The Murder of Martha Reay: Victim Blaming in 18th Century England

by Lauren Gilbert

Martha Ray by Nathaniel Dance, 1777

It’s a story that could be taken from 21st century news media. The evening of April 7, 1779, Miss Martha Reay left the theatre with a friend. As she started to get into her coach, James Hackman shot her in the face with a pistol, and then tried to kill himself with a second pistol. Within a year or so of her death, the victim was considered somehow at fault in her own murder, even though he did not deny killing her. This case was a sensation in the press of the day.

Who was Martha Reay? Strictly speaking, in terms of the society in which she was born, Martha Reay (or Ray, or Raye, or other variations depending on the source) was no one. She was born sometime between 1742-1746 in Elstree in Hertfordshire, the daughter of a corsetmaker and his wife(?), a servant. She was apprenticed to a milliner or dressmaker at the age of 13 or so by her father. When Martha reached the age of 16, her father allegedly took her to a procuress with a prospect of prostituting her. By all accounts, she was an attractive girl (not strictly a beauty, but fresh and pretty in appearance) with a good singing voice and a kind nature. Whether through the efforts of the procuress or by other means, Martha became the mistress of John Montagu, the 4th Earl of Sandwich, when she was somewhere between the ages of 17 and 19.

John Montagu, 4th Earl of Sandwich, engraving, 1774

The Earl was a married man, aged about 44 years, and a career politician with a serious love of music. He had naval interests and was a patron of Captain James Cook, who named the Sandwich Islands for the Earl. (Contrary to the myth, the “sandwich” of bread and meat named for him was his quick meal to allow him more time at his desk, not the gaming table.) Unhappily married with only one living child (a son and heir also named John), he separated from his wife in 1755, shortly after which she was found to be insane by the Court of Chancery and was made a ward of the court. While his wife remained in permanent seclusion, he was unable to divorce and remarry.

When Lord Sandwich took Martha under his “protection”, he first placed her in a little house in Covent Garden with a companion, where he provided her with music masters. Whether the sexual relationship started immediately or later, the Earl took her (and her companion) to his family home Hinchingbrooke and treated her for all intents and purposes as his wife. She served as hostess at dinners Lord Sandwich hosted at the Admiralty Club for fellow politicians, and sang in two seasons of oratorios sponsored by the Earl. Over a 10-year period, Martha bore him 5 living children (4 sons and a daughter), whom he acknowledged. Sources indicate she actually had 9 children by the Earl, but only 5 survived. All accounts indicate that they were an affectionate couple.

John Hackman, hand-coloured copper engraving, 1810

In 1774, John Hackman (a birth date of 1752 put his age at 22 at this time ) met the Earl while riding with a neighbour of the Earl’s, and was invited to dinner. At this point, he met Martha. Born in Hampshire, he was a handsome young man with the rank of ensign in the 68th regiment of the foot, of a respectable lower middle class family (originally destined for a trade, he went into the military instead.) Apparently, he conceived a romantic desire to rescue Martha from the Earl’s clutches. Martha was several years older than Hackman and there is no indication she had feelings for him. Being in the neighbourhood, they met multiple times. Hackman asked her to marry him and she turned him down. Accounts indicate Martha cited her loyalty to Lord Sandwich and that she had no desire to marry a military man. Shortly afterwards, Hackman was posted to Ireland. In 1776 he was promoted to lieutenant, but subsequently had resigned from the army to become a clergyman, supposedly in hope that Martha would change her mind and marry him. In February of 1779, he was ordained as a deacon, then a priest, and was assigned as rector of Wiveton in Norfolk.

Apparently, Hackman’s infatuation with Martha continued, possibly even grew, throughout this separation, and career change. (There is no indication he actually served in his clerical capacity.) He went to London, and sent Martha a note asking her to meet him. Accounts indicate she refused and told him to give it up, in essence. (This response appears to be the only letter known to have been written by Martha in the case.) Accounts indicate that his acquaintances noted that he was increasingly depressed. Shortly after this, on April 7, he followed Martha to the theatre, where he saw her in company including Lord Coleraine, who he decided was her current lover. He went to get 2 pistols, waited in a nearby coffee house, then, when he saw her leaving the theatre, committed the crime.

