CHAPTER XVI.
TYBURN AND TYBURNIA.
"The three-square stilt at Tyburn."—Old Saying.
Derivation of the Name of Tyburn—Earliest Executions on this Spot—Sir Roger Bolinbroke, the Conjuror—Elizabeth Barton, the "Holy Maid of
Kent"—Execution of Roman Catholics—Morocco Men—Mrs. Turner, the Poisoner, and Inventor of the Yellow Starched Ruffs and Cuffs—Resuscitation of a Criminal after Execution—Colonel Blood—Jack Sheppard and Jonathan Wild—Mrs. Catherine Hayes—"Clever Tom
Clinch"—"Execution Day"—The Execution of Lord Ferrers—The Rev. Mr. Hackman—Dr. Dodd—The Last Act of a Highwayman's Life—"Sixteen-string Jack"—McLean, the "Fashionable Highwayman"—Claude Duval—John Twyn, an Offending Printer—John Haynes,
and his Resuscitation after Hanging—Ryland, the Forger—An Unlucky Jest—"Jack Ketch"—Tyburn Tickets—Hogarth's "Tom Idle"—The Gallows and its Surroundings—The Story of the Penance of Queen Henrietta Maria—An Anecdote about George III.—The Site of
Tyburn Tree—The Tyburn Pew-opener—Tyburnia—Connaught Place—The Princess Charlotte and the Prince of Orange—The Residence
of Mr. T. Assheton-Smith, and of Haydon the Painter.
Tyburnia, which of late years has become almost,
if not quite, as fashionable and aristocratic as
Belgravia, is the district lying between Edgware
Road and Westbourne and Gloucester Terrace and
Craven Hill, the south side of which is bounded by
the Bayswater Road, and may be said to have
sprung into existence only since the reign of
William IV.
The little river Tyburn, or Tybourn, whence the
district derives its name, consisted of two arms, one
of which, as already stated, crossed Oxford Street,
near Stratford Place; while the other, further to the
west, followed nearly the course of the present
Westbourne Terrace and the Serpentine. Five
hundred years ago, or less, it was a pleasant brook
enough, with rows of elms growing on its banks.
These trees were a place of execution in those
days; and Roger de Mortimer, the paramour of
Queen Eleanor, widow of Edward II., was dragged
thither on a hurdle, and hung and quartered,
his body being exposed there for several days.
Elm's Lane, Bayswater, now swept away, preserved
down to our own time the memory of these fatal
elms, which are to be regarded as the original
"Tyburn Trees." It was at a subsequent time
that the place of execution was removed nearer to
London, the corner of the Edgware Road. Here
it became a fixture for centuries; here many
notable and many notorious persons have "died
in their shoes," to use a favourite cant expression.
Here suffered the "Holy Maid of Kent;" Mrs.
Turner, the poisoner, and the inventor of the
starched ruff which adorns so many portraits of
fair ladies of other days; Felton, the assassin of
the Duke of Buckingham; a batch of the parliamentary regicides; some dozens of Roman Catholic
priests, condemned as "traitors;" a long line of
illustrious highwaymen, such as Jack Sheppard and
Jonathan Wild; Lord Ferrers, the murderer of his
steward; Dr. Dodd, for forgery; and last, not least,
Mother Brownrigg, the same
"Who whipped three female 'prentices to death,
And hid them in the coal-hole."
An absurd derivation of the name has been
suggested, as though it was from the words "tie"
and "burn," though some countenance is given to
the derivation by the fact that traitors were strung
or "tied" up first, and afterwards "burnt." But
the real origin is from the little brook, or burn,
which ran by the spot, as above mentioned.
The gallows were removed hither (as we have
seen) from opposite to St. Giles's Pound; but there
had been occasional executions here earlier: for
instance, it is upon record that Judge Tressilian
and Nicholas Brembre, or Brambre, were hung
here in A.D. 1388. Mr. Dobré was at great pains
to discover the record of an earlier execution here,
but failed.
