the 1718 Act, its implementation in the remoter corners of the country was not promoted by the use of central government resources.1 Consequently, local authorities may have been reluctant to undertake such expensive punishment unaided, although they had no choice about paying for those transported from the assizes. Also, local justices may have agreed with Henry Field-ing’s view that transportation, possessing “such an appearance of extreme severity”, was an unsuitable penalty for petty thieves.2 Nevertheless, transportation was promoted within the criminal law, as a direct punishment for theft and as an alternative to execution when the condemned were reprieved, and continued to feature in repeated legislative measures against vagabonds, for example in the 1744 Vagrancy Act. The 1718 Act, it has been said, represented as significant a development in English criminal justice as any later legislation on imprisonment: it arose from a period of unprecedented revision of the criminal law. In southern England its primary impact was in the decline in the convenient fictions of benefit of clergy, and instead of branding and discharging convicts the courts transported them. The preceding legislation of the later Stuarts had increased the severity of punishments for burglary and shoplifting, and had been directed particularly at servants and the young. The 1718 Act provided a means of allowing convictions for such offences with the possibility of reprieving the more deserving or vulnerably innocent cases.3 No local quarter sessions or assize could remain unaware of the national framework, although the reputation of some counties for severity in using wholesale transportation may suggest that there were considerable


variations.4 In the North-East, between 1718 and 1800, transportation was the final destiny for more than half of those convicted of thefts at the assizes, and about a sixth of thieves convicted at the quarter sessions; thieves made up the large majority of the transportees throughout the century (90%, including Berwick, in fact).5 If there was a shortage of northern transportees, it may have had as much to do with the relatively low crime rates as with sentencing policies, though this may have been an additional factor too, as we shall see. One proviso is needed, however, with reference to any attempt to describe the role of the region within a national picture: while the figures derived from John Howard’s survey are fairly accurate, those gathered in the early nineteenth century are not based on a full listing of North-East transportees, for they are a serious underestimate of those known to have been sentenced and transported from the region. More archival research will be needed before a full assessment of the contribution of the North to transportation is possible.6 Policies towards transportation Sentencing convicts to transportation was not consistently practised by the different courts throughout the century. At the beginning, in the after-math of the 1718 Act, assize judges made the greatest use of the punishment, turning it into the major penalty for larcenies before 1750 (see Ch. 3, Table 3.5), whereas the justices adopted it only slowly in the 1720s and 1730s. This was not through unfamiliarity or inexperience, for the magistrates were responsible for arranging the shipping of assize transportees, and therefore had become experienced in handling the problems of contracting and paying agents and ships’ captains in the 1720s. The detailed treasurer’s accounts in Durham, for example, indicate how routine this process had become by 1740, yet the local magistrates made no use of transportation when sentencing local thieves until after 1750.7 Moreover, as the treatment of the earliest “faws” gang of 1712–18 shows (Ch. 4), the Northumberland magistrates were quite ready to use transportation before the 1718 Act. It could be that their early experience of co-operating with the Scottish authorities in disposing of this unwanted vagrant group shaped their attitudes for decades afterwards. Moreover, felons from Northumberland had certainly been transported in the seventeenth century: in several gaol deliveries in the 1660s and 1670s convicts “consented” to be transported, though they probably had to arrange the details themselves.8 It is therefore significant that Northumberland alone made

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much use of transportation before 1750, sentencing a quarter of their convicted thieves. This sounds more impressive than it might, since the numbers were small. Only 29 were sentenced from the Northumberland sessions, and 15 from Newcastle’s; by contrast, the assizes sentenced 91 (plus a further 108 reprieved for transportation) before 1750. It was in the 1750s that the justices adopted the penalty with great enthusiasm, to the extent that quarter sessions convicts accounted for the majority of transportees from the region between 1750 and the outbreak of the American Revolution (205 of 374; see Table 7.1). Although transportation may have come under criticism after the mid-century, there is no doubt that it reached its peak at this time in north-east England, with the 1750s and 1760s constituting the most “successful” period.9 Table 7.1 Transportation sentences, 1719–1800

The American Revolution brought the first phase of transportation to a halt. There were still men and women in the gaols, and this provoked something of a crisis. In 1777 lists of those who had recently been sentenced to transportation in Northumberland were sent to London, and, in response, the Secretary of State decreed that, while the men had to enter the army, the three women were given a free pardon and discharged. This was ordered early in 1777 and immediately implemented. As John Howard observed on his 1779 visit to Morpeth gaol, the transportees from the period immediately before the American war had been “humanely released”.10 After the American Revolution, the resumption of transportation was soon attempted, and several sentences at the assizes mentioned Africa as a destination. It is unlikely that any North-East convicts were sent to Africa, given the context of the hostile government report on the project, though the case of two soldiers in 1773 remains unclear: they were certainly marched out of Newcastle, so the means of transporting them must have been available.11 One 22-year-old Northumberland man, John Bell, reprieved for


transportation to Africa, spent several years in gaol before petitioning for relief on the grounds of his impending blindness. Even the physically fit prisoners awaiting transportation, or delayed in gaol instead of being sent to the hulks, petitioned for pardon in the mid-1780s. Not all evoked official sympathy: a report on Francis Squires, sentenced in Durham to seven years’ transportation in 1783 for breaking into a workshop and stealing cloth from a loom, suggested that this act, since it was performed in the night time, had a “dangerous complexion”, but nevertheless Sir John Eden, the chairman of the bench, was instructed by his fellow justices to apply for his pardon, since he had behaved well during his long confinement in gaol.12 In 1786 several North-East convicts -were gathered in London ready for shipping to Australia, although continual delays had to be reported to Eden; nevertheless, 13 Durham convicts were sent to Botany Bay on the first fleet. Local interest in the matter was fuelled by detailed newspaper reports of the first settlement and its constitutional arrangements of law courts.13 After 1786, although transportation was resumed more readily as a judicial sentence, it never achieved the same standing in either level of court. At the assizes, about a quarter of convicted larcenists were transported, but at the quarter sessions it was rarely more than a seventh. Significantly, perhaps, in the light of their former habits, Northumberland’s justices remained more enthusiastic than those from the other counties.14 The practical difficulties of transportation to Australia, however, led to a great number of delays, and the local gaolers reported to London in the late 1780s that their gaols were so full that the prisoners’ health was endangered, as was the good order of the gaol as they had become “unruly”.15 The health of convicts became a central topic of discussion between the Home Office and the local authorities, who had to certify that prisoners had been inspected by an “experienced surgeon” and found free from “any putrid or infectious distemper”. As was decreed in a letter to Berwick in 1795, “those who are not in a perfect state of good health or who labour under bodily infirmities are upon no account to be removed”. Elizabeth Hall, a young servant when transported from Newcastle in 1786, was described as “healthy and strong”, though she later died in a lunatic asylum in New South Wales in 1828.16 Delays were also so extensive that prisoners might almost finish their sentence in gaol before being transported. As sympathetic petitioners pointed out in 1789, in the case of James Morrow (or Murray), sentenced to transportation in Durham in 1784, he would arrive in Australia after his sentence had expired.17

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“Cast for transportation”: the character of the transportees Discretion and mercy were the key characteristics of eighteenth-century justice, in the eyes of contemporaries and later historians alike. Consequently, the reprieve process was crucial in the way many assize convictions led convicts to transportation. As the major alternative to the gallows, transportation was the real sentence judges had in mind when condemning and almost simultaneously reprieving convicts. A large proportion of assize transportation sentences were decided on reprieve (46.4%), mostly for 14 years, and a few for life. There were two striking features of this reprieve system: it was concentrated in the rural counties, and everywhere men were overwhelmingly the beneficiaries. In Durham half, and in Northumberland two-thirds, of the men transported by the assizes had been reprieved. Women, by contrast, were usually sentenced directly to transportation on their conviction on a lesser charge, suggesting that the use of these “partial” verdicts was an explicit method for juries to signal their wishes to judges. It seems likely that neither the authorities nor the juries wished to risk allowing women to go through the process of condemnation and petition. Overall, only a fifth of female transportees had done so, compared with a majority of the men (Table 7.2). For men, condemned mainly for animal thefts of various kinds in the countryside, there seems to have been assurance of escape from the gallows.18 Gender differences also emerge from an analysis of the transportees in different times in the century, as well as in the different courts. Women always figured more largely in the quarter sessions than in the assizes, a result of their relatively greater importance in petty thefts: 40. 8% of quarter sessions transportees were women, compared with 21.1% of those from the assizes. This is a fair reflection of the different proportions of women charged and convicted, so it is unlikely that, overall, this was a sentence disproportionately imposed on women. Moreover, the proportion of women transportees was at its maximum in the 25 years before the American Revolution in both types of courts (50. 7% in the quarter sessions and 29% in the assizes), and was distinctly higher than that reported for this time in the American evidence relating to the composition of the transported population.19 In Newcastle women were a clear majority (61.1%) of quarter sessions transportees during this period, as might be expected given their prominence among the accused and convicted thieves. When in 1763 the town clerk sent John Hewitt of Coventry a list of transportees for the previous 15 years, the


Table 7.2 Transportation sentences at the assizes and Berwick, 1719–1800

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Table 7.3 Quarter sessions transportation sentences

Note 1. Three of these convicts also occur in the assizes sentences, for being at large during the term of their sentences or returned transportees. Note 2. Additional transportees from the quarter sessions, under different acts of vagrancy or settlement, are associated with the “Faws” gangs in Northumberland.

Newcastle names were predominantly female.20 In the other counties, the proportion was lower: less than half in Northumberland and little more than a third in Durham. Nevertheless, this was a steep increase on the previous quarter-century, and was not matched again. Similarly, the proportion of women reached its peak among the assize transportees in the 1750–75 period, particularly in Durham, where it was nearly half (43.6%). Again, this was a reflection of their overall standing among the charged before those courts, and was also not equalled when transportation was resumed. This was mainly because of the rise of imprisonment after the 1770s, used by both courts increasingly for more minor thefts, but in part, too, there is the general impression that courts were initially reluctant to transport women to Australia. Justices of Newcastle sentenced the first woman to transportation to Australia in 1786 (though the second was in 1795), of Northumberland in 1788, and of Durham in 1792. In the last quarter of the century only about a sixth (15.7%) of assize transportees and slightly over a quarter of those from the quarter sessions (26.1%) were women. Interestingly, the latter figure is only slightly below the proportion of women during the last 35 years of transportation from Newcastle (between 1818 and 1853).21 Exactly why some women were selected for transportation, in the light of the alternative punishments, is not clear. One factor may have been the extent to which, as thieves, they operated with others. At both the Durham and Newcastle quarter sessions, for example, female transportees were twice as likely to have been working with one or more companions as those who were sentenced to imprisonment. As was suggested in the earlier analysis of the social organization of crime (Ch. 4), a common enterprise was regarded as more serious than a lone theft, and so, even for the many first offenders, may have justified the more severe sentence.22 Most of the quarter session female transportees were single: over a quarter in Northumberland and over a third in


Newcastle were married. This was true of accused and convicted women as a whole, and, again, may simply reflect the constituency from which Table 7.4 Proportion of women sentenced to transportation Note: This excludes the double sentencing of the earlier tables, and is of the people sentenced.

the transportees were drawn. Yet, given the youth of those before the assizes, it is clear that transportation saved many women from the gallows.23 There were other reasons as to why some convicts were “cast for transportation” and others were not.24 A previous appearance in court and repeated convictions played a part. In Newcastle nearly a quarter of those transported from the quarter sessions had been in court previously on theft charges; most had been convicted and punished, sometimes more than once. The majority were women, and it seems that overall more than a third of transported women in this level of court (34.5% in fact) had faced previous indictments, compared with an eighth of the men. It seems from this evidence that, in Newcastle at least, men were more likely to be sentenced for a first offence, while women might be given a second chance.25 Nevertheless, some made themselves obvious targets for judicial severity by committing too many offences in a single year: Anne Trotter had been publicly whipped earlier in 1750 before committing the offence for which she was transported. Her case was not

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helped by her being “so intoxicated with liquor as to render her unfit to go upon her Tryal”, and her marriage to Richard Trotter, condemned and then reprieved for transportation at the assizes that summer, was well known. Ann Anderson, a married woman, decided to go back to crime after a break of five years. She had served three sentences of imprisonment with hard labour in the house of correction in the early 1750s (for one, two and three months, the last in 1754); when she was convicted again in 1759, she was transported. The importance of reputation at other levels of justice is also shown by the fate of Jane Stephenson, an “old offender” who was arrested for picking pockets at the Northumberland assizes of 1790, while Thomas Watson was being tried and condemned for murder. Several handkerchiefs were found “concealed in her breast”, and she was immediately arraigned after Watson’s trial had ended, found guilty and given seven years’ transportation. Overall, this evidence suggests that women transportees from north-east England were far from the brave, resourceful and unprincipled prostitute of literature such as Moll Flanders, or the drab street-women allegedly sent to Australia. As recent work on Australian convicts has confirmed, most were petty thieves, some with substantial careers of small-scale crime behind them, whom local authorities were firmly determined to remove from the district irrevocably.26 Not all these sentences were carried out; delays in transportation at different times of the century (discussed in detail below) meant that some convicts avoided this punishment. Some managed to have their sentence altered, or at least attempted to do so. William Jolley, a Northumberland “vagrant and thimble player” who was indicted at the quarter sessions for wandering abroad, was sentenced in 1732 to be bound apprentice in the plantations, but on later consideration, just at the point where his transportation was being arranged, the justices commuted his sentence to one of whipping.27 Matthew MacDonald, only 14 when sentenced to transportation by Durham quarter sessions, subsequently accused his father and uncle of burying the body of an unknown man on open ground some years previously. In the witness box at the assizes in 1757 he admitted he had lied as a delaying tactic, “in the hopes and expectation of being reprieved from transportation, or having an opportunity of making his escape”. Margaret Wanless, on the other hand, sentenced to transportation by Durham quarter sessions in 1765, was unusual in appealing to the Secretary of State against her sentence, although unsuccessfully. This was in a peaceful time of relatively easy passage to America, and she had been in gaol less than a year.28 The practical difficulties of transportation, however, rather than


considerations of justice, tended to dominate the execution of transportation sentences. Shipped for the plantations: transportation arrangements in north-east England Transportation from north-east England until the American Revolution mixed self-reliance with dependence on outside assistance in almost equal measure. Although Northumberland had used local ships to transport vagabonds before 1718, the justices in 1719 contracted John Darley of Gray’s Inn and John Henden of Lincoln’s Inn to transport the first transportees sentenced under the new Act. In the previous year Darley had shipped the first transportee from Cumberland.29 From the early 1720s, however, Northumberland and the other north-east counties employed local captains for this purpose. From 1728 onwards, Captains Matthias Giles and John Hodgson, partners in a regular trade with Maryland from the Tyne in their ships the Esther and the Mally, were given frequent contracts to transport convicts, at a standard fee of £5 per head. They retained a monopoly of this trade until the mid-1740s. After shipping convicts out, they also imported tobacco, which they advertised in the local press, together with invitations for would-be emigrants, particularly “those who are skilled in husbandry, or House Carpenters, Joyners, Sawyers, Bricklayers” to travel out with them to Maryland, where they would meet with “some encouragement”, and be guaranteed employment by their agent and partner, a Mr Colvill. This suggests a ready demand for labour of both emigrants and convicts on arrival.30 The numbers of emigrants accompanying the convicts is unclear, but in 1740 Giles took 12 felons from the three counties together with 19 servants, 16 of whom were women. Certainly reports from across the Atlantic suggested that servants were in great demand, and that “all sorts of Mechanicks” would be welcomed.31 The movement of convicts to the ships was highly visible, as the carts leaving the prisons had to process through the streets and out of town to the docks; in some ways, therefore, the transportation could be as public a punishment as hanging or whipping. The newspapers reported the successful export of well-known felons, such as the rioters of 1740, to reinforce the lesson. To this extent, at least, critics such as Paley were wrong: the punishment was not entirely “unobserved and unknown”.32 The partnership continued this trade without a break, even though Hodgson allowed two Northumberland convicts to escape in 1730. In addition, Giles was in trouble with Trinity House in 1740 over a case of

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criminal damage, in company with several other ships’ captains in Newcastle, to which they pleaded guilty. Yet when he died in 1766 aged 76, the local papers expressed great respect for “one of the elder brethren of Trinity House, and who had many years served in the office of Deputy Quay-Master of this Town”, “a person whose fidelity, integrity and punctuality made him much respected”.33 Most commonly, the convicts headed south by sea to London and thence to America. This was essential during wartime, as Newcastle ships would have to join an armed convoy at the Thames. When they were too late to do this, they had to take the northern route, round the Shetland Isles, which could be hazardous: Advice is come, that the Esther, Capt Bowes, who lately sailed from this Port with the Transports for Virginia, and the Mary, Capt. Hill, for South Carolina, were taken the 11th May last, by two French Privateers of 30 guns and 250 men each, 12 Leagues off Shutland. Capt. Bowes ransomed his ship for £213, but Capt. Hill was sent to Dunkirk. The above Privateers had taken seven other Prizes since the 8th of the said Month.34 Presumably this meant the loss of any profit on the voyage, but not the ship itself. After this incident, which occurred on the last recorded voyage of the Esther, more news arrived, when a person on the Esther wrote to his friends in Newcastle “that the good usage he has met with from the Captain and officers of the Privateer is almost beyond Expression, being used more like a Relation than a Prisoner of War”.35 Other individual captains succeeded Giles and Hodgson in the late 1740s until in the 1750s a change of policy resulted in the use of a largely landward route to London, and the establishment of a link with York gaol. Whether it was because ships were finding the Atlantic trade too dangerous, despite peace, or because there was a temporary shortage of trustworthy captains, it is impossible to say. Certainly local ships were used in 1751 and 1752, the latter to move the 18 “faws” of William Fall and his associates.36 But for the rest of the 1750s the usual method of transportation was to pay the York gaoler Thomas Wharton £5 or £6 a head to take the convicts to London. He would then organize the final shipment through contacts with lawyers in Lincoln’s Inn. On some occasions the transportees sailed to Hull to go to York gaol, and then were carted south with prisoners from the Yorkshire courts. The results were large convoys on the road to London: one in 1765 had 34 convicts, while another party in September 1758, it was reported,


comprised 50 convicts, 33 men and 17 women, of whom 23 in all came from the North-East.37 In the 1760s the north-east authorities used a mixture of methods. In 1762 Newcastle sent their transportees overland to Whitehaven in Cumberland, whose growing tobacco trade facilitated shipping them to America, while at other times, in keeping with the other counties, they continued to use the York route. In 1766 and over the next few years local ships such as the Jenny (Captain Blagdon) and others were contracted, although in 1772 ten prisoners from Northumberland were again sent by land to Whitehaven to be sent to “the Port of South Potomack”. Perhaps the western landward route was quicker, because in 1766 the Jenny recorded one of the longest voyages, taking 11 weeks from January, forcing the crew and passengers, including 20 indentored servants, on to short rations before they reached Virginia. Moreover, at times ships might be intercepted by local troublemakers: in the seamen’s dispute of 1768, the Adderton (Captain Ostle), with 16 felons on board, was stopped by five sailors, allegedly very drunk, who demanded to know what wages he was paying his crew for the voyage.38 In 1773 the last recorded batch of convicts left on the Swift which, together with the Adventure, continued to sail across the Atlantic with goods and emigrants right up to the outbreak of the American War.39 When transportation resumed, now to Australia, the local authorities’ responsibilities ended when the convicts reached the hulks. Moving them south was easy and cheap, compared with the transatlantic trade, given the north-east region’s traditional trade links. Local papers continued to report their departure for the south of England, and their fate once in the hulks. Some local authorities seem to have spent some money on the appearance of their felons: one group from Newcastle in 1791 were given new clothes, hats and shoes at the expense of the corporation, “greatly to the honour of the magistrates of this town”, it was said.40 Returned from transportation Transportation to the American colonies was regarded by its critics as ineffective, because the plentiful Atlantic trade connections made escape and return easy. As the 1752 Bill proposing hard labour in dockyards as an alternative punishment put it: And whereas the Punishment of Transportation to some of his Majesty’s Colonies and Plantations in America, inflicted by Law

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for sundry Offences, hath frequently been evaded, by the Offenders returning from thence before the Expiration of the Terms for which they have been transported…41 Yet there were few prosecutions for this offence: in the North-East, whence more than 600 were transported before the American Revolution, only ten were brought before the courts, seven of them for returning, and three for being at large, before the completion of their sentences. Of the seven returners, six were convicted: one was hanged and the others were transported once again, one (Robert Ord) for an additional robbery committed while hiding from the authorities. The one execution was of “Sir” William Brown, who was expecting to be transported again, but whose “gang” (discussed in Ch. 4) was such a matter of fear in the region that his death, in 1743, was perhaps inevitable. Of the three convicts “at large”, one was acquitted, while another, a horse thief, Robert Bilton, transported from Northumberland in 1768, was discovered in York in 1771, and ordered by the assizes there to be transported again, “according to his former sentence”. On appeal to London it was pointed out that he had been shipwrecked on the Kent coast, and had only “with the utmost difficulty saved his life”, since when he had been confined in York castle and had “behaved himself very well”. He was granted a free pardon and bailed. Mary Low of Durham was not so lucky. She was re-tried and sentenced to death, but a heartfelt plea on her behalf saved her for transportation once again: “she is the mother of six children, the oldest not 14, and the rest under nine years of age which are left to the charge of her disconsolate husband.”42 Two Northumberland men transported in 1768 seem to have had little difficulty in returning, and their activities give a rare glimpse as to how it was effected. In January 1769 it was reported: Saturday last two men were taken prisoners at Long-Horsley, in Northumberland, for returning from transportation, by the Captain who carried them to Virginia; where, on their arrival, the Captain being gone into the country about business, they made their escape, and got on board a ship in the same harbour, just ready to sail for Port Glasgow, which brought them here; but as the Captain returned, he went in quest of them, and having got intelligence at Morpeth, he secured them as above, and on Monday put them on board a vessel for London.43


This appears very easy, for both sides. Other returners were members of well-known gangs such as William Brown himself, William Fall, and Robert Ord, an early “faw” who returned in the 1720s. It is unknown whether they took with them sufficient resources to buy their way out, or found friends among the transported convicts in America to help them. Certainly popular legend perpetuated the image of the affluent transportee. In 1772 it was reported from Williamsburg, Virginia, that: the noted John Eyre, who, though a man of fortune, was lately transported into this country for stealing paper, died about three days after his arrival; and £250 in bank notes, and 50 guineas, were found in his possession.44 Freedom was presumably fairly cheap for such a transportee, but he cannot have been typical. Return to the western ports such as Whitehaven might have been easier, and certainly in Cumberland and Westmorland more were condemned and executed than in north-east England. Yet it is hard to agree with the statement that for returners “prospects were surprisingly good for remaining at large without being caught”. This might have been true of Londoners who could lose themselves in a large city, and for members of well-organized gangs, but it seems that in the smaller society of the rural areas and country towns old faces were quickly recognized, and intelligence of return passed quickly into the authorities’ hands.45 There were many escapes from gaol while convicts awaited txansportation. This was most likely when the process of shipping them out was delayed for years. In general, the 1720s and 1730s seem to have been a time of interrupted transportation. For example, when Bartholomew Young and Robert Thain escaped from Morpeth gaol in 1729, they had been awaiting transportation since 1725 and 1727 respectively.46 One Durham convict petitioning after nearly five years in gaol was, ironically, supported by some of the local authorities who had failed to arrange the transportation.47 Certainly delays continued, and some prisoners waited many years for transit: one Durham woman, Ann Golightly, spent sufficient time in Durham gaol to give birth to two children. Some prisoners escaped in transit: in 1751 a Berwick transportee, John Gibson, was taken to London by ship and, while the captain Caleb Ffoggitt went to Gray’s Inn to make arrangements with the contractor, he managed to saw off his irons and get out of the cabin window. There had been a delay because the lawyer’s clerk could not find a spare place in a public prison to hold Gibson while a ship was

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found. Despite advertisements in the London papers, no re-capture was reported.48 These escapes seem to have become more common and much more desperate once the destination had changed to Australia. In Newcastle’s Newgate gaol food was lowered to prisoners by a rope, and in both 1787 and 1789 convicts awaiting transportation used it to escape from the cells once they had broken through the bars. In February 1791, as all the region’s transportees were collected together on the Tyne for shipment south, including ten from Durham, it was reported: “Previous to the Durham prisoners leaving the prison, they became very riotous, and forcibly attempted to make their escape, but by the interference of the dragoons quartered there, they were got under, and properly secured.”49 Some took drastic measures: in Wakefield gaol it was said that “an old man of the name of Gray, who having sworn that he would never see that country, actually put out his own eyes, with a bodkin”.50 One of the most inventive escapes, from the ship at North Shields which was to take them to London, was that of John Innis, in company with four other convicts. Two were “recovered” when they were arrested for stealing linen, and Innis himself was apprehended in Gateshead “disguised in female apparel”. When Innis later petitioned from the hulk Prudentia, he received scant sympathy from Christopher Fawcett, the Newcastle Recorder, who recounted the way he had made a careful exposition to the quarter sessions jury on an awkward point of law. Innis had taken casks of liquor from a wherryman’s boat, but the fact that they were in the custody of someone other than their owner still constituted theft, as “laid down by ablest writers on Crown Law”. Then Innis and his companions had escaped from the ship on the Tyne taking them to the hulks: by sawing off their irons, but by diligent search being made after them, Innis was found in an house in Gateshead in the County of Durham dressed in women’s cloaths, and was reconveyed to the ship. He therefore seems to be guilty of a capital offence without benefit of clergy, by having been seen at large within Great Britain without any lawful cause before the expiration of the term of seven years for which he was ordered to be transported.51 One thing is certain: there were no known instances of return from Australia in the eighteenth-century North-East. The destination remained “distant, foreign and unfathomable”.52


Conclusion Transportation certainly “marked a profound transition in the history of British criminal justice”: by ridding the country of offenders, and refusing any possibility of return, the prospect of rehabilitation in the country of their origin was abolished.53 From 1718 until the midnineteenth century it was a central factor in penal policy. The importance of transportation is usually constructed as the driving force for the neglect of, or search for, alternatives: when introduced it supposedly abolished all other non-capital punishments, and when interrupted forced a re-examination of imprisonment. However, in northeast England transportation rose along with imprisonment in the quartercentury before the American Revolution, and became very much secondary to it thereafter (see Ch. 3). The process of local adoption was slow, and may have stemmed in part from some difficulties in arranging transportation, given the shortage of ships crossing the Atlantic regularly. After 1750, however, the punishment was enthusiastically endorsed as the last resort of over-pressed quarter sessions justices. The interruption of the American Revolution certainly reinforced the local trend for imprisonment, but transportation remained an essential weapon of local law enforcement, and a form of terror for local communities, well into the Victorian period.

CHAPTER EIGHT Correction and imprisonment

Imprisonment in the early modern period The Political Science student has nowadays no difficulty in seeing that the appalling conditions of the prisons in the eighteenth century, and the long drawn-out tragedy of prison life is to be ascribed less to any culpable neglect of the sheriffs and Justices, in the discharge of duties which had never been precisely defined or even explicitly imposed on them, than to the amazing administrative device, at that time almost universally adopted, of converting the keeping of a prison into a profit-making private business.1 Thus the Webbs dismissed all prison regimes before the nineteenthcentury age of reform. In the late twentieth century, however, as private prisons undergo a revival as part of government policy, it is unlikely that modern students would be so eager to condemn the past or assume that its faults derived from the businesslike character of prison management. Yet the Webbs pointed to the very vagueness of purpose in the use of prisons in the early modern period, and the apparent absence of a statutory framework imposing clear (and supervised) duties of management on the magistracy. By the end of the eighteenth century, however, there was considerable interest in imprisonment and a great deal of debate about the purpose and internal regime of prisons. Moreover, there was a glimmering of what modern criminologists might recognize as a coherent penological theory concerning crime and punishment, much of it directed towards proposing prison as an alternative to bodily punishments or transportation. Consequently, with few exceptions, the conventional history of changing practices of


imprisonment has tended to concentrate on the end of the eighteenth century and include it with the sweeping reforms of the nineteenth, assuming that, throughout, theory and practice were neatly linked so that an “understanding of the causes of deviant behaviour led directly to the invention of the penitentiary as a solution”. There were not only new theories of criminality, but also powerful discourses concerning the control of deviants and their punishment and treatment in prisons.2 Another reason for concentrating on the latter part of the century is partly architectural: in addition to John Howard’s managerial recommendations and the impact of Jeremy Bentham’s panopticon design, there were a few local initiatives which provided striking examples of what could be done. The dramatic accounts of the new design and reformed regime of Gloucester gaol compared with the squalor evinced elsewhere, particularly as reported in Howard’s repeated surveys, publicized the need for change in prison building design, if not the philosophy of imprisonment. Despite the resumption of transportation in the 1780s, by 1800 many local authorities were considering rebuilding their prisons, even if to a diversity of plans and without any single model of internal regime. The origins of the modem shape of prisons lie in these eighteenth-century speculations and practical designs.3 Compared with the previous period, therefore, the late eighteenth century seemed to many historians a moment of crucial change, creating all the elements of modern penology. More recent studies, however, have been more impressed by the extent of local initiative and experimentation before the age of penal theorization, and have been reluctant to place the rebuilt institutions entirely within the context of new discourses of power and control. On the contrary, there was some continuity in policy and use of institutions with those of much earlier centuries, and initiatives seemingly sprang from practical imperatives rather than theoretical concerns. Consequently, instead of emphasizing the influence of elaborate criminological models, more recent views have concluded quite the opposite: that most eighteenth-century practitioners were largely untheoretical in their approach to crime, and frequently inconsistent, an interpretation that has almost become a new orthodoxy. It seems that while many local justices and concerned people read Howard on the problems of badly managed and poorly equipped prisons and Blackstone on the law’s com plicated rules, few if any read complex legal philosophy such as that of Bentham (which was not in any case fully available until the nineteenth century), confining themselves to the apparently simpler critiques provided by Henry

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Fielding or Beccaria, and the conveniently brief discussions in The Gentleman’s Magazine. Nevertheless, imprisonment was promoted as a practical solution even if it was not linked to a single accepted theory of crime, or a consensus about the effects on criminality of different forms of punishment. However, we should be wary of going too far in the opposite direction and hail the practical character of the local authorities as a triumph of experience over theory, for this interpretation perhaps neglects Keynes’ famous warning that “practical men” are usually in the thrall of some defunct theory which they would prefer to keep free from scrutiny. Nevertheless, it needs a serious analysis of local policy to understand the later impact of national debates and legislation.4 On the basis of evidence from the North-East and in some other areas of the country, imprisonment had become an important policy at the local level long before the elaboration of the Enlightenment theories of criminality and punishment. Part of the influence on local practice may have been legislative: continually, throughout the century, proposed or actual legislation encouraged the use of imprisonment for petty offenders. Some of the laws, if universally implemented, would have necessitated large-scale investment: for example, a 1706 Act permitted sentences of between six months and two years for felons eligible for benefit of clergy as an alternative to branding. If this measure had been fully adopted by the courts, and prison sentences inflicted on all lesser thieves, the local prisons would have speedily filled up. In London, where the law had some impact, the numbers added to the institutions were considerable: at least 500 sentences were imposed between 1707 and 1718, with an increasing trend towards the maximum term. This development was apparently curtailed by the 1718 Transportation Act.5 Imprisonment for vagrancy was also continually reaffirmed in the laws of the first half of the century. Although it was never passed into law, another proposal in the 1750s suggested hard labour for felons, either as a substitute for transportation or on their reprieve from the death penalty. This measure was directed specifically at male convicts who could be employed for the public good in the dockyards. Both the failures of transportation, allegedly evaded by convicts’ speedy return, and the need to find a substitute punishment that made offenders “visible and lasting Examples of Justice to others” were emphasized in the proposal.6 These discussions about hard labour may have encouraged a wave of scrutiny and rebuilding of houses of correction. Certainly recent work on the many unsuccessful legislative efforts at this time suggests that in these debates issues of poverty, work, crime, and punishment were all intermingled.7 The famous 1779 Penitentiary


Act, the outcome of John Howard’s investigations, at least publicized the potential role of the prison even if it did not result in the building of the proposed national institution. Under this law the ideal of the penitentiary had an immediate impact on the northern circuit, as the judges sentenced convicts to imprisonment in a penitentiary house, making use of local houses of correction until the national one was built. In New-castle, Howard’s reputation was such that in the 1780s it was proposed to erect a statue of him, a man whose life, it was said, had been spent in “visiting and reclaiming and comforting the most miserable and wretched of mankind”.8 Elsewhere in the north, local justices embraced the penitentiary idea enthusiastically, writing to the government asking when one was to be built; one, Thomas Butterworth Bayley, chairman of the Lancashire bench, referred to the recommendations of “the incomparable Howard” and the reports of Sir George Onesipherous Paul in Gloucestershire. The development of local regimes was also a matter of central government interest, particularly in Oxford, whose apparently successful house of correction was commended by the Secretary of State as proving the possibility of reforming felons, and provided justification for the reprieve of a condemned man to incarceration there. As he wrote in 1789: The mode of employing the unfortunate people convicted at Oxford, and the attention paid to their morals, has done infinite credit to the magistracy of that county, and it will at all times afford me great satisfaction to be instrumental in promoting their laudable designs.9 Oxford used solitary confinement as well as hard labour, and the example may have publicized this apparently successful technique. It matched the semi-religious idea of redemption through self-realization with a new psychology of self-scrutiny in solitude. Adam Smith thought isolation the most terrible form of punishment, far worse than the social ignominy of having to confront one’s victim face-to-face. Yet Bayley had his doubts about solitary confinement if taken too far: in his review of Oxford’s practice he wrote: a long, and strict confinement in a solitary cell, without the society or converse of their fellow creatures, and a perpetual task of hard labour, severely enforced, must be a terrible punishment to these convicts, and exhibit a continued and powerful example, to deter others from the crimes for which they suffer.10