Stunned by her murder, Lord Sandwich had Martha buried next to her mother in Elstree. (Some accounts indicate he had her name engraved on a silver plaque which was mounted on her coffin.) In the meantime, during his murder trial, John Hackman pleaded innocent, saying he had not intended to kill Martha but only himself and that shooting her was a sudden impulse or frenzy, and his attorney said that he was insane. Judge and jury did not agree, especially because he had 2 pistols with him, and found him guilty. (Several witnesses also testified, which did not help his cause.) He was hanged at Tyburn April 19, 1779. Accounts indicate he met his end with bravery, asking to be buried near Martha, which did not happen. (His body was dissected at Surgeon’s Hall in London.)

The newspapers reported the case heavily, initially objectively. The supposed love triangle made it irresistible. Subsequently, Hackman's handsome appearance, his despair over his failed courtship and the death of his love resulting from his crime of passion made him a more sympathetic character. Speculation that Martha had somehow led him on then spurned him began circulating. Subsequently, a pamphlet (author anonymous) was published by G. Kearsley in Fleet Street, portraying John Hackman as good hearted yet misguided young man overwhelmed by his desire to save an undeserving woman. The romance combined with the facts that Hackman was a clergyman while Martha was a fallen woman appealed to the public’s imagination.

In March of 1780, G. Kearsley brought out a book titled LOVE AND MADNESS: A STORY TOO TRUE (written by Herbert Croft but published anonymously), to be the correspondence of John Hackman and Martha Reay over several years, supporting the view of Martha as the older woman taking advantage of a naive younger man then casting him aside, leading him to desperation. The book went into 9 editions. Even though the correspondence was forged and the book considered an epistolary novel when the author’s identity became known, many accepted it as factual. Public opinion leaned towards sympathy with the murderer, and a feeling that the victim had brought her death on herself.

Although Martha was known to have been concerned about financial security for herself and her children (given that the Earl was significantly older than she was and not overly wealthy), she had actually considered becoming a professional singer. There is no indication that she was ever unfaithful to the Earl or that she encouraged Hackman to believe she had feelings for him. Hackman’s known letters indicated that he chose to believe that she might marry him; this belief may have had roots in his obsession with an attractive woman whom he felt needed to be rescued or, even more simply, a refusal to accept that she did not want to be with him. In my opinion, evidence does not support the theory that Martha toyed with him then cast him aside.

After Martha’s death, Lord Sandwich took care of their children who continued to live with him. Although one son died, the other 3 had opportunities and their daughter married an admiral. Lord Sandwich died in April of 1792. Mary Hervey, Lady Fitzgerald, was shown as his last mistress by one source, but another referred to her as a good friend to the Earl. Most biographical references for the Earl that I found do not mention a mistress after Martha. It seems he remained faithful to Martha’s memory. I found nothing to indicate that he believed that Martha enticed Hackman. Sadly, you can still find speculation that Martha led James Hackman on in accounts today.

Sources include:

CASE and MEMOIRS of Miss MARTHA REAY, to which are added, REMARKS, by Way of Refutation on The CASE and MEMOIRS of the Rev. Mr. Hackman. London: M. Folingsby and C. Fourdrinier, 1779. (ECCO Print Edition)

Stebbins, Lucy Poate. LONDON LADIES True Tales of the Eighteenth Century. New York: Columbia University Press, 1952.