The complete history of the neighbourhood of
"Tyburn Tree" has still to be written, though
the materials are far from scanty; for between
the Reformation and the reign of George III., few
years elapsed in which Roman Catholic priests, and
even laymen, were not sent thither to suffer, nominally as "traitors," but in reality because they were
the adherents of a proscribed and persecuted faith,
and refused, at the bidding of an earthly sovereign,
to abandon their belief in the Pope as the spiritual
head of Christendom. Here, too, during the same
period, almost as many men of a different stamp
paid the last penalty of the law for violating other
enactments—highwaymen, robbers, forgers, and murderers. The highwaymen generally went to the
scaffold merrily and jauntily, as men who had all
their lives faced the chance of a violent death, and
were not afraid to meet it at Tyburn. As they
passed along the streets in the fatal cart, gaily
dressed in their best clothes, young women in the
crowd would present them with nosegays, and in
the eyes of the assembled multitudes their deaths
were regarded as almost as glorious as those of the
Roman Catholic "confessors" were esteemed by
their co-religionists.
Our readers will not, of course, forget the lines
in the song of "Macheath," in the Beggar's Opera,
which thus refer to Tyburn:—
"Since laws were made for every degree,
To curb vice in others as well as in me,
I wonder we ha'nt better company
'Neath Tyburn Tree."
One of the earliest executions on this spot was
that of "Sir Roger Bolinbroke, the conjuror" (A.D.
1440), who suffered for high treason, in conjunction
with the Duchess of Gloucester, as recorded by
Shakespeare. (fn. 1) From the Harleian MSS., No.
585, we learn his fate in detail. On the same
day on which he was condemned at Guildhall, he
was drawn from the Tower to Tyburn, and there
hanged, beheaded, and quartered, his head being
set up on London Bridge, and his four quarters
being disposed of in like manner at Hereford,
Oxford, York, and Cambridge.
Here was executed, in the fifteenth century,
Fisher, a skinner, already mentioned (fn. 2) by us as the
man who released Sir John Oldcastle when a
prisoner in the Tower.
Here, in 1534, were executed Elizabeth Barton,
the so-called "Holy Maid of Kent," who had
prophesied the speedy death of Henry VIII.;
several of her supporters suffered with her.
Here, too, a few years later, suffered Sir Thomas
Percy, Aske, D'Arcy, Bigod, Sir John Bulmer, and
the Abbot of Jewaux, for the share they had taken
in a foreign pilgrimage and in a last desperate
effort to restore the Catholic religion in England.
Tyburn is mentioned by Holinshed, who writes of
a certain "false servant" that, being convicted of
felony in court of assize, he was judged to be
hanged, "and so was at Tyburn."
To enumerate the names of all who suffered the
"extreme penalty of the law" at Tyburn would be
a difficult, and, indeed, a needless task. Among
those who went thither to end their days, however,
were not only murderers, highwaymen, and traitors,
but also housebreakers, sheep-stealers, and forgers;
the penalty of death, however, was not confined
to them, but was made to include even some of
the loose and disreputable hangers-on of the demoralising State lottery-offices, known as "Morocco
men," for going about the country with red morocco
pocket-books, in which they entered the names of
the victims whom they gulled.
Here was executed Mrs. Turner, the poisoner,
for complicity with the Countess of Somerset in the
murder of Sir Thomas Overbury, an event which
formed one of the episodes in the corrupt reign of
James I. "Mrs. Turner's execution," says John
Timbs, in his "Romance of London," "excited
immense interest. She was a woman of great
beauty, and had much affected the fashion of the
day. Her sentence was to be 'hang'd at Tiburn
in her yellow Tinny Ruff and Cuff, she being the
first inventor and wearer of that horrid garb.' The
ruff and cuff were got up with yellow starch, and in
passing her sentence, Lord Chief Justice Coke told
her that she had been guilty of all the seven deadly
sins, and declared that as she was the inventor of the
yellow-starched ruffs and cuffs, so he hoped that
she would be the last by whom they would be worn.
He accordingly ordered that she should be hanged
in the gear she had made so fashionable. The
execution attracted an immense crowd to Tyburn,
and many persons of quality, ladies as well as
gentlemen, in their coaches. Mrs. Turner had
dressed herself specially for her execution: her face
was highly rouged, and she wore a cobweb lawn
ruff, yellow-starched. An account, printed next
day, states that 'her hands were bound with a
black silk ribbon, as she desired; and a black veil,
which she wore upon her head, being pulled over
her face by the executioners, the cart was driven
away, and she left hanging, in whom there was no
motion at all perceived.' She made a very penitent
end. As if to ensure the condemnation of yellow
starch, the hangman had his hands and cuffs of
yellow, 'which,' says Sir S. D'Ewes, 'made many
after that day, of either sex, to forbear the use of
that coloured starch, till it at last grew generally to
be detested and disused.'"