It is hard not to believe that, as Jonas Hanway put it, “everyone has a plan, and a favourite system” of imprisonment at this time. Yet the argument from legislation and public discusion alone has obvious hazards, particularly when examining the apparent policies of local justices. John Howard’s view was that, to a large extent, in most areas the authorities had no system at all, even if they favoured imprisonment. By the 1770s the justices throughout the country were sending local criminals in larger numbers to houses of correction, suggesting that the judges’ sentences at assize had provided, if not guidance on a new penal philosophy, at least an example which confirmed the validity of incarceration as a suitable punishment for felonies—sufficient for those offenders whose crimes were “unattended by aggravating circumstances” and who had shown that they could behave well “inside”. It is evident from the petitions requesting pardon for felons who spent years in gaols and houses of corrections awaiting transportation that local people in the 1780s, with the approval and support of their magistrates, were accustomed to argue that imprisonment had been punishment enough. The sudden ending of transportation to the American colonies, however, may perforce have induced local authorities to contemplate imprisoning criminals, but, to judge from the flood of letters received by the Home Office in the 1780s, it also led equally to increasingly squalid overcrowding in unreformed gaols and aggressive demands from gaolers and justices for central government to relieve the pressure by resuming transportation. The cumulative impact of these different legislative and practical influences was therefore by no means uniform.11 Far from being under the influences of legislative proposals and the examples set by more senior courts, local courts may have favoured imprisonment because of long-established traditions of reformative labour, something which had been integral to both penal and poor law policies since the Elizabethan period. The creation of a wholly new type of institution for reform through work was the achievement of the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries throughout England, where they were often known as bridewells, after London’s pioneering foundation, or more formally as houses of correction. This innovation was shared by much of northern Europe in the seventeenth century. The traditional gaols had been holding tanks for those awaiting trial, or for convicts awaiting execution (or, later, transportation); in addition, they held debtors, usually in a section separate from the felons. “Prisons exist only to keep men not to punish them. This was the dominant principle all through the middle ages”, and consequently in the


eighteenth century gaols were described as the “most medieval institutions in England”.12 In the North-East the worst experience of prison was in the keep of the castle in Newcastle, where Northumberland’s prisoners were temporarily kept during assize week. The place was frequently flooded, as above the vaulted roof the old keep was open to the rain; prisoners of both genders were chained to the same wall in the only chamber, and on “assize Sunday” they were exhibited to the public.13 No punishment was therefore usually intended in these ancient foundations; in the North-East, as elsewhere, medieval towers or gateways were retained for judicial purposes. Above all, in most gaols there was no policy of putting inmates to work. By contrast, the houses of correction were designed from the start for a different purpose, for they instituted the idea and practice of imprisonment as a punishment in itself, something that began in Europe with the London Bridewell and was enshrined in a 1576 law. This development was accompanied by the parallel foundation of workhouses, which also had as their primary purpose the re-training of the workforce as much as the care of the sick and poor. Some have proclaimed that the difference between the two institutions was purely theoretical, but it is clear that in terms of the strictness of regime and the security of containment, houses of correction involved a very different degree of control. In cases of flight from workhouses, the authorities tended to record the inmates’ behaviour, but scarcely bothered to raise a formal hue and cry. A bridewell was different: this was the most suitable place for those corrigible only by organized severity, and any escapes were treated as matters for alarm.14 Traditional histories of houses of correction were as impressed by their decline as their early foundation. By the eighteenth century, it is claimed, they were neglected and frequently no longer paying even lipservice to their original purpose. Repeatedly, John Howard criticized them for failing to separate the genders, to put the inmates to work, or even to maintain a basic routine of exercise and cleanliness. In Lancashire, it is admitted, houses of correction were “probably less well governed, less orderly, dirtier, more uncomfortable, and more licentious than gaols, if only because their small size and powerless inmates aroused less interest among the justices and the public”. Yet the national picture which emerges from the rather scanty records is one of continual efforts at re-building or re-foundation, in waves of activity which seem to reflect particularly difficult periods for both the economy and the control of crime, such as the late 1690s and early eighteenth century, or again in mid-century. After 1770 there was extensive


5. A cell door in Durham’s House of Correction (PR).

building activity as reinvestment in prisons of all kinds became the vogue. Moreover, these times of heightened concern for the conditions in prisons usually coincided with public debate and legislative proposals. It could be that, while eschewing any simple relationship between economic crisis and law enforcement practices, we should be sensitive to the search for alternatives to severe punishments such as hanging and transportation, particularly when the latter could leave the families of transported thieves dependent on local communities; perhaps, also, a key factor was to keep punishment under local control,


a matter of the justices’ pride as well as their feelings of obligation to the local community. The eighteenth-century “civilizing process” could therefore accommodate directly incompatible attitudes and policies: believing that hanging was not “punishment enough” while searching for an alternative, and inflicting imprisonment on the bulk of petty offenders while increasing the horror of hanging and dissection for the serious criminals.15 North-eastern houses of correction While we know a great deal about the late-eighteenth-century reforms, it has been rightly observed that we know rather less about the institutions which required such apparently drastic reformation.16 Certainly Howard’s visits throw light on gaols and houses of correction which had attracted little public attention locally apart from financial records of repairs and the occasional justice’s report of their inspection. In fact, precise institutional records for the North-East are remarkably scanty: with regard to inmates, we know about those sentenced in court, but little or nothing about those summarily incarcerated. As for the development of the region’s institutions, the barest outline survives. Nevertheless, between them, north-eastern houses of correction seem to reflect most of the strengths and failures attributed to bridewells, and provide confirmation of most of the conventional theories of their history. Their foundations were not among the first, and may have been among the last, to be established in the seventeenth century. Like Lancashire, Durham certainly possessed a functioning house of correction in 1616, when the first surviving order book records quarter session sentences and the appointment of a master. The institution was housed in a former chantry chapel on the north side of Elvet bridge, and may at first have been adopted without substantial rebuilding. Soon, however, the costs of maintenance forced parishes to raise money from a parish rate, abandoning the system of keeping a parish flock, and in the 1630s there was probably some re-building. In Howard’s time there was a foundation stone over the door giving a date of 1634 to the building that was used until the early nineteenth century. The entrance was from the street to the bridge, but one room and the cells were underneath at the level of the river: Howard described them as “damp and close”. By contrast, Newcastle seems to have contemplated the establishment of a house of correction only tardily, in 1646, and may initially have used a house in the centre of town off the Bigg Market for the purpose. Only in 1668, and then at private expense, was a special


6. Berwick gaol, 1752 (PR).

building added, on open land in the north-east area of the town, alongside a new workhouse: to judge from Howard’s accounts, the old building continued in use as a supplementary bridewell. This sector became a kind of zone of incarceration: these two institutions joined the Free School and Blackett’s hospital on the site of an old medieval friary, surrounded to east and north by fields and gardens used by clothtenters.17 Northumberland appears to have been the most negligent in providing a house of correction, in one respect at least. While the origins are obscure, its sole institution, the Alnwick house of correction, was in decay by the 1680s, when it was subject to repeated complaints in the quarter sessions. This county alone seems to confirm the conventional notion of late-seventeenth-century decline and neglect. After much prevarication, the house was closed, in 1704 the building was sold, and there was no equivalent prison until a new house of correction was opened in Morpeth in 1715. The political rivalries between towns in the county are reflected first in the protests of Alnwick against the loss of its prison, for the town regarded itself as in some way more central to the county than Morpeth. Secondly, Hexham, representing the western end of the county, and the heartland of interests of powerful magistrates such as those from the Allgood family, also petitioned repeatedly up to the 1760s for its own house. The fourteenth-century gaol in the town was used as a lock-up, but prisoners sentenced to hard labour at the


7. Newgate, Newcastle, 1781 (Newcastle Central Library).

Hexham adjournment of the quarter session had to be moved to Morpeth at considerable expense for the authorities. It was presumably inconvenient for the prisoners too, who might come from places even further west, such as Haltwhistle or Allendale. Yet, despite petitions in 1744 and again in the 1760s, Hexham was unsuccessful in its demands until in 1783 a new house of correction was opened there. The designs fortunately survive. There were two buildings at right angles against the outer wall of an enclosure 65 feet square, both two storeys high, comprising at least four day rooms, one specifically for work, another for the women, and numerous cells above. One area was described as “fire proof”, Outside, there were two prisoners’ yards, the larger about 50 feet by 25 narrowing to 15 feet. This was clearly more spacious, but not unlike Morpeth’s older foundation or the contemporary building at Northallerton in the North Riding of York-shire. All these had two or three storeys on a main street, making them more vulnerable to escapes. Hexham was not visited by Howard, so unfortunately there is no account of its internal regime.18 A proposal to establish a third Northumberland House of Correction at Tynemouth came to the quarter sessions in 1791, partly because of the poor state of the house at Morpeth, and equally importantly as a


8. Hexham gaol (1330–32) (PR).

result of the growth of population and crime along the north side of the Tyne centred on North Shields. The lowest tender was accepted and the funds for equipment to be installed were granted early the next year, with the appointment of a master. From the first, prisoners were sentenced to solitary confinement in this house, though there had been no hint of such a specification in the plans. For example, two women in the Michaelmas sessions in 1793 were sentenced to three months “confined to hard labour in a solitary cell”, and others followed the next year, all incarcerated for petty thefts.19 While Northumberland represents the best example of late-eighteenth-century investment in


9. Newcastle: the Garrison Room of the Castle Keep, which served as Northumberland’s assize cell (PR).

prisons, the other two north-eastern counties were not entirely backward. In the 1750s Durham paid serious attention to the state of its house of correction, when inspecting justices noted that men and women were locked up together: day and night which the…referees think not only very wrong but very unnecessary as there are rooms sufficient to confine them separately were the numbers greater than they are now or commonly are. And that the prisoners are utterly unemployed for


10. Tower on the bridge, Newcastle, 1763 (Newcastle Central Library).

want of materials to work upon and that such as are proper should be provided and that the keeper should see to the manufacturing thereof. Yet in 1782, following an Act “for the amending and rendering more effectual the Laws in being relative to houses of correction”, the justices were still inspecting the inadequacies of the prison after a number of accused thieves had escaped.20 Newcastle went beyond inspection and built the “new bridewell” on the old site in 1752, which rapidly became the focus for instantaneous incarceration of the unwary vagrant and other persons thought to be dubious characters, many of them “disorderly women”.21 There were still spectacular attempts to escape, one involving a group of women who were overheard by the keeper just in time. As the press commented on these, “To the Indolent and Vicious, Correction and Labour is the severest Punishment; and bad Habits are only to be broke, and Repentance enforced by Severity.” This institution was part of a wave of building in Newcastle in the 1750s and 1760s which included an infirmary, a lying-in hospital, and two lunatic asylums, all by public subscription and with civic encouragement. Later improvements in the new bridewell towards the


end of the century involved the addition of several solitary cells to the Newcastle House, so that by 1801 a local observer could grandly describe the place as a “penitentiary”. By that time, however, it was observed that these cells were mostly used for unexamined prisoners or for apprentices who had absconded from their service.22 The form of regime in these institutions can only be inferred. Repeated investments in equipment suggest that these were typical places of containment and work. Durham in the seventeenth century clearly deployed the inmates in beating hemp, and one newspaper’s mocking report suggests there was generally a similar policy in all Newcastle’s institutions: last Monday an elderly woman was committed to the Tower on the Bridge, for wrongfully making use of another Person’s Name, in order to obtain Lint of several of our Merchants, to whom she apply’d.—As the above old Lady shewed so great a Desire to work at the Spinning Wheel, it is to be hoped she will be gratified in some Measure, by employing her at the Workhouse in the Hemp Way. This may refer to linen production, a major industry in some parts of the region. Certainly in 1705 the inmates of the Newcastle House of Correction were commissioned to make the “purple and grey cloth” for the uniforms of the widows in the “hospital” (probably the Holy Jesus Hospital, an almshouse). The workhouse was also known as the “spinhouse” at this time, though the master advertised to the public the inmates’ skill in weaving in both linen and wool, available for hire on the lowest terms. When Howard visited the bridewell he observed men “by a machine” beating hemp.23 The most comprehensive and sustained effort at employing the inmates seems to have been in Northumberland, where magistrates always tended to employ a clothier or clothmaker as keeper in their new foundation at Morpeth, which is frequently described, along with the nearby workhouse, as a “manufactory”. When Howard visited it for the last time a new keeper, John Doxford, a clothier, was employing the inmates in carding and spinning, “the prison not white-washed. No court.” His predecessor, who had inherited the post from his father almost 20 years before, had not impressed Howard either: he now resides at a distance: he employs his prisoners, the men and boys from eight o’clock to four, at two shillings a week,


women from eight to five, at one shilling and six-pence a week. He gives them also firing. No county allowance, no water, no sewer. In fairness, he found the inmates of all the three major Houses of Correction at work on most of his visits, though he was scarcely complimentary about any of them.24 North-eastern prisoners The physical capacities of these places were not large. Newcastle’s House of Correction consisted of only two rooms plus the cells, and Howard found small numbers of inmates there, seven at the most; yet in the early nineteenth century it was claimed that up to 35 men and 30 women had been accommodated at any one time, and up to 1,600 prisoners had passed through in a single year. This seems a huge number, and dates from the exceptional years after the end of the Napoleonic War, but might be credible if there were many vagrants staying a short while before being moved back to their place of settlement. A century before this Northumberland was transporting hundreds of vagrants out of the county each year—at least 100 a month in a bad year—and apparently managing to hold them in Morpeth before moving them on. By contrast, the Durham House of Correction was observed by Howard to have similar numbers of inmates to Newcastle, but was unusual in also containing several lunatics. As de Lacy has commented, “the county houses of correction remained very small until the nearby population exploded in the late eighteenth century”. In the North-East, Northumberland preferred for reasons of local politics to increase the number of small institutions rather than invest in a single large one, and the other counties did not build substantially larger facilities until the early nineteenth century.25 In the debate among historians concerning the possible role of houses of correction in solving the growing problems of a changing society, it is perhaps inevitable that the prisoners themselves have been neglected, to the point where we seem to know little about them, or the role of imprisonment in their lives. As demonstrated in Chapter 3, imprisonment in the North-East grew as a punishment for petty larceny, inflicted particularly on women convicts, but increasingly on petty thieves of all kinds. But imprisonment was not simple: there was as much variety available in the sentences as there were routes over which to inflict public whipping. Incarceration might be with or without hard labour, with or without corporal punishment, in gaol or in a house of


correction, and, above all, for almost any length of time from a few days to a couple of years. Length of sentence is one of the simplest matters to analyze, for it is likely to be specified precisely by the courts. One striking feature seems to be borne out by the evidence in north-east England: generally, as the number of the imprisoned increased, so their sentences became shorter. This seems likely to be the inevitable outcome of the fixed capacities of the small institutions: explicitly or not, justices could sentence more people to prison only if they reduced their periods of incarceration. Either the numbers per cell at any one time had to increase, or the cells had to be used by more people for shorter periods. In fact the latter scheme was adopted. In Newcastle, for example, more than half of the convicted thieves in quarter sessions before 1750 were given sentences of a year. Significantly, the overwhelming majority of these were women, who were twice as likely as men to receive this length of sentence. After the mid-century there was only a handful of such long sentences, for as numbers grew the majority of prison terms were for less than three months. Some consistent gender differences emerge here, for throughout the century Newcastle women were slightly more likely than men to suffer sentences of longer than three months: this may be due to the fact that men were more likely to be sentenced to the additional punishment of whipping, usually in public. Similar developments took place in the other counties, where by the last quarter of the century sentences of less than three months made up 60% of the total, and sentences of under a month grew to between a fifth and a sixth. Here, the shorter sentences did not establish quite the dominance shown in Newcastle, for very long sentences of a year or more did continue in slightly larger numbers: ten people (seven men) in Northumberland received this term after 1775, and thirteen in Durham. These long sentences, perhaps representing a deliberate return to the pre-1750 pattern, may reflect a plan to resume imprisonment following the ending of transportation to America. Yet the general trend seems clear throughout the region, as the average sentence fell to between two and three months by the last quarter of the century, albeit with a somewhat wider range, indicating, perhaps, a more discriminatory use of incarceration by magistrates willing to contemplate a contrasting mix of short and long terms. In this way, by a carefully chosen length of sentence, the general trend towards imprisonment could be sustained without loss of apparent severity.26 Nearly all of these sentences were with hard labour in the house of correction. A small number of inmates were spared the burden of work,


but were sometimes fined as well as imprisoned. Most of these were rioters or people involved in industrial disputes. For example, in Northumberland during the 1789 mining dispute strikers put pressure upon workers at many pits, to judge from the 16 indictments in both the assizes and quarter sessions, and there were accusations of damage to colliery engines. There were disturbances across the coalfield, at Shiremoor and Wallbottle collieries among others. For those convicted of illegal assembly and other minor offences punishments were hardly severe, involving one-shilling fines and short prison sentences in the house of correction; significantly, none was sentenced to hard labour. Similar tactics had been used in the 1765 strike when six men and one woman were prosecuted for stopping work at James Hauxley’s colliery by means of an “enormous riot and breach of the peace” involving the use of sticks, staves and threats. The seven were each fined one shilling and received a short prison sentence. There were similar incidents in the Durham coalfield at the same time. By contrast, gaol rather than house of correction figured in the punishments of those involved in both the 1750 Newcastle keelmen’s disturbances (though temporary detention in the house of correction was used as a form of intimidation early in the dispute) and the Hexham militia riots of 1761. This evidence suggests that both judges at the assizes and local justices deliberately treated industrial troublemakers differently from ordinary criminals. This policy was also adopted for the handful of those accused of outright rebellious behaviour or whose seditious words caused alarm: men were gaoled for crimes such as drinking the Pretender’s health during the ‘45 rebellion, or wishing damnation to King George, and in 1797 a seaman who sympathized with the mutineers at the Nore spent a year in Northumberland gaol. Some guilty of exceptionally serious criminal assaults were also sentenced to terms in gaol: at Newcastle’s quarter sessions, for example, the few who were gaoled were guilty of assaults or economic offences such as forestalling the market. Gaol seems to have been reserved for a ragbag of offenders who were not considered by the justices or judges to be needing reclamation through hard labour.27 Gaols were distinct institutions, apparently managed and equipped very differently from the rather smaller houses of correction, though by the eighteenth century they were under the same nominal control of the local magistrates. However, this power is regularly discounted by historians as either misapplied or ignored.28 Some conventional interpretations of the decline of houses of correction suggest that they became indistinguishable from gaols in the seventeenth century, but


more evidence from a number of regions as well as the North-East suggests that this was not the case. Just as houses of correction remained distinct from workhouses, so gaols retained their specific character. In terms of regime, personnel and physical dimensions, gaols probably offered a much easier form of incarceration. While in terms of prison life few gaols really resembled an “unreformed university”, it is true that prisoners were required to do very little except refrain from escaping. Ministers (ordinaries) were paid by town and county to preach and hold prayers and, above all, comfort the condemned; surgeons were generally available; and one of the main sources of distress may have been fellow inmates. In some ways there was a more ordered and moral existence in gaols than in the supposed centres of “improvement”, the houses of correction. A prisoner who was raging mad or verminous posed a threat to the rest of the inhabitants of cramped quarters. Yet inmates could, and did, complain vociferously to the magistrates at quarter sessions hearings when things grew too bad. Local gaols in north-east England seem, from available evidence, to have differed little from those elsewhere: the gaolers were salaried, and some of the more common abuses of prisoners were absent. As part of the charitable acts appropriate to the wealthy, gentry resident in or passing through the region gave prisoners small gifts to relieve their poverty. Sir Walter Blackett, Newcastle’s MP, gave a regular supply of coal to Newgate from his own mines. In 1755 two Northumberland MPS on their way to their seats gave two guineas to those in Durham gaol who had taken the opportunity of their passing to petition them about their “miserable condition”; Quaker meetings sometimes made the same level of contribution, but more importantly Quakers also visited to give the prisoners both money and, on one occasion in 1785, an “excellent discourse well adapted to their situation”. Visiting prisoners was an ancient Christian duty, and it is perhaps not surprising to find that one early-eighteenth-century gentle-man timed his annual gift of bread, beer and a shilling to each prisoner at Candlemas (2 February), the feast of the Purification of the Blessed Virgin Mary. On occasion public celebrations were permitted in gaols, such as when new legislation loosened the burden on debtors in 1737: in Morpeth gaol prisoners “lit up the windows”, burned tar barrels, fired guns and drank the King’s and Queen’s health. They had not been quite so enthusiastic when celebrating the marriage of the Prince of Wales the previous year.29 It seems that inmates of houses of correction were never permitted this kind of indulgence, or included within the traditional culture of pastoral concern. These anomalies in provision aroused some misgivings in


Parliament by the 1770s, when proposals. were made to establish the same medical and religious facilities for houses of correction in London as existed for gaols: all previous legislation, it was noted, had specifically excluded them. Under Thomas Gilbert’s 1782 Act salaried clergymen could be appointed, though there are no signs that this was implemented in north-east England. Harmonization made little progress, for the different purposes of the two institutions remained: by the end of the century the house of correction was the place for the most severe isolation from normal life.30 Far from being a uniform sentence, therefore, imprisonment was amenable to considerable subtle variation of place, time and form. It clearly had its role in a process of incrementally increased pain that might lead repeated offenders to more serious punishments. Both Dorothy Gatenby and Alice Williamson, hanged in Newcastle in the 1750s for infanticide and burglary respectively, had served short sentences resulting from quarter sessions convictions for theft. Frances Atkinson or Revel, finally sentenced to transportation from Berwick in 1791, had served two terms in Newcastle in the previous decade, one with a whipping, for earlier crimes. To what extent therefore did imprisonment lead to a “professional” career in crime? So many executed had no previous record that there seems no possibility of establishing a typical career. Yet there was also a small number of criminals who repeatedly served different terms of imprisonment or suffered other punishments for minor offences: these were the legions of the locally “notorious” reported in the press. So few local debates survive in the records that it is not possible to know whether these individuals became key elements in arguments against the reformative character of imprisonment. The ill-managed prison was often described as a school of crime, and recidivism, together with the confident identification of the offenders as incorrigible, were likely factors in providing justification, at least in part, for sending the few to the gallows. There is little hint in this period, however, that prison was seen locally as engendering an institutionalized subculture so criminal that prisoners might need rehabilitation to recover from the experience of incarceration. This was a development of the early Victorian period, when the first halfway houses were established in the region. The character of eighteenth-century imprisonment emerges, as has been noted, from an analysis of judicial practice rather than internal administrative sources. Whatever the “state of the prisons”, their usage already had established characteristics by 1760: imprisonment with hard labour had already emerged as the primary punishment for petty crimes,


particularly for female thieves, and the history of the rest of the century is in many ways that of the extension of this penalty, not just to men in general, but to all those guilty of far more serious offences.31

CHAPTER NINE Law and disorder

The purpose of upholding the law and maintaining order provided one of the key links between the regions and central government. The central government was intimately concerned in the affairs of the North-East throughout the eighteenth century, for two very good reasons. Firstly, as it was contiguous with the Scottish border, the region controlled the eastern approaches to England, and, secondly, as the site of England’s first industrial revolution the region supplied the capital with its domestic fuel. The significance of this geographically peripheral area to the centre thus ensured that its representatives would be heard by the administration of the day but it also made them liable to pressure from the centre.1 The “protocol of riot” When a great concourse of workers from the collieries of the Wear proceeded from Gateshead Fell towards Newcastle in May 1795 “on account of the high price of corn and other articles”, they found their way barred by a party of dragoons headed by several justices of the peace who “with great propriety, expostulated with them on the nature of their illegal proceedings”. After the Reverend Mr Nesfield “had harrangued the multitude”, General Balfour rode up to the front of the rioters, and in a calm, mild and dispassionate manner, exhorted the mob to return to their honest employments, at the same time assuring them, that he had sufficient force under his command to repel any riotous proceedings… Expounding on his humanity which forbade him to exercise those powers, Balfour expressed the hope that “by a patient forbearance, the


grievances of which they complained would be speedily removed”. The Riot Act was then read by the Reverend Dr Thorpe, after which many of the mob dispersed and of those who remained five were taken into custody and committed to Durham gaol.2 The situation in Newcastle was more volatile; for two days the town was kept in a state of “perpetual alarm” following the outbreak of trouble on the north bank of the Tyne. The Light Horse was repeatedly called out to quell riotous pitmen from the collieries east of the town who, it was claimed, were forcing workmen from adjacent manufactories to join them. Assembled near Byker on the second day, the pitmen sent notice to the town requesting a meeting. Several of the coal owners and principal inhabitants, enrolled as special constables, “proceeded with the military to the place of rendezvous” where one of the magistrates was commissioned to enquire into their complaint. Accordingly, Thomas Fenwick asked that they depute six of their number “to confer with him at a distance”. This discussion resulted in an undertaking on the part of the magistrate to investigate the truth of their allegations about the hoarding of grain and a pledge that if improper accumulations of grain had been withheld from the market, by every means in his power to procure the removal of the grievance, if it existed, on condition of their going peaceably to work next morning, which they readily agreed to. “Fortunately”, the report concluded, the “active aid” of the dragoons was not required. A similar confrontation in Manchester in July 1795 had a different, very violent, outcome.3 Confrontations such as these on Gateshead Fell and in Newcastle in early May 1795 were highly ritualized affairs and conformed to a precise pattern of expectations; what Bohstedt has called the protocol of riot. On the basis of these episodes alone, it appears that all the protagonists knew their appointed roles and played them according to the script. Nothing had been damaged, no one was hurt, the authority of the magistrates was unchallenged, grievances were registered, and a response elicited. Shortly afterwards, the magistrates were reported to be policing markets and inveighing against forestalling and engrossing (buying up market produce prematurely in order to push up prices). Despite the reported arrest of five people and their commitment to Durham gaol, there is no evidence that any of them were indicted.4 A form of common people’s politics it has been argued, riot had its place within a system of social and political relations in which those

LAW AND DISORDER 187

11. Staithes: from Thomas Bewick’s Vignettes, 1827 (Newcastle Central Library).

who governed were regularly obliged to negotiate with those they governed.5 It seems that it worked best in food riots in small stable towns organized around kinship, market, neighbourhood and institution where there existed among local elites and authorities ties of familiarity and obligation. Focused and disciplined, rioters in such market towns as Stockton, Darlington, Durham, Barnard Castle and Bishop Auckland were successful in gaining reductions in grain prices and increases in charitable giving.6 “Community politics” existed and persisted where dense horizontal networks intersected with vertical networks at a significant number of points, a situation which the burgeoning towns of the Midlands and Yorkshire, full of strangers and often lacking resident magistrates, were least likely to replicate. South Shields was among the latter as its tradesmen and merchants bitterly complained in their requests for permanent troops and magistrates.7 Rural industrial parishes, on the other hand, fostered militant direct action based on occupational ties. With fewer links to local power structures, they appeared more threatening and the economic consequences of their actions more alarming to local authorities though their ranks were usually well disciplined.


In the North-East coal miners, lead miners and metal workers often lived in single-occupation villages, while Newcastle and to a lesser extent Sunderland and the two Shields were occupied not by one but by several communities among whom keelmen and seamen were the most assertive.8 Yet the confidence with which north-east magistrates and troops confronted large numbers of people in May 1795 was a far cry from the tentative behaviour exhibited by their predecessors 55 years earlier when, in the summer of 1740, uncertain of their legal authority and fearful of meeting the fate of Captain Porteous, who had been lynched by an Edinburgh mob a few years earlier, magistrates struggled and failed, conspicuously so in the case of Newcastle, to keep control in the face of “great risings of the people” in the only serious food riots to affect the region before the Hungry Nineties.9 Riot The 1715 Riot Act did not displace the common law offence of riot, which remained intact, but elaborated those circumstances in which it should be treated as a felony punishable by death. Where within an hour 12 or more persons failed to disperse after the Act was declaimed by a magistrate or if attempting to “demolish or pull down any church or chapel, or any building for religious worship…or any dwelling-house, barn, stable, or other out-house” exemplary punishments could be employed against them. Introduced in the aftermath of anti-Hanoverian rioting, the reading of the Riot Act was intended to provide a final warning to rioters to disperse while also reminding magistrates of their responsibility for the maintenance of public order. Those who invoked the law were not always clear as to what it meant or their power under it. The obligation on individuals to maintain the peace had not changed but magistrates tended to interpret the new law to mean they could not move against rioters until the hour had expired.10 Popular gatherings in north-east England took many forms of which disturbances were merely one. Spontaneous crowds were not uncommon: for example, when John Wesley first visited, he began by walking down to Sandgate singing the hundredth psalm. Three or four curious people came out to see what was going on, “who soon increased to four or five hundred”, and then to between 1,200 and 1,500. As he preached, his audience gaped with astonishment, and he ended by saying, “If you desire to know who I am, my name is John Wesley; at five in the evening, with God’s help, I design to preach here again.”11 Less spontaneously, crowds also gathered to honour the rites of passage


of local magnates and their families and, as participants in a national culture, in celebration of historic events, in praise of famous victories as well as to mark the triumphs of popular political figures such as John Wilkes in the 1760s or demonstrate hostility towards demonized radicals in the 1790s of whom Tom Paine was the most famous. Unlike London and more southerly parts of the country, instances of popular disorder were seldom linked to religion or politics and, although they shared features common elsewhere in the country, the pattern of social protest and magisterial response was distinct in a number of important respects.12 Overwhelmingly, the predominant form of popular disturbance was industrial. Food riots were rare except in 1740, 1795, and 1800. Distinguishing food riots from industrial disorders, however, is in one sense arbitrary in that much the same groups of people were involved in both. Certainly in some of the best-documented cases of action by pitmen, keelmen, and seamen, grievances were expressed in terms of low wages and the difficulties of supporting families, and linked to the high cost of necessities. Food riots have indeed been interpreted by some historians as quintessentially campaigns to protect the living standards of urbanized industrial workers. None the less other disturbances were concerned with the failure of employers to honour agreements, attempts to alter the terms of employment, and changes to equipment and the introduction of new technology. There were major disturbances among pitmen in 1731, 1765, and 1771, among keelmen in 1719, 1738, 1744, 1750, and 1768, and among seamen in 1768, 1775, 1785, and 1789. As the political climate grew more reactionary in the 1790s, the North-East was assailed by “overlapping waves of disorder” as war, trade depressions, food shortages, combinations (early trade unions) and strikes, wage demands, blockades of the Tyne and Wear, attacks on press gangs and naval tenders, together with the arrival of large numbers of troops from the Low Countries, brought a new intensity to traditional conflicts and heightened anxiety at all levels of government and society. By the century’s end, the North-East ranked second only to London in the number of labour disturbances it experienced.13 The interdependence of north-east pitmen, keelmen, and seamen meant that a cessation of work by any one of them would sooner or later interrupt the movement of coal out of the region and anything that disrapted the supply of coal to the capital undermined the well-being of the city’s population. Commenting on the consequences of the 1765 stoppage “in that trade so useful to the kingdom”, the Annual Register


reported wagons stopped, keels laid by, “upwards of six hundred ships kept idle at Newcastle and Sunderland, and 100,000 men out of bread in Newcastle, Sunderland and London”. Learning of fresh disturbances among the pitmen and keelmen in 1771, the Duke of Northumberland wrote to Matthew Ridley that “any Interruption of the Coal Trade must be attended with great Inconvenience not only to the neighbourhood of Newcastle but to the Nation in general”.14 Food riots Food riots were less prevalent in north-east England than in other parts of the country. Newcastle had no tradition of them before 1740, when the town experienced the “most outragious riot”.15 With the exception of Berwick in 1756, the region escaped the food riots which swept the country in 1756–7 and 1766–7. The diet of the northern labouring poor, as contemporary visitors noted, relied more on coarser grains and foodstuffs such as oatmeal and potatoes than that of their southern counter-parts. The absence of food riots in 1766 can be attributed to a range of factors including better harvests, lower grain prices, and the concerted efforts of magistrates to ensure adequate supplies of grain.16 Traditional measures adopted at times of harvest failure to protect the poor were still pursued in the region in the eighteenth century. Magistrates bought ahead of the harvest to ensure a supply, as in Newcastle in 1795. Some workers, notably pitmen, received corn at reduced prices. Famous individuals contributed to subscriptions for the poor in times of dearth.17 Food riots were not a uniform phenomenon: they can be roughly categorized as simple looting, protests against the movement and export of corn, and attempts to fix the prices of the market.18 Within the region Berwick and its immediate vicinity stood out, for there was recurrrent looting, usually from carts carrying grain to market. Simple looting did not usually lead to violent confrontations with the authorities, but in 1756 the Mayor of Berwick claimed he could not quell the rioting without two companies of soldiers quartered at Tweedmouth, Spittal, and Ord. Rioters having seized several cart loads of barley on the road to Berwick, two justices had been dispatched from Berwick “to Quell the Mob and riscue the Corn”, but, the riot worsening: they were oblig’d to Read the Proclamation and call to there Assistance a party of Invalids Quarter’d in this Garrison and after


Shewers of Stones which wounded one of the Justices and three of the Invalids…they Fired three times over them and at last were obliged to Fire among them.19 Undaunted, the rioters reassembled the next day and seized several more loads of barley en route for the town. It was the mayor’s contention that the riots had occurred despite the fact that the prices of corn and meal were as low as, if not lower than, in any other part of the country and the corporation had taken care to supply the poor with oatmeal at reduced prices. Looting again occurred in Spittal in 1783, 1795, and again in 1796, all years of bad harvests and high prices. In early April 1796 it was reported that “some of the lower class” in Berwick had seized corn from carts belonging to a wealthy local merchant. There was a vigorous response. Not only did the mayor call up all the constables, supplementing them with armed volunteers, but an officer and 30 men were kept ready for duty late into the night. After some hours, the people agreed to surrender the corn.20 The problems in Berwick were exacerbated by the fact that the southern suburbs across the river such as Tweedmouth and Spittal were in Durham’s jurisdiction, where the Berwick authorities were not supposed to intrude. Different in scale were the riots which erupted in several parts of the region in 1740 and climaxed in an attack on the Guildhall in Newcastle. An indifferent crop in the previous year, followed by a severe winter during which workers were laid off and seed rotted in the ground, the melancholy prospect of the next crop, and the virtual cessation of trade on the Tyne and the Wear affected everyone “but especially the labouring part of mankind”. At Durham wheat prices rose to six shillings a boll and oats to two shillings and sixpence a bushel.21 Outrage at the prospect of corn being exported from the region’s ports led to direct action at Stockton, Sunderland, South Shields, Newcastle, Blythe, and Alnmouth, where granaries were forced open, corn dealers threatened, bakers attacked, holds of vessels broken into, and grain carried away in a series of sequential disturbances which severely tested the nerve of law enforcement authorities, especially in Durham and Newcastle. Ports, market towns and grain stores were the local point of substantial numbers of food riots in eighteenth-century England, especially among populations made up of non-agricultural workers dependent on market towns for their subsistence and “vulnerable to rapid fluctuations in price”.22