EverythingExplained.com. "John Montagu, 4th Earl of Sandwich explained" (no author or post date shown). HERE

ExecutedToday.com "1779: James Hackman, sandwich wrecker" by Headsman, posted April 19, 2015. HERE

Plagiary. "LOVE AND MADNESS: A Forgery Too True" by Ellen Levy, 2006. HERE

Pen and Pension. "The Rev. James Hackman and the Murder of Martha Reay" posted June 10, 2015 by William Savage. HERE

Royal Favourites. "English Earls' and Countesses' Lovers and Mistresses" posted by Eu Royales (no date provided). HERE

Smithsonian.com. "Fatal Triangle" by John Brewer, Smithsonian Magazine, May 2005. HERE

Watford Observer. "Martha Ray" (no author or post date shown). HERE

Illustrations:

Martha Ray: Wikimedia Commons, HERE

John Montagu, 4th Earl of Sandwich: Wikimedia Commons, HERE

John Hackman: Wikimedia Commons, HERE


~~~~~~~~~~


Lauren Gilbert, author of HEYERWOOD: A Novel, holds a B.A. in English and is a long-time member of JASNA. She lives in Florida with her husband, and is working on her second book A RATIONAL ATTACHMENT. Please visit her website here for more information.

A Story of the Bodkin Murders

by Paul B. McNulty

In 1742, John Bodkin was hanged drawn and quartered having been found guilty of the murder of his brother Patrick in 1739. Aged about twenty two, John was the second son of Counsellor-at-law, John Bodkin and Mary Clarke of Carrowbeg House, Belclare, a village four miles west of Tuam, Co Galway. On the gallows, he refused to acknowledge his guilt of the crime. Instead, as the noose tightened around his neck, he proclaimed I forgive Mankind implying that he was not guilty.

The stark nature of the event has been vividly portrayed in Pue’s Occurrences, a four-page twice-weekly newspaper:

Last Saturday, John Bodkin Esq. was executed here; he neither confessed or denied the murder of his Brother; he was applied to by the High Sheriff and all the Gentlemen present to declare whether he was guilty or not; but could not be prevailed upon to give any Answer; after he pulled down his Cap and was just about to be thrown off, the Gentlemen and the Clergy begged he would satisfy the Publick of his Guilt or Innocence upon which he put back his Cap and begged they would let him die in Peace, and would make no other answer, but forgave Mankind; upon which he was thrown off and in 3 minutes cut down alive, his Privy Parts cut out, and his Bowels taken from him and his Head severed from his Body.

I have investigated the possibility of John Bodkin’s innocence through the medium of a historical novel in which he and Catherine Bermingham, the third daughter of Lord Athenry, are the principal characters. Both are real people but their romance is fictional. If John Bodkin was innocent, I assumed he would have sought to protect someone he loved such as his betrothed, Catherine Bermingham.

I then developed the plot by suggesting that John’s older brother Patrick was madly jealous of his younger brother’s coup in successfully wooing a girl above his station in life. That jealousy would then ignite the passion which would ultimately lead to disaster for both brothers.

The delay in John Bodkin’s trial resulted from the belief of the local Justice of the Peace, Lord Athenry, that Patrick Bodkin had died of natural causes. It was not until the aftermath of the Bodkin murders in 1741 that John Bodkin was indicted for fratricide. These events have been described in a primary source, Pue’s Occurrences in 1741, later amplified by Oliver J Burke in his 1885 Anecdotes of the Connaught Circuit…, a secondary source. Three members of the Bodkin family, Oliver Bodkin (John Bodkin’s uncle); Oliver’s pregnant wife, Margery; his son, Oliver; a visitor, Marcus Lynch of Galway; and a number of unnamed servants were murdered in a family feud.

On the gallows in 1741, Shawn Bodkin, one of those convicted of the Bodkin murders, accused his first cousin John Bodkin of murdering his older brother, Patrick. In 1742, John Bodkin was hanged drawn and quartered having been found guilty of the crime as hitherto described.

Sources:

Burke, Oliver J, Anecdotes of the Connaught Circuit… Dublin, 1885, pages 86-92.

Estate: Bodkin (Carrowbeg & Thomastown)

Hardiman, James, The History of the Town and County of the Town of Galway 1820,

            Dublin, 320 pages.

Mohr, Paul, “The de Berminghams, Barons of Athenry: A Suggested Outline Lineage

from First to Last,” Journal of the Galway Archaeological and Historical Society, 2011, volume 63, pages 43-56.

Ms 32484, Land holding, National Library of Ireland.

Pue, Richard, “Country News Tuam, 9 October, 1741,” Pue’s Occurrences, 10-13 Oct

            1741-42, volume 39, microfilm 53, Trinity College Library, Dublin.