Following in the wake of Mrs. Turner, came
Southwell, the "sweet versifier;" Felton, the
assassin of the Duke of Buckingham; and John
Smith, the burglar, of Queen Anne's time. In
connection with this last-named execution, even
the gallows may be said to have its romantic side;
for we read in Chambers' "Book of Days" that a
reprieve came after Smith had been suspended for
a quarter of an hour. He was taken down, bled,
and revived.
We have already mentioned Colonel Blood's bold
attempt to seize the Duke of Ormonde in St.
James's Street. (fn. 3) He also endeavoured to complete his act of highway violence by hanging his
victim by open force at Tyburn; but, happily for
the duke, he did not succeed in the attempt.
We next come to the names of two others who
have become famous through the agency of cheap
literature—Jack Sheppard, the notorious housebreaker, and Jonathan Wild, the "thief and thieftaker." Of the early life of the first-named culprit
we have already spoken in our account of Wych
Street, St. Clement Danes; (fn. 4) and for his various
exploits in Newgate we must refer our readers to
our account of that prison. (fn. 5) The whole career of
crime as practised by this vagabond carpenter has
been strikingly told by Mr. Harrison Ainsworth,
in his romance of "Jack Sheppard;" and his portrait, as he appeared in the condemned cell at
Newgate, was painted by Sir James Thornhill, and
sold by thousands as a mezzo-tint engraving.
Jonathan Wild's particular sphere of action lay in
the trade of the restoration of stolen property,
which he carried on for many years through a
secret confederacy with all the regular thieves,
burglars, and highwaymen of the metropolis, whose
depredations he prompted and directed. His
success received some check by an Act of Parliament passed in 1717, by which persons convicted
of receiving or buying goods, knowing them to have
been stolen, were made liable to a long term of
transportation. Wild, however, managed to elude
this new law; but he was at last convicted, under
a clause which had been enacted with a particular
view to Wild's proceedings—such as trafficking in
stolen goods, and dividing the money with felons.
His execution took place at Tyburn, in May, 1725.
At his trial he had a printed paper handed to the
jury, entitled, "A list of persons discovered, apprehended, and convicted of several robberies on the
highway, and also for burglary and housebreaking,
and also for returning from transportation: by
Jonathan Wild." It contained the names of thirty-five robbers, twenty-two housebreakers, and ten
returned convicts, whom he had been instrumental
in getting hanged before he found the tables turned
against himself.
Among the hundreds of murderers hung at
Tyburn, few were more notorious than Catharine
Hayes, who was executed in 1726. She and her
husband lived in Tyburn Road, now called Oxford
Street, but, not being contented with her spouse,
she engaged two assassins, Wood and Billings, to
make him drunk, and then aid her in dispatching
him. They did so, and chopped up the body,
carrying the head in a pail to the Horseferry at
Westminster, where they threw it into the Thames,
the other portion being secreted about a pond in
Marylebone Fields. The head being found and
identified, search was made for the rest of the
body, and this being discovered, the other murderers were hung near the spot where Upper
Wimpole Street now stands. Mrs. Hayes was
reserved to suffer at Tyburn, blazing fagots being
placed under her. The murder, as might be
imagined, caused a great sensation when it became
known, and is constantly mentioned in the publications of the time.
The following lines, from Swift's "Tom Clinch
going to be Hanged," give a picture of the grim
cavalcade wending its way from Newgate to Tyburn,
in 1727:—
"As clever Tom Clinch, while the rabble was bawling,
Rode stately through Holborn to die in his calling,
He stopped at the 'George' for a bottle of sack,
And promised to pay for it—when he came back.
His waistcoat, and stockings, and breeches were white,
His cap had a new cherry-ribbon to tie 't;
And the maids to the doors and the balconies ran,
And cried 'Lack-a-day! he's a proper young man!'"