Industrial “riots” Collective actions among industrial workers in the region were distinguished by their objectives, tactics and organization, and longevity. Inevitably, they involved engagement with the political system. The keelmen, perhaps the most consistently militant workers in the eighteenth century, far from merely defending traditional practices, actively sought new agreements with their employers, the fitters or owners of the keels. It was the failure of the fitters to honour the agreements reached in 1710 and 1744 which lay behind the keelmen’s stoppages in 1738, 1750, and 1768. In the first of these actions, the keelmen appealed to the mayor and aldermen not to let them “suffer any longer under a barbarity abhored by Jewes, Turks and Infidels”. Not only did they seek to enforce agreements made, they also sought to bind their employers to them with a reciprocal contract.23 Other groups also sought lasting agreements. Workers stressed the legality of their demands and invoked the language of popular rights.24 The attempt by the coal owners in 1765 to alter the terms on which pitmen were annually employed led the latter to protest not only that their rights as freeborn Englishmen were being violated but that they faced the prospect of outright slavery. Having successfully brought work to a halt in a number of collieries, the pitmen then sought to capitalize on their success to raise their terms for a settlement.25 In 1793 the seamen (whose actions usually centred on wage rates per voyage and destination) expressed their admiration for the British constitution, but observed that “though we are certainly neither less useful, industrious, or loyal than any other part of the Community we alone are deprived of the rights of personal protection”. Though allegedly countenanced by precedents and “supposed to have been a part of the Common Law”, the seamen justified their resistance to the government’s “cruel mode” of manning the Royal Navy on the grounds that this “species of cruelty” was never sanctioned by the authority of Parliament.26 The keelmen came closest to seeking inclusion within the existing political structure, ultimately opting to put their trust in petitioning Parliament as did the seamen, and thus both risked surrendering their autonomy. By contrast, the pitmen, who were probably the most successful of the activists, retained their independence.27 All these workers displayed great skill in organizing co-ordinated actions across the region, a factor which distinguished them from other locally organized groups such as joiners, flaxmakers, shoemakers, tailors, woolcombers, and shipwrights. Sorties were made into adjacent


districts to appeal to co-workers, and on occasions, as in 1740 and 1794, to workers in other industries. This often involved large numbers of men moving around the district, particularly along the Tyne and between the Tyne and the Wear, to the alarm of the authorities.28 Whereas pitmen went from pit to pit encouraging stoppages, the keelman characteristically began with a mass meeting and then set about blocking the rivers. Seamen often boarded ships and interrogated captains about their wage rates, and usually employed as their primary tactic attempts to prevent ships leaving port.29 In order to publicize their grievances, workers made great use of handbills, petitions, resolutions from mass meetings, and, increasingly, newspaper advertisements. The pitmen were the first to challenge their employers in the press, in 1765 refuting the latter’s claim that they had deserted their employment before the expiry of their bond, while the keelmen, who for much of the century employed professional men in drafting their resolutions, appeared to rely less on outsiders after 1770.30 Magistrates It was the primary duty of magistrates to keep the peace and maintain order.31 Yet the power of the magistracy before a riot, and more especially during a riot, was limited, but the fact of a riot could release the full power of the state. Operating through the assize circuits, “rule by hang-ing”, though difficult to sustain, could be extended to the provinces.32 Yet, armed only with the authority of the law, the deference accorded to status and such skills of persuasion and argument as they possessed, magistrates lacked the means by which to police mass action, constables and watch-men being unsuited to the task; they were powerless in the face of mass assemblies of the people or the “mutinies” of industrial workers. In these circumstances, the central government to which the magistrates were accountable was a resource to be called upon for military aid, naval support, and legal expertise. Too many demands from the region were to be discouraged but they could not be ignored. Although historians have generally agreed on the mediating role played by magistrates in industrial disputes and other forms of popular protest, their role in North-East disturbances requires some qualification. It has been suggested that even here the first step in any strike was for magistrates to begin negotiations to settle the dispute, and, elsewhere, that third-party mediation, usually undertaken by the magistrates, “was often critical in transforming ‘collective bargaining by riot’ into an


orderly settlement”. There was little inclination to call for troops; allegedly, only when affairs got out of hand would magistrates seek outside help. Even Thompson maintains that the handling of disturbances by local authorities in riot-prone areas was “often cool and competent”.33 In Newcastle, the magistrates often were the employers, unable to distinguish between their interests as fitters and coal owners and their legal responsibilities. Among keelmen in particular, they had a reputation for duplicity. Appearing before a House of Commons committee in 1770 Edward Moseley, formerly Mayor of Newcastle, conceded that only three out of twelve magistrates were neither fitters nor coal owners. Employed as coal-heavers on the Thames, five former keelmen giving evidence to the same House of Commons committee were consistent in their responses to questioning. All claimed they had been forced to carry loads over the agreed ,measure. When they complained to their masters, they were told others would gladly do their jobs. When John Pearce (or Price), who formerly lived in Sandgate and worked for five years in a Mr Silvertop’s employment was interrogated, his replies were revealing: “Why didn’t the keelmen apply to the magistrates for relief?” “Because most of the magistrates were coal owners or fitters”. “Was you under any fear of complaining to the magistrates?” “Yes under great fear of losing our bread and of being turned away as vagabonds” “Did you know of the bound keelmen run away and leave their work?” “Has known hundreds.” Asked “Do you believe the same law won’t give you relief as will give your masters?”, John Douglas, a keelman for more than 20 years who had formerly lived in Swallwell, replied simply, “It ought.” 34 To imply that magistrates never acted as mediators would be an overstatement. Mediation was part of their accepted role and essential to the maintenance of order and harmonious social relations. Aubone Surtees, having reported a walk-out by keelmen in 1771, kept the government closely informed of developments. He had had some keelmen with him on the morning he reported and, while they had not promised him that they would return to work, he thought it likely that they would.35 Significantly, Surtees was not a fitter or a coal owner, though as a banker he did business with such men. In the 1790s the role


of mediator was adopted by naval officers such as Captain Leckey of the Racehorse and Captain Cochrane of the Hind as well as army officers like Balfour.36 Unlike the Westminster magistrate Sir John Fielding, magistrates in north-east England appealed for troops and naval vessels to restore order as a first rather than a last resort. Reputedly, troops had been called in to deal with rioting keelmen in the seventeenth century and were certainly a regular feature in the handling of disturbances from the 1709–10 troubles to the end of the century.37 To report disturbances in a locality to outside authorities was normally considered “tantamount to an admission of administrative failure” but magistrates in north-east England, capitalizing on their strategic position and the importance of the coal trade, had few inhibitions about appealing to the government for military aid.38 With less frequency, they also appealed for naval assistance. Furthermore, during the 1760s the Mayor of Newcastle regularly requested the continued presence of troops during the assizes. The frequency with which all these requests were made irritated the Secretary at War (Barrington), who found the dependence of the corporation on the military excessive given the forces available; it was also disruptive of military schedules and politically alarming.39 The response of central government was not always satisfactory. In 1740 the first appeal for military assistance from the region ended in embarrassment when it transpired there were no troops at York and fresh orders had to be sent to Berwick. When the Mayor of Newcastle, Cuthbert Fenwick, requested military support on 20 June and troops marched into the town on the evening of the Guildhall riot, it was because Durham magistrates had made their request several weeks earlier and the soldiers happened to be en route to Stockton from Berwick.40 Nor did the government response necessarily meet the requirements of the magistrates. In late 1792, to their dismay, orders arrived to divide troops at Tynemouth barracks to provide the required force for South Shields rather than the additional troops they had asked for. Dissatisfied, they insisted that additional troops should be found from elsewhere.41 Nevertheless, in every major or minor actual or potential disorder the administration of the day responded to the emphatic demands of the magistrates. Though soldiers themselves rapidly became an irritant once the crisis was over and contributed their share to theft, rapine and homicide in the region, magistrates regarded them as providing the essential function of police. After 1740 northeastern authorities tended to request troops in anticipation of disorder rather than in response to it.


The unpopularity of the army in eighteenth-century England is not in doubt. The manner of its recruitment, the system of garrisoning soldiers and the mode of provisioning ensured its low esteem. That the maintenance of a standing army was inconsistent with English liberties was a view widely held and not only in radical circles. Consequently, the use of military force to quell domestic disorder was denounced by opponents as illegal and unconstitutional. When, following the St George’s Fields riot in 1768, the Secretary of State, Lord Weymouth, defended the use of the military “in support of the authority and dignity of the magistracy”, Burke insisted the military “can never be employed to a constitutional purpose at all”.42 Even the army itself regarded the duty as burdensome and distasteful. Barrington described the practice in 1768 as “a most odious Service” which could only be justified by necessity. Indeed, a few years earlier he admonished Newcastle magistrates for making too many appeals for military intervention, on the grounds that the frequent use of soldiers to suppress civil commotions had an evident tendency to lead to the introduction of military government; there could not be “a more Horrible evil in a State”.43 Comforting as the presence of the army was to the authorities, ordering it to fire was another matter entirely. As Chief Justice Willis wrote to Barrington in complaining of the feebleness of magistrates who had sent for troops in 1756: “…it makes more noise in the Country to have one man killed by soldiers than to have ten hanged, that are tryed by a judge and a jury”.44 Fearing bloodshed and conscious of the impending election, Durham magistrates in 1740 insisted that the responsiblity for giving the order to fire lay with the sheriff, Sir William Williamson. Williamson demurred but when he descended from his coach in Stockton, where rioting had first broken out in the region in mid-May, two of the justices having preceded him there, he rejected the invitation of the officer to inspect the guard and give the order to fire when ready: the Captain told me he & his people were att my command & that they should fire if I wou’d give orders. I told him I hoped there wou’d be no occasion, he said he thought I had brought power enough with me…45 The Attorney-General subsequently confirmed his interpretation. Disputes of this kind, wrote Sir Dudley Ryder, were “Apt to arise in Cases where every man would be glad to be eased of a Power of so


tender a Nature as that of Shedding Blood”. Since the justices had the peace of the county committed to their care, they were of superior degree to the sheriff. It was therefore incumbent on them to see that everything was done to secure the peace.46 North-east magistrates generally co-ordinated their response to unrest in the region since the actions of key workers such as pitmen, keelmen, and seamen cut across county boundaries, as did the ties of numerous leading families. Though these key workers resided on both banks of the Tyne and in close proximity to Newcastle, they fell under the legal jurisdiction of three separate authorities. Newcastle magistrates, many of them with a direct involvement in labour troubles, co-ordinated the response of neighbouring Durham and Northumberland magistrates. Despite Newcastle’s earlier hostility to rival developments on the south bank of the river and in Sunderland, the dangers arising from mass gatherings of the people outweighed personal differences and regional jealousies.47 Regular meetings were held in times of crisis. As early as 1719, both magistrates and military and naval officers had to negotiate across county boundaries, treating the separate outbreaks of unrest as parts of the same phenomenon.48 The rule of law The Riot Act of 1715 was confusing, justices’ manuals were vague and the government’s highest legal and military authorities offered conflicting interpretations. For actions committed during riots and disturbances, participants could face prosecution for highway robbery, robbery from a shop, a dwelling house, outhouse, barn, stable or ship, all of which were punishable by hanging. Prosecutions in north-east England for riot alone were few.49 Becoming caught up in a militia riot was more ominous still for it constituted treason against the king, the punishment for which was hanging, drawing, and quartering.50 Those involved in work stoppages, however, were more likely to be threatened with and convicted under very different legislation. A 1747 Act concerning the regulation of servants was invoked in the case of the keelmen who refused to work in 1750 and the threat of it was used against pitmen in 1765 and keelmen in 1768. Skippers of keels rounded up in 1750 were subject to summary justice under the Act and sentenced to one month’s imprisonment with hard labour in the House of Correction in Newcastle.51 Coal owners were protected by laws which made the firing of pits a felony, as Mrs Jenison and her partners informed readers of the Newcastle Courant following an incident at


Pelton Common colliery when one of her pits was “willfully and maliciously” set on fire, for which the penalty was death. However, despite incidents of arson in the Northumberland coalfield in the strikes of 1789, no other charges were brought except illegal assembly and stopping others from working.52 Legal procedures: informations In any prosecution, the first stage was to secure a complaint, known in legal terms as an information, without which there could be no charge and no indictment leading to trial. In relatively small communities of face-to-face relationships naming names had its perils. When Henry Lowe supplied the names of those involved in blocking the port of Sunderland during the keelmen’s action in 1792 he was “stanged”: driven naked astride a pole through the town and his house subsequently attacked.53 Informations were secured, when they were secured at all, chiefly from victims. The lengthy investigations of magistrates into the pitmen’s strike in 1731 and the food riots of 1740 produced few confessions and little incriminating evidence.54 Even when substantial rewards were on offer as in April and May 1768, there were no prosecutions in Newcastle or Northumberland relating to the action of the seamen and keelmen, though a number of cases were heard at Durham assizes. Newcastle magistrates could scarcely conceal their frustration when they offered a ten-guinea reward for informations in the Newcastle Courant while Northumberland authorities adopted a more solicitous approach. The reward offered by Newcastle magistrates was double that offered a month earlier when a similar advertisement relating to the obstruction of a keel was printed.55 In the autumn of 1792 the Mayor of Newcastle, James Rudman, accused shipowners of not telling the magistrates anything they could proceed on “under the dread of the Vengeance of the Rioters”. Yet the latter had offered a reward of 50 guineas for information leading to the conviction of one or more of the offenders in a series of resolutions which were circulated in Newcastle and the two Shields.56 Just how difficult it was to obtain informations is nowhere better illustrated than in the aftermath of the Hexham massacre of 1761, when at least 21 men were shot dead and many more wounded in a militia riot, making it “the bloodiest provincial riot of the century”, and the only one where “the fatal casualties exceeded the largest single day’s toll at Tyburn”. The matter being “of a very serious nature”, the Earl of Holdernesse laid it immediately before the King. The Gentleman’s


Magazine described it as a “terrible riot” but to the officer commanding the North Yorks militia it was “an unlucky affair”.57 There had been no moves to implement the Militia Act in the North-East before this date, but as elsewhere when attempts were made to draw up lists of men eligible for service, they met with strong resistance, first in County Durham and then, with fatal consequences, in Northumberland.58 Unlike the food riot or the industrial “mutiny”, room for manoeuvre in recruiting riots was limited. Despite the evident eagerness of deputy lieutenants in Northumberland to restore their good name by a show of firmness as in Newcastle in 1740, legal niceties stood in their way. Copies of informations sent by the County Lieutenant, the AttorneyGeneral judged, contained so little evidence that he could not recommend prosecution and proceedings had to be dropped. Nor was a second batch of informations any better. At his suggestion, and with the support of the deputy lieutenants, “an Agent properly qualified”, as in the similar case of the Yorkshire rioters, was despatched to procure better evidence, a measure approved “as proper in the present occasion”.59 A further 12 informations were obtained by this means and approved by the Attorney-General without delay since the judges were already on circuit. Presumably because of government involvement, the Treasury Solicitor was authorized to prosecute the rioters at the King’s expense.60 Arrests Conveying prisoners to gaol in times of disorder was a difficult and dangerous task. In the county of Durham prisoners had to be conveyed over considerable distances, passing through areas which were hostile and populous.61 The weaknesses of the magistrates’ position was exposed in both Newcastle and County Durham in 1740. With the outbreak of rioting in Stockton in May where the people swore “they will dye before any Corn shall be exported for that they had better be killed or hanged than starved”, the efforts of two Durham magistrates to convey some of the rioters to gaol failed when, surrounded by a throng of protesters on their way back to the city of Durham, they were obliged to let their prisoners go. Though engaging with the crowd and bringing the people “into a very good Temper”, the magistrates were “in no condition to force them away”.62 As “the Stockton affair” escalated after an abortive attempt to get wheat around the town by river, the Durham magistrates resorted to summoning the ancient posse commitatus, a force supposed to consist


of all the able-bodied men in the county, only to see the episode turn into a fiasco at the very time when there were further eruptions in the county. Although the 70-year-old sheriff entered the town in his coach to the ringing of bells, and warrants were issued against a number of people, most of the chief offenders had gone into hiding or escaped over the water into Yorkshire. With the merchants agreeing to deposit 1,000 bushels for sale to the poor at four shillings a bushel and the justices storing a further 600 bushels in a granary to be sold at the same price, 1, 200 bushels of grain were exported and two women and five men were taken into custody. When Williamson set out to return to Durham with the prisoners in a cart, his coach was preceded by an escort of 20 soldiers for the first two miles, 500 men of the posse in the rear. The procession was greeted in silence as it passed through Sedgefield. “As we went on,” Williamson wrote to the Bishop of Durham, the “company insensibly lessoned so that when I came within 4 miles of Durham I had about 20 people with me…” Worse was to follow. “As we went down Elvett…the people cursed me”: I had not been above a Quarter of an hour there,…[when] I heard a great Shout, in came Mr Goddard who told me the people in Elvitt had flung stones & almost murdered them, that coming over the bridge his mare was knocked down & when he gott up he knocked a man down, that the chief Bayliff was almost killed & that 2 of the 7 prisoners were rescued att the very Gaol doors but 5 were in prison. Though the posse melted away on the Durham road, it had not been the sheriff ‘s intention to retain it for he had no resources with which to feed, house or pay the men.63 The local magistracy was acutely embarrassed by similar problems in 1765 when, as Matthew Ridley endeavoured to explain to the Duke of Northumberland, it was simply not possible to arrest a few thousand men “where there is a general Combination of all the Pitmen to the Number of 4000”: In the first place, it is difficult to be executed as to seizing the men…a few only can be taken…the whole persons guilty cannot be secured, so the punishment of probably 20 or 40 by a month’s Confinement in a House of Correction, does not carry with it the least Appearance of Terror so as to induce the remaining Part of so large a Number to submit, & these men that shou’d be so


confined wou’d be treated as Martyrs for the good Cause, and brought home in Triumph. so no good effect wou’d arise.64 During the keelmen’s and seamen’s stoppage on the Wear in 1793 it took the co-ordinated efforts of a party of dragoons, foot soldiers, and magistrates to convey seven men to Durham gaol from Sunderland following the “stanging” of Henry Lowe. The party with a magistrate at its head came under attack by a mob which had taken advantage of a high wall. “Stones, Bricks, Tiles and every thing that could be picked up were thrown at the soldiers with a view to throwing them into Confusion and rescuing the prisoners but without having the desired Effect.”65 Rioters and the courts Despite demands from central government for exemplary punishments without which, it was believed, the region would continue to be plagued by fresh riots, magistrates had difficulty in meeting expectations, even when they were anxious to oblige.66 However carefully a case was prepared and plausible the witnesses, juries could not be relied upon to bring in convictions. Even Robert Hedley, one of the few persons to be charged with riot at Newcastle assizes in 1740, was acquitted despite the evidence of three reliable witnesses. A pitman in Heaton Banks colliery who had “clamoured and complained of the hardships of the poor”, Hedley was identified by a merchant, Nicholas Fairless, at the head of a crowd, comprising mostly women and children, who broke into a corn loft on the afternoon of 20 June. He was seen again the next day by another witness when the Riot Act was read, remaining for three hours in clear violation of the order to disperse. Another witness, a sergeant-at-mace, claimed that Hedley obstructed him when, on the instructions of two of the magistrates, he attempted to detain a man blowing a horn on the Sandhill.67 Represented to the Durham assizes in 1768 as a “dangerous person” and “intended to be presented for crimes of a higher nature”, John Lewis of Sunderland was acquitted by the jury although he had threatened to demolish William Taylor’s house and leaping onto a butcher’s stall “to exalt himself above the rest of the mob called aloud meat two pence halfpenny a pound”.68 Both Hedley and Lewis were singled out as ringleaders and, with the singular exceptions of the Guild-hall riot in 1740 and the militia riot at Hexham in 1761, the state and the local magistracy were primarily interested in the conviction and punishment of such men.


Some demands from the centre could not be met at all or were evaded. The government’s insistence on the prosecution of a Bishopwearmouth schoolmaster, Richard Flower, author of the keelmen’s articles of combination, following crowd disturbances in Newcastle and Sunderland in 1719, floundered on the failure of the authorities to secure a copy of the articles.69 Reports during the prolongued keelmen’s stoppage in 1750 that some of the keelmen had proclaimed Charles Edward Stuart the rightful King of England prompted the government to despatch John Duke to the north with a warrant for the arrest of Mungo Herdman, reputedly an Edinburgh lawyer who had “stirred up the keelmen to sedition” and with secret instructions for the Mayor of Newcastle, Robert Soresbie, but nothing came of it.70 The events of 1740, especially those in Newcastle of 26 June, “the worst breakdown of civil disorder in Newcastle’s history”, had, however, required a massive judicial response for, unlike Stockton where the targets of protesters were granaries bulging with wheat or vessels laden for export, it was the very structures of government, the Guildhall, including the treasury, the arsenal, and the public records, which were ransacked, robbed or destroyed by rioters. In the preceding week the magistrates had failed to provide sufficient corn at reasonable rates and other foodstuffs for the surrounding populace, and although an uncommon level of policing had been imposed, on the night before the attack on the Guildhall the mayor declined to renew the guard on the town. The attack was most probably triggered by shots fired into the crowd by Matthew Ridley’s “white stocking gentlemen” who, in attempting to draw the rioters away from the Guildhall, succeeded only in killing one man, injuring others, and inflaming the tempers of the crowd, who vented their wrath on the building. A major effort was invested in preparations for the summer assize. Warrants were issued to conduct house searches in Gateshead, lists of Crowley’s ironworkers were sought with a view to identifying known troublemakers, men fleeing to Scotland were picked up on the road near Elsdon on suspicion of being involved in robbing the town hall, and the search for suspects was carried all the way to London. On the night of 26 June and for many days following, Newcastle’s prisons were stuffed with rioters. Magistrates were still examining suspects in the first part of August. Legal advice was sought on the framing of indictments in order to bring capital charges against suspects and maximize the chances of conviction. There were consultations with the Solicitor-General, Sir Dudley Ryder, and the Attorney-General, John Strange, to whom three


questions were put. First, could the charge of burglary be used against those breaking into the treasury and, if not, how could the charge be framed so as to exclude the use of benefit of clergy? Second, should the money taken be described as belonging to the mayor and burgesses or as in the custody of the mayor and chamberlains? Third, could a jury made up of burgesses be challenged if the ownership of the money was attributed to the mayor and burgesses or in the custody of the mayor and chamberlains?71 Of the 27 men and women tried at the assizes, seven were found guilty and sentenced to transportation; fifteen, three of them women, were found not guilty of larceny but required to provide sureties for their good behaviour. A further ten were tried at Newcastle quarter sessions, of whom four received fines of one shilling and eight pence and additionally were subject to removal orders; another four were required to provide sureties for good behaviour and one was discharged for want of prosecution. Indictments against two women, Jane Boggy and Elizabeth Ford, were not preferred because of the witnesses’ failure to appear.72 There were subsequent trials in the three following assizes as each summer the authorities mopped up the minor offenders. Convictions were few, though sentences of imprisonment of between one and six months were imposed. In Ellis’s view, the participants were treated “with a lenient hand”; and indeed the legal sanctions invoked were limited but the criminal process was effectively and extensively deployed on an elaborate scale with so many people trapped in gaol by the law irrespective of the final outcome of the trials.73 Sentences of transportation to the American colonies for a period of seven years meted out to seven men represent the most serious judicial response to public disorder in the eighteenth century North-East apart from the single execution after the Hexham riot. Convictions were more likely if the suspects had been arrested at the time, had money in their possession which had clearly been removed from the Guidhall, and evidence against them was collected immediately. Much of the effort in subsequent weeks, drawing up long lists of names, searching on both sides of the Tyne, and planning large-scale prosecutions, was either wasted or allowed to go to waste by the authorities. At Hexham in 1761, no arrests were possible at the massacre, and therefore few convictions stemmed from actions committed there. Neither Peter Patterson nor William Elder was present at Hexham.74


The politics of justice After 1740 few disturbances in Newcastle threatened the symbols of local government, and consequently the drive to prosecute was less acute, but responses still took a judicial form. In 1750 and 1751, for example, bills of indictment were found against 53 men, mostly keelmen, at the Newcastle assize. Five men received prison sentences of one to three months and an innkeeper, Thomas Gibson, was required to find the very large sum of £200 for his good behaviour, in addition to his prison sentence of three months.75 After mid-century, sentences of from six months to two years were imposed on those regarded as ringleaders in successful prosecutions for riot and related offences. Magistrates tended to respond flexibly within the region’s separate jurisdictions. Those involved in incidents among keelmen and seamen in Sunderland in 1768 were prosecuted for serious offences: 15 indictments for riot, misdemeanour or robbery were found against 13 accused acting in concert with “40 or 50 others”. The disturbances in Sunderland had continued over a number of days and rioters exceeded the bounds of acceptable behaviour in threatening to demolish houses and shops and engaging in extortion and assault. The heaviest sentences were those imposed on John Johnson and Jonothan Elstob, for two years’ and one year’s imprisonment. Three others (including one woman) received terms of three months in gaol, one person was fined and five were acquitted. The situation in Newcastle indicates rather more subtlety on the part of the magistrates and a form of “negotiated” justice. Following the arrest of George Turnbull and Charles Miller on an information furnished by Henry Robson, the victim of a “stanging”, the keelmen petitioned for the release of their brethren promising a return to work, but the mayor rejected their terms. Instead printed notices announced that those who failed to return to work would be apprehended as idle and disorderly persons. Those taken up with a settlement in Newcastle would be committed to the House of Correction and kept to hard labour; those not legally settled in the town were to be punished as vagrants and sent to their respective settlements.76 Yet Turnbull and Miller expressed their contrition in a public statement in which they urged their fellow keelmen to return to work. A warrant for the arrest of five men was issued two days later but there is no evidence that either they or Turnbull and Miller were ever tried.77 More explicit was the case of Northumberland pitmen who in 1793 stopped work when they received no response to their petition for an advance in wages. Following violence at the Jane and Henry pits, informations


were laid against five ringleaders by Thomas Barnes. When the men were examined at the Moothall to Barnes’s astonishment the rest of the Pitmen (who by this time had got assembled round the Moot Hall) being called in and in a manner Courted to go to work by Mr Fenwick & Mr Bigge several times, a few of them in the name of the rest consented, and the warrants for Commitment were withdrawn by the consent of Mr Bigge… Mr Peareth and Mr Reay.78 Conclusion The contradictions between the severity of the laws and the relative mildness of their implementation are as apparent in the treatment of riots and disturbances as in the areas of more ordinary crime in the eighteenth century. If anything, the contrast is even more acute. Both sides in the conflicts played a part in this outcome: neither group of protagonists saw it as in their interests to go too far. If the order and discipline of rioters was often remarked upon by contemporaries, the reticence of the judiciary and magistracy has impressed historians. Yet “the politics of justice” sometimes decreed that punishment be exemplary. But this too need not be excessive. Only one execution was needed, as the Earl of Bute remarked of Hexham in 1761, hoping that “this proper Instance of Severity will be sufficient to deter others from the Commission of the like crime for the future”.79 The discretionary power of the magistrates reinforced this policy of selective enforcement. The dilemmas they had to face in the locality were those of how to balance severity and leniency, and judging which was the more appropriate to smoothe over the conflict.80 On most occasions, this was a purely judicial decision, in the sense that, despite intermittent rumours of politically motivated actions, most disturbances arose out of local issues and familiar social and economic relationships. In the early 1790s, when politicial anxiety about revolution was intensifying, a local MP, Rowland Burdon, wrote to London in the midst of the seamen’s dispute, “It is with pleasure I can add that there seems nothing of a Political Nature in the present matter, & that the Sailors appear heartily attached to the Government of the Country.”81 Within this political framework a kind of stalemate—a continually negotiated peace—was possible between employers and workers throughout most of the century. Working people could make general moral claims in the context of the market economy. This situation could not survive the longer-term


tensions of the Napoleonic War. Yet in the North-East in the eighteenth century, despite the scale and frequency of popular disturbances and the regular reading of the Riot Act, there were few prosecutions and only one execution. In all the apparent violence, the Hexham riot apart, only one rioter is known to have been killed in the region in the entire century. The local authorities harnessed the law to achieve their ends of ensuring peace while retaining power over their region. Although law favoured the employers and the state had troops, the nature of the dialogue between the state and the locality did not essentially change over the course of the century. In this context collective action on the part of working men, and sometimes women, enjoyed some successes and not always in the form of increased levels of charitable giving. With large numbers of troops stationed in the region and the rise of the Volunteer movement which put even more men under arms, the NorthEast’s working population lost something of the numerical, if not economic, advantage they had once enjoyed. Despite a more assertive central government with more resources at its disposal than ever before, the claims of working people on their local authorities were sufficiently powerful to ensure local solutions to traditional conflicts.82

Conclusion

The North-East emerges from this study as a region which in the eighteenth century was in some ways distinctive and in others typical of the country as a whole. At the end of the seventeenth century the legal localism of the counties was still bolstered by unique Border laws and the peculiar status of the Palatinate. After 1700 this legal framework became of lesser importance as the region conformed to, or came to share, the laws of the rest of England. Nevertheless, something of the independent character, or self-image, of the local authorities remained in their relationships with outsiders. Yet in terms of the general composition of the crimes prosecuted and punished, north-eastern courts experienced a stream of typically minor property offences mixed with a few serious crimes of violent robbery or murder. Rural areas rightly feared horse theft and dangerous burglaries, while the towns witnessed many robberies from the person (mainly by picking pockets) and petty thefts in houses and taverns. Only a few expert criminals mainly involved in forging or coining, operated in the region. While there was great local fear of organized crime, few of the so-called gangs resembled modern notions of organized crime: they consisted of married couples, their children and friends. They could, nevertheless, be very mobile and difficult to catch; some were particularly adept at returning from transportation. These features are an expected part of the established pattern of eighteenth-century crime in England, though the local characteristics of many of the people, some from Scotland, others from the marginal economy of the Borders, made them distinctive. The fluctuations in crimes such as thefts over the century, too, parallel the swings between dearth and plenty, peace and war, within an overall trend of a slowly increasing crime rate. What is surprising, however, is that despite the wild reputation of the North the crime rates seem much lower than elsewhere, and, in the absence of any evidence of official failures or lack of dedication to duty, we may conclude that this seems


to have been a true reflection of the extent of the crime problem in the region. The impression of the records suggests that local methods of law enforcement, despite having to police a large, thinly populated territory, were surprisingly effective. Relations with authorities elsewhere were usually cordial and thoroughly exploited by both sides in pursuit of suspected criminals. This was not a region which neglected crime. More distinctive was the pattern of women’s involvement in crime, particularly in Newcastle upon Tyne, which confirms the generally higher involvement of urban women in the early modern period to an exaggerated degree. There seems little to distinguish the economy of this town from that of others outside London, in general terms of female poverty or employment problems, but the seasonal pattern of coal and shipping reduced the reliability of men’s income.1 The pattern of theft was shared to some extent by the more urbanized area of County Durham, and may indicate a common experience of women in the region. Although relatively little involved in violent robbery and burglary, women turned up in large numbers, particularly before the lower courts, prosecuted mostly for stealing clothes, household goods, or valuable materials such as cloth. Whatever the social origins of women’s criminality, it was undoubtedly a factor in the early development of imprisonment in parts of the region, centring on Newcastle. While transportation was widely used to punish women at both assizes and quarter sessions, particularly in the quarter-century before the American Revolution, it was the magistrates who simultaneously favoured the house of correction in this period. In this, the scope for local invention or innovation is demonstrated, not as a weakness of the uncentralized state, as the Webbs would have seen it, a product of the uninspected and unsupervised locals falling behind the best practice of the centre. On the contrary, this pattern suggests that one of the strengths of the localized state was that it permitted diversity between the counties, allowing justices to evolve a policy which fitted their notion of local needs. Over the century, however, the differences between the punishment styles of the three counties diminished, and there was a regional convergence in the policies of the magistrates. At the other end of the scale, many were prosecuted for capital offences, but only a few executed. While this was not a region ruled by the theatre of the hanging tree, there were times, particularly towards the end of the eighteenth century, when local hostility to crime and official reactions combined to ensure batches of executions. Some victims were women, a number of whom also suffered the added horror of public dissection. Although comparisons are hard to establish, it

CONCLUSION 209

seems that north-east England was unusual in its propensity to execute women. The contrast between this savagely punished handful and the masses of ordinary female thieves labouring in the houses of correction in many ways sums up very starkly the contradictory character of lateeighteenth-century penal practice. As execution rates fell, there was nevertheless great attention paid to the few hangings to ensure that lessons were learnt from an appropriate level of severity. Yet, as concern for the reformation of criminals increased, new styles of incarceration developed amid the ancient prison buildings of the local county towns. With regard to banishment from society altogether, the remoteness of the region from the main centres of the Atlantic trade did not seem to militate against the use of transportation, although the methods and routes by which it was effected varied from one time to another, suggesting that it was not always an easy procedure. Nevertheless, under the influence of assize sentences, as well as recurrent drives by the justices to inflict the punishment, transportation became a major feature of judicial practice, particularly after 1750. This indicates that, in this regard, the region was not far behind, or that it even matched, developments elsewhere outside the south and west of the country. In one respect, however, in its treatment of the vagabonds, rogues and gypsies, the region remained distinctive. Northumberland authorities maintained a policy until the 1750s of trying to rid the county of these wandering bands, and were quite willing to employ methods outside the ordinary criminal law to achieve their ends. The local structures of law enforcement meshed together with the central authorities in different ways and for different purposes. Local people were adept at petitioning London for mercy for the condemned: family, friends, and juries, as well as the more predictable mayors, justices and MPS, were all involved. The “game with pardons” which so distinguished English law at this time was played by many at different levels of society. The political linkages, and particularly the military and legal support made available by central government during times of industrial strikes and riots, were another matter. This was very clearly a pattern of the local authorities begging for aid which at times was only reluctantly granted. In part the justices of the North-East preferred to have military force available in advance of any trouble (and as a means of forestalling it), so had to deploy suitably alarming predictions of riot to stir the government into a response. Many of these forecasts proved exaggerated, probably because the two sides in the locality increasingly came to understand, during the course of the eighteenth century, the


limitations of their situation. Neither side was organized for long-term conflict, nor was it really in anyone’s interest. The tactic of begging the government for troops which were hardly ever used was therefore a local game played at national level. London people fully understood the vital role of coal in their economy, and parliamentary politicians also recognized the symbiosis of the metropolis with the region. Consequently, there was a close relationship, if not a full integration, of the local elites with the centre. They needed each other, in many ways. Rebellion, surprisingly, was never an issue: conspicuous loyalty was very much the North-East’s central characteristic, whether from bishop, duke or the mass of Newcastle upon Tyne’s “Geordies” (so-called, it is said, because of their adherence to the cause of the Hanoverian Georges). It was not without a grain of truth that a local politician claimed “though we be at the tail of the kingdom, yet we follow the fashions of our Metropolis”, though he was referring to the local habit of riotous disturbances.2 The same could be said of the region’s responses to crimes, though with a distinctively local character: in some ways, the North-East, whether knowingly or not, as much pioneered as followed national trends in law enforcement and punishment.

Notes

Introduction 1. The Guardian, 12 March 1997. 2. G.Pearson, Hooligan. A history of respectable fears (London: Macmillan, 1983). 3. Michael Meranze, Laboratories of virtue. Punishment, revolution and authority in Philadelphia, 1760–1835 (Chapel Hill and London: University of North Carolina Press, 1996), pp. 1, 3. 4. L.Radzinowicz, A history of English criminal law and its administration from 1750 (London: Stevens, 1948–68), vol. 1 for details of these laws. 5. J.H.Baker, “The refinement of English criminal jurisprudence, 1500– 1848”, in Crime and criminal justice in Europe and Canada, L.A.Knafla (ed.) (Waterloo, Ontario: Wilfred Laurier University Press, 1981), pp. 24– 5; T.A. Green, Verdict according to conscience. Perspectives on the English trial jury, 1200–1800 (Chicago: Chicago University Press, 1985); J.H.Langbein, “The criminal trial before the lawyers”, University of Chicago Law Review 45, 1978, pp. 263–316. 6. See N.Walker, Crime and insanity in England. vol. 1: the historical perspective (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1968), p. 68; and M.Gaskill, “The displacement of Providence. Policing and prosecution in seventeenth- and eighteenth-century England”, Continuity and Change 11, 1996, pp. 341–74; trial of William Winter and company, Newcastle Courant 6044, 11 August 1792. 7. P.Corrigan & D.Sayer, The great arch. English state formation as cultural revolution (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1985); see J.R.Kent, “The centre and the localities: state formation and parish government in England circa 1640–1740”, Historical Journal 30, 1995, pp. 363–404. 8. R.Jütte, Poverty and deviance in early modern Europe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994); B.Bushaway, By rite. Custom, ceremony and community in England, 1700– 1800 (London: Junction Books, 1982); E.P.Thompson, Whigs and hunters. The origin of the

212 NOTES

9. 10.

11.

12. 13.

14. 15. 16.

17. 18.

19. 20.

21.

22.