——— “Country News Galway, 19 March, 1742,” 20-23 Mar 1741-42, Ibid.

——— “Country News Galway, 23 March, 1742,” 23-27 Mar 1741-42, Ibid.

Tuam, http://www.logainm.ie/eolas/Data/IHTA/tuam.pdf, Thomas Bagworth, p 5.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After retirement from an academic post at University College Dublin, Paul studied Genealogy/Family History and Creative Writing. His diploma project, “The Genealogy of the Anglo-Norman Lynches who settled in Galway,” led to the discovery of stories that inspired him to write historical novels based on real events in 18^th century Ireland. These include Spellbound by Sibella, The Abduction of Anne O’Donel and A Story of the Bodkin Murders each published by Club Lighthouse CLP, Edmonton, Alberta, Canada. The first two novels have been finalists in the William Faulkner Novel Competitions, New Orleans in 2012 and 2013 respectively.

He has also self-published The Genealogy of the Anglo-Norman Lynches… in 2013 and a novella, A Rebel Romance in 2014, both with CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform. More recently, he has written the first draft of a play based on an extract from his novel, Spellbound by Sibella. A reading of this play occurred within the Theatre Festival of UCD dramsoc in November 2015.

Banished: A Short History of Penal Transportation

By Catherine Curzon

Over the last couple of months, I have probed into the Neck Verse and some corporal and capital punishments handed down to criminals who stood before the judges of the Old Bailey. This month, I take a stop by the colonies to learn more about transportation; timely indeed, given the recent outcry over the cancellation of BBC TV's drama of the penal colonies, Banished.

A View of Botany Bay, 1789

With prisons creaking under the weight of the sheer number of convicts held there and the scaffolds working overtime, the powers that be in 17th century English law asked themselves whether it might be better to find some way not only to punish, but to rehabilitate. If that rehabilitation might also have the side effect of removing the offender from the country on a permanent basis too, then all the better. Eventually it was decided that transportation would achieve both of these aims admirably, whilst also allowing the state to point to the leniency shown to the offender who had, at least, been allowed to keep their life even if they were destined to leave behind all that they knew. Not only that, but the convicts were responsible for paying their own way to the penal colony or the costs were met by those who owned the transportation ships.

The passing of the 1718 Transportation Act ruled that those who did not succeed in claiming benefit of clergy should instead be transported to America to face hard labour, specifying that they would face death should they return. Not all of those who faced transportation were convicted of the most violent or serious offences, and not all were adults, with men, women and children subject to the same punishment. However, not all transportation was for life and some were allowed to return home after a set period of time, though they were required to make the arrangements to return and to foot the bill from their own pocket. If they could not afford it, then they were destined to forever remain in the land to which they had been sent. In fact, many convicts had already started a new life and had no wish to return, starting families and even winning employment as a jailer once they had served their sentences. Two years after the passing of the act, the government ruled that merchants who agreed to transport convicts would have their costs met by parliament.

The First Fleet entering Port Jackson on 26 January 1788

For nearly six decades this arrangement persisted until the American Revolution stopped the ships in their tracks and those who faced transportation saw their sentences amended to hard labour. Eventually, of course, transportation resumed and with the sailing of the First Fleet in 1787, transportation to Australia began, perhaps the most famed destination for felons. This remained the case until the passing of the Penal Servitude Act in 1857, in which transportation was finally ended for good.

References
Old Bailey Proceedings Online (www.oldbaileyonline.org)
Brooke, Alan and Brandon, David, Tyburn: London's Fatal Tree (The History Press, 2013)

Cawthorne, Nigel, Public Executions: From Ancient Rome to the Present Day, Arcturus Publishing (2006)

Gatrell, Vic, The Hanging Tree: Execution and the English People 1770-1868 (OUP, Oxford, 1996)
Grovier, Kelly, The Gaol (John Murray, London, 2009)