"Execution-day," as it was termed, must have
been a carnival of frequent occurrence. Horace
Walpole says that in the year 1752 no less than
seventeen persons were executed at Tyburn in a
batch. One of the most memorable executions
that took place here was on the 5th of May, 1760,
when that eccentric nobleman, Lawrence, third
Earl Ferrers, met his fate for the murder of his
steward, a Mr. John Johnson. The scene of
the tragedy was his lordship's seat of Staunton
Harold, near Ashby-de-la-Zouche, and the deed
itself was deliberately planned and carried out.
The career of Lord Ferrers for many years previously had been one of the grossest dissipation,
and had resulted in his estates becoming seriously
involved. The Court of Chancery ordered that
the rents due to him should be paid to a receiver,
the nomination of the said receiver being left to
his lordship, who hoped to find in that person a
pliant tool, who would take things easily and let
him have his own way. The person whom Lord
Ferrers so appointed was none other than Mr.
Johnson, who had been in the service of his lordship's family, as steward, for many years. But he
soon found out that he had got a different man to
deal with than he had expected; and, accordingly,
from that time, he conceived an inveterate hatred
towards him, on account of the opposition which
he offered to his desires and whims, and he finally
resolved to "move heaven and earth" to obtain
his revenge. Lord Ferrers' household at that time
consisted of a Mrs. C—, who acted as housekeeper, her four daughters, and five domestic
servants; and Mr. Johnson's farm-house, the
Mount, was about a mile distant from the mansion,
across the park. On Sunday, the 13th of January,
in the year 1760, Lord Ferrers called on Mr.
Johnson, and, after some discourse, arranged for
another meeting, to take place at Staunton on the
following Friday, at three o'clock. The Friday
came round, and Johnson was true to his appointment. Shortly before that hour, his lordship had
desired Mrs. C— to take the children out for a
walk, and the two men-servants he had contrived
to get out of the way on different pretexts, so that
when Johnson arrived there was no one in the
house except his lordship and the three maidservants. On the arrival of Mr. Johnson he was
at once admitted into his lordship's private sittingroom. "They had sat together, talking on various
matters, for some ten minutes or more, when the
earl got up, walked to the door, and locked it.
He next desired Johnson at once to settle some
disputed account; then, rising higher in his demands, ordered him, as he valued his life, to sign
a paper which he had drawn up, and which was a
confession of his (Johnson's) villany. Johnson expostulated and refused, as an honest man would
refuse, to sign his name to any such document.
The earl then drew from his pocket a loaded
pistol, and bade him kneel down, for that his last
hour was come. Johnson bent one knee, but the
earl insisted on his kneeling on both his knees.
He did so, and Lord Ferrers at once fired. The
ball entered his body below the rib, but it did not
do its fell work instantaneously. Though mortally
wounded, the poor fellow had strength to rise and
to call loudly for assistance. The earl at first
coolly prepared as though he would discharge the
other pistol, so as to put his victim out of misery;
but, suddenly moved with remorse, he unlocked
the door and called for the servants, who, on
hearing the discharge of the pistol, had run, in fear
and trembling, to the wash-house, not knowing
whether his lordship would not take it into his
head to send a bullet through their bodies also.
He called them once and again, desired one to
fetch a surgeon, and another to help the wounded
man into a bed. It was clear, however, that
Johnson had not many hours to live; and, as he
desired to see his children before he died, the earl
ordered that they should be summoned from the
farm. Miss Johnson came speedily, and found
her father apparently in the agonies of death, and
Lord Ferrers standing by the bedside, and attempting to stanch the blood that flowed from the
wound." During the night, by a clever ruse,
Johnson was removed to his own house, where he
lingered only a few hours, dying early the next
morning. The coroner's jury returned a verdict of
"wilful murder" against Lord Ferrers, who was at
once lodged in Leicester Gaol. About a fortnight
afterwards, we are told, he was brought up to
London in his own landau, drawn by six horses,
under a strong guard, and he was "dressed like a
jockey, in a close riding frock, jacked boots and
cap, and a plain shirt." Arraigned before the
House of Lords, he was at once committed to the
Tower, and two months later was again brought up
for trial at the bar of the House of Peers. His
trial lasted nearly three days, and resulted in his
being sentenced to be "hanged by the neck until
he was dead;" but, "in consideration of his rank,"
a few days' extension of time was allowed before
the sentence was carried into effect, and also he
was permitted to be hanged with a silken instead
of a hempen rope. Lord Ferrers, to use the slang
expression of the sporting world, "died game."