Black Act (London: Allen Lane, 1975), and Customs in common (London: Penguin, 1993); and A.Wood, “The place of custom in plebeian political culture: England 1550–1800”, Social History 22, 1997, pp. 46–60. J.H.Langbein, “Albion’s fatal flaws”, Past and Present 98, 1983, pp. 96– 120. A.Smith, Lectures on jurisprudence, R.L.Meek et al. (eds) (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1982), p. 208; D.Hume, A treatise on human nature, P.H.Nidditch (ed.) (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1978), p. 579. Quotations from T.C.Curtis, “Quarter sessions appearances and their background. A seventeenth-century regional study”, in Crime in England, 1550–1800, J.S.Cockburn (ed.) (London: Methuen, 1977), p. 154, and Langbein, “Albion’s fatal flaws”, p. 97. J.A.Sharpe, Judicial punishment in England (London: Faber & Faber, 1990). R.Roshier, Controlling crime. The classical perspective in criminology (Milton Keynes: Open University Press, 1989); N.Walker, Why punish? (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1991). D.Nelken (ed.), The futures of criminology (London: Sage, 1995). S.Cohen, Visions of social control. Crime, punishment and classification (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1985). J.M.Beattie, “Judicial records and the measurement of crime in eighteenth-century England”, in Crime and criminal justice in Europe and Canada, L.A.Knafla (ed.) (Waterloo, Ont.: Wilfred Laurier University Press, 1981), p. 127; J.Innes & J.Styles, “The crime wave. Recent writing on crime and criminal justice in eighteenth-century England”, Journal of British Studies 25, 1986, pp. 384–93, by comparison. See some of the rueful assessments in D.Nelken (ed.), The futures of criminology (London: Sage, 1995). See R.B.Shoemaker, “The ‘crime wave’ revisited. Crime, law enforcement and punishment in Britain, 1650–1900”, Historical Journal 34, 1991, pp. 763–8. Innes & Styles, “The crime wave”, p. 415. John Beattie, Crime and the courts in England, 1660–1800 (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1986) is one noted exception to the absence of comparative local work as recommended by Innes & Styles, “The crime wave”, pp. 419–20. D.J.Rowe, “The North East”, in The Cambridge social history of Britain, 1750–1950, F.M.L.Thompson (ed.) (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990), vol. 1, pp. 415ff; see the introduction to T.E.Faulkner (ed.), Northumbrian panorama. Studies in the history and culture of North East England, (London: Octavian Press, 1996), p. xvii. D.Massey, Spatial divisions of labour. Social structures and the geography of production (London: Macmillan, 1984), p. 195; J.Urry,

NOTES 213

“Localities, regions and social class”, International Journal of Urban and Regional Research 5, 1981, pp. 456–74. 23. Paul Rock, “Law, order and power in late seventeenth- and early eighteenth-century England”, in Social control and the state. Historical and comparative essays, S.Cohen & A.Scull (eds) (Oxford: Martin Robertson, 1983), pp. 192, 194; C.Hill, “Puritans and the ‘dark corners of the land’”, Transactions of the Royal Historical Society 5th series 13, 1963, pp. 77–102. 24. Innes & Styles, “The crime wave”, p. 435; Newcastle Courant 5060, 18 September 1773, reports Elizabeth Herring’s burning citing a report dated 13 or 14 September.

Chapter 1: The character of north-east England 1. Andrew Wright, The life of James Allan, the celebrated Northumberland piper (Newcastle upon Tyne: Mackenzie & Dent, 1818); James Thompson, A new and improved and authentic life of James Allan, the celebrated Northumberland piper (Newcastle upon Tyne: Mackenzie & Dent, 1828). 2. Bishop Chandler’s Notes on Visitation, Newcastle Central Library, SL253; of 337 families in Elsdon, 237 were Presbyterian; R.A.Houston, Scottish literacy and the Scottish identity. Illiteracy and society in Scotland and northern England, 1600–1800 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985), pp. 53–7; L.Colley, Britons. Forging the nation, 1707–1837 (London: Pimlico/Random House, 1992), p. 16. 3. TWAS 154/8 Order no. 26, shipwrights’ rules; Department of Palaeography and Diplomatic, DR 5, vol. 8, fol. 166, John Johnson against John Rand, 1606; J.U.Nef, The rise of the British coal industry [2 vols] (London: Frank Cass, 1966; first published 1932), vol. 2, p. 148. 4. A.J.Pollard, “The characteristics of the fifteenth-century north”, in Government, religion and society in northern England, 1000–1700, J.C.Appleby & P.Dalton (eds) (Stroud, Gloucs: Alan Sutton Publishing, 1997), pp. 139, 143. 5. W.Marshall, The review and abstract of the county reports to the Board of Agriculture from the several departments of England [5 vols], vol. 1, 1818 (Newton Abbot: David & Charles, 1969), pp. 13, 36, 38, 50–52, 149; A.Kussmaul, Servants in husbandry in early modern England (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1981), p. 130; T.M.Devine, Farm servants and labour in Lowland Scotland, 1770–1914 (Edinburgh: John Donald Publishers, 1984), pp. 1, 5–6. 6. E.Hughes (ed.), Letters of Spencer Cowper, Dean of Durham, 1746–74, Surtees Society vol. 165 (Durham: Andrews, 1950), p. 61; J.Wesley, The journal of the Rev. John Wesley [4 vols], Rev. F.W.MacDonald (intro.)

214 NOTES

7.

8.

9. 10.

11.

12.

13. 14.

15. 16.

(London: J.M.Dent, 1906), vol. 4, p. 504; Fisher, J.M., An American Quaker in the British Isles. The travel journals of Jabez Maud Fisher, 1775–1779, K.Morgan (ed.) (Oxford: Oxford University Press for British Academy, 1992) pp. 178, 49. D.Defoe, A tour through the whole island of Great Britain, P.Rogers (abr. and ed.) (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1971), p. 533, compared with “The Journal of John Aston, 1639”, in J.C.Hodgson (ed.), Six north country diaries, Surtees Society vol. 118 (Durham: Andrews, 1910); Fisher, An American Quaker, p. 49. Hughes (ed.), Letters of Spencer Cowper, pp. 102, 141; Defoe, Tour, pp. 533, 535; J.Ellis, “A dynamic society. Social relations in Newcastle upon Tyne, 1660–1760”, in The transformation of English provincial towns, 1600–1800, P.Clark (ed.) (London: Hutchinson, 1984), pp. 194, 217; T.S.Willan, The inland trade. Studies in English internal trade in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1976), p. 32: “the largest purely industrial town in the country”. Hughes (ed.), Letters of Spencer Cowper, p. 142; Defoe, Tour, p. 534; F.M.Eden, The state of the poor [3 vols] (London: 1797), vol. 2, p. 164. “Northern journeys of Bishop Richard Pococke”, in J.C.Hodgson (ed.), North country diaries. Second series, Surtees Society vol. 124 (Durham: Andrews, 1915), pp. 199–252, 220, 223, 244; P.M.Horsley, Eighteenthcentury Newcastle (Newcastle upon Tyne: Oriel Press, 1971), p. 112. L.Stone & J.C.Fawtier Stone, An open elite? England 1540–1880 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1984), take Northumberland as one of their case study counties: an “easy choice”, p. 33. Defoe, Tour, p. 535. He had written sympathetically about the keelmen and their hospital more than a decade earlier: Horsley, Eighteenthcentury Newcastle, p. 228. wo 30/59/135, between 1781 and 1800. “Northern journeys” in Hodgson (ed.), North country diaries, p. 248; S.Miller, The River Wear Commissioners. Extracts from their papers, 1717–1846 (Durham: Durham County Local History Society, 1980); E.Mackenzie, A descriptive and historical account of the town and county of Newcastle upon Tyne, including the borough of Gateshead [2 vols] (Newcastle: Mackenzie & Dent, 1827), vol. 2, p. 730; J.Brewster, The parochial history and antiquities of Stockton-upon-Tees (Stockton: Patrick & Shotton, 1971; 2nd edn 1829), pp. 260–61; John Hatcher (ed.), The history of the British coal industry [5 vols], vol. 1, Before 1700. Towards the age of coal (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1993), p. 384. Hughes (ed.), Letters of Spencer Cowper, p. 192; Tomlinson in Hodgson (ed.), Six north country diaries, pp. 79, 99. Brewster, The parochial history and antiquities of Stockton-upon-Tees, pp. 260–61; T. Richmond, The local records of Stockton and the neighbourhood…(Stockton and London: W.Robinson, 1868), pp. 64, 92;

NOTES 215

17.

18. 19.

20.

21.

22. 23.

24.

25.

26.

27.

28. 29.

J.Brand, The history and antiquities of the town and county of Newcastle, including an account of the coal trade of that place [2 vols] (London: 1789), pp. 233–4, 379. J.C.Schuler, The pastoral and ecclesiastical administration of the diocese of Durham, 1721– 1777; with particular reference to the archdeaconry of Northumberland (PhD thesis, University of Durham, 1975), pp. 32–3. J.Wesley, The journal of the Rev. John Wesley, vol. 4, p. 435. S.Bentham quoted in P.Linebaugh, The London hanged. Crime and civil society in the eighteenth century (London: Allen Lane, 1991), p. 373; Defoe, Tour, p. 536. Horsley, Eighteenth-century Newcastle, p. 63; M.W.Flinn, Men of Iron. The Crowleys in the early iron industry (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1962), chs 13, 14. D.Levine & K.Wrightson, The making of an industrial society. Whickham, 1560–1765 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1991), pp. 307, 385, 390–91, 432; see newspaper accounts of robbers who, by their appearances, were identified as pitmen: Newcastle Courant 5871, 18 April 1789. Levine & Wrightson, The making of an industrial society, pp. 296, 298, 392, 398. See Rosemary Sweet, “The production of urban histories in eighteenthcentury England”, Urban History 23, 1996, pp. 171–88, especially p. 174 and conclusion. H.M.Jewell, The North-South divide. The origins of northern consciousness in England (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1994), p. 138. R.Smith, Sea-coal for London. A history of the coal factors in the London market (London: Longman, Green, 1961), pp. 35–8; E.Hughes, North country life in the eighteenth century: the North-east, 1700–1750 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1952), pp. 157, 166–71. Lain Bain (ed.), A memoir of Thomas Bewick, written by himself (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1979), pp. 7 1, 75; keelmen in London were interviewed for parliamentary enquiries, in Keelmen’s Papers, TWAS 394/29. Norman McCord, North East England. An economic and social history (London: Batsford, 1979), p. 52; in 1753–4 a turnpike road from Hexham linking Rothbury and Alnwick to Alnmouth encouraged the export of agricultural produce. TWAS 592/1, fol. 69v, 14 July 1764. See NRO C3 series of “Bailiff’s Court and Common Council Papers”, strictly a court of pleas; and C.Brooks “Interpersonal conflict and social tension in England. 1640– 1830”, in The first modern society. Essays in English history in honour of Lawrence Stone, A. L.Beier, D.Cannadine, J.M.Rosenheim (eds) (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989),

216 NOTES

30.

31.

32.

33.

34.

pp. 372–3, for a study of the Newcastle courts. Durham’s court was sometimes presided over by the bishop’s solicitor-general: see Thomas Gyll’s diary in Hodgson (ed.), Six north country diaries, Surtees Society vol. 118, p. 190. K.Emsley & C.M.Fraser, The courts of the County Palatine of Durham (Durham: Durham County Local History Society, 1984), pp. 39–45, 65– 71. The case of William Saville, 1736, whose victim was J.Hodgson whom he shot with a pistol (see Newcastle Courant 591, 21 August 1736), was presumably removed to the Admiralty division of the Queen’s Bench, since it is after the abolition of the Sunderland court in 1707. Newcastle also had an Admiralty Court, the judge appointed by the Common Council, TWAS CCCB 1699–1718, fol. 57, and C.M.Fraser & K.Emsley, Tyneside (Newton Abbot: David & Charles, 1973), p. 49. G.T.Lapsley, The County Palatine of Durham. A study in constitutional history (London: Longman, Green, 1900), p. 201; T.Caldecott, Reports of cases relative to the duty and office of a justice of the peace, Michaelmas term 1776 inclusive to Trinity term (London: 1785), pp. 39–41, 68–71; E.Mackenzie & M.Ross, An Historical, topographical and descriptive view of the County Palatine of Durham [2 vols] (Newcastle upon Tyne: Mackenzie & Dent, 1834), vol. II, p. xciii. J.S.Cockburn, A history of English assizes, 1558–1714 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1972), pp. 43–5; South Shields’ problems HO 42/22/261, HO 42/24/ 549, HO 42/25/164–5; Bishop’s letter HO 42/ 35/277–8. CJ, 22, p. 777, lapsing legislation such as the Waltham Black Act and the border laws; An Act to enable the commissions for executing the office of Treasurer of His Majesty’s Exchequer, of the Lord High Treasurer for the time being, to pay, out of the revenue of the Crown, certain rewards for apprehending Highwaymen, and other offenders in the County Palatine of Durham, 1774, referring to 4 William and Mary, 6 and 7 William, 3 Geo. 1, which were extended by Henry Bathurst’s Act for the better preventing thefts and robberies etc., 1752, 25 Geo. 3, c. 36; the 1774 Act was presented by Sir Thomas Clavering, and passed without amendments; Journals of the House of Lords (London: 1817), vol. 34, p. 209b. John Hodgson, A history of Morpeth (Newcastle upon Tyne: Frank Graham, 1973; first published 1832), p. 159:3 December 1741, Elizabeth wife of George Holborn, punished with the branks at the Market Cross for two hours, “by order of Mr Thomas Gair and Mr George Nichols, then bailiffs, for scandalous and opprobrious language to several persons in town, as well as to the said bailiffs”; in 1742, Margaret Spence, “scotchwoman”, for theft of two tablecloths and napkins from Elizabeth Baites, admits it and, said the bailiffs, “we immediately sent her to the clockhouse and whipt her next day”. For a borough court, see Joyce

NOTES 217

35. 36.

37.

38.

39. 40.

41.

Jackman, “A day in the life of the Borough Court”, Hexham Historian 2, 1992, pp. 36–48, based on NRO 672/1/19–25, and for similar seventeenth-century material, Allendale MSS, BB 19–20, pieces 1–20. Courts in Barnard Castle, Durham, have also left fragmentary records; see W.J.King on court leet data for historians, “How high is high? Disposing of dung in seventeenth-century Prescott”, Sixteenth-Century Journal 23, 1992, pp. 443–57. John Fuller, The history of Berwick upon Tweed (Newcastle upon Tyne: Frank Graham, 1973; first published 1799), p. 240. An Act for the Better Preventing of Theft and Rapine upon the Northern Borders of England, 1662 (14th C.II), pp. 345–6, and note p. 347 on a Treasurer to be appointed for managing the money. It claimed to be reviving the acts of James I.C.M.F. Ferguson, Law and order on the Anglo-Scottish Border, 1603–1707 (PhD thesis, Department of History, University of St Andrews, 1981), pp. 308–12. Rates in NRO QSO, 5 p. 158 (1713), 6 p. 421 (1726), 7 pp. 239, 337 (1734 and 1737): the rate varied between 10 and 20 shillings; for a longer history of Border laws, see C.J.Neville, “The law of treason in the English border counties in the later middle ages”, Law and History Review 9, 1991, pp. 1–30. Kenneth Emsley, “A circuit judge in Northumberland”, Tyne and Tweed 31, 1978, p. 18. North was under the impression that the Country Keeper dated from before the union of the kingdoms, and was in decline. Ferguson, Law and order, p. 309; NRO QSO 5, p. 163 for 1713 list, QSB 79, fols 16–22 for the 1731 appointments, and QSO 7, p. 460 for Francis Collingwood and Robert Clennell serving as Country Keepers. The posts were advertised in the Newcastle newspapers in 1728, QSO 7, p. 26, with instructions for candidates to bring forward their proposals in assize week. NRO QSO 5, pp. 122, 158 (1713), QSO 6, p. 433 (1726), QSO 7, pp. 139–40 for salaries in 1731. The Meggee case is in NRO QSB 66, Michaelmas 1725, fol. 22 and QSB 80, Epiphany 1731/2, fol. 102 and PRO, DURH 17/3; the other allegations of corrupt practice are in QSB 55, Midsummer 1721, fols 49– 51, QSB 66, Michaelmas 1725, fol. 22; NRO QSO 4, p. 310. Sadly, assize depositions on these cases are missing. Meggee was deputy for northern Tynedale and Coquetdale, on the Scottish border, Laidler for the south and western areas including Haltwhistle. NRO QSB 68, Easter 1726, fol. 2 for expenses; QSO 6, p. 403 for proposal to change system; QSO 8, pp. 101–2, 128 (1744–5); Newcastle Courant 2744, 26 July 1746 for the end; petition in QSO 6, p. 403 Epiphany 1726.

218 NOTES

Chapter 2: Enforcing the law 1. The number on the Northumberland commission of the peace rose from about 45 at the start of the century to more than 150 by the 1770s, NRO QJC 1–23. Some, like Vice-Admiral Chaloner Ogle, were almost permanently absent. 2. ASSI 45/21/4/5B and ASSI 45/21/4/86A-72B, depositions against Joseph Brown and James Watson. 3. Brand, vol. 1, p. 6n gives the initial 24 wards, two of which merged later, and two additional ones, making 25 in all, and lighting p. 20; TWAS 1434/1/1–2 lists of constables by wards; TWAS 564, 142–5, 127; CCCB 1718–43, fol. 448, 27 September 1742, James Bell hostman replaced William Burrell; Newcastle Courant 4357, 22 March 1760. 4. CCCB 1743–66, fols 313 and 328, 16 January 1758, second attempt at parliamentary bill and anticipatory investment in lighting; J.Beattie, “London crime and the making of the ‘bloody code’, 1689–1718”, in Stilling the grumbling hive. The response to social and economic problems in England, 1689–1750, L.Davison et al. (eds) (Gloucester: Alan Sutton, 1992), pp. 53–4; murder cases of watchman William Briscoe, 1734, ASSI 45/ 20/1/99B, and Newcastle Courant 455, 12 January 1734: the suspect Thomas Pearson was acquitted; and of a collier by a soldier, Newcastle Journal 864, 29 November 1755; G.Holmes & D.Szechi, The age of oligarchy. Pre-industrial Britain, 1722–1783 (London: Longman, 1993), pp. 183–4; C. Emsley, “Detection and prevention. The old English police and the new, 1750–1900”, Historical Social Research 37, 1986, pp. 70–71. There may have been a night constable patrol in Newcastle. 5. P.Rock, “Law, order and power in late seventeenth- and early eighteenthcentury England”, in Social control and the state. Historical and comparative essays, S.Cohen & A. Scull (eds) (Oxford: Martin Robertson, 1983), pp. 200–201; see K.Wrightson, “Two concepts of order. Justices, constables and jurymen in seventeenth-century England”, in An ungovernable people. The English and their law in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, J.Brewer & J.Styles (eds) (London: Hutchinson, 1980), pp. 21–46, and D. Garrioch, “The people of Paris and their police in the eighteenth century. Reflections on the introduction of a ‘modern’ police force”, European History Quarterly 24, 1994, pp. 511– 36 on the French police and the working class of Paris before the Revolution; NRO, QSB 48, Michaelmas 1718 fol. 108; QSB 68, Easter 1726 fol. 156; QSB 72 Epiphany 1730 fol. 57; QSB 84, Michaelmas 1741 fol. 40; TWAS 540/5 pp. 255, 252; Newcastle Courant 581, 12 June, 586, 17 July and 587, 24 July 1736; J.R.Kent, The English village constable, 1580–1642. A social and administrative study (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1986). 6. V.A.C.Gatrell, “Crime, authority and the policeman-state”, in The Cambridge social history of Britain, 1750–1950, vol. 3.

NOTES 219

7. 8.

9.

10.

11.

12.

F.M.L.Thompson (ed.), Social agencies and institutions (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990), pp. 243–310; Clive Emsley, “The history of crime and crime control institutions, c.1750-c.1945”, in The Oxford handbook of criminology, Mike Maguire et al. (eds) (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1994), p. 158. NRO QSB 79, Michaelmas 1731 fol. 22. R.B.Shoemaker, Prosecution and punishment. Petty crime and the law in London and rural Middlesex, c. 1660–1725 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), ch. 2 on “Four options for prosecution”. See NRO M813 (C8/3 and 4) for many examples of this, e.g. 9 July 1759, Daniel Stewart withdrew the indictment against Robert Loggan for assaulting him, when the latter pleaded guilty: he had received “satisfaction”, and Loggan was “discharged of his prosecution”. See Simon Roberts, Order and dispute. An introduction to legal anthropology (Harmondsworth: Penguin Books, 1979), for a guide to the non-punitive functions of law. NRO QSO 10, pp. 181, 264; TWAS 540/5, fol. 142. B.Lenman & G.Parker, “The state, the community and the criminal law in early modern Europe”, in Crime and the law. The social history of crime in western Europe since 1500, V.A.C.Gatrell et al. (eds) (London: Europa Publications, 1980), pp. 15–17. DRO D/X 730/1, 17 February 1751; 22 and 26 July 1754, 24 October 1756. The servant received a year’s wages. Dates are more reliable references than page numbers, which disappear after about 50 pages. NRO QSB 83, Midsummer 1741, fol. 50. DRO D/X 730/1; M.J.Ingram, “Communities and courts. Law and disorder in early sevententh-century Wiltshire”, in Crime in England, 1550–1800, J. S. Cockburn (ed.) (London: Methuen, 1977), p. 118. P.Rushton, “‘The matter in variance’: adolescents and domestic conflict in the preindustrial economy of northeast England, 1600–1800”, Journal of Social History 25, 1991, pp. 89–107; on local law, see T.C.Curtis, “Quarter sessions appearances and their background. A seventeenthcentury regional study”, in Crime in England, 1550– 1800, J. S. Cockburn (ed.) (London: Methuen, 1977), p. 154; Newcastle Courant 6223, 16 January 1796, front page “Pardon asked”; D.Oberwittler, “Crime and authority in eighteenth-century England”, Historical Social Research 15, 2, 1990, pp. 3–34, suggests that the proportion of complaints which resulted in formal indictment could be as low as 14% or as high as 50%, depending on the magistrate and the type of area; NRO QSB 85, Epiphany 1741/2 fol. 73; Shoemaker, Prosecution and punishment, p. 43; Ruth Paley (ed.), Justice in eighteenth-century Hackney. The justicing notebook of Henry Norris and the Hackney petty sessions book (London: London Record Society, vol. 28, 1991); H.A. Mitchell, A report of the proceedings in the Mayor’s Chambers, Newcastle upon Tyne, during the Mayoralty of Geo. Shadworth Esq.

220 NOTES

13.

14.

15.

16.

17.

18.

(Newcastle upon Tyne: c. 1830?), pp. 10, 22; Lenman & Parker, “The state, community, and the criminal law”, reviewed critically but sympathetically by C.Herrup, “Crime, law and society. A review article”, Comparative Study of Society and History 27, 1985, p. 161. See Pat Mayhew et al., The 1988 British crime survey (London: HMSO, 1989), pp. 9–11: reporting of thefts is related to the need to establish a genuine “crime” for insurance purposes: accusation and prosecution are strictly secondary. See DURH 17/4, 1734 case of William Carr; Ken Plummer, “Misunderstanding labelling perspectives”, in Deviant interpretations, D.Downes & P.Rock (eds) (London: Martin Robertson, 1979), pp. 85– 121; DRO D/X 730/1; M.S.Servian, “The fair swindler of Blackheath. A case study of the importance of reputation in late eight-eenth-century legal and commercial affairs”, Journal of Legal History 8, 1984, pp. 79– 87. Newcastle Courant 5304, 5731, 5778, 5898, 23 May 1778, 12 August 1786, 7 July 1788, and 23 October 1789, for newspaper warnings about cheats and swindlers at fairs and races; TWAS 616/1 unpaginated: a bound folder labelled “The Rogues File”. Charles Cadwell, a Scottish pedlar, who is reported in the latter as moving with his wife to Gateshead, may be the Charles Caldwell arrested in Sunderland in 1777: see Newcastle Courant 5250, 10 May 1777. Oxford English Dictionary, under “vague”; Newcastle Courant 2840, 28 May 1748; 3024, 7 December 1751; 3040, 28 March 1752. Nathaniel Ogle JP on Barbara Bruce, her petition “appears frivolous, and I now believe her to be an idle woman and a vague”, NRO QSB 66, Michaelmas 1725, fols 9–10; and note Robert Johnson asking for release, “get me discharged at this sessions not transported as a vage”, QSB 62, Michaelmas 1724, fol. 13, and QSB 64, Easter 1725, fol. 13, Thomas Burrell JP reports many “vagues” arriving from Scotland. Newcastle Journal 838, 24 May 1755; Iain Bain (ed.), A memoir of Thomas Bewick, written by himself (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1979), pp. 25–6. C.Herrup, “Law and morality in seventeenth-century England”, Past and Present 106, 1985, pp. 102–23. Newcastle Journal 731, 21 January 1753; DURH 17/30, handbills by William Doxford in case against James Pinckney; ASSI 45/36/3/78 case of John Hall; DURH 17/23 Thomas Watson/Wilson, and William Jones and joseph Goodlad 1783; pursuit to Lincolnshire Newcastle Courant 5970, 12 March 1791; J.Styles, “Print and policing. Crime advertising in eighteenth-century provincial England”, in Policing and prosecution in Britain, 1750–1850, D.Hay & F. Snyder (eds) (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1989), pp. 55–111, based partly on the Newcastle newspapers and assize cases.

NOTES 221

19. Richard Brown report Newcastle Courant 2969, 17 November 1750; R.W.England, “Investigating homicides in northern England, 1800– 1824”, Criminal Justice History 6, 1985, p. 113. See Chapter 3 for conviction rates for homicides, and Chapter 5 for discussion of infanticide. 20. ASSI 45/27/1/61B and 61C, case against Elizabeth Ormston, Northumberland. 21. See R.W.Malcolmson, “Infanticide in the eighteenth century”, in Crime in England 1550–1800, J.S.Cockburn (ed.) (London: Methuen, 1977), pp. 200, 202, for this point about medical scepticism, and a curious report of a Northumberland case of a drowned baby that seems to have been current in Northampton but has no north-east provenance, as far as can be traced; ASSI 45/33/2/122 Dorothy Smith acquitted on all charges, Northumberland assize 1779; DURH 17/4 case against Ann Wood 1735; ASSI 45/32/1/121 Mary Hills 1775; brothers’ protection case; K.Wrightson, “Infanticide in European history”, Criminal Justice History 3, 1982, pp. 1–20. See Chapter 3 for convictions of rape. 22. DURH 17/3 1726 testimony of J.Mertchel, and DURH 17/23 1783, case of William Jones and Joseph Goodlad. 23. Beattie, “The pattern of crime in England 1660–1800”, Past and Present 62, 1974, p. 83 for reward legislation; C.B.Little & C.P.Sheffield, “Frontiers and criminal justice. English private prosecution societies and American vigilantism in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries”, American Sociological Review 48, 1983, p. 797; Rules for the Newcastle upon Tyne Association for the Prosecution of Felons (Newcastle upon Tyne, 1846), Newcastle Central Library; see A.Shubert, “Private initiative in law enforcement. Associations for the prosecution of felons, 1744–1856”, in Policing and punishment in nineteenth-century Britain, V.Bailey (ed.) (London: Croom Helm, 1981) pp. 25–41; for a comparative analysis, see L.Haywood, “A case for reward. The City of York association for the prosecution of felons, cheats etc.”, York Historian 8, 1988, pp. 52–9: there is evidence of 13 prosecuting associations in the Essex records; we have newspaper and other accounts: DRO EP/Ryt 14/1, Newcastle Courant 3001, 6 July 1751; 4792, 23 July 1753; 5348, 15 December 1779; Newcastle Journal 1876, 6 May 1775, Darlington association had its first success, a thief whipped. NRO zsw 351a (Stamfordham); HO 47/11 27 September 1790. 24. TWAS 592/1 (MF135) fol. 86, 8 November 1765 concerning Michael Steel. 25. Letter from Jedburgh, NRO QSB 52, Epiphany 1720, fol. 102; QSO 6, p. 35, expenses of three keepers; QSB 53, Midsummer 1720, fol. 102, letter from York. Newcastle Courant 6417, 28 September 1799—Alexander Mitchell escaped on the road from Glasgow to Edinburgh, while in the custody of constable John Clarke.

222 NOTES

26. NRO QSB 59, Easter 1723, fol. 131v (only the one party is clearly named, not the author). 27. Newcastle Courant 164 and 166, 15 June and 29 June 1728. 28. SP 44/139/252–6, Hewitt to Earl of Halifax 17 July 1760; A.R.Ekirch, Bound for America. The transportation of British convicts to the colonies, 1718–1775 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1987), p. 12 and n. 3; TWAS 616/1 for printed calendars from Coventry, and town clerk’s file 592/1, fols 56v, 64, 65v, 69v, 70; ASSI 45/6 unpag., Northumberland 1764, recognizance for John Hewitt to appear and prosecute William Fall. See Chapter 4. 29. Newcastle Courant 4480, 31 July 1762, Richard Stevens; TWAS 592/1, fol. 64, 17 January 1764; Newcastle Courant 4547, 12 November 1763; TWAS 616/1, 21 April 1767, warrant for Charles Pleasants; Newcastle Journal 1538, 26 November 1768; Newcastle Courant 5022 and 5216, 19 December 1772 and 14 September 1776. Holdsworth Hill, J.E.Blackett’s correspondence NRO ZBL/230, Newcastle Courant 5064, 16 October 1773 and Newcastle Chronicle 497, 11 September 1773; Newcastle Journal 1814, 19 February 1774; Newcastle Courant 5352, 24 May 1779; see J.Styles, “Sir John Fielding and the problem of criminal investigation in eighteenth-century England”, Transactions of the Royal Historical Society 5th series, 33, 1983, pp. 127–49, claims at least 26 of the 46 counties replied enthusastically; see B.J.Davey, Rural crime in the eighteenth century. North Lincolnshire, 1740–80 (Hull: University of Hull Press, 1994), pp. 139–140 for a Lincolnshire comparison; John Fielding’s circular of 22 September 1772, in the Blackett papers, NRO ZBL 230. 30. Newcastle Courant 2567, 5 March 1743, Sutton was acting with a man called Rounce who had apparently been captured and punished by this time; NRO ZBL 230, correspondence of John Erasmus Blackett during his year as mayor 1773, many pieces including the letters of 18 October from David Tinling, and 10 December from William Eden on behalf of Lord Rochford, as well as Newcastle upon Tyne’s printed handbill advertising the gang; on ship frauds, see R.Davis, The rise of the English shipping industry in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries (Newton Abbot: David & Charles, 1962), p. 130. 31. Donald: TWAS 1434/2 and 4, and Newcastle Courant 693, 5 August 1738, “continued upon his commitment” and 746, 3 August 1739 “Last Wednesday Macdonal, alias Dalton, was removed from Newgate to Ireland, to take his trial for a murder committed in that Kingdom. He has been confined in our jail these two years”.

NOTES 223

Chapter 3: The patterns of crimes and punishments 1. J.A.Sharpe, Crime in early modem England, 1550–1750 (London: Longman, 1984), p. 42; J.S.Cockburn, “Trial by the book? Fact and theory in the criminal process, 1558– 1625”, in Legal records and the historian, J.H.Baker (ed.) (London: Royal Historical Society, 1978), pp. 60–79 on types of documents; J.M.Beattie, “Judicial records and the measurement of crime in eighteenth-century England”, in Crime and criminal justice in Europe and Canada, L.A.Knafla (ed.) (Waterloo, Ont.: Wilfred Laurier University Press, 1981), pp. 127–45; Owen quoted by P.Ormerod, The death of economics (London: Faber & Faber, 1994), p. 92. 2. See the unspoken influence of N.Elias, The civilizing process. The history of manners and state formation and civilization, E.Jephcott (trs) (Oxford: Blackwell, 1994); Sharpe, Crime in early modern England on violence, pp. 57–9; J.S.Cockburn, “Patterns of violence in English society. Homicide in Kent, 1560–1985”, Past and Present 130, 1991, pp. 70–106, referring to earlier work by T.R.Gurr, “Historical trends in violent crime. A critical review”, Crime and Justice: An Annual Review of Research 3, 1981, pp. 295– 353, and L.Stone, “Interpersonal violence in English society, 1300–1980”, Past and Present 101, 1983, pp. 22–33. 3. D.Hay, “War, dearth and theft in the eighteenth century. The record of the English courts”, Past and Present 95, 1982, pp. 117–60; J.M.Beattie, Crime and the courts in England, 1660–1800 (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1986), pp. 199– 204; plus Sharpe, Crime in early modern England, pp. 42–3. 4. C.Emsley, Crime and society in England, 1750–1900 (London: Longman, 1987) ch. 2, p. 18; “counting offences is a useful exercise”, Sharpe, Crime in early modern England, p.42. 5. Sharpe, Crime in early modern England, comments p. 52; D.Levine & K.Wrightson, The making of an industrial society. Whickham, 1560–1750 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1991). 6. Note the occasional assize case resulting from cases in the consistory: ASSI 45/36/27 104–5 NL 1788, Jane Spearman wife of Robert against Joshua Hindmarsh, for debt and not discharging penance imposed by the Durham Consistory Court on him, at the King’s Bench, the debt being £20 1s and 2d costs of the suit at the Consistory. 7. Newcastle Journal 633, 25 May 1751, Mary Gilry, and Newcastle Courant 3012, 14 September 1751, Elizabeth Robinson, stealing a sixyear-old child; Beattie, “Pattern of crime”, pp. 57–8 for the rise of summary jurisdiction in the countryside; N.Landau, The justices of the peace, 1679–1760 (Berkeley, Cal.: University of California Press, 1983) on summary justice at petty sessions. 8. Pat Mayhew et al., The 1988 British crime survey (London: HMSO, 1989), pp. 15–17, and Mike Hough & Pat Mayhew, The British crime

224 NOTES

9. 10.

11.

12.

13.

14.

15. 16. 17. 18. 19.

20.

21.

22. 23.

survey. First report (London: HMSO, 1983), Home Office Research Studies no. 76. Sharpe, Crime in early modem England, pp. 44–9; Beattie, Crime and the courts, pp. 199–201. NRO QSO 5, pp. 160ff.; 189 sheep, 73 horses and 6 cows, stolen from 102 people, 2 of them women. Their value was calculated as more than £320. Note that there are no extant assize records for this year, but the quarter sessions record few arrests for animal thefts. Peter King, “Newspaper reporting, prosecution practice and perceptions of urban crime. The Colchester crime wave of 1765”, Continuity and Change 2, 1987, pp. 423– 54; J.Styles, “Print and policing. Crime advertising in eighteenth-century provincial England”, in Policing and prosecution in Britain, 1750–1850, D.Hay & F.Snyder (eds) (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1989), pp. 55–111. In 1750 17 thefts and one homicide were reported, but 59 accused thieves were indicted; Sharpe, Crime in early modern England, p. 48; J.A.Sharpe, “Quantification and the history of crime in early modern England. Problems and results”, Historical Social Research 15 (4), 1990, p. 28. At the quarter sessions over the period 1719–1800, thefts were in Durham 33.4%, in Newcastle 31.2%, and in Northumberland 16.8%, of all individual indictments. Newcastle Courant 2548, 23 October 1742; Newcastle journal 187, 30 October 1742; ASSI 45/22/3/16–8, Alexander Campbell, accused by Adam Bird of North Shields, barber. Newcastle Courant 2952, 21 July, and 2953, 28 July 1750. Newcastle Courant 5765, 7 April 1787; 5573, 30 August 1783. Sharpe, Crime in early modern England, p. 60, Beattie, Crime and the courts, pp. 77ff. ASSI 45/21/3/128–43. ASSI 45/32/2/106–14, Edward Mann, 1776; ASSI 45/24/4/26, John Brown, 1752; ASSI 45/28/3/128, Pearce Bowden and others, 1767; ASSI 45/20/1/99B Thomas Pearson. M.Gaskill, “The displacement of Providence. Policing and prosecution in seventeenth- and eighteenth-century England”, Continuity and Change 11, 1996, p. 352. R.W.Malcolmson, “Infanticide in the eighteenth century”, in Crime in England 1550–1800, J. S. Cockburn (ed.) (London: Methuen, 1977), p. 189; Men’s conviction rate 40% (half of them on lesser charges), women’s 12%; the number of accused in the region was 286 including Berwick; Newcastle had the highest conviction rates for both genders, at more than half of men and a third of women being found guilty either fully or partially. 40 sentenced: 19 hanged, including Berwick. Gaskill, “The displacement of Providence”.

