Читать книгу The Adventures of Ralph Rashleigh - James Tucker - Страница 6

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THE crushing effect of the shock of his heavy loss, combined with the strain upon his nervous system resulting from his debauch, was that Rashleigh developed severe brain fever. The landlord of the inn found him heavily intoxicated and put him to bed in one of his rooms, first taking his purse and deciding to apportion his charges according to its contents.

It was not until the fourth week of his illness that Rashleigh recovered consciousness, and it was some days before he was strong enough to take the air. On inquiring of the landlord for his money, he was presented with a bill which, with the surgeon’s charges for visits and medicines, amounted to over eighty-eight pounds, and the man demanded discharge of this bill immediately. As he held the money, Rashleigh had no alternative but to settle the bill, extortionate as he knew the charges to be. All that remained to Rashleigh was the sum of seven pounds ten shillings and eightpence, and the suit of clothes in which he stood.

Wasted in health and strength, preyed upon by remorse and hopelessness, he determined to abandon his life of crime and take up again his occupation as a legal copyist. He left the inn for a small furnished apartment near the Temple, and after a week’s recuperation, visited an old employer and asked for work. The lawyer received him in a friendly way and promised that he would have some work ready for him the next day, and Rashleigh made his way back to his lodging with an easier mind than he had had since he had first begun to utter spurious coins.

On his way home an incident occurred which made mock of his good resolutions and committed him to a terrible future. A man passing in the custody of a police officer, on the way to the watch-house, hailed Rashleigh, who, on turning to look at him, discovered that it was his accomplice in the robbery of the house in Welbeck Street. Suspecting that Rashleigh was the pal of his prisoner, the officer passed the word to one of his colleagues, and in less than a quarter of an hour Rashleigh found himself arrested and lodged in the watch-house, ignorant of the charge upon which he had been arrested. After an anxious night in the cells, he was brought next day before the magistrate of Bow Street to hear the officer charge Thomas Jenkins (alias Thomas Jones, alias Thomas Smith, and a number of other aliases) with having been concerned in a daring robbery of a house in Adelphi. The police case against him was proved to the hilt. It appeared, however, that Jenkins had been seen in the company of an associate on the evening of the robbery, whom the police were prepared to swear greatly resembled Rashleigh. After Jenkins had been committed for trial at the Old Bailey, Rashleigh was put into the dock, but the only evidence which could be found against him was of a negative character. He stated with considerable heat that he was not a thief, but a legal copyist. It was decided to remand him for a week, so that inquiries could be made.

When he was again brought before the magistrate, he found that his associate in crime, Jenkins, had turned King’s evidence against him and had made full confession of his story of the Welbeck Street crime, and had implicated the hackney coachman who had assisted in the removal of the booty, as well as the receiver who had bought it from them. Whatever defence Rashleigh might have been able to put up was destroyed by his inability to explain how he had occupied himself during the previous eighteen months. The police had made inquiries and found that his claims to be a copyist were based upon his visit to the lawyer whom he had mentioned on the day of his arrest, and the fact of his imprisonment for uttering spurious coins was put in. Rashleigh was therefore committed to Newgate to take his trial at the ensuing sessions for burglary, which at the time was a capital offence.

Strongly secured by leg-chains and handcuffs, Rashleigh was hustled into the prison van, with two prostitutes committed on the charge of pocket-picking; a girl, fresh from the country, who was committed to prison for having stolen a few articles from her mistress; an apprentice boy charged with robbing his master’s till; an old beggar who was to be tried for a street assault; and, finally, a brutal-looking Irishman who had beaten his wife so severely that her life was despaired of. On the way to the prison the van was filled with the noise of the wailing of the servant-girl, the bawdy cross-chat of the two strumpets, and the wild curses of the Irishman, so that it was a relief to Rashleigh when at last the van stopped outside the prison gates. The van door was thrown open and its prisoners unloaded by torchlight; then Rashleigh and the others were hurried through the prison gates to the accompaniment of brutal jeers and jests from the mob which collected nightly to greet the arrival of prisoners.