To the last he had respect to his rank, and, declining to journey to Tyburn in a cart, went slowly
and stately thither in his own landau, again drawn
by six horses. In this, dressed in his wedding suit,
he rode as calmly to the gallows as the handsomest
highwayman of his day, and went through the performance there with as little unnecessary affectation
as though, like many a "gentleman of the road,"
he had looked to such an end as "the appropriate
and inevitable conclusion of his career." It may
be added that the landau in which Lord Ferrers
rode to Tyburn was never used again, but was left
to rot away and fall to pieces in a coach-house at
Acton. His lordship's body found a grave at old
St. Pancras Church.
THE PLACE OF EXECUTION, TYBURN, IN 1750.
In our account of Covent Garden, in a previous
volume, (fn. 6) we have spoken at some length of the
murder of Miss Reay by the Rev. Mr. Hackman.
Boswell was present at Hackman's trial at the Old
Bailey, and further, after his condemnation and
sentence, attended him in his coach to Tyburn,
in company with a sheriff's officer. Selwyn, who,
like Boswell, was fond of seeing executions, was
not present on this occasion; but his friend, the
Earl of Carlisle, attended, in order "to give some
account of Hackman's behaviour." This he did,
to the following effect:—"The poor man behaved with great fortitude; no appearances of fear
were to be perceived, but very evident signs of
contrition and repentance. He was long at his
prayers; and when he flung down his handkerchief
as the sign for the cart to move on, Jack Ketch,
instead of instantly whipping on the horse, jumped
on the other side of him to snatch up the handkerchief, lest he should lose his rights. He then
returned to the head of the cart, and Jehu'd him
out of the world."
EXECUTION OF LORD FERRERS AT TYBURN. (From an Old Print of the Period.)
In 1777, Dr. Dodd, in company with another
felon, made his exit from the world at Tyburn Tree.
The two were drawn in an open cart from Newgate
to Tyburn, the execution being attended by an
immense crowd. In apprehension of an attempt
to rescue the criminal, twenty thousand men were
ordered to be reviewed in Hyde Park during the
execution, which, however, "though attended by an
unequalled concourse of people, passed off with the
utmost tranquillity." "Upon the whole," writes a
friend of George Selwyn, who was present, "the
piece was not very full of events. The doctor, to
all appearance, was rendered perfectly stupid from
despair. His hat was flapped all round and pulled
over his eyes, which were never directed to any
object around, nor ever raised, except now and
then lifted up in the course of his prayers. He
came in a coach, and a very heavy shower of rain
fell just upon his entering the cart, and another
just at his putting on his nightcap. During the
shower an umbrella was held over his head, which
Gilly Williams, who was present, observed was quite
unnecessary, as the doctor was going to a place
where he might be dried. . . . The executioner
took both the doctor's hat and wig off at the same
time. Why he put on his wig again I do not
know, but he did; and the doctor took off his wig
a second time, and tied on a nightcap, which did
not fit him; but whether he stretched that or took
another, I could not perceive. He then put on his
nightcap himself, and upon his taking it, he certainly had a smile on his countenance; and very
soon afterwards there was an end of all his hopes
and fears on this side of the grave. He never
moved from the place he first took in the cart;
seemed absorbed in prayer, and utterly dejected,
without any other signs of animation but in praying.
I stayed till he was cut down and put into the
hearse. The body was hurried to the house of
Davies, an undertaker in Goodge Street, Tottenham
Court Road, where it was placed in a hot bath, and
every exertion made to restore life, but in vain."
We have already given some particulars of the life
of Dr. Dodd, and of the crime for which he suffered; (fn. 7) it only remains to add that Dr. Johnson
made eloquent and strenuous exertions with his
pen to get the capital sentence remitted, but in
vain. "The malevolence of men and their good
nature," wrote Horace Walpole, "displayed themselves in their different characters against Dodd.
His character appeared so bad to Dr. Newton,
Bishop of Bristol, that he said, 'I am sorry for Dr.