NOTES 225

24. Vardy Newcastle Courant 591, 21 August 1736, ASSI 41/3; Newcastle Journal 21, 25 August 1739; ASSI 45/37/3/193 Mark Selby; Davison ASSI 45/33/3/24–27, ASSI 41/7, Newcastle Courant 5504, 30 March 1782 “Escaped from the workhouse at Hexham…”, George Davison, by trade a shoemaker. 25. Anne Milburne: PRO, SP 36/8/144–5, 184–5, 262–3, SP 36/9/6–17 (11 quoted). 26. Thomas Pearson, SP 36/48/133–6; Job Lawson, William Hall and John Walker, NRO, QSO 8, p. 554; Richard Curtis, SP 36/138/13–15 and ASSI 45/25/4/38–44; on “idiocy”, see P.Rushton, “Idiocy, the family and the community in early modern England”, in From “idiocy” to “mental deficiency”. Historical perspectives on people with learning difficulties, A.Digby & D.Wright (eds) (London: Routledge, 1996), pp. 44– 64; Newcastle Courant 5317, 22 August 1778, in Northumberland Jonathon Newton was condemned but reprieved “before the judges left town” and Newcastle Journal 123, 8 August 1741, William Scourfield, horsestealing, death, “but was reprieved before the judges left the Town”; Newcastle Courant 2957, 25 August 1750. 27. DURH 19/4, unpaginated, 12 and 27 February 1789; Beattie, Crime and the courts, p. 125; W.Blackstone, Commentaries on the laws of England (London: 1766–9), vol. 4, p. 215; ASSI 45/31/2/40–42E Geo Davison, and Newcastle Courant 5108, 20 August 1774 and 5109, 27 August, for account of his attempt to escape on the day of his execution, yet he died “penitent”. 31 people were accused of rape, attempted rape or accessory to rape, one of them a woman. One was hanged, one condemned but reprieved for transportation, one pilloried, one imprisoned and one fined. 28. DURH 16/2: the newspapers wrongly reported the conviction as one of rape, Newcastle Courant 5473, 25 August 1781, Robert Thompson, pilloried at Chester-le-Street; Newcastle Courant 5976, 23 April 1791, John Quin escaped from one of the constables of North Shields on his way to Morpeth gaol—34 years old, 5ft 4ins, bald on the forehead, ASSI 45/37/2/141–4. 29. Thomas Huntley, Durham assizes 1763, DURH 16/1; Anna Clark, Women’s silence, men’s violence. Sexual assault in England, 1770–1845 (London: Pandora/Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1987); Heugh was noted by a southern commentator as an unusual horror, E.Hughes (ed.), Letters of Spencer Cowper, Dean of Durham, 1746–74, Surtees Society vol. 165 (Durham: Andrews, 1950), p. 188; see case in ASSI 45/33/3/101–2 Newcastle 1779, of Mary Walker alleging that Isabella Porteous, wife of Thomas, yeoman, was enticed into sex with a “gentleman”, Mr Wilkinson; Trotter, Newcastle Journal 521, 1 April 1749 and Newcastle Courant 2933, 10 March 1750. Generally, see S.D’Cruze, “Approaching the history of rape and sexual violence. Notes towards research”, Women’s History Review 1, 1993, pp. 377–96.

226 NOTES

30. Clark, Women’s Silence, p. 25; L.Clark & D.Lewis, Rape. The price of coercive sexuality (Toronto: Women’s Press, 1977) for the overall thesis of open-territory victims; a Northumberland example was ASSI 45/23/4/ 88B George Westgarth, 1748, rape of Margaret Mackdonald; also ASSI 45/34/4/92 Newcastle, James Guthrie and Andrew Charlton 1783, rape of Margaret King on the town moor. 31. Homicides, murder, manslaughter and attempted homicide indictments: Durham 141, Newcastle 72, Northumberland 65, Berwick 8. See Beattie, Crime and the courts, pp. 75–6, 401–2, 457; by the last quarter of the century assault cases made up 33.8% of Newcastle’s quarter sessions business, and more than 47% in Northumberland, 1776–1800; quarter sessions appeal in Home Office Papers Geo. III, 1773–75, p. 534, Robert Armstrong 1775 and NRO QSO 11, p. 142; Joseph Hall, Northumberland 1765: Newcastle Journal 1369, 10 August 1765. 32. In Newcastle, 47 of the 65 known misdemeanours before 1765 were illegal trade practices, after which they vanish, presumably to lower courts; C.M.F.Ferguson, Law and order on the Anglo-Scottish border, 1603–1707 (PhD thesis, Department of History, University of St Andrew’s, 1981), and S. Mercer, “Crime in late seventeenth-century Yorkshire. An exception to a national pattern?”, Northern History 27, 1991, pp. 108, 110, 112, and table 1 p. 111, where it is shown that the majority of indictments at the assizes were for misdemeanours of various kinds. Misdemeanours alone were 8.4% of Durham’s assize business, 11. 5% of Newcastle’s, 6.4% of Northumberland’s. 33. T.C.Curtis, “Quarter sessions appearances and their background. A seventeenth- century regional study”, in Crime in England, 1550–1800, J.S.Cockburn (ed.) (London: Methuen, 1977), pp. 135–54; W.J.King. “How high is high? Disposing of dung in sixteenth-century Prescott”, Sixteenth-Century Journal 23, 1992, pp. 443–57. 34. Newcastle Courant 3001, 6 July 1751, and 4000, 2 June 1753. There are earlier advertisements from individual estate-owners threatening prosecution of game offenders. Stephen Oliver the younger, Scenes and recollections of fly-fishing, in Northumberland, Cumberland and Westmorland (London: 1834), p. 185, remembers that since the building of a dam at Acklington, across the Coquet, “about sixty years ago”, “salmon are very rarely caught there”, but salmon trout were very common near Wark-worth; Michael W.Marshall, Tyne waters. A river and its salmon (London: H.F. & G.Witherby, 1992), p. 21, “Despite the rise of riverside industries and increased river traffic during the eighteenth century, the Tyne was still a prodigious salmon water”. 35. ASSI 41/3, unpaginated 1738, William Whealams and Luke Rutherforde; ASSI 45/34/4/182–6, Newcastle Courant 5576, 23 August 1783 for account of trial of Rev. Dr Scott of Simonburn, and letter to London by John Tweddell and Nathaniel Smith, convinced that the victim Thomas

NOTES 227

36.

37.

38.

39.

40.

Aynsley was telling the truth, and Scott had absconded, HO 42/12/124; Beattie, “Pattern of crime”, p. 58; William Clemenson 1790, DURH 17/ 9. Stealing from wrecks, Northumberland, NRO QSO 9, pp. 92, 115–16; T.Richmond, The local records of Stockton and the neigbourhood… (Stockton and London: William Robinson, 1868), p. 78; smugglers, Newcastle Courant 5309, 27 June 1778; 6449, 17 May 1800; Newcastle Chronicle 1494, 16 February 1793; Graham Smith, Smuggling in Yorkshire, 1700–1850 (Newbury: Countryside Books, 1994). The percentage of property offences in the assizes seems low compared with most other counties, Sharpe, Crime in early modem England, p. 55; in the North-East there was a total of 4,396 thefts over 82 years, an average of 53.6 per annum, ranging from 37.5 in the 1720s, 34.8 in the 1730s, to 83.6 in the 1780s, and 75.7 in the 1790s (figures refer to all thefts at both courts; see Table 3.1); the minimum was 15 in 1761; P.J.R.King, Crime, law and society in Essex, 1740–1820 (PhD thesis, University of Cambridge, 1984), p. 38, and Beattie, “Pattern of crime”, p. 83 have much higher figures than these; the idea of a violent past is criticized in one north country case study, A.Macfarlane & S.Harrison, The justice and the mare’s ale. Law and disorder in seventeenth-century England (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1981). L.Radzinowicz, A history of English criminal law and its administration from 1750 (London: Stevens, 1948–68), vol. 1, p. 633, 1742, removal of benefit of clergy from sheep-stealing; King, Crime, law and society, p. 37, figures from 1740–1819; Beattie, “Pattern of crime”, pp. 56, 73–4; A.Shubert, “Private initiative in law enforcement. Associations for the prosecuting of felons, 1744–1856” in Policing and punishment in nineteenth-century Britain, V.Bailey (ed.) (London: Croom Helm, 1981), pp. 25–1; see Chapter 2 in present volume for outline of prosecuting associations in the North-East, and analysis of the rogues files. D.J.Rowe, “The North East”, in The Cambridge social history of Britain, 1750–1950, F.M.L.Thompson (ed.) (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990), vol. 1, p. 419, after P.M.Deane & W.A.Cole, British economic growth 1688–1959. Trends and structure, 2nd edn (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1969), p. 103, gives 230,000 in 1700, rising to 320,000; higher estimates in P. Brassley, The agricultural economy of Northumberland and Durham (New York and London: Garland Publishing, 1985), p. 17, who points out that the density in Durham was higher, and estimates 140,000 in 1700 in both counties, and see F.Musgrove, The North of England (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1990), p. 255, for rankings, Newcastle falling from fourth to ninth 1700–1800, and p. 258 for the region’s slow population growth. Averages of thefts: war=50.53, peace=53.98, the postwar years=66.3, though there are only 6 years in the last group, compared with 32 years

228 NOTES

41.

42.

43. 44.

45.

46.

47.

48.

of war and 44 of peace; J.Howard, An account of the principal lazarettos in Europe with various papers relating to the plague…(Warrington: William Eyres, 1789), tables 11–13, pp. 254–5; S.Romilly, Observations on a late publication, “Letter from a gentleman abroad”, 1785, quoted in King, Crime, law and society, p. 69; Beattie, “Pattern of crime”, p. 78; Hay, “War, dearth and theft”; S.Box, Recession, crime and punishment (London: Macmillan, 1987). An address to the ministers, church-wardens, and parishioners of Newcastle upon Tyne (New-castle upon Tyne: J.Barber and W.Charmley, 1755) by “A Parishioner”, pp. 10–11, who, significantly, went on to demand better watches and street lighting; Beattie, “Pattern of crime”, p. 83 and Crime and the courts, p. 239. J.Bellamy, Crime and public order in England in the later middle ages (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1973) for studies of North Yorkshire gangs in the fourteenth century. Newcastle Courant 5941, 21 August 1790. J.Hodgson, “Calendars of the prisoners confined in the high castle in Newcastle upon Tyne, at the assizes for Northumberland in the years 1628 and 1629”, Archaeologia Aeliana 1, 1822, pp. 149–63. Proportions of robberies as a percentage of assize thefts: Newcastle 24.2%, Northumberland 16.3%, Durham 13.1%. The Grahams, ASSI 45/22/3/47; John Mills, DURH 17/4; George Wilson, ASSI 45/35/ 3/2; Isabella Wilson, Newcastle Courant 5902, 21 November 1789; Broadwater, ASSI 45/37/3/45; Tom Armstrong, Newcastle Journal 590, 25 August 1750, the judges on reprieving him before leaving town recommended “life imprisonment”, but in fact he was discharged the next year; TWAS 540/3 unpaginated, 15 January 1717; sample of 63 accused thieves from depositions and newspapers; see P.J.R.King, “Decision-makers and decision-making in the English criminal law”, Historical Journal 27, 1984, pp. 25–58. A.Morris, Women, crime and criminal justice (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1987), p. 20 for modern data; Emsley, Crime and society in England, pp. 27–8; J.M.Beattie, “The criminality of women in eighteenth-century England”, Journal of Social History 8 (4), 1975, pp. 81–2, 91; Beattie, Crime and the courts, p. 239. M.M.Feeley & D.L.Little, “The vanishing female. The decline of women in the criminal process, 1687–1912”, Law and Society Review 25, 1991, pp. 719–57; P.King, “Female offenders, work and life-cycle change in late eighteenth-century London”, Continuity and Change 11, 1996, pp. 61–90; see G.Walker, “Women, theft and the world of stolen goods”, in Women, crime and the courts in early modem England, J.Kermode & G.Walker (eds) (London: UCL Press, 1994), pp. 81–105. Sharpe, Crime in early modem England, p. 65; Emsley, Crime and society in England, pp. 212–14 for regional variations.

NOTES 229

49. Newcastle Courant 536, 2 August 1735; 4376, 9 August 1760; notebook of Rev. Isaac Basire, Dean and Chapter Library, Durham, Hunter MSS 137, unpaginated: 1675 “virgin—none dye. At Newcastle in this case, ye towne gives the Judge a paire of rich gloves”. Of 82 annual assizes, 47 in Newcastle, 21 in Durham and 17 in Northumberland did not condemn anyone to death. 50. NRO, QSO 10, p. 588, for example, indictment quashed because “there being no such parish as Haydon”; in Northumberland quarter sessions, 20.2% of men’s indictments were quashed, or lapsed through lack of prosecution, or were found invalid by the grand jury, compared with 11. 6% of women’s; in Newcastle, 13.7% and 8.9% respectively. 51. Beattie, Crime and the courts, pp. 406, 424–5, 506; partial verdicts on charges of stealing from people (different kinds of robbery) or buildings: men 15.2%, women 27.4%. 52. 383 condemned in the three assizes, 71 executed (18.5%); 743 assize theft convictions, 408 transported, 42 executed. Of those convicted of robbery and stealing from buildings, 21.60%1 of the condemned were executed, of horse- and sheep-stealing, 8.8%. Newcastle: 24.1% (14) of 58 condemned executed; Northumberland: 18.6% (29) of 156; Durham: 16.6% (28) of 169. 53. Beattie, Crime and the courts, p. 546 on shift in punishments in the 1770s, and pp. 548— 9 on the 1718 act and reduced use of imprisonment in the Surrey courts; HO 42/17 298 (1782 northern circuit sentences, James Walker)—see Chapter 8: following the 1779 Penitentiary Act stipulating that until new houses were built the old were to be treated as penitentiaries, Beattie, Crime and the courts, pp. 575–7; for the substitution of branding in legislation, see J.H.Baker, An introduction to English legal history, 3rd edn (London: Butterworth, 1990), pp. 588–9. 54. Note the combined sentences of whipping and imprisonment were at nearly 20% in the 1770s, and 14% in the 1780s. This return to the combined sentence (which had been common only in the 1730s) really characterizes this period. 55. Beattie, Crime and the courts, pp. 548, 551; B.J.Davey, Rural crime in the eighteenth century, North Lincolnshire, 1740–80 (Hull: University of Hull Press, 1994), pp. 101– 2; J.Innes, “Prisons for the poor: English bridewells, 1555–1800”, in Labour, law and crime. An historical perspective, F.Snyder & D.Hay (eds) (London: Tavistock Publications, 1987), p. 91. 56. Address to the Ministers, p. 11; Newcastle Courant 5894, 26 September 1789.

Chapter 4: The social organization of crime

230 NOTES

Chapter 4: The social organization of crime 1. Newcastle Courant 5677, 30 July 1785. 2. T.C.Curtis & F.M.Hale, “English thinking about crime, 1530–1620”, in Crime and criminal justice in Europe and Canada L.Knafla (ed.) (Waterloo, Ont.: Wilfred Laurier University Press, 1981), pp. 111–26 on the supposed subculture of skilled criminals at large; John L.McMullan, The canting crew. London’s criminal underworld, 1550–1700 (Brunswick, N.J.: Rutgers University Press, 1984); G.Salgado, The Elizabethan underworld (Gloucester: Alan Sutton, 1984), and the Penguin edition of cony-catchers and bawdy baskets—An anthology of Elizabethan low-life. G.Salgado (ed.) (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1972); P.Linebaugh, The London hanged. Crime and civil society in the eighteenth century (London: Allen Lane, 1991). 3. NRO, QSO 6, p. 403; QSB 67, Epiphany 1726, fol. 34; QSB 69, Midsummer 1726, fols 27–9, 31, 21, 36; he was reprieved for transportation after being condemned for highway robbery at Durham in 1726, SP 36/21/196–7; advertisement, Newcastle Courant 243, 20 December 1729, recorded also in QSO 7, p. 74. 4. Newcastle Courant 5017, 14 November 1772; Peter King, “Newspaper reporting, prosecution practice and perceptions of urban crime. The Colchester crime wave of 1765”, Continuity and Change 2, 1987, pp. 423–54. John Mills, DURH 17/4, 7 May 1731. 5. J.Ketmode & G.Walker (eds), Women, crime and the courts in early modem England (London: UCL Press, 1994), pp. 4–5, and review by Barbara Hanawalt in Social History Society Bulletin 20, 1995, pp. 58–60. 6. Westgarth TWAS QS/NC/1/7 (formerly 540/5), fols 168v, 177, 198v, 206, 249, 251v. 7. J.H.Baker, An introduction to English legal history 2nd edn. (London: Butterworth, 1990), pp. 395–6; DURH 27/9, marginal note on indictment, “wife should not have been indicted”. 8. ASSI 45/35/3/2, advice probably by Nathaniel Clayton, a former attorney who in 1785 became Town Clerk in Newcastle until 1822; E.Mackenzie, A descriptive and historical account of the town and county of Newcastle upon Tyne, including the borough of Gateshead (Newcastle: Mackenzie & Dent, 1827), vol. 2, p. 621; ASSI 43/9, pp. 166– 7, comment by the anonymous author of book of precedents derived from the northern circuit during the last 20 years of the eighteenth century; Mr Justice Wilson’s decision in this case was questioned by Lord Kenyon. 9. ASSI 43/9 p. 17. See J.M.Beattie, Crime and the courts in England, 1660–1800 (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1986), pp. 237– 8. 10. ASSI 45/24/3/lA and 1B, and Newcastle Courant 2962, 29 September 1750. 11. ASSI 45/27/2/151–8; SP 44/88/187–9, report of the judge solicited by the Mayor, Recorder and Aldermen of Newcastle.

NOTES 231

12. ASSI 45/34/4/10–18. 13. ASSI 45/28/2/64B, and I.Bain (ed.) A memoir of Thomas Bewick, written by himself (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1979), p. 39: he was apprenticed to William and Ralph Beilby. 14. ASSI 45/22/4/73B-L, Newcastle Courant 2601, 22 October 1743; 2603, 12 November 1753; 2605, 26 November 1753; 2641, 4 August 1744; 2643, 18 August 1744; Newcastle Journal 238, 29 October 1743; 277, 28 July 1744; 280, 18 August 1744; J.Maben, A true copy of the papers wrote by James Maben…(Newcastle: 1744). 15. ASSI 45/30/2/33; ASSI 45/28/1/14E and 65A-F; Roger Wells, “Sheeprustling in Yorkshire in the age of the industrial and agricultural revolutions”, Northern History 20, 1984, pp. 127–45; Newcastle Courant 4638, 10 August 1765. 16. James Graham, discussed in SP 36/27/288, 11 August 1732: he committed crimes with Edward Laidler (Ladler), transported from Northumberland in 1733, and Batholomew Morrison, hanged in Newcastle in 1733. 17. See Florike Egmond, Underworlds. Organized crime in The Netherlands, 1650–1800 (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1993), p. 5 for a firm definition of a gang as four or more people, committing serious crimes and organized in a professional manner. 18. Angus Fraser, The gypsies, 2nd edn (Oxford: Blackwell, 1995) for Faw/ Bayley, pp. 114, 116, 117, 118, 139, 171, 182; the Oxford English Dictionary reports a mid-eighteenth-century usage from Tyneside parish records. 19. NRO, QSO 5, pp. 60, 64, 74, 86, 110, 120, 124, 340, 341, 343, 354, 394, 473; in an unpaginated appendix to this volume are some accounts of costs for apprehending and maintaining faws in both 1712 and 1717; QSB 51, Michaelmas 1719, fol. 29; QSB 55 Easter 1721, fol. 11. QSB 65, Midsummer 1725 fols 8–9 for James Spotswood (despite the potential confusion with the name of William Fall’s later group, the man had been associated with these earlier “faws” in the mid-1720s). 20. Fraser, The gypsies, pp. 136, 171 and passim; Egmond, Underworlds for gypsy gangs in The Netherlands, ch. 5; note torture of gypsies, P.Corrigan & D.Sayer, The great arch. English state formation as cultural revolution (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1985) p. 65. 21. Newcastle Courant 2550, 6 November 1742 and 2590, 13 August 1743, 4963, 2 November 1771; Newcastle Journal 199, 22 January 1743; 228, 13 August 1743; 238, 29 October 1743; ASSI 45/22/3/15; ASSI 45/22/2/ 14B-D. 22. The sources on this gang are huge. Primary among them are the quarter sessions records, NRO QSO 8, pp. 484 quoted here, 497; QSO 9, p. 390 where Jane Clark in 1760 was left farmed out to an aunt, wife of Archibald Keenly, was now aged 12, after being in the house of

232 NOTES

23.

24.

25.

26.

27. 28.

correction for 8 years; Newcastle Courant 3032, 1 February; 3037, 7 March 1752; 3043, 18 April 1752 for the transportation account; Newcastle Journal 671, 15 February 1752 quoted here; 800, 24 August 1754; the number transported was probably 17, at £5 per head rather than the newspaper account’s 18. Newcastle Journal 800, 24 August 1754; Newcastle Courant 3095, 28 April 1753: arrest of Margaret Thompson, alias Faw, to house of correction for theft until next sessions; Newcastle Journal 732, same date, says “alias Fall”, for stealing several things out of the house of Mrs Batty, innkeeper of this town. Elizabeth Rochester, who escaped from Durham gaol in August 1754, while heavily pregnant, was also described as a Faw; both she and her husband had been whipped during the previous two years in Durham and Northumberland: Newcastle Journal 801, 31 August 1754, and Newcastle Courant 4063, 10 August, and 4066, 31 August. A.Roger Ekirch, Bound for America. The transportation of British convicts to the colonies, 1718–1775 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1987), p. 12; D.Hay, Crime, authority and the criminal law: Staffordshire, 1750–1800 (PhD thesis, University of Warwick, 1975), pp. 168–70; Town Clerk’s correspondence, TWAS 592/1 (MF135) fol. 69v to John Hewitt from Gibson (deputy Town Clerk), expressing regrets that there were no Coventry people in Newcastle, but confirming that William and Margaret Fall were transported from here in 1752; he is to dispatch the certificate, and the gaoler’s widow can confirm; ASSI 41/5 unpaginated for Northumberland 1764, recognizance for John Hewitt of the City of Coventry £100, “that he appear at the next Assizes…and prosecute William Fall otherwise Smith for the felony”; also for John Brown of Hinkley, Leicestershire, £50 to appear. Newcastle Journal 1455, 25 April 1767; identical version in the earlier York Courant 2163, 14 April 1767; he had been committed to Northumberland gaol in 1764: Courant 4576, 2 June 1764 when it was said, “he writes a remarkably fine hand”, and reported that he had served as a sailor since his parents’ transportation. Newcastle Courant 4570, 21 April 1764: Coventry, “one Jane Smith, alias Fall, the wife of William Fall, formerly transported from this town, was found guilty of felony, and received sentence of death”. ASSI 45/35/1/232–6; ASSI 45/36/2/199–212; Newcastle Courant 5834 and 5835, 2 and 9 August 1788. HO 42/18/28 has a 1791 listing for May which includes John and William Winter, aged 24 and 26 respectively; Newcastle Courant 5996 and 5997, 10 and 17 September 1791 arrest of the two Jane Clarks and Eleanor and Matthew Clark for murdering Margaret Crozier with William Winter, who was reported as having confessed in gaol, accusing Jane Clark the younger of strangling her with a handkerchief; also arrested Elizabeth

NOTES 233

29.

30.

31.

32.

Stewart, Charlotte Stewart and Jane Gregg and her six children, all suspected to be associates; 5998, 24 September 1791; 6044, 11 August 1792; Newcastle Chronicle 1467, 11 August 1792; for Walter Clarke, see ASSI 45/37/3/225–39; ASSI 45/38/1/ 35–46 and Newcastle Courant 6, 098, 17 August 1793. See Some account of the murder of Margaret Crozier of the Raw, near Elsdon, and of the punishment inflicted on the offenders, from Mr Robert White’s manuscripts (Newcastle upon Tyne: M.A.Richardson, 1842). Constable’s statement about Walter Clarke, ASSI 45/38/1/36; Newcastle Courant 5493 and 5494, 12 and 19 January 1782; 5592, 13 December 1783—Thomas Colpitts, alias Stuart, escaped—5 guineas reward; 5685, 24 September 1785 Thomas Colpitts, “a notorious offender”, to the House of Correction at Cockermouth. Ann Colpitts was transported from Durham in 1786, HO 13/14 p. 316; HO 42/10/275; HO 42/11/70. See G. Bell, “The Bishop Auckland Gang”, Journal of the Northumberland and Durham Family History Society 20 (4), 1995, pp. 131–3. Our thanks to George Bell for a copy of this useful account of the gang. Newcastle Courant 5765, 7 April 1787; E.Mackenzie & M.Ross, An historical, topographical and descriptive view of the County Palatine of Durham (Newcastle upon Tyne: Mackenzie & Dent, 1834), vol. 1, p. 84; “eggler” probably refers to a heckler or hecklemaker, which the Winters claimed to be (as did earlier faws and bayleys) making devices involved in linen production. Beverly Lemire, “The theft of clothes and popular consumerism in early modern England”, Journal of Social History 24, 1990, p. 267; John Styles, “Sir John Fielding and the problem of criminal investigation in eighteenth-century England”, Transactions of the Royal Historical Society 5th Series 33, 1983, pp. 127–49: one problem was “the very ease with which an offender could escape discovery by flight to a part of the country remote from the scene of his offence” (p. 132).

Chapter 5: Common and unnatural crimes 1. D.Elliott, Gender, delinquency and society. A comparative study of male and female offenders and juvenile justice in Britain (Aldershot: Avebury, 1988); A.Worrall, Offending women. Female lawbreakers and the criminal justice system (London: Routledge, 1990). 2. J.M.Beattie, Crime and the courts in England 1660–1800 (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1986), pp. 237–43, 436–9; and “The criminality of women in eighteenth-century England”, Journal of Social History 8, 1975, pp. 80–116; V.A.C. Gatrell, The hanging tree. Execution and the English people, 1770–1868 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1994), p. 336; D.Hay, “War, dearth and theft in the eighteenth century.

234 NOTES

3.

4.

5. 6.

7.

8. 9. 10. 11.

The record of the English courts”, Past and Present 95, 1982, pp. 117–60, p. 135; N.E.H.Hull, Female felons. Women and serious crime in colonial Massachusetts (Urbana and Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 1987), p. 1, 129–38; P.King, “Crime, law and society in Essex, 1740–1820” (PhD thesis, University of Cambridge, 1984), pp. 363–5; P. King, “Decision-makers and decision-making in the English criminal law, 1750–1800”, Historical Journal 27, 1984, pp. 25–58, p. 35; R.B. Shoemaker, Prosecution and punishment. Petty crime and the law in London and rural Middlesex, c.1660–1725 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), pp. 212–13; G.S.Rowe, “Women’s crime and criminal administration in Pennsylvania, 1763– 1790”, Pennsylvania Magazine of History and Biography 109, 1985, pp. 335–68, p. 366. J.Innes & J.Styles, “The crime wave. Recent writing on crime and criminal justice in eighteenth-century England”, Journal of British Studies 25, 1986, pp. 400–401; J.M. Beattie, “The criminality of women”, pp. 80– 116; J.Kermode & G.Walker (eds), Women, crime and the courts in early modern England (London: UCL Press, 1994). F.E.Dolan, Dangerous familiars. Representations of domestic crime in England, 1550–1700 (Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press, 1994), pp. 5–6; and Joan W.Scott, quoted by Dolan, p. 6. See Newcastle Courant 683, 26 May 1738 for the interest generated by her career. Jonas Hanway, The defects of police. The cause of immorality with various proposals for preventing hanging and transportation (London: 1775), p. xxiii. G.T.Wilkinson (ed.), The Newgate calendar (London: Cardinal, 1991; first published 1816), pp. 69–70, 96, 170; P.Rawlings, Drunks, whores and idle apprentices. Criminal biographies of the eighteenth century (London: Routledge, 1992), pp. 22–3; L.D. Schwarz, London in an age of industrialization. Entrepreneurs, labour force and living conditions, 1700–1850 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992), p. 18; Gentleman’s Magazine 20, 1750, pp. 532–3; on the role of prostitutes in fostering crime, see the column by a “rake” in Newcastle Courant 2968, 10 November 1750. Annual Register 1773, p. 131; Gentleman’s Magazine 43, 1773, p. 461; Newcastle Journal 1793, 23 September 1773. See listing of Isobel Wilson/Dovey Bell for horse-stealing, “Hue and Cry”, Newcastle Courant 5,902, 21 November 1789. See Chapter 3, Table 3.3. We are preparing an edition of this volume for the Surtees Society. Beattie notes that close to 40% of defendants in property cases heard before the Southwark Borough Sessions were women. Beattie, Crime and the courts in England, p. 241.

NOTES 235

12. Beattie, Crime and the courts in England, p. 240 and “The criminality of women”, p. 84. 13. For example, in Newcastle, the proportion of theft charges against females grew from 42.3% (248) of all female indictments between 1725 and 1749, to 52.2% (268) between 1750 and 1774, and to 57% (220) between 1775 and 1800. 14. O.Hufton, “Women without men. Widows and spinsters in Britain and France in the Eighteenth Century”, Journal of Family History 9, 1984, p. 363. 15. B.Lemire, “The theft of clothes and popular consumerism in early modern England”, Journal of Social History 24, 1990, pp. 255–76, p. 258; L.Weatherill, Consumer behaviour and material culture in Britain 1660–1760 (London: Routledge, 1988), p. 195. 16. In Durham, for example, only about one-sixth of victims of female accused thieves were female, and as few as 1 in 20 victims of males. 17. P.King, “Female offenders, work and life-cycle change in late eighteenthcentury London”, Continuity and Change 11, 1996, pp. 61–90, p. 61; G.Walker, “Women, theft and the world of stolen goods”, in Women, crime and the courts in early modern England, J.Kermode & G.Walker (eds) (London: UCL Press, 1994), pp. 81–105. 18. King, “Female offenders”. 19. King’s study of London women found that 58.9% of offenders were single and only one-third (34.4%) were married; widows accounted for 6. 7%; King, “Female offenders”, p. 69; in Newcastle the proportions were: single, 41.3%, married 42.8%, widows 15%; in Northumberland: single, 54.5%, married 28.9% and widows, 12.4%. 20. Hughes (ed.), Letters of Spencer Cowper, 1 September 1748, p. 102; K.Wilson, The sense of the people. Politics, culture and imperialism in England, 1715–1785 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), p. 288. 21. J.Ellis, “A dynamic society. Social relations in Newcastle-upon-Tyne, 1660–1760”, in The transformation of English provincial towns, Peter Clark (ed.) (London: Hutchinson, 1984), pp. 190–227, p. 197; Wilson, The sense of the people, pp. 288–93; J.Langton, “Residential patterns in pre-industrial cities. Some case studies from seventeenth-century Britain”, Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers 65, 1975, p. 16; C.M. Fraser & K.Emsley, Tyneside (Newton Abbot: David & Charles, 1973), pp. 40–41, 63, 67, 74; J.M.Fewster, “The keelmen of Tyneside in the eighteenth century”, Durham University Journal 19, 1957–8, pp. 24–33, pp. 29–31; D.Levine & K.Wrightson, The making of an industrial society. Whickham, 1560–1750 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1991). 22. L.Weatherill, Consumer behaviour and material culture, p. 52; Wilson, The sense of the people, pp. 289–90.

236 NOTES

23. In Leiden in 1749 there were 79.7 men for every 100 women; in Delft the figure was 73.3 for every 100; Beattie, “The criminality of women”, pp. 80–116, and Crime and the courts in England, pp. 237–43, 436–9; E.Kloek, “Criminality and gender in Leiden’s Confessieboken, 1678– 1794”, Criminal Justice History 11, 1990, pp. 1–29; G.S.Rowe, “Women’s crime and criminal administration”, p. 342. 24. See figures for Leeds in 1775, given by P.J.Corfield, The impact of English towns, 1700–1800 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1982), p. 64; M.Berg, The age of manufactures 1700–1820 (London: Fontana, 1985), pp. 164–5; P.Brassley, The agricultural economy of Northumberland and Durham (New York and London: Garland Publishing, 1985), p. 24; “A Parishioner”, An address to the ministers, church-wardens, and parishioners of Newcastle upon Tyne, 1755; E.Mackenzie, A descriptive and historical account of the town and county of Newcastle upon Tyne [2 vols] (1827), vol. 2, p. 733, gives the Newcastle population of 1801 as 56.8% female, higher than Leeds and others cited in Berg; M.Carlson, “A Trojan horse of worldliness?”, in Women of the golden age, E.Kloek et al. (eds) (Hilversum: Verloren, 1994), pp. 87–96, p. 94, n. 24; J.Ellis, “On the town. Women in Augustan England”, History Today 45 (December 1995), p. 20; King, “Female offenders”, pp. 81–2; P.Earle, “The female labour market in London in the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries”, Economic History Review 2nd series 62, 1989, pp. 328–53; Schwarz, London in an age of industrialization, pp. 14–18. 25. Ellis, “On the town”, p. 23; Hufton, “Women without men”, p. 363; B.Hill, “Rural-urban migration of women and their employment in towns”, Rural History 5, 1994, pp. 185–94. 26. Neither Newcastle nor Durham have many quarter sessions papers apart from the order books, and Northumberland’s cease in the 1740s. 27. Newcastle Courant 3083, 3 February 1753. 28. B.A.Hanawalt, “Women before the law. Females as felons and prey in fourteenth-century England”, in A social historical perspective, vol. 1, Women and the criminal law, D.K.Weisberg (ed.) (Cambridge, Mass.: Schenteman Publishing, 1982), pp. 169–79; J.Styles, “Clothing the North. The supply of non-elite clothing in the eighteenth-century north of England”, Textile History 25, 1994, p. 156; B.Lemire, Fashion’s favourite. The cotton trade and the consumer in Britain 1660–1800 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1991), p. 182; Lemire, “The theft of clothes”; M.Berg, “Women’s consumption and the industrial classes of eighteenth-century England”, Journal of Social History 30, 1996, pp. 415–34. 29. For a critique of the idea of separate spheres see A.Vickery, “Golden age to separate spheres? A review of the categories and chronology of English women’s history”, Historical Journal 36, 1993, pp. 383–414.

NOTES 237

30. ASSI 45/22/3/14B-D 1743; ASSI 45/25/1/35–6 1753; ASSI 45/25/4/19 1756; DURH 16/1 1765; see Chapter 7 for the eventual fate of Mary Low as a transportee at large. 31. ASSI 45/38/3/76 Newcastle 1795. 32. DURH 17/3 1727; DURH 16/1; DURH 17/7 1755. 33. DURH 16/1; DURH 17/9 1764; DURH 16/1; DURH 17/8 1757. 34. But the number per head of population, it has been argued, was relatively low in the North of England in the later eighteenth century: H.Mui & L.H.Mui, Shops and shopkeeping in eighteenth-century England (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1989), appendices 1 and 2. 35. Styles, “Clothing the North”, p. 140; Mui & Mui, Shops and shopkeeping, appendices 1 and 2. 36. Newcastle Courant 2747, 16 August 1746; Elizabeth Dove Newcastle Courant 4695, 28 September 1765; DURH 17/7 1758. 37. DURH 17/7 1752; DURH 17/13 1773. 38. Margaret Jobson, Northumberland, 1759, ASSI 45/26/3/76B; Newcastle Courant 5392, 5 February 1780; ASSI 45/34/2/69–72 Northumberland 1780; Newcastle Courant 5392, 5 February 1780. 39. DURH 16/1; DURH 17/20 1780; Newcastle Courant 5391, 22 January 1780. 40. Newcastle Courant 5435, 2 December 1780; ASSI 45/34/2/56–8 Ann Robson; DURH 16/1; DURH 17/7 1753; DURH 16/1; DURH 17/8 1758. 41. ASSI 45/27/1/76B-C 1763; ASSI 45/27/1/5–8 1763. 42. Lemire, “The theft of clothes”, pp. 264–5. 43. DURH 17/7 1752; ASSI 45/27/1/45–46 Newcastle 1763; ASSI 45/21/3/ 66 Newcastle 1739; TWAS 1434/2; DURH 17/7 1752. 44. DURH 17/15 1775. 45. DURH 16/1; DURH 17/9 1764; DURH 16/1; DURH 17/9 1764. 46. DURH 16/1; DURH 17/8 1757. 47. DURH 16/1; DURH 17/8 1758. 48. 13% of homicide charges in Surrey were against women: Beattie, “The criminality of women”, pp. 84–5; M.Jackson, New-born child murder. Women, illegitimacy and the courts in eighteenth-century England (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1996), p. 42; K.Wrightson, “Infanticide in European history”, Criminal Justice History 3, 1982, p. 10. 49. There were five charges against women for attempted murder in Durham, but none in the other two counties; see the findings of N.E.H.Hull in colonial Massachusetts where murder and manslaughter indictments accounted for over one-third of female indictments but less than one-fifth of male prosecutions. Hull, Female felons, p. 60; Rowe, “Women’s crime and criminal administration”. 50. Newcastle Courant 5848, 8 November 1788; DURH 16/2, DURH 17/37 1797.