Webb, Simon, Execution: A History of Capital Punishment in Britain (The History Press, 2011)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Glorious Georgian ginbag, gossip and gadabout Catherine Curzon, aka Madame Gilflurt, is the author of A Covent Garden Gilflurt’s Guide to Life. When not setting quill to paper, she can usually be found gadding about the tea shops and gaming rooms of the capital or hosting intimate gatherings at her tottering abode. In addition to her blog and Facebook, Madame G is also quite the charmer on Twitter. Her first book, Life in the Georgian Court, is available now, and she is also working on An Evening with Jane Austen, starring Adrian Lukis and Caroline Langrishe.

Benefit of Clergy: Get Out of Jail Free?

By Catherine Curzon 

In my last article here, the branding iron, the pillory and the gallows took centre stage as I introduced some corporal and capital punishments of the 18th century Old Bailey. Whilst researching my second book, Tales from the 18th Century Old Bailey, I have found myself lost in the fascinating labyrinth of the various sentences and punishments available to the Old Bailey judges and today, it is my dubious delight to look at a holy grail for sentenced prisoners... the chance to plead benefit of clergy.

Old Bailey in 1750. Sessions House
(Wellcome Library, London)

Benefit of clergy (privilegium clericale) first emerged as an option in the 12th century when a member of the clergy could be tried not by the courts, but by their clerical peers. It was an invaluable loophole to those who could exploit it and provided a route to escape the death penalty for serious crimes, with clergy courts likely to hand down far more lenient sentences than their criminal brethren. However, the plea was open only to those who could prove that they were clergymen of some description and for the vast majority of criminals on trial, this was never going to happen!

However, where there's a will there's a way and the method of proving your clergyhood was far from foolproof, taking as it did the form of a reading test. The person on trial was required to recite what became known as the Neck Verse, or, more officially, Psalm 51. If one could make the recital, then one could claim benefit of clergy and soon enough criminals up and down the country were merrily memorising and reciting Psalm 51 as well as the Archbishop of Canterbury himself might!

Psalm 51, or, the Neck Verse

“Have mercy on me, O God, according to your steadfast love; according to your abundant mercy blot out my transgressions."

Of course, such a blatant abuse of the system could not go unchecked and as the centuries passed, so too did the system of benefit of clergy morph and change. A suspicious judge who suspected a defendant of simply memorising the verse could ask for a second reading from the Bible and, of course, if a criminal could actually read, then he was, essentially, home and dry. As the number of people claiming benefit of clergy increased, a list of crimes for which clergy could not be claimed was drawn up and, eventually, the system was opened to any criminal committing a first-time offence. 

Following the wider availability of the plea, any defendant lucky enough to succeed faced a minimum sentence of hard labour but that, of course, is preferable to the gallows. Should benefit of clergy be approved by the judge, the recipient could also look forward to being branded on his thumb, in order to ensure that he could never claim the right again and that any future crimes would attract the full weight of the law.

The law was eventually abolished in 1827 and the Neck Verse was retired as those on trial forever lost the right to claim benefit of clergy.


References
Old Bailey Proceedings Online (www.oldbaileyonline.org)
Brooke, Alan and Brandon, David, Tyburn: London's Fatal Tree (The History Press, 2013)

Cawthorne, Nigel, Public Executions: From Ancient Rome to the Present Day, Arcturus Publishing (2006)

Gatrell, Vic, The Hanging Tree: Execution and the English People 1770-1868 (OUP, Oxford, 1996)
Grovier, Kelly, The Gaol (John Murray, London, 2009)
Webb, Simon, Execution: A History of Capital Punishment in Britain (The History Press, 2011)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Glorious Georgian ginbag, gossip and gadabout Catherine Curzon, aka Madame Gilflurt, is the author of A Covent Garden Gilflurt’s Guide to Life. When not setting quill to paper, she can usually be found gadding about the tea shops and gaming rooms of the capital or hosting intimate gatherings at her tottering abode. In addition to her blog and Facebook, Madame G is also quite the charmer on Twitter. Her first book, Life in the Georgian Court, is available now, and she is also working on An Evening with Jane Austen, starring Adrian Lukis and Caroline Langrishe.

"The Law of the Wise": Some Corporal and Capital Punishments of the Old Bailey