Dodd.' Being asked why, he replied, 'Because he
is to be hanged for the least crime he ever committed.'"
The fondness which many minds feel (or rather
felt) for these melancholy sights is thus discussed
by Boswell and Dr. Johnson:—"I mentioned to
him that I had seen the execution of several convicts at Tyburn (fn. 8) two days before, and that none of
them seemed to be under any concern. Johnson:
'Most of them, sir, have never thought at all.'
Boswell: 'But is not the fear of death natural to
man?' Johnson: 'So much so, sir, that the whole
of life is but keeping away the thoughts of it.' He
then, in a low and earnest tone, talked of his meditating upon the awful hour of his own dissolution,
and in what manner he should conduct himself
upon that occasion. 'I know not,' said he, 'whether
I should wish to have a friend by me, or have it all
between God and myself.'
"Talking of our feeling for the distresses of others—Johnson: 'Why, sir, there is much noise made
about it, but it is greatly exaggerated. No, sir, we
have a certain degree of feeling to prompt us to do
good; more than that Providence does not intend.
It would be misery to no purpose.' Boswell: 'But
suppose now, sir, that one of your intimate friends
were apprehended for an offence for which he
might be hanged.' Johnson: 'I should do what I
could to bail him, and give him any other assistance;
but if he were once fairly hanged, I should not
suffer.' Boswell: 'Would you eat your dinner that
day, sir?' Johnson: 'Yes, sir; and eat it as if he
were eating with me. Why, there's Baretti, who is
to be tried for his life to-morrow; friends have risen
up for him on every side, yet if he should be
hanged, none of them would eat a slice of pudding
the less. Sir, that sympathetic feeling goes a very
little way in depressing the mind.'" (fn. 9)
Tyburn Tree was the usual end of the "highwayman," as people in the days of Queen Anne and
the Georges euphemistically called the robber and
assassin of the king's high road. "Alas!" writes
Thackeray, "there always came a day in the life of
that warrior when it was the fashion to accompany
him as he passed, without his black mask, and with a
nosegay in his hand, accompanied by halberdiers,
and attended by the sheriff, in a carriage without
springs, and a clergyman jolting beside him, to a
spot close by Cumberland Gate and the Marble
Arch, where a stone still records that 'here Tyburn
turnpike stood.' What a change in a century;
nay, in a few years! Within a few yards of that
gate the fields began: the fields of his exploits,
behind the hedges of which he lurked and robbed.
A great and wealthy city has grown over those
meadows. Were a man brought to die thereon,
the windows would be closed, and the inhabitants
would keep their houses in sickening horror. A
hundred years ago people crowded there to see the
last act of a highwayman's life, and made jokes on
it. Swift laughed at him, grimly advising him to
provide a holland shirt and white cap, crowned with
a crimson or black ribbon, for his exit, to mount
the cart cheerfully, shake hands with the hangman,
and so farewell; or Gay wrote the most delightful
ballads, and then made merry over his hero."
Among those who suffered here the penalty of
their crimes as highwaymen was the notorious
"Sixteen-string Jack," who is said by Dr. Johnson
to have "towered above the common mark" in
his own line as much as Gray did in poetry. He
was remarkable for foppery in his dress, and, as
Boswell tells us, derived his name from a bunch of
sixteen strings which he wore at the knees of his
breeches. John Rann, for such was this malefactor's real name, was executed here in November,
1774, for robbing Dr. Bell, the chaplain to the
Princess Amelia, in Gunnersbury Lane.
"Rann was a smart fellow, and a great favourite
with a certain description of ladies; he had been
coachman to the Earl of Sandwich, when his lordship resided in the south-east corner house of
Bedford Row. It was pretty generally reported
that the sixteen strings worn by this freebooter at
his knees were in allusion to the number of times
he had been tried and acquitted. However, he
was caught at last; and J. T. Smith records his
being led, when a boy, by his father's playfellow,
Joseph Nollekens, to the end of John Street, to see
the notorious terror of the king's highway, Rann,
pass on his way to execution. The malefactor's
coat was a bright pea-green; he had an immense
nosegay, which he had received from the hand of
one of the frail sisterhood, whose practice it was
in those days to present flowers to their favourites
from the steps of St. Sepulchre's Church, as the
last token of what they called their attachment
to the condemned, whose worldly accounts were
generally brought to a close at Tyburn, in consequence of their associating with abandoned
characters. Such is Mr. Smith's account of the
procession of the hero to Tyburn; and Nollekens
assured Smith, had his father-in-law, Mr. Justice
Welsch, been high constable, they could have
walked all the way to Tyburn by the side of the
cart." The "sixteen strings" which this freebooter wore at his knees were, in reality, to the
initiated at least, a covert allusion to the number
of times that he had been tried and acquitted.