238 NOTES

51. Newcastle Journal 21, 15 August 1739. See Chapter 3 for other lunacy defences. 52. She was ordered to remain in prison and Durham justices held responsible for her security under the Act 17 Geo. II. DURH 16/1; DURH 17/10, 1767; Dolan, Dangerous familiars, p. 2; disquiet over the burning of women led to its abolition in 1790, a development Gatrell sees as illustrative of the rising romantic sensibility to the bodily punishment of women, Gatrell, The hanging tree, pp. 337–8. 53. ASSI 44/103 pt 3; ASSI 42/12; Newcastle Courant 5845, 18 October 1788, and 5888, 7 August 1789; DURH 16/2; DURH 17/38; a servant, Mary Nicholson, might have confronted the same charge had the pie she baked using white arsenic killed her intended victim, her master, and not his mother, her actual victim, and the penalty not been abolished in 1790. 54. R.W.Malcolmson, “Infanticide in the eighteenth century”, in Crime in England, 1550–1800, J.S.Cockburn (ed.) (London: Methuen, 1977), pp. 187–209; Beattie, Crime and the courts in England, p. 119; according to Hull, in colonial Massachusetts 84% of the victims of female homicide were “children of the accused”, Female felons, p. 46. 55. Newcastle Courant 5872, 25 April 1789; 6253, 13 August 1796; 4547, 12 November 1763; 4748, 19 September 1767. 56. Jackson, Neiv-born child murder, pp. 35–6, 150; Wrightson, “Infanticide in European history”, pp. 1–3, 10–11; J.A.Sharpe, Crime in early modem England, 1550–1750 (London: Longman, 1984), pp. 60–61; I.A.Bell, Literature and crime in Augustan England (London: Routledge, 1991), pp. 57–8; Dolan, Dangerous familiars, pp. 121–70; Beattie, Crime and the courts, p. 122; Beattie, “The criminality of women”, pp. 84–5; Malcolmson, “Infanticide in the eighteenth century”, pp. 187–209; Wrightson suggests that 2% of bastard children were killed at birth: K.Wrightson, “Infanticide in earlier seventeenth-century England”, Local Population Studies 15, 1975, pp. 10–22, p. 19. 57. DURH 16/2, DURH 17/35 1795; see DURH 16/1 1770, Dorothy Summers case. 58. D.Harley, “The scope of legal medicine in Lancashire and Cheshire, 1660–1760”, in Legal medicine in history, M.Clark & C.Crawford (eds) (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), p. 52; R.A.Houlbrooke, “Women’s social life and common action in England from the fifteenth century to the eve of the Civil War”, Continuity and Change 1, 1986, pp. 171–89, pp. 171–5; A.Wilson, “The ceremony of childbirth and its interpretation”, in Women as mothers in pre-industrial England, V.Fildes (ed.) (London: Routledge, 1990), pp. 68–107. 59. ASSI 45/21/2/2H-L Northumberland 1737; ASSI 40/60; 45/23/1/76B-C Northumberland 1745. 60. DURH 17/39, 1799.

NOTES 239

61. DURH 17/4, 1738. 62. Newcastle journal 1867, 4 March 1775; ASSI 44/90; ASSI 145/32/1/38 Newcastle 1775. 63. ASSI 45/27/1/61B-C. 64. Note that Durham was not included in Mark Jackson’s recent study: the only conviction was of Margaret Coulson for killing another woman’s child. There were no convictions in Lancaster during the reign of George II. In Surrey, out of 35 women indicted, only one, a widow, was convicted between 1722 and 1802 though between 1660 and 1720 eight women were convicted, five of whom may have been hanged. In Dublin, no one was hanged for the offence between 1780 and 1794 although known deaths averaged 2.1 per annum. Beattie, Crime and the courts, pp. 118–19; B.Henry, The Dublin hanged. Crime, law enforcement and punishment in late eighteenth century Dublin (Dublin: Irish Academy Press, 1994); Jackson, New-born child murder, p. 152, n. 3. 65. Jackson writes that over 95% were acquitted in North of England trials; New-born child murder, pp. 93, 113–23, 133, 149–52. 66. J.S.Cockburn, “Punishment and brutalization in the English Enlightenment”, Law and History Review 12, 1994, pp. 157–9; P. King reports only one hanged in Essex; P.Linebaugh, The London hanged. Crime and civil society in the eighteenth century (London: Allen Lane, 1991), p. 85; Gatrell, The hanging tree. 67. See Chapter 3, n. 52; 10 of the 40 women condemned were executed, 64 of the 347 men, including Berwick; the comparable figure for Surrey was 26% if the figures for 1722 to 1748 (11 from 21 or 52.4%) are aggregated with those for the period 1748 to 1802 (12 from 67 or 17.1%), all but one of the hangings in the latter period taking place in the final decades of the century. 40% (c.385) of the 942 men capitally convicted in Surrey were hanged: 100 out of 186 (53.8%) and 285 out of 756 (37.7%). Beattie, Crime and the courts in England, pp. 514, 532–3. 68. Sharpe, Crime in early modern England, p. 69 suggests that the small proportion of those executed fell within one or other category; Beattie, Crime and the courts, p. 535; Henry, Dublin hanged, p. 59; W.Blackstone, Commentaries on the laws of England (London: 1766–9), vol. 4, p. 93 cited in Cockburn, “Punishment and brutalization”, p. 158; Beattie, Crime and the courts in England, p. 529; L.Radzinowicz, A history of English criminal law and its administration from 1750 (London: Stevens, 1948–68), vol. 1, pp. 206–19. 69. See Chapter 6 for accounts of the execution; Newcastle Courant 4047, 20 April 1754; 25 Geo. II, c.37 in Beattie, Crime and the courts, p. 529; Cockburn, “Punishment and brutalization”, pp. 170–72; R.Richardson, Death, dissection and the destitute (London: Penguin, 1988), p. 35; N.Rogers, “Confronting the crime wave. The debate over social reform and regulation, 1749–1753”, in Stilling the grumbling hive. The response

240 NOTES

70. 71. 72.

73. 74.

75. 76. 77.

to social and economic problems in England, 1689–1750, L.Davison et al. (eds) (Stroud: Alan Sutton, 1992). DURH 16/1; DURH 17/9, 1763; Newcastle Journal 1265, 6 August 1763. DURH 16/2; DURH 17/18, 1778. DURH 16/2; DURH 17/21, 1781; Edward Hyde East, Pleas of the crown (London: Professional Books, 1972; first published 1803), vol. 1, pp. 354–6. DURH 16/2; DURH 17/38; see Chapter 6. ASSI 45/26/2/116C-E; TWAS 540/5, pp. 191–2, Michaelmas 1754 for Williamson’s previous conviction, stealing seven pounds of tobacco; Newcastle Journal 755, 13 October 1753; Newcastle Courant 4072, 12 October 1754; Newcastle Courant 4273, 12 August 1758; on the use of hanging see Linebaugh, The London hanged. DURH 16/2; Newcastle Courant 5678, 6 August 1785. ASSI 45/38/1/58–66; Newcastle Courant 6093, 20 July 1793, 6097, 17 August 1793. Two of the seven men sentenced to dissection were implicated in crimes not dissimilar to the women discussed above.

Chapter 6: Learning their lesson 1. “Bradwardine”, in the Gentleman’s Magazine 58, 1788, pt 1, p. 316, partly in reply to “Candide” in 57, 1787, pt 2, pp. 1050–52. 2. P.Langford, A polite and commercial people. England 1727–1783 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1989); P.Spierenburg, The spectacle of suffering. Executions and the evolution of repression: from a preindustrial metropolis to the European experience (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984); Philip Jenkins, “From gallows to prison? The execution rate in early modem England”, Criminal Justice History 7, 1986, pp. 51–71; Member of Parliament, 1824, quoted by R.McGowen, “A powerful sympathy. Terror, the prison and humanitarian reform in early nineteenth-century Britain”, Journal of British Studies 25, 1986, p. 326. 3. M.Meranze, Laboratories of virtue. Punishment, revolution and authority in Philadelphia, 1760–1835 (Chapel Hill and London: University of North Carolina Press, 1996), pp. 1–3; J.Howard, An account of the principal lazarettos in Europe with various papers relating to the plague… (Warrington: William Eyres, 1789), p. 226; for the American campaign against corporal punishments, see M.C.Glenn, Campaigns against corporal punishment. Prisoners, sailors, women and children in antebellum America (Albany, N.Y.: State University of New York Press, 1984); G.Morgan, “‘One of the first fruits of liberty’. Penal reform in the young Republic”, in The end of Anglo-America. Historical essays in the

NOTES 241

4.

5.

6. 7.

8. 9.

study of cultural divergence, R.A.Burchell (ed.) (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1991), pp. 89–91. J.S.Cockburn, “Punishment and brutalization in the English Enlightenment”, Law and History Review 12, 1994, p. 173; J.M.Beattie, Crime and the courts in England, 1660–1800 (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1986), p. 465; Richard Davenport-Hines, Sex, death and punishment. Attitudes to sex and sexuality in Britain since the Renaissance (London: Fontana, 1990), pp. 98–100; Edward J.Bristow, Vice and vigilance. Purity movements in Britain since 1700 (London: Gill & Macmillan, 1977); Clive Emsley, Crime and society in England, 1750–1900 (London: Longman, 1987), pp. 214–15; V.A.C.Gatrell, The hanging tree. Execution and the English people, 1770–1868 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1994), pp. 69–70; SP 36/150/110, petition from 1750s to reprieve Richard Griffiths, accessory to the murder of “the Fellow killed in the pillory”; Newcastle Courant 64, 16 July 1726 and 199, 15 February 1729, Dublin and London cases. DRO, Q/S/OB, 5, p. 223, an order from the justices for the parish of Stanhope, Durham, to make a ducking-stool. For illustrations of the branks, see p. 126 of present volume; also Ralph Gardner, England’s grievance discovered in relation to the coal trade (London: 1655), and M.A.Richardson, The local historian’s table book, (Newcastle upon Tyne: M.A.Richardson, 1841–6), vol. 1, pp. 403–4. Newcastle Courant 4569, 14 April 1764, and Berwick quarter sessions, 1729, 1731 and 1729, NRO, M813 or C8/2, and financial records in H2/1–109; P.M.Tillott, A history of Yorkshire. The City of York, Victoria County History series (London: Oxford University Press for the Institute of Historical Research, 1961), p. 252; J.Sykes, Local records (Stockton-on-Tees: Patrick & Shotton, 1973), vol. 2, p. 384, and William Richardson, A history of the parish of Wallsend (Newcastle upon Tyne: Northumberland Press, 1923), p. 130. Newcastle Journal 986, 15 April 1758; SP 36/139/244 and SP 36/140/ 376, Fleming correspondence. Eight cases 1700–1750, 14 after 1770; there are some references to lateseventeenth-century uses in Durham; Newcastle Courant 591, 21 August 1736, and 4690, 9 August 1766; Sykes, Local records, vol. 1, p. 375 has a rather fanciful account of this. Her allegation against the engraver Jameson led him to try to escape to Glasgow. Rule, Newcastle Courant 2511, 30 January 1742. Sykes, Local records, vol. 2, p. 371; also vol. 1, p. 142; Newcastle Courant 16, 13 August 1725; SP 36/136/1–4 and 30. TWAS, 540/5, fol. 254. See case of the witches of Hart, Sykes, Local records, vol. 1, p. 79 (the original source seems no longer to be extant); Adam J.Hirsch, The rise of the penitentiary. Prisons and punishment in early America (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1992), p.

242 NOTES

10. 11.

12.

13.

14. 15.

16.

17. 18.

19.

20.

21.

34 for the explicit distinction between physical and psychic punishment in American theory. Newcastle Journal 986, 15 April 1758; see Chapter 3 for conviction rates; Sykes, Local records, vol. 2, p. 63, 3 October 1811. PRO ASSI 45/39/2/33–5, and 44/112 pt 3; Ian Gibson, The English vice. Beating, sex and shame in Victorian England and after (London: Duckworth, 1978); Cockburn, “Punishment and brutalization”, p. 172 and, for a broader context, K.Halttunen, “Humani tarianism and the pornography of pain in Anglo-American culture”, American Historical Review 100, 1995, pp. 303–34; M.Foucault, Discipline and punish. The birth of the prison, Alan Sheridan (tr.) (Harmondsworth: Penguin Books, 1979), p. 10. See S.Amussen, “Punishment, discipline and power. The social meaning of violence in early modem England”, Journal of British Studies 34, 1995, pp. 1–34, on the legitimate use of violence in hierarchical relationships. “The principles of penal law”, in J.Bowring (ed.), The works of Jeremy Bentham [16 vols] (New York: Russell & Russell, 1962; first published 1843), vol. 1, p. 414. Newcastle Courant 2960, 15 September 1750, and 5755, 27 January 1787. W.G.Smith (ed.), The amorous illustrations of Thomas Rowlandson (London: Bibliophile Books, 1983), No. 11; Gatrell, The hanging tree, p. 264; Ann Robson, PRO, E370/40/8. TWAS, 540/5, p. 41; Berwick-upon-Tweed RO, H2/31, compared with H2/36a, H2/40, H2/41 and H2/28, 1750, 1757, 1760 and 1783; see Amussen, “Punishment, discipline and power”, and J. Bainbridge, “Berwick upon Tweed’s cyprian corps”, North East Labour History 30, 1996, pp. 37–50. TWAS, 540/4 fol. 192v, April 1727. Isabel Loggan 1723, TWAS 540/4, fol. 251v; Jane Wallis (transportation or whipping) 540/5, p. 41; DRO Q/S/OB 9, p. 405 and Q/S/OB 10, p. 195. ASSI 45/28/1/lJ-K, accusations against Joseph Fearing and John Ranshaw; one of the assaulted men was John Cant, the son of the Northumberland gaoler Dorothy Cant; Gentlemen’s Magazine 20, 1750, p. 327, report of rioters in Manchester insulting the magistrates as some criminals were going to be whipped. Newcastle Courant 2932, 3 March 1750, and 2926, 20 January 1750; 2937, 7 April 1750; 4764, 9 January 1768; Newcastle Journal 1445, 14 February 1767, the Jenny; NRO, QSB 61, Easter 1724 fol. 7, Edward Grey, gaoler. Newcastle Advertiser 509, 29 September 1798.

NOTES 243

22. Henry Fielding, “An inquiry into the late increase in robbers etc.”, in The works of Henry Fielding Esquire [10 vols] (London: Smith Elder, 1882), vol. 7, p. 265; Douglas Hay, “Property, authority and the criminal law”, and Peter Linebaugh, “The Tyburn riot against the surgeons”, both in Albion’s fatal tree. Crime and society in eighteenth-century England, Douglas Hay et al. (eds) (London: Allen Lane, 1975), pp. 17–63, 65– 117; Peter Linebaugh, The London hanged. Crime and civil society in the eighteenth century (London: Allen Lane, 1991), ch. 2; Thomas W.Laqueur, “Crowds, carnivals and the state in English executions, 1604– 1868”, in The first modem society. Essays in English history in honour of Lawrence Stone, A.L.Beier, David Cannadine, James M.Rosenheim (eds) (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989), p. 312; Cockburn, “Punishment and brutalization”. 23. Spierenburg, The spectacle of suffering, p. 101. 24. Spierenburg, The spectacle of suffering, pp. 57, 67, 87; Laqueur, “Crowds, carnivals and the state”, p. 312 for the lack of systematic evidence on provincial places of executions. 25. Iain Bain (ed.), Thomas Bewick, vignettes (London: Scolar Press, 1979), 42a and 98a, the latter with gallows and St Nicholas’ church, also the illustration from Select fables (Newcastle upon Tyne: S.Hodgson, 1830), p. 207, reprinted in R. Hutchinson (ed.), 1800 woodcuts by Thomas Bewick and his school (New York: Dover Publications, 1962), p. 163, which conveniently includes both versions of this woodcut, one without the Newcastle reference; see pp. 133 and 149 of present volume; John Brand, The history and antiquities of the town and country of Newcastle, including an account of the coal trade of that place (London: 1789), vol. 1, pp. 419–20, 422. 26. Gardner, England’s grievance discovered; DRO, Q/S/OB 11, p. 197; see Sykes, Local records, p. 129, and CCCB 1699–1718, fol. 113a, 25 December 1705, for the designation of the executioner’s duties in Newcastle: “hanging of felons, putting persons in the pillory and scourging the poor”; Spierenburg, The spectacle of suffering, p. 21, notes the low-status jobs also required of executioners in The Netherlands and Germany; Gatrell, The hanging tree, p. 50; Newcastle Courant 434, 18 August 1733; Newcastle Journal 1168, 10 October 1761; Newcastle Courant 6407, 27 July 1799. 27. Rev. John Baillie, An impartial history of the town and county of Newcastle upon Tyne and its vicinity etc. (Newcastle upon Tyne: Vint & Anderson, 1801), p. 124. 28. Cockburn, “Punishment and brutalization”, p. 167 on the press, and p. 159 for other areas of England which witnessed long gaps between executions. On biographies, see Lincoln B.Faller, Turned to account. The forms and function of criminal biography in late seventeenth- and early eighteenth-century England (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,

244 NOTES

29.

30.

31. 32.

33.

34.

1987). Quotations from Randall McGowen, “The body and punishment in eighteenth-century England”, Journal of Modern History 59, 1987, p. 666 and J.A.Sharpe, “‘Last dying speeches’. Religion, ideology and public execution in seventeenth-century England”, Past and Present 107, 1985, p. 145. Spierenburg, The spectacle of suffering, p. 59; P.Ariès, The hour of our death, Helen Weaver (tr.) (Harmondsworth: Penguin Books, 1981), p. 190. The Théâtre de Complicité is a modern commercial theatre company, from whose title we have borrowed this image. David Lindley, The trials of Frances Howard. Fact and fiction at the court of King James (London: Routledge, 1993), pp. 181–2; Sharpe, “Last dying speeches”, p. 165; Cockburn, “Punishment and brutalization”, pp. 173, 178–9. Newcastle Courant 2590, 13 August 1743. Newcastle Courant 1319, 1 September, 1764; William Alexander, Meditations and letters wrote by the late William Alexander during his confinement in Newgate and A particular account of the private and public behaviour of William Alexander while in prison and at the place of execution (Newcastle: 1783); E.Macdonald, The dying words and confession of Owen MacDonald (?Newcastle upon Tyne: 1752); Richard Brown, The last dying speech and confession of Richard Brown… (Newcastle upon Tyne: 1751); William Winter’s letter in Particulars of the unfortunate victims to the injured laws of their country (Newcastle upon Tyne: 1792); S.Broadwater & J.Marshall, The following particulars of Silvanus Broadwater and joseph Marshall…(Newcastle upon Tyne?: 1792); William Stevenson, A song on the confession and dying words of William Stevenson…(London: 1727), recalled in Sir Cuthbert Sharp, History of Hartlepool, with a supplementary history to 1851, inclusive (Hartlepool: John Proctor, 1851), pp. 170–71; Thomas Vert, The last dying speech of Thomas Vert, who was execute at Durham the 12th August 1730 (Edinburgh: 1730); Newcastle Courant 2677, 13 April 1745: Abraham Dealtry, hanged at York for highway robbery: hung 10 minutes, cut down, “and put into a Coffin by his Friends, and carried in a Cart in order to be buried in Trinity churchyard, they observed Signs of Life in him, and had him blooded, and he revived. He is now a Prisoner in York Castle; but ‘tis hoped will be reprieved”; the legend of half-hung MacDonald is in Sykes, Local records, vol. 1, p. 202. Newcastle Journal 21, 25 August 1739 and 23, 8 September 1739 (Michael Curry); a printed statement by him was advertised in the newspapers, but seemingly is not extant; Newcastle Courant 6097, 17 August 1793. Newcastle Journal 1632, 22 September 1770; Newcastle Courant 5212, 17 August 1776, and 5473, 25 August 1781, and 5373, 26 August 1786.

NOTES 245

35. Newcastle Advertiser 202, 25 August 1792; Newcastle Courant 5213, 24 August 1776, Andrew Mackenzie. 36. A true copy of the papers wrote by James Maben who was execute Saturday, August 11, 1744 without the Westgate of Newcastle upon Tyne… (Newcastle: 1744); Newcastle Journal 280, 18 August 1744. 37. Alexander, A particular account, p. 7; Newcastle Journal 280, 18 August 1744; Gatrell, The hanging tree, pp. 34, 86 on Turpin; Newcastle Courant 814, 22 November 1740; 5835, 9 August 1788; 5629, 28 August 1784; and 5374, 2 September 1786; The repentant sighs of James Chambers and William Collins…(?Newcastle: 1784), is in verse, and deeply and implausibly pious. 38. Newcastle Courant 3008, 17 August 1751; Newcastle Journal 800, 24 August 1754, and 24, 15 September 1739. 39. Newcastle Courant 2590, 13 August 1743; 5679, 13 August 1785 (William Hamilton and his wife Isabella); 5737, 16 September 1786 (Thomas Robson); Sharpe, “Last dying speeches”, p. 167. 40. Newcastle Courant 2590, 13 August 1743; 6044, 11 August 1792. 41. Sykes, Local records, vol. 1, p. 184; see also pp. 183, 185, 220 for other executions, and Newcastle Courant 2707, 9 November 1745 a Swiss soldier was shot in Newcastle “for killing his comrade”, and 4249, 25 February 1758 and 4319, 30 June 1759 Jermiah Bell shot at Sunderland 25 June, both for desertion; Newcastle Courant 2575, 25 October 1746 and 2759, 8 November 1746; Newcastle Journal 1168, 10 October 1761. 42. R.Richardson, Death, dissection and the destitute (London: Penguin, 1988), pp. 35–7; J.M.Fisher, An American Quaker in the British Isles. The travel journals of Jabez Maud Fisher, 1775–1779, K.Morgan (ed.) (Oxford: Oxford University Press for British Academy, 1992), pp. 178– 9. 43. Newcastle Courant 750, 8 September 1739; HO 13/13, p. 397, petition by Henry Cooper of Norfolk for removal of a body gibbeted about five years previously, 13 May 1801; Gatrell, The hanging tree, p. 268; and Sykes, Local records, vol. 2, pp. 388– 90. 44. Richardson, Death, dissection, p. 37. 45. Edward Thompson, commander of naval forces in Africa, 26 April 1785, HO 42/67 335. 46. Five of the 10 women executed in Berwick, Durham, Newcastle and Northumberland, compared with 5 men dissected, 2 gibbeted, of 43 executed; 3 of the 12 men in Newcastle; L.Jordanova, “Natural facts. A historical perspective on science and sexuality”, in Nature, culture and gender, C.P.MacCormack & M.Strathern (eds) (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1980), pp. 54–7, pp. 42–69, and her Sexual visions. Images of gender in science and medicine between the eighteenth and twentieth centuries (Hemel Hempstead: Harvester Wheatsheaf, 1989), pp. 54–65; P.Ariès, The hour of our death, H.Weaver (tr.)

246 NOTES

(Harmondsworth: Penguin Books, 1983), p. 366; TWAS Gu/BS/ 2/1, p. 459, 6 January 1755, bones given to Mr (Samuel) Halliwell. 47. J.Delaney, “Bourgeois bodies—dead criminals, England 1750–1830”, Diogenes 142, 1988, pp. 72–3; Records of St Andrew’s, TWAS MF279; Linebaugh, “The Tyburn riot”; Newcastle Journal 800, 24 August 1754; Newcastle Courant 1319, 1 September 1764, 5486, 24 November 1781; J.Burke & C.Caldwell (eds), Hogarth: the complete engravings (London: Thames & Hudson, 1968), p. 227; J.Sawday, The body emblazoned. Dissection and the human body in the Renaissance (London: Routledge, 1995). 48. McGowen, “The body and punishment”, p. 666; J.Wibbersley, Sermon preached at St Nicholas’s Church, in Newcastle, at the assizes… (Newcastle upon Tyne: I.Thompson, 1752). 49. Quotation from Langford, A polite and commercial people, pp. 297–8; Beattie, Crime and the courts, pp. 468–9; Emsley, Crime and society, pp. 214–15; Gatrell, The hanging tree, ch. 3; Meranze, Laboratories of virtue, ch. 1.

Chapter 7: Transportation 1. A.R.Ekirch, Bound for America. The transportation of British convicts to the colonies, 1718— 1775 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1987), pp. 49, 70, 73; A.R.Ekirch, “Bound for America: A profile of British convicts transported to the colonies, 1718–1775”, William and Mary Quarterly 42, 1985, pp. 188–9. 2. Ekirch, Bound for America, p. 29 nl. 3. L.Radzinowicz, A history of English criminal law and its administration from 1750 (London: Stevens, 1948–1968), vol. 4, pp. 18–20; J.M.Beattie, “London crime and the making of the ‘bloody code’, 1689– 1718”, in Stilling the grumbling hive. The response to social and economic problems in England, 1689–1750, L.Davison et al. (eds) (Stroud: Alan Sutton, 1992), in general and especially p. 70 and J.M.Beattie, Crime and the courts in England, 1660–1800 (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1986), p. 507. 4. Ekirch, Bound for America, p. 28; see figures for Norfolk and Suffolk in 1730s in Sharpe, Crime in early modem England, 1550–1750 (London: Longman, 1984), pp. 66– 53: of 146 convicted, transported,=36.3% or 21. 1% of all accused; north-east figures are 55% of those convicted. 5. Assizes: 408 of 743 convicted; quarter sessions: 317 of 1,857 convicted. 6. J.Howard, An account of the principal lazarettos in Europe with various papers relating to the plague…(Warrington: William Eyres, 1789), p. 246; PP. 14, 1810, pp. 487ff. 7. DRO Q/F/1–3, Treasurer’s accounts.

NOTES 247

8. Five in 1665, 1668 and 1674, ASSI 42/2, pp. 2, 32, 37. 9. C.Emsley, Crime and society in England, 1750–1900 (London: Longman, 1987), p. 203; W.Oldham, Britain’s convicts to the colonies, W.H.Oldham (ed.) (Sydney: Library of Australian History, 1990), p. xi; G.C.Bolton, “William Eden and the convicts, 1771–1787”, Australian Journal of Politics and History 26, 1980, pp. 30–44, for later discussions of policy. 10. PRO, E370/39/8/671–80, letters in January 1777, and Newcastle Courant 5237, 8 February 1777, reports their release; John Howard, The works of John Howard Esq. (London: 1792), vol. 1, p. 425. 11. Newcastle Journal 1758, 16 January 1773, “the two soldiers that were tried lately here by a general court martial, marched from hence yesterday morning, under a corporal’s guard, for London, in order to be transported to Senegal, the one for life, and the other for seven years”; this may have been carried out from other counties for ordinary convicts: Newcastle Courant 5508, 27 April 1782, “an order is received by the keeper of the county gaol at Derby for the transportation of six convicts to the coast of Africa”; John Hardy, Newcastle assizes 1783, was sentenced to “Africa or America”, ASSI 44/98 pt 1; HO 7/1 for the House of Commons committee on the project, 1785; M.Gillen, “The Botany Bay decision 1786. Convicts, not empire”, English Historical Review 97, 1982, pp. 740–66. 12. HO 47/1 unpaginated, Humble Petition of John Bell, 1784; HO 47/2, 2 July 1785, reports on Francis Squires, William Elwin and Thomas Watson. 13. HO 13/4/313, 316, 320; Newcastle Courant 5872, 25 April 1789. 14. See Chapter 3, Tables 3.5 and 3.6. 15. HO 42/14/361, Northumberland 17 August 1789; HO 42/14/116, Carlisle similarly. 16. HO 13/6 p. 68, 4 February 1788, correspondence with Sheriff of Newcastle; BRO C15/ 60/10 letter from London about Sarah Williamson, 1795; see report on Elizabeth Hall, Newcastle quarter sessions 1786, HO 13/4, p. 313:4ft 8ins tall; D.Chapman, 1788. The people of the first fleet (Sydney: 1981), pp. 109–10. 17. HO 42/15/229–30. 18. See Chapter 3; in Northumberland, 61 of 98 the reprieved men were sheep- or horse-thieves; in Durham, 38 of the 73; 199 of the total 218 reprieved for transportation were men. 19. Ekirch, Bound for America, pp. 48, 52. 20. TWAS 590/1, fol. 57. 21. 29.7%: F.Furness & M.Furness, Transportations, extracted from the quarter sessions, 1818–53 [4 vols]. Unpublished typescript (Newcastle Central Library). 22. Durham—45%: 17.8%; Newcastle—23.1%: 12.3%.

248 NOTES

23. Marital status of transported women: Newcastle, single or spinsters made up 54.1%, widowed 8.2%, married 36.1% (N=61); Northumberland, single or spinsters made up 53.1%, widowed 9.4%, married 28.1% (N=32); unknowns excluded; Beattie, “London crime”. 24. Use of the phrase is fairly common;—see Newcastle Courant 485, 10 August 1734, James Carr. 25. Women: 28 of 81 quarter sessions transportees; men: 10 of 76, or 13.2%; this pattern was not found in Durham where only 7 of 80 had been previously indicted, or Northumberland, 6 of 104. 26. TWAS QS/NC/1/7 (formerly 540/5) pp. 111, 114, 117, January and Easter 1750, and pp. 128, 142, 188, 271; Newcastle Courant 5939, 7 August 1790, Northumberland assizes; see M.S. Servian, “The fair swindler of Blackheath. A case study of the importance of reputation in late eighteenth-century legal and commercial affairs”, Journal of Legal History 8, 1984, pp. 79–87. D.Oxley, “Female convicts”, in Convict workers. Reinterpreting Australia’s past, S.Nicholas (ed.) (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), pp. 85–97, particularly pp. 90–91. 27. NRO, QSI 167/7; QSO 7, pp. 165, 227. 28. DRO, Q/S/OB, p. 233 (1757), and DURH 17/8; SP 44/87/303 and 308. 29. ASSI 42/4, fols 3v-4 and 8. 30. NRO, QSO 7, pp. 29, 80, 92, 168, 227, 234, 281, 364, 398, 412, 420, 427; QSO 8, pp. 119; Newcastle Courant 74, 24 September 1726; 132, 4 November 1727; 172, 10 August 1728; 370, 27 May 1732; K.Morgan, “English and American attitudes towards convict transportation, 1718– 1775”, History 72, 1987, p. 428. 31. NRO, QSO 7, pp. 412, 420, 427, and Newcastle Courant 793, 5 July 1740; G.Morgan, The hegemony of the law: Richmond County, Virginia, 1692–1776 (New York: Garland Publishing, 1989), pp. 152–3; B.Bailyn, Voyagers to the west (New York: Random House, 1986), pp. 270, 292–5; NRO, Cooke family papers, ZCK 3, letters from Baltimore, 10 July, 11 July and 24 July 1761. 32. Newcastle Journal 808, 18 October 1740; W.Paley, The principles of moral and political philosophy (London: 1785), p. 543. 33. NRO, QSO 7, p. 80, 1730; ASSI 45/21/4/18A, 1740; Newcastle Journal 1409, 31 May 1766; Newcastle Courant 4680, 31 May 1766. 34. Newcastle Courant 2684, 1 June 1745. 35. Newcastle Courant 2688, 29 June 1745. 36. NRO, QSO 8, pp. 345, 452 (Joseph Marsh, contracting at £5 10s each), and p. 484; see also DRO, Q/F/1, Treasurer’s accounts, p. 70, and 29 July 1749 for Marsh; Newcastle Courant 3943, 18 April 1752, Captain Moorland. 37. Mr Darwin’s chambers in 1759, TWAS 592/1 (MF135), fols 27 and 81v; there are many references to Wharton in all three counties: for example,

NOTES 249

38.

39. 40. 41.

42. 43. 44. 45.

46.

47.

48. 49. 50. 51. 52.

53.

NRO, QSO 9, pp. 3, 60, 402, 1753–60; Newcastle Courant 4280, 30 September 1758; 4644, 21 September 1765. NRO, QSB 89/26; Newcastle Journal 1391, 25 January 1766; 1412, 21 June 1766; 1527, 10 September 1768; Newcastle Courant 4458, 27 February 1762; 4717, 14 Febuary 1767; 4748, 19 September 1767; 4749, 26 September 1767; 4799, 10 September 1768; 4983, 21 March 1772. Newcastle Journal 1766, 20 March 1773; 1803, 4 December 1773. Newcastle Courant 5965, 5 February 1791. House of Commons Sessional Papers of the eighteenth century, S.Lambert (ed.), (Wilmington, Del.: Scholarly Resources, 1975), vol. 9, p. 358. Newcastle Journal 1664, 23 March 1771; SP 44/90/322; Newcastle Courant 4689, 2 August 1766; DURH 17/9; SP 44/89/9 and 24. Newcastle Journal 1547, 28 January 1769. Newcastle Courant 4995, 13 June 1772, reported dated April 9. Newcastle Journal 74, 30 August 1740, Carlisle, John Graham (alias Richard Blair), death for returning from transportation; Newcastle Courant 2857, 24 September 1748, Appleby, David Brown and Peter Brown executed for returning from transportation; 5056, 21 August 1773: William Elliott, death for returning from transportation, Carlisle; Ekirch, Bound for America, p. 214. Newcastle Courant 229, 13 September 1729; see Beattie, Crime and the courts in England, p. 511, for unreferenced allegation that delays on the northern circuit were notorious. John Thompson SP 36/22/127 (tried 1727, petitioning 1739); John Rimpey SP 36/45/ 265 (tried 1732, petitioning 1733, endorsed by George Bowes); and Edward Jameson, SP 36/58/82, and 235–6, 241–4 (tried 1737, petitioning 1742). DRO, Q/S/OB, pp. 39, 48 (1760); BRO, C15/60/3 26 July 1751 and 10 August. Newcastle Courant 5798, 24 November 1787; and 5875, 16 May 1789; 5965, 5 February 1791. Newcastle Courant 5910, 16 January 1790. Newcastle Courant 6077, 30 March 1793; HO 47/17, 14 May 1793. J.Hirst, “The Australian experience. The convict colony”, in The Oxford history of the prison. The practice of imprisonment in western society N.Morris & D.J.Rothman (eds), (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995), p. 275; for those who returned, presumably legitimately, see Paupers and pig-killers. The diary of William Holland, a Somerset parson, 1799–1818, Jack Ayres (ed.) (London: Penguin, 1986), p. 202, on a man returned from Botany Bay, living with his brother’s wife while he remained in Australia. Ekirch, Bound for America, pp. 2–3.