By Catherine Curzon 

In these modern times, crime and punishment is something of a political hot potato. The question of leniency of sentencing is one that crops up time and again in coverage of this most serious issue, with the rights of those convicted of crimes and their victims a subject of near constant debate. We recognise now that it is important that the severity of the punishment should fit the nature of the crime though, of course, these are not particularly simple waters to navigate. 

Crime and punishment in the Georgian era is, of course, a favourite subject of mine and I have, on occasion, been accused of having a somewhat macabre interest in the Bloody Code. My post today should do nothing to dispel those rumours and it is my morbid pleasure to be your guide to some of the most popular methods of corporal and capital punishment imposed at the Old Bailey throughout the long 18th century. 

In coming posts, we will learn a little more of the other punishment options available and those who were subjected to them but for now, consider this your Georgian punishment digest! 

Branding 
Branding was the act of marking a felon with a hot iron, often with the shape of a letter that represented their crime such an M for murderer. In the early 18th century these brands were made on the cheek of the criminal but, eventually, they were branded on the thumb in order to give them at least a chance of finding employment and living something close to a normal life. With the branding carried out in the courtroom on the day of the sentencing, the very public and permanent mark meant that branding could only be applied once. 

The pillory at Charing Cross in London, c. 1808.

Pillory 
The pillory was usually set in the middle of a busy part of town to ensure that the maximum punishment and humiliation was inflicted on the felon. A cousin of the stocks, the pillory allowed the convict to be secured by neck and hands and there he would be subjected to abuse from the populace, both verbal and physical. All manner of items would be hurled at the person in the pillory, from faeces to rotten food and even dead cats or, in the case of Daniel Defoe, fresh flowers! Although not intended to cause lasting physical harm, there are records of deaths, blindings and other serious injury to those being pilloried. On occasion, the person in the pillory might be unfortunate enough to encounter our next punishment at the same time. 

Whipping 
Another punishment with a strong element of public humiliation was that of whipping. On occasion related to the pillory, it was more often applied in the very streets of the city. Whether male or female the felon was stripped to the waist and tied to a cart that moved through the streets. Stumbling along after the vehicle, the convict endured both pain and humiliation as, walking behind, the executioner whipped them through the gathered crowds.

The Tyburn Tree

Death by Hanging
This is the punishment most associated with the era and tales of the Tyburn Tree echo through history, ballads and stories told of the men and women who died there. Some were notorious, some forgotten but all shared the dubious honour of meeting their death on this famous site. Of course, not everyone who went to their deaths did so at Tyburn and not everybody who was handed the death penalty was actually executed but this chilling sentence remains at the heart of the Bloody Code.

Driven in a cart from their prison to the gallows with their hands bound, convicts were subject to a public procession through the streets of London where crowds awaited them. Some were feted, others abused and on occasion, stops were made to allow the condemned to take some last drops of alcohol or, in the cases of some more celebrated prisoners, meet their public!

Upon arrival at Tyburn, where still more spectators crowded in to watch, the prisoner was given the chance to address the crowd. Whilst some took the route of repentance, others protested their innocence, remained silent or were too shocked, terrified or drunk to make much sense at all. Still in the cart, the noose was placed around the convict’s neck, the hood over their head and the cart was driven away, leaving them hanging and suffering a slow, agonising death by strangulation. Later the cart was replaced by a drop that was intended to result in a quicker death; often it did, but sometimes, it did not. Family and friends of the hanging person would rush to their aid, dragging at their flailing legs in an effort to hasten their death and lessen their suffering.