Fortunately for the Boswell illustrators, there is
an etched portrait of "Sixteen-string Jack;" for,
thief though he was, he had the honour of being
recorded by Dr. Johnson. A correspondent of
Hone's "Year-Book," published in 1832, states
that he well remembered seeing "Sixteen-string
Jack" taken in the cart to Tyburn.
It was, in fact, at Tyburn that most of the highwaymen of the last century—of whom Captain
Macheath was another example, and whose exploits
were so well known on Hounslow Heath, at
Finchley, and on the Great North Road—closed
their career.
"The species of gentleman highwayman," observes Mr. James Hannay, "no longer exists to
frighten the traveller, and does no greater harm
than put you to sleep in the pages of a novel. A
gentleman can now roll through the country in his
travelling-carriage without any fear of being robbed
by a gallant horseman, summoning him to surrender with the air of a courtier, and pocketing his
money with a quotation from Horace. The last
of these heroes long ago died on that greatest of
all 'trees of liberty.' the tree of Tyburn; and
his only representative now-a-days is the common
footpad—a vulgar fellow—who knocks you down,
and rifles you when you are insensible."
Another notorious character who was hanged
here about the middle of the last century was
McLean, the "fashionable highwayman," of whom
Walpole thus writes:—"One night, in the beginning of November, 1749, as I was returning from
Holland House by moonlight, about ten o'clock, I
was attacked by two highwaymen in Hyde Park,
and the pistol of one of them going off accidentally,
raised the skin under my eye, left some marks of
shot in my face, and stunned me. The ball went
through the top of the chariot, and if I had sat an
inch nearer to the left side, must have gone through
my head." One of these highwaymen was McLean.
He also attacked and robbed Lord Eglinton, Sir
Thomas Robinson, Mrs. Talbot, and many others.
He carried off a blunderbuss belonging to the old
Scotch earl. McLean was at one time a grocer in
Welbeck Street, but having the misfortune to lose
his wife, he gave up business and took to the road,
having as a companion, one Plunket, a journeyman
apothecary. McLean was captured in the autumn
of 1750, by selling a laced waistcoat to a pawnbroker in Monmouth Street, who happened to carry
it to the very man who had just sold the lace.
Walpole tells us "there were a wardrobe of clothes,
three-and-twenty purses, and the celebrated blunderbuss found at his lodgings, besides a famous kept
mistress." Soame Jenyns, in his poem entitled
"The Modern Fine Lady," written in the year this
"fashionable highwayman" came to grief, writes—
"She weeps if but a handsome thief is hung."
To which is appended this note:—"Some of the
brightest eyes were at this time in tears for one
McLean, condemned for robbery on the highway."
Even a cursory account of Tyburn would be incomplete without mention of one more highwayman, who here paid the penalty of his offences on
the triangular gallows. This was Claude Duval,
who was, perhaps, even more famous than McLean.
He made Holloway the chief scene of predatory
exploits. In Lower Holloway his name was long
kept in remembrance by Duval's Lane, which,
curiously enough, as John Timbs tells us in his
"Romance of London," "was previously called
Devil's Lane, and more anciently Tolentone Lane."
Macaulay, in his "History of England," says that
Claude Duval "took to the road, and became
captain of a formidable gang;" adding that "it is
related how, at the head of his troop, he stopped a
lady's coach, in which there was a booty of four
hundred pounds; how he took only one hundred,
and suffered the fair owner to ransom the rest by
dancing a coranto with him on the heath." This
celebrated exploit has been made the subject of
one of Mr. Frith's remarkable pictures, and has
been engraved. Duval was arrested at the "Holein-the-Wall," a noted house near Covent Garden,
and he was executed in January, 1669, in the twentyseventh year of his age. It is on record how that,
"after lying in state at the Tangier Tavern, in St.