250 NOTES

Chapter 8: Correction and imprisonment 1. S.Webb & B.Webb, English prisons under local government (London: Cass, 1966), p. 18. 2. D.J.Rothman, The discovery of the asylum. Social order and disorder in the New Republic (Boston: Little, Brown, 1971), p. 79; one attempt to deal with the earlier period was S.McConville, A history of English prison administration. vol. 1, 1750–1877 (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1981), but a careful and thorough work has become definitive: P.Spierenburg, The prison experience. Disciplinary institutions and their inmates in early modern Europe (New Brunswick and London: Rutgers University Press, 1991). 3. R.Evans, The fabrication of virtue. English prison architecture, 1750– 1840 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982); the influence of these imprisonment plans was highlighted in M.Foucault, Discipline and punish. The birth of the prison, A.Sheridan (tr.) (Harmondsworth: Penguin Books, 1979); for a detailed account of Bentham’s influence, see J.Semple, Bentham’s panopticon. A study of the panopticon penitentiary (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1993); J.R.S.Whiting, Prison reform in Gloucestershire, 1776–1820 (Chichester: Phillimore, 1975). 4. See McConville, History of English prison administration, vol. 1, pp. 468ff.; J.Innes, “Prisons for the poor. English bridewells, 1555–1800”, in Labour, law and crime. An historical perspective, F.Snyder & D.Hay (eds) (London: Tavistock Publications, 1987). J.S.Cockburn, “Patterns of violence in English society. Homicide in Kent, 1560– 1985”, Past and Present 130, 1991, p. 104, highlights contradictory and slow-changing attitudes to violent punishment. M.Keynes, The general theory of employment, interest and money (New York: Harcourt, Brace and World 1965), p. 383: “Practical men, who believe themselves to be quite exempt from intellectual influences, are usually the slaves of some defunct economist. Madmen in authority, who hear voices in the air, are distilling their frenzy from some academic scribbler of a few years back.” 5. Innes, “Prisons for the poor”, pp. 88–9. 6. “A Bill to give power to change the punishment of felony in certain cases, and of certain other offences, to confinement and hard labour, in His Majesty’s dock-yards”, in House of Commons Sessional Papers of the eighteenth century, S.Lambert (ed.), (Wilmington, Del.: Scholarly Resources, 1975), vol. 9, p. 358. For the vagrancy proposals and 1744 law, with their emphasis on houses of correction, see ibid; vol. 8, p. 165 for 17 Geo. II, c. 5 (Vagrancy Act 1744), and p. 109 for unsuccessful bill. 7. Innes, “Prisons for the poor”, pp. 88, 94–5 and J.M. Beattie, Crime and the courts in England, 1660–1800 (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University

NOTES 251

8.

9.

10.

11.

Press, 1986) p. 493, and “London crime and the making of the ‘bloody code’, 1689–1718”, in Stilling the grumbling hive. The response to social and economic problems in England, 1689–1750, L. Davison et al. (eds) (Stroud: Alan Sutton, 1992), p. 57: the use of the workhouse was also suggested in this act; in the same volume, N.Rogers, “Confronting the crime wave. The debate over social reform and regulation, 1749–1753”, p. 84; R.B. Shoemaker, Prosecution and punishment. Petty crime and the law in London and rural Middlesex, c. 1660–1725 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991); on vagrancy laws, L.Radzinowicz, A history of English criminal law and its administration from 1750 (London: Stevens, 1948–68), vol. 4, pp. 19–25. HO 42/1/298 Northern Circuit sentences 1782: James Walker five years in Newcastle; these could be under the 1776 Act permitting imprisonment in suitable houses of correction in lieu of transportation, McConville History of English prison administration, vol. 1, p. 106 n.7, 16 Geo. III, c. 43; and 19 Geo. III, c. 74, Penitentiary Act; Beattie, Crime and the courts, pp. 575–6; on the proposed tribute to Howard, Newcastle Courant 5732, 19 August 1786. Thomas Butterworth Bayley’s letter mentioning both Howard and Paul, HO 42/4/44, 22 January 1784, and HO 42/6/1–4, 14 January 1785, asking why the Penitentiary Houses have not been erected, and why all our Gaols have not been made proper places of confinement”; W.W.Grenville to C.Willoughby Esq., 15 December 1789 at Oxford, HO 13/7, p. 343. On Gloucestershire, see J.R.S.Whiting, Prison reform in Gloucestershire. R.Heilbroner (ed.), The essential Adam Smith (New York: W.W.Norton, 1986), p. 95; Bayley’s report to the Morning Chronicle sent in to the Home Office, on Oxford’s use of solitary confinement, and high regard for Wymondham, HO 47/6, 10 March 1787 among the “promiscuous reports”; see M. de Lacy on Thomas Butterworth Bayley in Prison reform in Lancashire, 1700–1850 (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1986), pp. 70–74. Note Petworth House of Correction also had separation in solitude in 1782: McConville, History of English prison administration, vol. 1, pp. 94–5; Herman Franke, “The rise and decline of solitary confinement. Socio-historical explanations”, British Journal of Criminology 32, 1992, pp. 125–43; and P.Spierenburg, “Reply to H.Franke”, 33, 1993, pp. 562–3. HO 47/5 Northern Circuit, judges’ report asking for free pardon for James Walker above, 5 August 1786; see Carlisle’s gaol letters, HO 42/ 14/116, 6 May 1789; Hanway from his book Solitude in imprisonment (London: 1776) quoted in McConville, History of English prison administration, vol. 1, p. 97; Innes, “Prisons for the poor”, p. 98 on the supposed ending of imprisonment; B.J.Davey, Rural crime in the eighteenth century. North Lincolnshire, 1740–80 (Hull: University of

252 NOTES

12.

13.

14.

15.

16. 17.

Hull Press, 1994), pp. 147–8; Lindsey did not transport from the quarter sessions until the 1770s. G.Rusche & O.Kirchheimer, “Punishment and social structure”, in Imprisonment: European perspectives, J.Muncie & R.Sparks (eds) (Hemel Hempstead: Harvester, 1991), p. 46 — their translation of “carcer enim ad continendos homines non ad puniendos haberi debet”, and p. 50 on workhouses; W.Holdsworth, A history of English law (London: Methuen/Sweet & Maxwell, 1938), vol. 10, p. 181. Rev. John Baillie, An impartial history of the town and county of Newcastle upon Tyne and its vicinity etc. (Newcastle upon Tyne: Vint & Anderson, 1801), pp. 194–5; W.H. Knowles & J.R.Boyle, Vestiges of old Newcastle and Gateshead (Newcastle: Andrew Reid, 1890), p. 63. NRO, QSB 85, Epiphany 1742, fol. 92, interesting case of man absconding from the workhouse; Innes, “Prisons for the poor”, pp. 49–76; A. Van der Slice was the first to acknowledge England’s pre-eminence in the foundation of houses of correction: “Elizabethan houses of correction”, Journal of the American Institute of Law and Criminology 27, 1936, pp. 45–67. de Lacy, Prison reform in Lancashire, Introduction and quotation p. 40; Innes, “Prisons for the poor”, passim; Beattie, “London crime”; Cockburn, “Patterns of violence”, pp. 103–4; Spierenburg, The prison experience on the theory of the civilizing process. de Lacy, Prison reform in Lancashire, p. 11, and McConville, History of English prison administration, vol. 1, p. 49. Durham: DRO Q/S/OB/1, pp. 5, 22, 190; both Howard and Cranfield accept the date over the building of 1634 for the institution still in use in the eighteenth century: R. E.G.Cranfield, “Durham prisons in an age of change”, Pt I, Durham County Local History Society Bulletin 28, 1981, pp. 16–54 p. 26; J.Howard, The state of the prisons in The Works of John Howard Esq. (London: 1792), vol. 1, p. 422, “the date over the door”; his description of the lower parts of the building were on his final visit, An account of the principal lazarettos in Europe (Warrington: William Eyres, 1789), p. 198. This was part of the old chapel of St James’s on Elvet Bridge: see M.Roberts, Book of Durham (London: Batsford for English Heritage, 1994), p. 65; for the change in the fund-raising system in at least one parish in the 1620s: Rev. J.Barmby (ed.), Churchwardens’ accounts of Pittington and other parishes in the Diocese of Durham, From A.D. 1580 to 1700, Surtees Society vol. 84 (Durham: 1888), pp. 82, 87, Pittington. On Lancashire, see S.S.Tollitt, “The first house of correction for the County of Lancaster”, Transactions of the Historical Society of Lancashire and Cheshire 105, 1953, pp. 69–90. Newcastle: TWAS CCCB, 1645–50, fol. 49; 1656–1722, fols 105v, 116v; 1699– 1718, fols 56, 61a, 111, 146; 1718–43, fol. 9; H.Bourne, History of Newcastle upon Tyne (Newcastle upon Tyne: Frank Graham, 1980: first

NOTES 253

18.

19. 20.

21.

22.

23.

24. 25.

published 1736), p. 136, “At the end of Manor Chare, the St. AustenFryars”; Howard, State of the prisons, p. 424. NRO, QSO, 1, p. 203, 1684, the house of correction “still” in ruin and decay; QSO 3, p. 147, 1699; George Tate, The history of the borough, castle, and barony of Alnwick (Alnwick: 1866), vol. 1; pp. 471–2: sale of old one in 1704; QSO 4, p. 56 Michaelmas 1702, proposed merger of gaol and house of correction; A.B.Hinds, A history of Northumberland (Newcastle upon Tyne: Andrew Reid, 1896–7), vol. 3, pp. 225–6, 231 for Hexham gaol, ordered in 1330, last used in 1824; QSO 5, pp. 48, 105 Midsummer 1712, Hexham requests the new house of correction, and p. 120 proposals from Alnwick, Morpeth and Hexham; p. 236 Epiphany 1714, site purchased, and p. 245 Easter 1715, correction house advertisement to be placed in the Newcastle Courant then p. 268 Michaelmas 1715, Benjamin Fripp appointed, granted £200 to establish a manufactory, and to buy locks and chains, and p. 336 another £80 for further building work; QSO 8, 101—Michaelmas 1744; ZAN M. 15/A. 47 p. 124—Hodgson’s transcriptions of quarter sessions orders. Hexham —land leased QSO 12, p. 211, and opened that year, Joseph Dagleas as master; plans at point of sale in 1839 NRO, 691/ 1/9/8. NRO, QSO 13, pp. 374, 397, 462 (Easter 1791 to Easter 1792); QSO 14, pp. 36, 162, 372. DRO, Q/S/OB 11, pp. 299–300, and so ordered, 5 April 1758; Q/S/OB 14, pp. 481, 566–7. Thomas Gilbert’s Act, 22 Geo. III, c. 64; McConville, History of English prison administration, vol. 1, p. 93. Newcastle Courant 4456, 13 February 1762: several disorderly women unable to give account of themselves received one month in the house of correction. Newcastle Courant 4257, 22 April 1758: “Sunday nine females, confined in New Bridewell, attempted an Escape; but were timely overheard by their Keeper”; TWAS CCCB 1743–66, fol. 204, 6 April 1752; Baillie, An impartial history, pp. 197–8; Archibald Reed’s inspection report in 1818, “On the prisons in Newcastle” The Newcastle and Northumberland Monthly Magazine (January 1819), pp. 10–11: there were seven solitary cells. Newcastle Courant 3070, 4 November 1752; Newcastle Journal 986, 15 April 1758; Durham 19 April 1650, DRO, Q/S/OB 4, p. 87, three hemp troughs and mells (hammers) of wood bought, together with whipping stocks, chains and manacles. TWAS CCCB 1699–1718, fols 64 and 161; Howard, State of the prisons, vol. 1, p. 424. NRO, QSO 5, pp. 245, 268; Howard, State of the prisons, vol. 1, pp. 419– 27. Archibald Reed’s inspection report in 1818, “On the prisons in Newcastle”; NRO, QSB 72, Epiphany 1730 fols 6–7: costs of vagrant conveying from Newcastle to Morpeth: 252 in number, October,

254 NOTES

26.

27.

28. 29.

November and December 1729, signed Matthew White; J. Howard, An account of the principal lazzarettos in Europe, p. 27; P.Rushton, “Lunatics and idiots. Mental disability, the community and the poor law in north-east England, 1600–1800”, Medical History 34 (1), 1988, pp. 34– 50, p. 46; de Lacy, Prison reform in Lancashire, p. 23. Note that Newcastle workhouse’s population peaked at 250 at one point in 1795: TWAS 465/37. Spierenburg, The prison experience, p. 5; Newcastle quarter sessions sentences: before 1750, 12 months on 64% of women, 33% of men (Nos=28/44 and 7/21 known sentences); sentences less than three months made up 62% of 239 in 1750–74; 87% of 336 in 1775–1800; Northumberland and Durham 1775–1800, long sentences 7% of 193 and 4% of 343). Averages fell from 5–7 months before 1750 to 2–3 months by 1800, though the standard deviation was higher in the last quarter than between 1750 and 1774. 1789 dispute in NRO. QSO 13, pp. 185–6; 1765 in QSO 10, p. 109; John Shearer, Newcastle assizes 1746, ASSI 41/3; Joseph Bruce or Burn 1752, ASSI 42/5 and 41/3; John Everitt 1797, ASSI 42/12. Note that small numbers of others were sentenced to gaols—for assaults, false pretences; Robert Colls, The pitmen of the northern coalfield. Work, culture and protest, 1790–1850 (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1987), p. 206; Newcastle Courant 16, 13 August 1725. Holdsworth, History of English law, vol. 10, pp. 181–2, and McConville, History of English prison administration, vol. 1, pp. 65–6. McConville, History of English prison administration, vol. 1, pp. 67–76 for a conventional version of eighteenth-century penal history; de Lacy, Prison reform in Lancashire, p. 29; NRO, QSB 50, Midsummer 1719, fol. 75, complaints about Ann Moor, a probable lunatic in the gaol; Howard, Lazarettos, p. 199, reporting his 1787 visit; TWAS CCCB, 1699–1718, fols 268a and 270; 1718–43, fols 47, 104, 377, appointments of Newcastle’s curates as ordinaries. J.Brand, The history and antiquities of the town and county of Newcastle, including an account of the coal trade of that place (London: 1789), vol. 1, p. 14 lists ordinaries from 1686. Note contrast between McConville, vol. 1, p. 67, who regards gaolers as having been pariahs, and de Lacy (p. 35) who claims they were close to gentlemen. Gifts: The picture of Newcastle upon Tyne containing a guide to the town and neighbourhood, an account of the Roman Wall, and a description of the coal mines (Newcastle upon Tyne: D.Akenhead, 1807), p. 22; Newcastle Courant 4103, 17 May 1755—Sir William Middleton and Sir Henry Grey MPS; Newcastle Courant 5078, 22 January 1774 and 5677, 30 July 1785, Quakers at Durham and Morpeth gaols; Newcastle Courant 198, 8 February 1729 the 77 prisoners in Durham gaol; Newcastle Courant 639, 23 June 1737, celebration of new

NOTES 255

laws about insolvency; Newcastle Courant 576, 8 May 1736, Morpeth 30 April, marriage of the Prince of Wales. 30. McConville, History of English prison administration, vol. 1, pp. 95–6, and House of Commons Sessional Papers, Lambert (ed.), vol. 29, “A bill with amendments for the better regulation of prisons and houses of correction”, presented by Sir Herbert Mackworth, 10 March 1779, p. 103; Newcastle Courant 6357, 11 August 1798. 31. See P.O’Brien, The promise of punishment. Prisons in nineteenth-century France (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1982) on prison cultures; on half-way houses, First Report of an association formed in Newcastle upon Tyne for the procuring the establishment of asylums for criminal prisoners discharged from the prisons in the counties of Durham, Northumberland and Newcastle upon Tyne (Newcastle upon Tyne: 1844), Newcastle Central Library & Thomas Oliver, Reference to a plan of the town and county of Newcastle upon Tyne from an actual survey (Newcastle upon Tyne: 1844), p. 58. See P.Spierenburg, The spectacle of suffering. Executions and the evolution of repression: from a preindustrial metropolis to the European experience (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984) on the weakness of creating models of sweeping social change without archival research.

Chapter 9: Law and disorder 1. G.C.F.Forster, “Government in provincial England under the later Stuarts”, Transactions of the Royal Historical Society, new series, 33, 1983, pp. 29–48, p. 41; E. Hughes, North country life in the eighteenth century. The North-east, 1700–1750 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1952), p. 16; T.S.Ashton & J.Sykes, The coal industry in the eighteenth century (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1964 (first published in 1929)), p. 92; J.R.Kent, “The centre and the localities. State formation and parish government in England circa 1640–1740”, Historical Journal 30, 1995, pp. 363–404. 2. Newcastle Courant 6186, 9 May 1795. 3. Newcastle Chronicle 1610, 9 May 1795; John Bohstedt, Riots and community politics in England and Wales, 1790–1810 (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1983), p. 86. The literature on crowds, riot, popular disturbances and contentious gatherings is vast and still growing, but among those who have done most to reshape our understanding of these phenomena are A.Booth, “Food riots in the NorthWest of England, 1790–1801”, Past and Present 77, 1977, pp. 84–107; E.J.Hobsbawm, Primitive rebels. Studies in archaic forms of social movement in the 19th and 20th centuries (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1959); G.Rudé, The crowd in history. A study of popular

256 NOTES

4. 5.

6.

7.

8.

9.

10.

11.

disturbances in France and England, 1730–1848 (London: Serif, 1995); E. P.Thompson, “The moral economy of the English crowd in the eighteenth century”, Past and Present 50, 1971, pp. 76–136; C.Tilly, Popular contention in Great Britain 1758–1834 (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1995). Thompson replied to his critics in “The moral economy reviewed” in E.P.Thompson, Customs in common (London: Penguin, 1993), pp. 259–351. Newcastle Chronicle 6186, 9 May 1795. Bohstedt, Riots and community politics in England and Wales, p. 202; J.Bohstedt, “The moral economy and the discipline of historical context”, Journal of Social History 26, 1992, pp. 265–84; J.Stevenson, “The ‘moral economy’ of the English crowd. Myth and reality”, in Order and disorder in early modern England, A.Fletcher & J.Stevenson (eds) (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987), pp. 218–38; J.Stevenson, Popular disturbances in England, 1700–1832 (London: Longman, 1992), pp. 64–5. Newcastle Chronicle 1597, 7 February 1795; 1601, 7 March 1795; 1602, 14 March 1795; 1622, 1 August 1795; 1624, 15 August 1795; for official responses, see Newcastle Courant 6186, 9 May 1795; 6211, 24 October 1795; Newcastle Chronicle 1623, 8 August 1795; 1636, 7 November 1795. J. Hedworth to Duke of Newcastle, 29 October 1743, enclosing petition from the inhabitants of South Shields, SP 36/62/188–90; Barrington to Sir Thomas Clavering, 20 April 1768, wo 77/83/327; Joseph Bulmer to Rowland Burdon, 19 March 1793, HO 42/25/164–5. Bohstedt, Riots and community politics, pp. 3–4; Bohstedt, “The moral economy and the discipline of historical context”, pp. 265–84, 274–5; H.T.Dickinson, Politics of the people in eighteenth-century Britain (London: Macmillan, 1994), p. 135; Ashton & Sykes, The coal industry, p. 150; J.Ellis, “A dynamic society. Social relations in Newcastle-uponTyne 1660–1760” in The transformation of English provincial towns, 1600–1800 P.Clark (ed.) (London: Hutchinson, 1984), p. 214. J.Ellis, “Urban conflict and popular violence. The Guildhall riots of 1740 in New-castle upon Tyne”, International Review of Social History 25, 1980, pp. 332–49; H.T. Dickinson & K.J.Logue, “The Porteous riot 1736”, History Today 22, 1972, pp. 272– 81. W.Nippel, “‘Reading the Riot Act’: the discourse of law-enforcement in 18th century England”, History and Anthropology 1, 1985, pp. 401–26, pp. 402–4; Stevenson, Popular disturbances in England, pp. 2–12; T.Hayter, The army and the crowd in mid-Georgian England (London: Macmillan, 1978), pp. 9–14. J.Wesley, The journal of the Rev. John Wesley [4 vols], Rev. F.W.MacDonald (intro) (London: J.M.Dent, 1906), vol. 1, p. 374.

NOTES 257

12. Mark Harrison has argued that the exclusive definition of crowds employed by Rudé and the even narrower one employed by Thompson, which conflated crowds with riot, has limited the scope for investigation of crowd phenomena by excluding activities unconnected with riot and protest, and that the work of scholars interested in other events are of as much significance as is the work of the better known “crowd historians”. Mark Harrison, Crowds and history. Mass phenomena in English towns 1790– 1835 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), pp. 6–12; K.Wilson, The sense of the people. Politics, culture and imperialism in England, 1715–1785 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), pp. 145–8, 295–7. 13. A.Charlesworth (ed.), An atlas of rural protest in Britain, 1548–1900 (London: Croom Helm, 1983), p. 63; Stevenson, Popular disturbances, p. 313; C.R.Dobson, Masters and journeymen. A prehistory of industrial relations, 1717–1800 (London: Croom Helm, 1980), pp. 22–8. On the predominance of food riots, see Rudé, The crowd in history, p. 5. 14. Cuthbert Fenwick to Duke of Newcastle, 20 June 1740, SP 36/51/127–9; Annual Register 8, 1765, pp. 130–31; Duke of Northumberland to Matthew Ridley, 29 June 1771, NRO, ZRI 25/6. 15. Ellis, “Urban conflict and popular violence”, pp. 332–49. 16. W.J.Shelton, English hunger and industrial disorders. A study of social conflict during the first decade of George III’s reign (London: Macmillan, 1973), p. 37; J.Walter, “The social economy of dearth in early modern England”, in Famine, disease and the social order in early modern England, J.Walter & R.Schofield (eds) (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989), p. 87. 17. Newcastle Chronicle 1625, 22 August 1795; Newcastle Courant 6450, 24 May 1800, pitmen at Houghton-le-Spring (Durham); Ellis, “A dynamic society”, p. 197. 18. R.B.Rose, “Eighteenth century price riots and public policy in England”, International Review of Social History 6, 1961, pp. 277–92, p. 279. 19. Samuel Burn to William Pitt, 28 December 1756, SP 36/136/161–2. 20. Newcastle Courant 6234, 2 April 1796. On the crisis of 1795–6, see R.A.E.Wells, Wretched faces. Famine in wartime England, 1793–1801 (Gloucester: Alan Sutton, 1988). 21. On the severity of the weather and the stoppage of trade, Newcastle Journal 41, 12 Jannary 1740; 43, 26 Jannary 1740; 46, 16 February 1740; 52, 29 March 1740; 56, 26 April 1740; on private and public charity, 44, 2 February 1740; 47, 23 February 1740; William Williamson to Bishop of Durham, 24 May 1740, SP 36/50/432; Ellis, “Urban conflict and popular violence in Newcastle”, pp. 333–4. 22. Timothy Smith to John Hedworth, 20 June 1740, SP 36/51/132–3; NRO, QSB 82, Easter 1741 Alnmouth; Stevenson, Popular disturbances, pp. 117–19; Newcastle Courant 4793, 30 July 1768.

258 NOTES

23. Keelmen’s papers, TWAS 394/9; R.Colls, The pitmen of the northern coalfield. Work, culture and protest, 1790–1850 (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1987), pp. 204–6; D.Levine & K.Wrightson, The making of an industrial society. Whickham, 1560–1765 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1991), pp. 398–427. 24. R.Malcolmson, “Workers’ combinations in eighteenth-century England”, in The origins of Anglo-American radicalism, Margaret Jacob & James Jacob (eds) (London: George Allen, 1984), pp. 152–3. 25. Levine & Wrightson, The making of an industrial society, p. 414; Newcastle Courant 4644, 21 September 1765. 26. James Rudman to Henry Dundas, 30 January 1793, HO 42/24/319–20, 321–2; Newcastle Chronicle 1492, 2 February 1793. 27. James Rudman to Henry Dundas, 9 February 1793, HO 42/23/754; N. McCord &D. E.Brewster, “Some labour troubles of the 1790s in North east England”, International Review of Social History 23, 1968, p. 380; Keelmen’s papers, TWAS 394/29; Levine & Wrightson, The making of an industrial society, p. 425. Mutinous pitmen were seldom brought before the assizes. The fullest account of the keelmen in the century is inJ. M.Fewster, “The keelmen of Tyneside in the eighteenth century”, Durham University Journal new series 19, 1957–8, pp. 24–33, 66–75, 111–23. 28. Keelmen’s papers 394/7 (1719), 394/51, 394/52 (1740); Duke of Northumberland to Secretary of State, 12 April 1768, SP 44/142/47–9; DURH 17/34 (1794); Newcastle Chronicle 1549, 26 July 1794; Newcastle Courant 6149, 16 August 1794. 29. ASSI 45/363/61, 62, 68 (Northumberland); Newcastle Journal 1684, 1771; Newcastle Courant 5796, 10 November 1787; ASSI 45/36/2/40 (Newcastle); Newcastle Courant 6071, 16 Februay 1793; Newcastle Courant 6073, 2 March 1793. 30. Newcastle Courant 4644, 21 September 1765. The keelmen used, at various times, a schoolmaster Richard Flower in 1719, John Blair in 1738 (status uncertain but not a keelman), an innkeeper Thomas Gibson in 1750, and a lawyer Thomas Harvey in 1768. 31. W. Holdsworth, A history of English law [17 vols] (London: Methuen/ Sweet & Maxwell, 1906–72), vol. 1, pp. 288–91; G.Holmes & D.Szechi, The age of oligarchy. Pre-industrial Britain, 1722–1783 (London: Longman, 1993), pp. 171–87; Nippel, “Reading the Riot Act”, pp. 402– 3. 32. The phrase is from Linebaugh, The London hanged, p. 404. 33. Ellis, “A dynamic society”, p. 216; Dobson, Masters and journeymen, pp. 36–7, 74–89; Dickinson, The politics of the people, p. 149; Stevenson, Popular disturbances, p. 165; Thompson, “The moral economy of the English crowd”, p. 120; Nippel, “Reading the Riot Act”, pp. 410–26; Wilson, The sense of the people, p. 294.

NOTES 259

34. “The whole of the evidence”, Keelmen’s papers, TWAS 394/29. 35. Town Clerk’s correspondence, TWAS 592/1 (MF 135), fols 114–16. 36. Alexander Cochrane to Henry Dundas, 20 November 1792, HO 42/22/ 432–4; N.McCord & D.E.Brewster, “Some labour troubles of the 1790s in North East England”, pp. 366–83, 370–74. 37. Hughes, North country life, p. 16. 38. Andrew Charlesworth, “The spatial diffusion of riots. Popular disturbances in England and Wales, 1750–1850”, Rural History 5, 1995, pp. 1–22. 39. TWAS 592/1 (MF135), Town Clerk’s correspondence: A.Surtees to Charles Townshend, 16 February 1762, fol, 42; C.Smith to Charles Townshend, 7 December 1762, fol. 49v; to Secretary of War, 8 August 1764, fol. 71; W. Blackett to Wellboro Ellis, July 1765, fol. 79v; letter about assize protection, August 1766, fol. 92v. 40. A.Stone to J.Hedworth, SP 44/3017 29 May 1740; Cuthbert Fenwick to Duke of Newcastle, 20 June 1740, SP 36/51/127–8; Minutes of the Privy Council, 29 May 1740; SP 36/50/465; Minutes of the Privy Council, 19 June 1740, SP 36/51/ 121. 41. TWAS 395/35. 42. Hayter, The army and the crowd, p. 12. 43. Lord Barrington to Sir Walter Blackett, Matthew Ridley and William Lambe, 26 August 1765, wo 4/77, 379–81; Lord Barrington to Lord Weymouth, 13 April 1768, wo 4/136/54; Lord Barrington to Lord Weymouth, 18 April 1768, wo 4/83/317; Hayter, The army and the crowd, pp. 20–22; J.A.Houlding, Fit for service. The training of the British army, 1715–1795 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1981), pp. 57–74; on the subordination of the army to and its separation from civilian government, see J.Brewer, Sinews of power. War, money and the English state, 1688–1783 (London: Urwin Hyman, 1989), p. 43. 44. Sir J.Willis to Lord Barrington, 29 August 1756. In T.Hayter (ed.), An eighteenth-century secretary at war. The papers of William, Viscount Barrington [2 vols] (London: Bodley Head, 1988), p. 244. 45. Williamson to Bishop of Durham, 15 June 1740, SP 36/51/92–3. 46. SP 44/301, 4 July 1740. The report by Sir Dudley Ryder was dated 30 June 1740. 47. See the economic rivalry between Tyne and Wear coal owners, in R.Smith, Sea-coal for London. A history of the coal factors in the London market (London: Longman, Green, 1961), pp. 35–8. 48. Cuthbert Fenwick to Duke of Newcastle, 20 June 1740, SP 36/51/128–9; James Rudman to Henry Dundas, 14 February 1793, HO 42/23/756–7. 49. Hayter, The army and the crowd, pp. 9–14. 50. S.D.Amussen, “Punishment, discipline, and power. The social meanings of violence in early modern England”, Journal of British Studies 34, 1995, pp. 1–34, 6–7.

260 NOTES

51. An act for the better adjusting and more easy recovery of the wages of certain servants; and for the better regulation of such servants, 1747, in House of Lords Sessional Papers, sessions 1744–5 to 1746–7, F.W.Torrington (ed.) (Dobbs Ferry, N.Y.: Oceana Publications, 1977), pp. 261–3. 52. Newcastle Courant 4644, 21 September 1765; NRO, QSO, 13, p. 185. 53. T.S.[Thomas Sanderson] to [R.Burdon?], 19 February 1793, HO 42/24/ 538–9. 54. Levine & Wrightson, The making of an industrial society, p. 408; Matthew Ridley to Earl of Northumberland, 13 September 1765, SP 37/4/ 211. 55. Newcastle Courant 4784, 28 May 1768; Newcastle Courant 4780, 30 April 1768. 56. James Rudman to Evan Nepean, 8 November 1792, HO 42/22/312–13; Keelmen’s papers, TWAS 394/35, 31 October 1792. 57. I.Gilmour, Riot, risings and revolution. Governance and violence in eighteenth-century England (London: Pimlico, 1992), p. 299; The Gentleman’s Magazine 31, March 1761, p. 136; Lt-Col. Duncombe to Earl of Holdernesse, 10 March 1761, Egerton MSS 3436, fol. 382; Earl of Holdernesse to Lord Ligonier, 12 March 1761, SP 44/139/9– 10; H.T.Dickinson, “The Hexham militia riot of 1761”, Durham County Local History Bulletin 22, 1978, pp. 2–6. 58. Hayter, The army and the crowd, p. 98; J.R.Western, The English militia in the eighteenth the century (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1965), pp. 127–40, 290–302. 59. Bute to Attorney-General 24 April 1761 and 11 May 1761, SP 44/139/ 15, 16–17; Bute to Philip Carteret Webb, Treasury Solicitor, 25 May 1761, Bute to Northumberland, 25 May 1761, SP 44/139/20–21, 22–3. 60. Bute to Attorney-General, 9 July 1761; Bute to Philip Carteret Webb, 14 July 1761, SP 44/139/47–8 and 49. 61. Joseph Bulmer to Rowland Burdon, 19 March 1793, HO 42/25/164. 62. John Hedworth and George Vane to “Your Grace”, 23 May 1740, SP 36/ 50/425–8; Edward Goddard to William Williamson, 24 May 1740, SP 36/ 50/431; William Williamson to Bishop of Durham, 24 May 1740, SP 36/ 50/432; informations of Joseph Kitson, Anthony Reed, John Bevings, William Barker, SP 36/51/61, 78–9, 82– 3, 84. 63. William Williamson to Bishop of Durham, 10 June 1740 and 15 June 1740, SP 36/51/ 28, SP 36/51/92; John Hedworth to My Lord, 13 June 1740, SP 36/51/74. 64. M.Ridley to Northumberland, 13 September 1765, SP 37/4/210–2. 65. Thomas Sanderson, 18 and 19 February 1793, HO 42/24/538–9; Newcastle Chronicle 1495, 23 February 1793. 66. Barrington to Weymouth, 13 April 1768, SP 44/142/54; Barrington to Weymouth, 18 April 1768, wo 4/83/317.

NOTES 261

67. Keelmen’s papers, 23 July and 24 July 1740, 394/52. 68. DURH 17/9. 69. Petition of the skippers and keelmen to the Mayor, Recorder, Aldermen and Sheriff of Newcastle, Keelmen’s papers, 394/7; Charles Delafaye to John Hedworth, 23 July 1719, SP 44/281/164–5. 70. Mayor of Newcastle to Duke of Bedford, 30 April 1750, sp/112/331; R.N.Aldworth to Mayor of Newcastle, 3 May 1750, SP 44/318/11–2; Bedford to John Duke, 4 May 1750, SP 44/85/183–4. 71. Keelmen’s papers, TWAS 394/51; Levine & Wrightson, The making of an industrial society, p. 383. 72. TWAS 540/5, Michaelmas 1740; ASSI 41/3 and 42/5. 73. According to Ellis, authorities garnered the names of 91 suspects who participated in the events between 19 and 21 June, two-thirds of whom were not prosecuted; most of the remainder were indicted but not taken to trial. The prosecution rate was higher among those who participated in the events on 26 June, 213 of whom were listed as suspects; Ellis, “Urban conflict and popular violence”, pp. 346–7. 74. Keelmen’s papers, TWAS 394/10, 394/51, 394/52. 75. Keelmen’s papers, TWAS 394/27; “King against the keelmen rioters”, “Newcastle Assizes”, Keelmen’s papers, 394/23; ASSI 41/3 and 42/5. 76. Advertisement dated 29 April 1769, Keelmen’s papers, 394/29. 77. Keelmen’s papers, TWAS 394/29, 30 April 1768; warrant 2 May 1768. 78. Thomas Barnes to—, 23 February 1793, HO 42/24/315–16. 79. Bute to Earl of Northumberland, 29 September 1761, SP 44/139/66–8. 80. Bohstedt, “The moral economy”, p. 272. 81. R.Burdon to E.Nepean, 16 November 1792, HO 42/22/387; H.T.Dickinson, Radical politics in the north-east of England in the later eighteenth century (Durham: Durham County Local History Society, 1979), p. 16; McCord & Brewster, “Some labour troubles of the 1790s in North east England”, pp. 381–2. 82. John Rule, The labouring classes in early industrial England 1750–1850 (London: Longman, 1986), pp. 159, 259. Wells, Wretched faces, p. 286.

Conclusion 1. P.Rushton, “The poor law, the parish and the community in north-east England, 1600–1800”, Northern History 25, 1989, pp. 135–52. 2. R.Colls & B.Lancaster (eds), Geordies. Roots of regionalism (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1992); Henry Liddell, 1712, quoted in E.Hughes, North country life in the eighteenth century. The North-east, 1700–1750 (Oxford: Oxfrord University Press, 1952), p. 16.