A feeling of icy despair came over him as he heard the grating noise of the hinges and the rasp of the great bolts as the door was closed, shutting him off from the free world, as it seemed, for ever. All the prisoners were subjected to a strict search, but all their money and other innocent articles were immediately returned to them. A wardress led the women in one direction, and a turnkey ordered Rashleigh and the other men to follow him along a gloomy passage, the walls of which were festooned with fetters and handcuffs, between which hung fire-arms of all sizes and dates. The sight of these added to Rashleigh’s feeling of dread, but it was the instruments of punishment and torture, some of them then obsolete, which made the most terrifying impact upon his imagination. The passage ended in a small room in which a clerk entered the personal description of each of the criminals, after which they were moved on through a small yard until they were halted by a grated door. After some delay this was opened, and they were admitted into this new wing of the building and led up three flights of stone stairs into a large, badly-lighted apartment, the unglazed windows of which were strongly secured by iron bars. Except for a rough table and two or three wooden forms, the room was unfurnished, though scores of prisoners were sitting and lying around its floor. The turnkey handed his batch of prisoners over to the man in charge of the ward, who gave to each of them a chunk of black bread, a length of coco-nut matting, and a coarse horse-rug.

On the instant of the door closing upon the turnkey, a rug was flung over Rashleigh’s head from behind, and he was pulled to the ground. The same treatment was meted out to all the new-comers, and all were stripped of their clothing by their fellow-prisoners. Rashleigh was too dispirited to resist, and when the laughing prisoners had had their way with him, he secured his rug and mat, spread them on the ground, and lay naked down to sleep. The combined distractions, however, of the vermin with which the place was overrun, the noisy talk and other nameless annoyances from the dregs of humanity who were now his associates, combined with the intense cold and the unease of his mind, made sleep quite impossible. He spent the night tossing and tumbling, brooding remorsefully upon the past, and making golden resolutions for the future. Rising before the majority of his fellow-prisoners were stirring, he examined the pile of clothing which he saw lying in the middle of the floor, and finding his own clothes, dressed quickly and went to warm his frozen body by the fire. At eight o’clock several buckets of this gruel, which served as breakfast, were brought in, but in spite of the poor quality of the food, Rashleigh made a hearty meal with the gruel and the black bread which had been given him the previous night. After breakfast the prisoners attended prayers in the chapel, and then those who were so inclined went to wash themselves at the pump. After this the order of the day seemed to be simply to stand around in the yard, talking and waiting for any messages or parcels which might be brought by friends.

Rashleigh stood among the disconsolate group of men who had hope of neither message nor parcel, and who could only look on in envy at the more fortunate prisoners. His interest was suddenly arrested by the appearance of a man who, in answer to the name of William Tyrrell,1 went forward through the door to the visitors’ room. There was something about the man which made Rashleigh think that he had seen him before, and, on asking another prisoner who Tyrrell was, he learnt that he was a swindler undergoing a sentence of three months’ imprisonment. While the inmates broke up into groups and gangs — ‘schools’ as they were termed — and settled down to various forms of gambling, Rashleigh watched the door through which Tyrrell must return. Without losing sight of the door for more than a few moments, he was able to observe that gaffing, or tossingthe-ha’penny, was the favourite form of gambling, which, despite the smallness of the unit stake, roused the players to a frenzy of excitement, and was carried on to the accompaniment of such an assortment of language as could only be heard in Billingsgate, Chequer Alley, and Winfield Street. Quarrels occurred and rings were formed in proper prizefighting order, and the protagonists, cheered by their seconds, fought the issue to a knock-out. Betting was carried on over these battles, and he saw one man pledge his very shirt and shoes in support of his favourite. It astonished Rashleigh that men could keep so free-hearted and careless in such circumstances, when many of them knew that only a miracle could save them from the gallows in a few weeks’ time.