Not all who received the death penalty met their fate on the gallows, of course. A pregnant woman might “plead her belly” and escape the penalty and, in many cases, such sentences for men and women were commuted to lesser punishments. Now and again, though not exactly often, a convict might even be pardoned and set free.

Newgate, the old city gate and prison

The Old Bailey in the 18th century was not a place where leniency was practised often and if modern methods focus on rehabilitation, this was not the case for our Georgian ancestors. Punishments were severe and even crimes that seem relatively minor to us now, such as pickpocketing, might result in transportation or execution. Likewise, age was no barrier to receiving a harsh sentence and Britain’s laws were regarded, rightly, as some of the most strict in Europe. Over time the punishments began to reduce in severity for lesser crimes but for many years execution remained a viable and popular sentence. The last hanging in England took place in 1964 and even now a particularly brutal crime sees calls for the death penalty to be reintroduced. It is a debate that still goes on, of course, but for the foreseeable future, no criminal sentenced in England will face the noose.

References
Old Bailey Proceedings Online (www.oldbaileyonline.org)
Brooke, Alan and Brandon, David, Tyburn: London's Fatal Tree (The History Press, 2013)

Cawthorne, Nigel, Public Executions: From Ancient Rome to the Present Day, Arcturus Publishing (2006)

Gatrell, Vic, The Hanging Tree: Execution and the English People 1770-1868 (OUP, Oxford, 1996)
Grovier, Kelly, The Gaol (John Murray, London, 2009)
Nelson, John, The History and Antiquities of the Parish of Islington, in the County of Middlesex, T Lester (1829)
Wade, Stephen, Britain's Most Notorious Hangmen (Wharncliffe Books, 2009)
Webb, Simon, Execution: A History of Capital Punishment in Britain (The History Press, 2011)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Glorious Georgian ginbag, gossip and gadabout Catherine Curzon, aka Madame Gilflurt, is the author of A Covent Garden Gilflurt’s Guide to Life. When not setting quill to paper, she can usually be found gadding about the tea shops and gaming rooms of the capital or hosting intimate gatherings at her tottering abode. In addition to her blog and Facebook, Madame G is also quite the charmer on Twitter. Her first book, Life in the Georgian Court, is available now, and she is also working on An Evening with Jane Austen, starring Adrian Lukis and Caroline Langrishe.

Criminal Injustice

by Jude Knight

A plot point in my novel, Farewell to Kindness, led me to research the justice system of the late 18th and early 19th century, It's a fascinating period - a time of change in attitudes to crime and legal remedies for crime, as in so much else.

Our modern view is that one law should apply to all. It doesn't always work. Money buys better lawyers, for a start. But the basic principle is that we have laws that lay down the crime and the range of punishments, and judges who look at the circumstances and apply penalties without fear or favour.

The pre-19th century situation in England was far, far different.

I wanted to have some minor players in my novel caught with contraband goods, arrested, and incarcerated. I figured they'd be ripe for a little bit of pressure to make them give up some information about the real villain.

Ooops. 21st century blinkers on.

With no central police force, a completely different attitude to crime, and no public enforcement, my villains were unlikely to even be arrested, let alone locked up.

No police force

One of the huge social debates of the late 18th and early 19th century involved the idea of a centralised police force. People in all works of life argued against the idea. They saw it as a form of oppression. They thought it was their job to defend themselves and their families. They expected the government to defend them from foreign threats, but they certainly did not want a standing army - which was the common view of the police - telling them what to do on English soil. And they preferred local, not centralised government.

A completely different attitude to crime

Today, crime is seen as an offence against the public order. Before the end of the Napoleonic Wars brought increasing hardship and growing civil unrest, crime was seen a nuisance in society rather than a threat. Crime, with a very few exceptions such as treason and coining, was an offence against an individual.

This attitude — and the harsh penalties of the day — led to a strange result. Few offenders actually suffered the full consequence of the law.

In those days, offences fell into one of three categories: minor offences, clergyable felonies, and non-clergyable felony. A minor offence, such as the theft of something worth less than a shilling, would see the offender publicly shamed in some way — perhaps whipped, or put in the stocks.