262

Manuscript sources

British Library Additional Manuscripts, Holdernesse Egerton MSS 3436 Public Record Office ADM 1, ADM 2, ADM 3, ADM 2396, ADM 2399 ASSI 41, ASSI 42, ASSI 44, ASSI 45 ASSI 43/9 DURH 3, DURH 15, DURH 16, DURH 17, DURH 19 E370 HO 7, HO 10, HO 11, HO 13, HO 19, HO 30, HO 42, HO 43, HO 47, HO 50 SP 35, SP 36, SP 37, SP 44 T 1/180, T 1/476 wo 4, wo 5, wo 30, wo 40 Durham County Record Office D/X 730/1 Q/S/OB 8–16 Quarter Sessions Order Books Q/S/OM Rough Order Books Treasurer’s accounts 1734–95, Q/F/1–3 Northumberland Record Office Delavel Papers M11 (672/1/BB48–55) Hexham Manor Borough Records QSI vol. 121 onwards, quarter sessions indictments

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QSB 48–91 QSO 6–15 ZAL/14/1/18 ZAL/31/4–5 ZAL/40/12 Allgood papers ZAN M16 B1 and B2 ZAN M17.145 ZBL 230 John Erasmus Blackett Papers ZCK 3 Cook family papers zsw 351a Northumberland Record Office: Berwick BR0282 C8/1 C15/2 C15/60 H2/1–109 M813–4 Tyne Wear Archive Service 540 vols 4–6, Quarter Sessions Books 564 Watch Committee 592/1 (MF135) Town Clerk’s correspondence 616/1 “Rogues File” 1434/1–2, Calendars of Justices, Assize Indictments and Depositions Calendar of Common Council Book (CCCB) MF 272 and 279, burial records of St Andrews and St Johns Newspapers and periodicals The Annual Register The Gentleman’s Magazine and Historical Chronicle The Newcastle Advertiser The Newcastle Chronicle The Newcastle Courant The Newcastle Intelligencer The Newcastle Journal The York Courant

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284

Index

Adamson, Isobel (housebreaker) 104 Admiralty Court 18–19 agriculture and farming 9–10 alehouses 28, 31, 32, 35 Alexander, William (hanged) 138, 140 Allan, James 7 Allgood, James (landowner) 59 Allison, William (thief) 66 American Revolution xiii, 67, 98, 207 transportation 150–6, 153, 157, 160, 164 Amos, William 88 Anderson, Ann (transported) 156 Anderson, John (robbed) 106 Anthony, Alexander (shot) 143 appeals 18–19, 32, 54, 57, 118, 122 transportation 157, 161 Appleby, Ann (infanticide) 113 armed forces 51, 143, 150–6, 193–3, 197–5, 200 riot 185, 187–5, 190, 193–5, 201, 206, 209 whipping 127, 132, 133 Armstrong, Robert (thief) 88 Armstrong, Tom (aka William Cooper; horse thief) 66 arrests 199–7 Arson (aka Heaviside), Mary (thief) 108 assault 47, 50, 55–9, 65, 79, 127, 181 law enforcement 29, 32, 36

women 96, 97 assizes 18–19, 20, 24, 198 capital punishment 136, 146 imprisonment 168, 169, 180, 181 justices 192, 194 law enforcement 28, 34, 42 patterns of punishment 47–55, 57– 60, 62, 65–71, 72–5 public punishment 126, 132 riots 201, 202–10 social organisation of crime 80, 82, 83, 87, 89, 91 transportation 147–61, 161, 207, 208 women 96, 99, 103–7, 107–12, 112, 116–20, 118 associations 40–2 Atkinson (aka Revel), Frances (thief) 66, 79–1, 182–90 Atkinson, Jane (robbed) 105 Atkinson, Mary (infanticide) 113 attempted murder 126 Aynsley, Thomas (shot at) 59 Ayre, Martha (robbed) 107 bail 55 Baileys 77, 85–7 Balfour, General 184–2, 194 Barker, William (homicide) 52 Barnes, Thomas 204–12 Barrington, Lord (Secretary of War) 194, 195–3 285

286 INDEX

Bayley, Thomas Butterworth (justice) 167–5 Beadall, Ann (servant) 106 Beattie, JM 57, 95, 122 Beccaria 128, 165 Bedlington, John (found baby’s body) 112 Bell, Anne (infanticide) 112–16 Bell, George (bookkeeper) 24 Bell, John (transportation) 151 benefit of clergy 147, 163, 166, 202 Bentham, Jeremy 3, 128–4, 134, 165, 166 Bentham, Samuel 14 Berwick 14, 17–18, 20, 30, 34, 172 capital punishment 135, 141 public punishment 122, 123, 126, 130, 131 riots 189–7, 195 social organisation of crime 79, 86 transportation 149, 150, 151, 153, 162, 182 women 96, 97, 105, 108–18 Bewick, Thomas 16, 36, 82, 128, 135, 144, 186 Bilton, Robert (horse thief) 161 Bird, Adam (attacked) 50–2 Blackett, Sir Edward (magistrate) 32 Blackett, Sir Walter 125, 182 blackmail 23 Blackstone, William 55, 165 Blagdon, Captain 159 Blair, Elizabeth (raped) 56 Boag, Thomas (thief) 75 Boggy, Jane (rioter) 203 Bohstedt, John 185 Bolton, George (hanged) 65 bookkeepers 22–5 Borders 5, 6, 7, 17, 21, 25, 48 Bowes, Captain 158 Brand, John 13–14, 15, 135 branding 70, 71, 84, 120, 147, 166 branks (scold’s bridle) 20, 121, 122

bribery 23, 36 bridewells 169, 171, 174, 177, 178 Briscoe, Anne (thief) 82 Briscoe, William (killed) 52 Broadwater, Sylvanus (hanged horse thief) 66, 138–4 Brocklebank, Reverend (murdered) 54 Brown, Ann (thief) 102 Brown, James (sheep thief) 83–5 Brown, John (homicide) 52 Brown (aka White), Mary (wife of William Brown) 87, 103 Brown, Peter (gang member) 87–9 Brown, Richard (killed his daughter) 38, 52, 138, 142 Brown, Robert and William (sheep thieves) 83 Brown, ‘Sir’ William (hanged) 86–8, 90, 103, 138, 143, 160–6 Bryson, Eleanor (infanticide) 113–17 bull-baiting 13–14 Burdon, Rowland (MP) 205 burglary 55–7, 66, 69–1, 111, 202, 206, 207 capital punishment 136, 144, 182 law enforcement 28, 38, 41 social organisation of crime 85, 91, 92 transportation 147 women 103, 118, 118 Burke 195 butchers 58, 79, 83–5, 201 Bute, Earl of 205 Campbell, Alexander (highway robbery) 51 capital punishment 1, 7, 20, 22, 67– 70, 133–51, 208 burglary 136, 144, 182 burning at the stake 96, 110 coining and forgery 69–1, 83, 140– 6

INDEX 287

demeanour of condemned 87, 133, 136–7 gangs 84, 87, 89–1, 91, 92, 140, 143 hanging, drawing and quartering 143, 197 homicide 38, 53, 54, 69, 138–4, 142, 144, 156 imprisonment as alternative 166, 167, 171, 183 imprisonment awaiting 137–5, 169 law enforcement 38, 44 patterns of punishment 53–5, 56– 8, 60–2, 63, 65–71 public 120, 122, 127, 133–51 rape 13, 56, 57 riot 136, 187, 197, 203, 205 shooting 143 theft 44, 60, 63, 65, 66–70, 81, 141–7 transportation 147, 152, 156, 158, 160–6 women 95–9, 115–23, 145–1, 208 Carr (aka Ord), Robert (transportee) 77, 85–7, 160–6 Carrick, Christian (thief) 104 Carter, Richard (attacker) 32 Chamber, James 141–7 Chandler, Bishop 7 Chapman, John (falsely accused) 56 cheating 34, 43, 63 Chipchase, Richard (robbed) 108 church courts 31, 33, 48, 126 civil cases 18–19 Clark, Ann (robbed) 104 Clark (aka Douglas), Eleanor and Jane (gang) 38, 90, 91–3, 110, 118, 138 Clark, Elizabeth (gang) 88 Clark, John (gang) 90, 91 Clark, Margaret (shoplifter) 89 Clark, Magdalen (housebreaker) 104 Clark, Richard (gang) 89 Clark, Robert (gang) 88, 89

Clark, Walter (gang) 90, 91, 92, 140 Clark, William (gang) 88 Clark-Winter gang 90–3, 94, 140, 141, 143 class 2–3, 9, 11–12, 15, 25, 101, 134 clergy 181–9 coal trade (including collieries and pitmen) 6, 10–12, 14–16, 207, 209 imprisonment 180, 182 justices 193–1, 196 riot 184–2, 187–6, 191–9, 197, 200- 7, 204–12 theft 97, 101 Cochrane, Captain 194 Cockburn, JS 122, 126, 129 cockfighting 13–14, 43 coiners and coining 42, 69–1, 82–4, 94, 110, 140–6, 206 Coleman, William (robbed) 106 Collister, Margaret (aka James Moore; thief) 105 Colpitts, Thomas and Ann Watson (gang) 93 compensation 21–3, 24, 31, 48–49 Cooper, Mary (thief) 106 coroner’s jury 38, 52 corporal punishment xiii, 20, 70–3, 120, 127–8, 165, 179 see also branding; whipping corruption 23–5, 28 Cotesworth, William (attempted poisoning) 126 Country Keepers 22–5, 28, 29, 42, 48, 77, 86 Coward, William (sheep thief) 83 Cowper, Spencer 9, 10, 11, 12 Cresswell, Ann (thief) 105 Crowley’s crew 14–15 Crozier, Margaret (murdered) 91 Cumberland 21, 41, 80, 157, 159, 162 Cunningham, Henry (gang) 93 Curry, Isobel (murder of her child) 116–20, 118

288 INDEX

Curry, John (thief) 84 Curry, Michael (murderer) 53, 110, 139, 144 Curtis, Richard (homicide) 55 Dalton, William (goldsmith) 107 Darley, John (transporter) 157 Davison, George (murderer and rapist) 54, 56 Dawson, Thomas (infanticide) 112 de Lacy, M 178 debt and debtors 18, 169, 182 Defoe, Daniel 10–12, 14, 15, 101 Dick, John (forger) 44 Didbury, John (thief) 41 dissection 39, 115–19, 118, 137, 14350, 171, 208 Diver, Jenny (pickpocket) 95 Dixon, Alice (murderer) 110 Dixon, William (robbed) 102 Dodds, John (coiner) 83, 141 Dolan, Frances 95 domestic violence 95 Donald, Patrick (infanticide) 45 Donaldson, Elizabeth (thief) 106 Douglas family gang 92–4 Douglas, Ann (robbed) 81 Douglas, John (keelman) 194 Dove, Rachel (thief) 106 Doxford, John (workhouse keeper) 178 Drummond family gang 91 drunkenness 31, 36, 52, 110 ducking-stool 121, 122 Duke, John 201 Dunn, Margaret (hanged) 118 Durham 5–6, 7, 9–11, 14, 17–20, 23, 207 capital punishment 135, 139, 140, 142, 144 imprisonment 170, 171, 175–5, 180, 182 justices 195, 196

law enforcement 30, 33, 35, 37, 39- 1, 43 patterns of punishment 50, 55–8, 59, 61, 63, 65, 67–69, 71–4 public punishment 125, 126, 135 131 riots 185, 186, 190–8, 198, 199–7, 201 social organisation of crime 77, 78, 84, 87, 90, 92 transportation 149, 151–60, 157, 161–8 women criminals 96–97, 103, 105, 107–12, 112, 114–18, 117, 118 Eden, Frederick 11 Eden, Sir John (justice) 151 Elder, William 203 Elliott, Mary (pickpocket) 103 Elliott, Thomas (pilloried) 127 Ellis, J 203 Elstob, Jonothan (rioter) 204 employment 12–13, 62, 67, 101, 102, 158, 207 escapes from gaol 28, 141, 162–8, 177 gangs 83, 85, 86, 87–89, 94 Everitt, John (whipped) 127 evidence and witnesses 1, 38–39, 42– 4, 61 infanticide 110–17, 117 patterns of punishment 47, 50, 52– 7, 61 rioters 201, 203, 204 social organisation of crime 80, 81, 84, 89 women criminals 104, 108, 110– 17, 117–2 executioner 135–1 extortion 56 Eyre, John (transported) 161 Fairless, Nicholas (merchant) 201

INDEX 289

fairs 34, 63 Fall (aka Smith), Jane (wife of William Fall) 90 Fall, John (gang) 88, 89, 94 Fall, William (gang) 87–90, 159, 161 false pretences 125, 126 false weights 35 Fawcett, Christopher (recorder) 163 Fawden, Mary (murdered) 139 Faws gang 77, 85–7, 87, 88–90, 92, 94 transportation 149, 155, 159, 161 Fenwick, Cuthbert (Mayor of Newcastle) 195 Fenwick, Thomas (assault) 32, 185 Ferguson, CMF 22 Ffoggitt, Captain Caleb 162 Fielding, Henry 133, 134, 165 Fielding, Sir John (magistrate) 42–5, 89, 95, 194 fines 20, 31, 35, 57–59, 72, 122, 180, 203 Fisher, Jabez Maud 9, 10, 144–50 Fleming, Susanna (fortune teller) 12529, 127 flogging see whipping Flower, Richard 201 Floyd, Isobel (thief) 108 Floyd, Margaret (thief) 107, 108 food riots 186, 188, 189–8, 197, 198 Ford, Elizabeth (rioter) 203 forestalling 181, 186 forgery 44, 47, 63, 69–1, 126, 138, 206 social organisation of crime 82, 94 Forster, Henry and John (shopkeepers) 104 Forster, Captain 45 fortune telling 35, 87, 125, 126 Foucault, Michael 128 fraud 22, 23, 31, 34, 45, 126 game and game laws 40, 59, 78

gangs 34, 39, 43, 75–94, 206 capital punishment 84, 87, 89–1, 91, 92, 140, 143 transportation 77, 83, 86–90, 92, 94, 149, 160–7 Gardiner, Margaret (thief) 108 Gardiner, Ralph 134 Gascoigne, Rebecca (killed) 52 Gatenby, Dorothy (infanticide) 116, 118, 142, 146, 182 Gateshead Fell-Bishop Auckland gang 92–4 Gatis, Jane (murder of her child) 117 Gelson, Jane (housebreaker) 104 gibbets 92, 115, 135, 137, 143–50 Gibson, Alice (gang) 88 Gibson, John (transported) 162 Gibson, Thomas (innkeeper) 203 Gilbert, Thomas 182 Giles, Captain Matthias 87, 157–3, 159 Gillan, John (pickpocket) 34 Godfrey, Elizabeth (thief) 109 gold and silver theft 44, 65, 102, 1069, 126 Golightly, Ann (transportation) 162 Gordan, George (found baby’s body) 113 Gowther, Christian (homicide) 117 Graham, Charles and William (thieves) 65 Graham, James (hanged) 84, 85 Grainger, Mary (thief) 107–11 Gray, Frances (thief) 106 Gregg, Jane (gang) 88 Grey, Jean (forgery) 82, 126, 127 grocers 58 Gross, Isabel (thief) 107 groups 85 Hale, Matthew 55, 56 Hall, Elizabeth (transported) 152 Hall, ‘John Tricky’ (forgery) 126 Hamilton, William (wife hanged) 118

290 INDEX

Hankin, Martha (thief) 82 Hanway, Jonas 95, 168 hard labour 36, 48, 91, 156, 197, 204 imprisonment 166–4, 168, 174, 175, 179–8, 183 pattern of punishment 48, 71–3, 72 Havelock, Joseph (infanticide witness) 111–15 Hazlitt, Robert (hanged) 140, 144 Headley, Robert (butcher) 83–5 Heaton, Anne (extortion) 56 Hedley, Robert (rioter) 201 Henden, John (transporter) 157 Herdman, Mungo (lawyer) 201 Herring, Elizabeth (murderer) 96 Herrup, C 36 Heron, Anthony (pockets picked) 103 Heugh, William (incest) 57 Hewitt, John 18, 42, 43, 88, 89, 153 Hexham 20, 32, 54, 112, 131–7, 198 imprisonment 174–1, 180 riots 201, 203, 205–13 social organisation of crime 82, 84 highway robbery 20, 37, 111, 197 capital punishment 140, 144 gangs 89, 93 patterns of punishment 50–2, 52, 60, 63, 65 Hill, Captain 158–4 Hill, Holdsworth (thief) 44 Hodgson, Captain John 157, 158, 159 Hogarth, William 13, 146 Hogg, William (burgled) 91 Holdernesse, Earl of 198 homicide (including manslaughter; murder) 1, 19, 109–18, 120, 195, 206 capital punishment 38, 53–5, 69, 138–4, 142, 144, 156 law enforcement 27, 29, 38 patterns of punishment 46, 51–6, 57, 69–1

social organisation of crime 78, 91–3 women 94, 96, 109–18, 116–21, 119 see also infanticide homosexuality 39, 122 horse theft 17, 23–5, 138, 161, 206 law enforcement 25, 37, 41, 42 patterns of punishment 49, 65, 66, 69–1 social organisation of crime 80, 87, 89, 91 women not involved 103, 119 housebreaking 89–1, 91, 104, 140, 141, 142 houses of correction 126, 156, 171–85, 207, 208 imprisonment 167–85, 179–9 law enforcement 28, 30, 36 patterns of punishment 70, 71, 71, 72 riots 197, 200, 204 whipping 129–6 women criminals 118 Howard, John 63, 120–6, 128, 149, 150 prisons 165, 167–5, 170–8, 174, 175, 178 hue and cry 39–1, 44, 56, 81, 169 Hugall, George (stolen goods) 108 hulks xiii, 41, 91, 151, 160, 163 Hume, David 3 Humphreys, Joseph (hanged) 140 Hunt, William (magistrate) 33 Huntley, Thomas (extortion) 56 Hutchinson, Jane (stolen goods) 109 identification of suspect 34–7, 37, 39 illicit practice 58 imprisonment xiii–2, 89, 164–90, 207 awaiting capital punishment 137– 5, 169 law enforcement 30, 32, 34, 35

INDEX 291

pattern of punishment 48, 57, 60, 66, 70–5 public punishment 120, 125, 126, 133 riot 180–8, 197, 203–11 theft 60, 66, 71–4, 166, 175–4, 179, 182 transportation 147, 150–7, 153, 156- 1, 159, 164, 168–6 industrial unrest 15, 58, 180–8, 193– 1, 196, 209 riots 188–6, 191–9, 197–5, 200, 201, 206 infanticide 38–39, 45, 110–18, 182 patterns of punishment 47, 51, 53, 54, 55 women criminals 109, 110–18, 116- 20, 119 informations 197–6, 204 informers 41, 78 Innis, John (escaped gaol) 163 Jackson, Margaret (robbed) 105 James, Henry (pilloried) 126–1 Jameson, Thomas (forgery) 82, 126 Jobling, Margaret (attempted rape) 56 Jobling, William (hanged) 145 Johnson, John (rioter) 204 Jolley, William (whipped) 157 judges 1–2, 18–20, 80, 125 capital punishment 116–22 imprisonment 167, 181 patterns of punishment 54–6, 58, 68- 71, 73 transportation 149, 152 see also justices juries 1, 23–5, 28, 38, 40, 132 patterns of punishment 49, 52–7, 68- 70 rioters 201, 202 transportation 152, 163 women criminals 104, 111, 114, 116, 117–1, 119

justices (including magistrates) 2, 19– 6, 192–196, 207–18 capital punishment 119, 135 imprisonment 164–2, 167–5, 170– 8, 174, 175–8, 207 law enforcement 25, 29–6, 38–40, 42–6 patterns of punishment 47–49, 54, 57–9, 60–2, 63, 66, 69, 71, 73 public punishment 122, 125, 126, 129–6 riot 184–7, 192–196, 197–9, 204, 205 social organisation of crime 77, 78, 80, 86, 88 transportation 147–6, 153, 157, 160, 164 women criminals 96, 99, 119 keelmen 9, 11–12, 14–16, 23, 36, 83, 180 homicide 52 justices 193–1, 196 riot 187–6, 191–9, 194, 197–5, 200- 7, 203–11 women criminals 101 Kell, Jane (murderer) 110 Kermode, J and Walker, G 95 Keynes, M 166 Keys, James and Ann (thieves) 105 Kirkupp, Mary (thief) 106 Laidler, Edward (transported) 23 Lairmouth, Ann (robbed) 105 Lamb, John (killed) 52 Laqueur, TW 134 Laverick, Margaret (witness) 116 Laws, Lydia (stolen goods) 108, 109 Lawson, James (pilloried) 126 lead theft 84 Leckey, Captain 194 Leithead, John (coining) 83 Levine, D and Wrightson, K 15 Lewis, John (rioter) 201

292 INDEX

Liddell, George (MP) 54 Lilburne, John 121 Linebaugh, P 133, 136 local authorities 6, 19–1, 66, 86, 20615, 209 law enforcement 37, 40, 44 patterns of punishment 47, 48, 54, 73 prisons 165, 166 riots 187, 193, 206 transportation 147, 151, 156, 160, 162 Loggan, Isabel (whipped) 131 London 27, 42–5, 188, 189, 207 capital punishment 115, 116, 134, 136, 139 imprisonment 166, 169, 182 patterns of punishment 61, 63–5, 70, 72 public punishment 122, 125, 147 relations with NE 6, 11, 14, 16, 19, 101, 209 theft 61, 63, 63 transportation 150–6, 158–4, 161– 8 women criminals 95–9, 100, 101, 115, 116 Low, Mary (transported pickpocket) 103, 161 Lowe, Henry 197, 200 lunacy 1, 53–5, 55, 110, 140, 178 McColloch (or McCalow), Steel (thief) 75 MacDonald, Matthew (transported) 157 MacDonald, Owen or Ewen (hanged) 138, 139 McKie, Daniel (thief) 75 Maben, James (coiner) 82–4, 84, 85, 94, 140–6 magistrates see justices Mailing, John (accomplice to murder) 113

Malcolmson, RW 110 Malvin, Mary (thief) 103–7 Mangham, Jane (thief) 107–11 Mann, Edward (homicide) 52 manor courts 33, 48 manslaughter see homicide marriage 31, 79, 80, 100–5, 118, 155– 1 Marshall, Cuthbert (chandler) 108 Marshall, Joseph (horse thief) 138–4 Marshall, Robert (robbed) 118 Matthison, John (forgery) 44 Meggee, Thomas (transported) 23 Middleton, Elizabeth and Thomasine (stolen goods) 109 Middleton (aka Coulson), Margaret (murder) 116–20, 118 midwives 38, 39, 112–17, 117–1 Milburne, Anne (infanticide) 54, 55, 70 Miller, Charles (rioter) 204 Mills, John (young thief) 65–7, 78 Millwood, Mary (thief) 104 Mitchelson, Mary (thief) 79 Montagu, Elizabeth 11 Morpeth 17, 20, 39, 56, 63, 135, 150 escapes from gaol 85, 86, 87–9, 162 imprisonment 174–2, 178, 182 public punishment 122, 131–7 women 105, 117 Morrison, Bartholomew (hanged) 136 Morrow (or Murray), James (transported) 152 Moseley, Edward (Mayor of Newcastle) 193 murder see homicide Nesfield, Reverend 184 networks 85, 107–12 Newcastle 5–7, 9–14, 16–18, 20, 985, 207, 209 capital punishment 134–41, 138, 140, 143, 146

INDEX 293

imprisonment 167, 169, 172–80, 175–90 justices 193, 195, 196, 198 law enforcement 25, 27, 30, 33–6, 37–45 patterns of punishment 49, 51–3, 54, 56–9, 61–73 public punishment 122–8, 126–1, 129–8 riots 184–2, 187, 189–8, 197–6, 201- 10 social organisation of crime 75– 80, 82, 87, 90, 93 transportation 150, 152–61, 158– 5, 162–8 women criminals 96–106, 109– 14, 113–19, 118–2 Newton, Ann (stolen goods) 108 Newton, Isaac (stolen goods) 84 Newton, James (servant) 108 Nicholson, John (aka William Brown) 87 Nicholson, John (robbed) 82 Nicholson, Mary (hanged) 118, 136 Norris, Henry (magistrate) 33 North, Roger 22 Northumberland, Duke of 189, 200 Northumberland 5–6, 10, 14, 17–18, 21–5, 196, 208 capital punishment 135, 139, 144 imprisonment 169, 174, 175–3, 178- 7 law enforcement 25, 28, 29–3, 35, 37–9, 40–4 patterns of punishment 48–50, 55– 8, 59, 61, 63–69, 71–4 public punishment 126, 130, 131, 132 riot 197, 198, 204 social organisation of crime 77–9, 80, 83, 85–89, 91 transportation 149–64, 161 women criminals 96–98, 101, 114- 17, 118

nuisance 20, 29, 36, 47, 58, 79 Ord (aka Carr), Robert (transportee) 77, 85–7, 160–6 Ord, William 55 Ormston, Elizabeth (infanticide) 38, 114 Osbourne, George 146 Ostle, Captain 160 overseers 38, 47, 54, 58, 111 Owen, John 46 Paine, Tom 188 Palatinate 18–20, 206 Paley, Archdeacon 3, 158 pardons 6, 54, 59, 118, 168, 208 public punishment 126, 126 transportation 150, 151, 161 Parker, Reverend Richard 13 Parkinson, Jane (killed) 117, 118 Parkinson, Mary (stolen goods) 109 partial verdicts 68–69, 110, 152 Patterson, Isobel (hanged) 118 Patterson, Peter (hanged) 136, 143, 203 Paul, Sir George Onesipherous 167 Pearce (or Price), John (rioter) 193–1 Pearson, Thomas (homicide) 52 Peatt, Robert (silversmith) 106–10 perjury 82, 126 petit treason 110 Pickering, George 111 pickpocketing 34, 63, 142, 156, 206 gangs 75, 87, 89, 92 women 95, 103 pillory 82, 121–32, 147 poaching 2, 28, 36, 58–59, 61 Pococke, Bishop Richard 12 police and constables 2, 4, 12, 17, 25, 53, 122 law enforcement 25–30, 32, 33, 37- 39 patterns of crime 48, 51, 52, 53, 56, 61

294 INDEX

riots 186, 190, 193, 195, 202 Polworth, Jane and Joseph (gang) 90– 2 poor law 19, 32, 36, 47, 58, 168 Porteous, Captain (lynched) 187 Porter, Mary (raped) 55 posse commitatus 199–7 poverty 2–3, 47, 58, 63–5, 207 food riots 189–7 imprisonment 167, 182 women criminals 101, 102 prostitution 34–6, 55, 95–9, 97, 102, 156 Quakers 182 quarter sessions 18–20, 23, 203 imprisonment 171, 174, 175, 179– 9 law enforcement 30, 31, 32, 36 patterns of punishment 47, 50, 57– 60, 65–69, 71–5 public punishment 125, 126, 130 social organisation of crime 77, 79, 80, 87, 93 transportation 149–7, 153–62, 163–9, 207 women criminals 96–102 Quin, Lieutenant (rapist) 56 Ralph, John (merchant) 108 rape 13, 47, 51, 55–8, 195 law enforcement 31, 39 public punishment 122, 125, 126 Reed, Mary (robbed) 104 reprieves 6, 7, 54–6, 81, 134, 137 gangs 77, 89–1 imprisonment 166, 167 public punishment 120, 122, 125 theft 66, 70 transportation 147–8, 156–2 women 118 reputation 34, 48, 55, 113, 118, 119, 156 rewards 20, 24, 37, 41

Richardson, Catherine (thief) 103–7 Richardson, Isobel (stolen goods) 109 Richardson, Joseph (shopkeeper) 84 Richardson, Margaret (infanticide) 113 Richardson, Thomas (stolen goods) 107 Ridley, Matthew 189, 200, 202 riot 2, 6, 11, 14, 44, 57–9, 184–9, 193– 13, 209 capital punishment 136, 187, 197, 203, 205 Guildhall 25, 58, 190, 195, 201, 106, 203 imprisonment 180–8, 197, 203–11 public punishment 125 transportation 158, 203 women 96, 99, 203, 204, 206 robbery 38, 81, 160, 197, 204, 206, 207 capital punishment 142, 144–50 patterns of punishment 55, 56, 65, 66, 69–1 women criminals 103, 110, 118 see also highway robbery; theft Robinson, Isabel (robbed) 106 Robinson, Jane (robbed) 104 Robinson, William (vagrant) 36 Robson, Ann (thief) 105, 130 Robson, Henry 204 Romilly, S 63 Rowlandson, Thomas 130 Rudman, James (Mayor of Newcastle) 198 Rule, John (pilloried) 126 Ryder, Sir Dudley (Solicitor-General) 196, 202 Samuel, John (coining) 83, 140–6 Scotland 6, 7–9, 17, 21, 23, 86, 184, 206 law enforcement 25, 34, 41, 42 riots 202

INDEX 295

see also Borders Scott, Reverend Dr James (shooting) 59 Scott, Margaret (murderer) 110 seamen’s unrest 187–6, 191–9, 196, 198, 200, 204–12 Sedgwick, John (whipping) 131 sedition 127, 181, 201 Selby, Mark (murderer) 54 servants 31–3, 73, 82, 132, 197 transportation 147, 152, 158, 159 women criminals 106–11, 110– 15, 119 settlement of cases 5, 30–2, 32–4 sexual crimes 31, 39, 57, 126 Sheaval, Isabel (murderer) 53, 110 sheep theft 10, 23, 83–5, 103, 119, 142 patterns of punishment 48–49, 61, 65, 66, 69–1 Sherlock, George (shopkeeper) 104 shoplifting 89, 104, 147 Sinclair, Alice (thief) 126 Slater, William (shoemaker) 35 Smith, Adam 3, 167 Smith, William (hanged) 142 smuggling 28, 59 Smythe, Reverend Thomas 107 sodomy 44, 126, 126 solitary confinement 167–5, 175, 177 Sommerbell, Mary (robbed) 118 Soresbie, Robert (Mayor of Newcastle) 202 Spotswood, James (gang member) 86 Squires, Francis (transported) 151 Stafford, Margaret (thief) 107 staithes 186 Stanforth, Elizabeth (daughter killed) 110 Staples, Charles (robbed) 103–7 Steel, Ralph (robbed) 106 Stephenson, Ann (thief) 106 Stephenson, Jane (transported) 156 Stephenson, Jane (witness) 112

Stevens, Richard (defrauding) 43 Stevenson, William (hanged) 139 stocks 31, 121, 122, 123 stolen goods 17, 50, 63, 106–10 gangs 80, 82, 83–5, 85, 92 law enforcement 28, 29, 40, 41 women 102, 105, 106–10 Strange, John (Attorney-General) 202 street lighting 27, 63 Stuart, Charles Edward 201 Stuart, Mary (thief) 104 Summerville, Archibald (whipped) 129 Sunday observance 21, 122–8, 141 Surtees, Auborne (justice) 194 Sutton (privateer) 45 Syms, Thomas (passing coins) 83 Tate, Thomas (burglar) 28 Taylor, Elizabeth (robbed) 104 Taylor, Mary (stolen goods) 107 Taylor, William (threat to demolish house) 201 Tew, Edmund (magistrate) 30–2, 33, 34–6, 96 Thain, Robert (escaped from gaol) 162 theft 20–5, 60–8, 126, 195, 206, 207 capital punishment 44, 60, 63, 65, 66–70, 81, 141–7 gangs 75, 79–1, 82–6, 87–89, 91– 4 imprisonment 60, 66, 71–4, 166, 175–4, 179, 182 law enforcement 28–29, 31, 34–6, 37–42, 44 patterns of punishment 47–51, 60– 8, 68–73 transportation 23, 28–29, 41, 60, 66, 70, 79, 87, 147–7, 153, 156, 161, 163 whipping 130, 132 women criminals 66–69, 71, 96– 109, 118–3, 207, 208

296 INDEX

see also horse theft; housebreaking; pickpocketing; robbery; sheep theft Thompson, Cuthbert (robbery) 81 Thompson, Mary (thief) 104 Thompson, P 193 Thorpe, Reverend Dr (riot) 185 Tinkler, Margaret (homicide) 117–1 Tomlinson, John 13 Towers, Elizabeth (witness) 108 transportation xiii–1, 7, 70–2, 127, 133, 147–69, 206–17 alternative to prison 165–3, 168, 171, 178, 180, 182 alternative to whipping 131 escape from gaol 83, 141 forgery 82, 126 gangs 77, 83, 86–90, 92, 94, 149, 160–7 homicide 52, 54 imprisonment whilst awaiting 168, 169 law enforcement 28, 35, 41, 43 patterns of punishment 52, 54, 60, 66, 70–2, 71–5 returners 43, 77, 86, 87–90, 94, 138, 160–8 riot 158, 203 theft 23, 28–29, 41, 60, 66, 70, 79, 87, 147–7, 153, 156, 161, 163 women criminals 96, 103–7, 118, 152–61, 159, 207 travellers and gypsies 2, 85, 86, 88, 208 treason 143, 197 trespass 18, 47 Trotter, Anne (whipped and transported) 156 Trotter, Richard (robbery) 56, 156 Turnbull, George (rioters) 204 Turnbull, Joseph (robbed) 106 Turner, Jane (lewd woman) 35

Turpin, Dick (hanged) 141 unrecorded crime 48–49 vagabonds and vagrants 9, 20–2, 73, 130, 204, 208 gangs 77, 85–7, 88 imprisonment 166, 177, 178 law enforcement 34, 35–7, 40 transportation 147, 150, 155, 157, 178 Vardy, Ann (murderer) 53, 110 Vaux, R 1 Vert, Thomas (hanged twice) 139 victims of crime 3, 4, 29, 36–9, 40, 109, 131 patterns of crime 47, 49, 50, 52, 55–8, 61 women criminals 98, 100, 119 Walker, Mary (witness) 104 Walker, Robert (killed) 52 Wallis, Jane (transported) 131 Wandless, Mr (robbed) 105 Wanless, Margaret (transported) 157 war 9, 62–4, 67, 206 watch system 25–8, 29, 52, 63, 193 Watson, Alexander (attacked) 51 Watson, Elizabeth (infanticide) 111– 15 Watson, Thomas (murderer) 156 Watson, William (whipped) 129 Waugh, Richard (robbed) 109 Wear, William (false weights) 35 Webb, S and B 4, 164, 207 Weddell, Elizabeth (robbed) 107 Wesley, John 9, 13, 101, 188 Westgarth, Robert 79 Weymouth, Lord 195 Wharton, Thomas (gaoler) 159 whipping 1, 20, 127–8, 156–3, 183 gangs 82, 85, 86 law enforcement 28, 35

INDEX 297

patterns of punishment 60, 70, 714 public punishment 120, 126, 127– 8, 179 Whitaker, Thomas (whipped) 132 White, Mary (wife of ‘Sir’ William Brown) 87, 103 Whitefield, Reverend George 103 Wilkes, John 188 Wilkinson, Elizabeth (raped) 56 Williamson, Alice (hanged) 118–2, 182 Williamson, Sir William 196, 199–7 Willis, Ann (whipped) 130 Willis, Chief Justice 195 Wilson gang 88 Wilson, Ann (murderer) 110 Wilson, George (young thief) 66, 79– 1 Wilson, Isabella (horse thief) 66 Wilson, Jane (aka Mary Brown; thief) 105 Wilson, Mary (witness) 113 Wilson, William (murdered) 52 Winter, John (gang) 90–2 Winter, Margaret 91 Winter, Robert (gang) 90–2 Winter, William (gang) 38, 90–3, 144, 145 witches 126, 134–40 witnesses see evidence and witnesses women 12–13, 27–9, 34–6, 66–8, 94119 capital punishment 95–9, 115–23, 145–1, 208 imprisonment 169–7, 174, 175–4, 179, 183 patterns of punishment 48, 53, 55, 66–69, 71, 73 public punishment 125, 127, 129– 5, 132 rioters 96, 99, 203, 204, 206 social organisation of crime 80, 82, 92

theft 66–69, 71, 96–109, 118–3, 207, 208 transportation 96, 103–7, 118, 152–1,1 64,2 16 workhouses 54, 110, 169, 177–5, 181 wrecking 59–1 Young, Bartholomew (escaped from gaol) 162 Young, Jane (murdered) 53 Young, John (thief) 66 young offenders 13, 33, 65–7, 78, 79– 1, 147, 156

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