1 On the seventh day of the Fifth Sessions at the Old Bailey in 1827, the trial of William Tyrrell took place. The Sessions Papers gives the following account:

William Tyrrell was indicted for a fraud. Samuel Bills: I keep the Blue Posts public-house in Holborn and book for the Kentish Town coach. On the 17th of April the prisoner (who was a stranger to me) came to the office and produced a brown-paper parcel with this ticket to it (looking at it): the parcel was to be sent to Kentish Town; the ticket purports to be from the Angel, St. Clements, and charges 1s. 8d. carriage and 6d. porterage. It was directed to Mr. Sheen, Kentish Town, he demanded 2s. 2d. which I paid him; he brought another parcel about three o’clock the same afternoon, and had a ticket with that, purporting to come from the Angel, and charging 2s. 2d. which I paid him, believing to be correct. Cross-examined by Mr. Barry. Q. Did you know where they came from? A. No; the ticket only denotes that they came from the country; the parcels were found to contain nothing but brown paper. James Phipps: I am a coachman. I took the parcel to Mr. Sheen, of Kentish Town, but it was a hoax. Joseph Werrett: I took a parcel to Hampstead, but could not find the person it was directed to. Joseph Walters: I am porter at the Angel, St. Clements, we often send parcels by the short stages and a ticket like these, with our charge. Cross-examined by Mr. Barry. Q. Is this one of your tickets? A. We used these about two years ago; the prisoner was employed at the Angel about four years ago. Samuel Hopson: I took the prisoner in charge; he said poverty drove him to it, and that he had a wife and three children; I believe he was in great distress. Mr. Barry addressed the Court on behalf of the defendant and called several witnesses who gave him a good character. Guilty. Recommended to Mercy — Confined Three Months.

At last Tyrrell reappeared, and as he passed him, Rashleigh recalled where it was that he had seen him. The occasion had been when Tyrrell was being taken in custody of a constable to Hertford Jail, and Rashleigh had entered the inn at which they were passing the night en route. He had sat in with the policeman and plied him so generously with liquor, that the fellow had fallen into a drunken sleep, whereupon Rashleigh had taken from his pocket the key of the room in which the prisoner was confined, and released him. He had further given him sufficient money with which to make good his flight. Rashleigh went over and talked with Tyrrell, who almost at once recognized him as the man who had so opportunely laid him under an obligation. He asked Rashleigh how he was fixed in prison, and on learning that he was practically penniless and without any influence or friends, Tyrrell at once showed that he was no ingrate. He explained that he had, by dexterous bribing of jail officers, obtained a place in one of the best and most luxurious rooms in the whole prison, where he had every facility for enjoying life; and that he had always all the money he needed. He promised to arrange it that Rashleigh should be removed into this desirable ward, and offered in any case to let him share his mess until the Sessions.

The principal turnkey of the jail came presently to the yard gate to superintend the distribution of the meat and soup to the prisoners, and Tyrrell seized the opportunity to ask the officer to allow Rashleigh to be transferred to what was known as ‘Smugglers’ Ward.’ The force of his appeal was driven home with a handsome bribe, surreptitiously pressed into the turnkey’s hand, and Rashleigh received permission immediately to change his ward. It proved that Tyrrell had not exaggerated the comforts which were to be had in this notorious ward. The beds were all clean-looking, and a number of them were screened off separately with coarse curtains, thus dividing the main room into small private apartments, which were actually rented by the wardsman weekly to those who could afford them. There were decent tables and chairs, and other furniture, and generally Rashleigh decided that there were worse places in which to hunt comfort than His Majesty’s Jail.

Tyrrell gave him a share of his own two-bedded apartment, enclosed like the rest with curtains. It contained several shelves and a table with drawers, all loaded with articles of petty merchandise which gave it the appearance of a huckster’s shop. A corner of the cubicle was actually used for the latter purpose, as Rashleigh discovered when, a few minutes after their arrival, several prisoners came to purchase tea, sugar, coffee, milk, eggs, bacon, butter, and other eatables, and the two of them were occupied for more than an hour supplying the customers. His benefactor then ordered a meal to be prepared for them, and Tyrrell noticing his guest’s surprise, explained that ‘Smugglers’ Ward’ kept its own hours and had its own regimen of existence independent of prison routine. It was true, he said, that all had to attend prayers in chapel every morning for half an hour with the ruck of prisoners, but they returned to their beds and remained snugly in them until the ward had been thoroughly cleaned out, their boots and clothes brushed, and their breakfasts cooked by their servants. Every one of the prison haut ton who could afford the luxury, employed a servant, while others less opulent clubbed their resources and shared the cost of a servant between them. These servants, Rashleigh discovered, were mostly the Johnny Raws, simple-minded countrymen, or young apprentices, who had not acquired sufficient guile to supply their wants, and were glad to earn a little cash and extra food by serving the more fortunate prisoners.