Everything else was a felony, but the punishment varied depending on whether or not the offender could claim benefit of clergy. Benefit of clergy meant being tried by a church court, and church courts didn’t impose capital punishment. Originally intended for clerics, by the 18th century, benefit of clergy could be claimed by anyone who could read.

But if you couldn’t read, then the punishment for any offence that wasn’t minor was hanging. In country areas, where people knew each other, several things could save the felon from neck-stretching.

First, knowing that hanging was the penalty made people reluctant to prosecute if they didn’t think the penalty was deserved. Second, many defenders were acquitted or found guilty of a minor offence — and the record often makes it clear that juries have failed to record details in their verdict that would have meant a conviction for a felony. Third, a conviction might not mean a hanging. People could be pardoned, and most were. Some were pardoned and set free, perhaps because of local influence. Many more were pardoned on the condition they agreed to be transported.

No public enforcement

While in theory anyone could be called on to help apprehend someone committing a felony, in practice, enforcement was the responsibility of the local justice of the peace or magistrate, who appointed constables (and, in cities, night watchmen) to keep the peace. The job of constable was a generally a part-time one, particularly in villages.

People who left a particular area didn’t have to fear that the local magistrate or constable would follow. That wasn’t the way it worked. But they might have to watch out for a thief-taker. Thief-takers were fundamentally bounty-hunters who looked for offenders in order to claim a reward.

Thief-takers were an interesting breed. The hero of my second novel is a thief-taker, but an honest one. A dishonest thief-taker might blackmail criminals and take protection money or entrap people into committing crimes in order to catch and prosecute them.

Because crime was considered to be a private matter, it was up to private individuals to prosecute it. Even if the crime was smuggling or highway robbery (both considered crimes against the Crown), the law treated it as a crime against the King as an individual.

Why my plot idea didn’t work

So, in the mind of the law enforcers of the time I'm writing about, contraband goods offended those from whom the goods were stolen, and repaying those people set the balance right. And if a little of the payment stuck to the hands of those enforcing the law, that was only fair, since they'd done the work.

So when the Excise or Customs officers (or maybe both) and the local representatives of the law turned up at my villains’ door, the conversation would have gone something like this:

"What do you lot want? I'm about to have my dinner."
"Now look here, Mr XX. Your warehouse down on the wharf is full of stolen and smuggled goods."
"My goodness, I wonder how that happened."
"You knew all about it. We have evidence, and a deposition from a real Earl. And we have to listen to real Earls, because they're important."
"Bother. You've got me there."
"Yes, it's a fair cop. So consider yourself arrested."
"Really? How about if I just give you the goods? And here’s a little bit extra for yourselves."
"Excellent idea. The sale of those goods should fetch a pretty penny."
"I'll even loan you a cart to take it all away."
"Thank you, Mr XX. Have a nice dinner."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After a career in commercial writing, editing, and publishing, Jude Knight is returning to her first love, fiction. She loves capable determined heroines, and heroes who appreciate them. She published a novella, Candle’s Christmas Chair, before Christmas, and it is currently on several bestseller lists for free books on Amazon. Her first novel is Farewell to Kindness, number one in The Golden Redepennings series, publication date 1 April 2015. She has several novels in progress, and plot outlines for 40+, all set in the early 19th century. The plans include seven series, several stand-alone novels, novellas, and short stories, and a number of characters who intersect across series.

Candle’s Christmas Chair

When Viscount Avery comes to see an invalid chair maker, he does not expect to find Min Bradshaw, the woman who rejected him 3 years earlier. Or did she? He wonders if there is more to the story. For 3 years, Min Bradshaw has remembered the handsome guardsman who courted her for her fortune. She didn't expect to see him in her workshop, and she certainly doesn't intend to let him fool her again.

Contact Jude
Twitter
Facebook
Blog
Goodreads