Giles's, he was buried in the middle aisle of St.
Paul's, Covent Garden, his funeral being attended
with flambeaux and a numerous train of mourners,
'to the great grief of the women.'"
Tyburn, it may be added, has also some other
associations, being connected with the history of
newspapers and the liberty of the press. At the
Restoration the latter had almost ceased to exist,
and the press had not only to make itself heard
through the small voice of a "Licencer," but to
regulate its proceedings by Act of Parliament. In
1663 a Tyburn audience was assembled to witness
the execution of a troublesome printer. He was
named John Twyn, and had carried on his business
in Cloth Fair, near to Milton's hiding-place, when he
had "fall'n on evil days." Twyn was accused of
having printed some seditious work bearing on the
arguments often urged against the Commonwealth,
"that the execution of judgment and justice is as
well the people's as the magistrates' duty; and if
the magistrates pervert judgment, the people are
bound by the law of God to execute judgment
without them and upon them." Roger L'Estrange
was the "licencer" who had hunted up this offending printer; and Chief Justice Hyde sentenced
him to be "drawn on a hurdle to Tyburn, and there
hanged by the neck;" and, being alive, that he
should be cut down, and his body mutilated in a
way which decency forbids the mention of; that
his entrails should afterwards be taken out, "and,
you still living, the same to be burnt before your
eyes; your head to be cut off, and your head and
quarters to be disposed of at the pleasure of the
King's Majesty." It is fortunate for the law, as well
as for offenders, that such merciful and upright
judges have ceased to exist.
In 1782, the year preceding that which witnessed
the last executions at Tyburn, the dead body of one
John Haynes, a professional thief and housebreaker,
who, in consequence, had finished here his career,
was taken, as a "subject" for dissection, to the
residence of Sir William Blizard. The body, we
are told, showed signs of life, and Sir William perfected its recovery. Anxious to know the sensations
which John Haynes had experienced at the moment
of his suspension, the surgeon questioned the thief
earnestly upon the subject. The only answer he
could obtain was as follows:—"The last thing I
recollect was going up Holborn Hill in a cart.
I thought then that I was in a beautiful green field;
and that is all I remember till I found myself in
your honour's dissecting-room." It is worthy of
record that the last criminal executed here was
one Ryland, who was hung for forgery in 1783;
after which the gallows were taken down about
London in order to concentrate the executions at
Newgate and Horsemonger Lane.
Many good stories are told about Tyburn;
among others, the following:—"A celebrated wit
one evening was walking along a lane near Oxford
Road, as it was then called, when he was accosted
by a shabby-looking fellow, who asked him the
way to Tyburn. The gentleman, being fond of a
jest, answered, 'Why, you have only to rob the first
person you meet, and you will find the way there
easily.' The fellow thanked him, and pulled out
and presented a pistol, threatening to blow his
brains out if he did not give up his purse. The
wit was forced to comply, and lost his money and
his jest at once."
Before leaving the subject of the "gallows," a
word or two about "Jack Ketch" and his office
may not be out of place. The origin of the name
"Jack Ketch," as applied to the public executioner,
is thus explained in Lloyd's MS. Collection of
English Pedigrees in the British Museum. We give
it for what it is worth. "The Manor of Tyburn,"
writes Mr. Lloyd, "where felons were for a long
time executed, was formerly held by Richard
Jacquett, from whence we have the name Jack
Ketch as a corruption." But the work of the
executioner was sufficiently artistic to admit of
degrees of skill. Thus Dryden remarks:—"A man
may be capable (as Jack Ketch's wife said of her
servant) of a plain piece of work, a bare hanging;
but to make a malefactor die sweetly was only belonging to her husband."
The earliest hangman whose name has descended
to us, if we may trust the authority of that accomplished antiquary, the late Dr. Rimbault, is one
Bull, who is mentioned in his public capacity
in Gabriel Harvey's tract against Nash, called
"Pierce's Supererogation" (1593). Bull was succeeded by the more celebrated Derrick, who cut off
the head of the unfortunate Earl of Essex in 1601.
In Dekker's "Bellman of London," printed in 1608,
under the article "Prigging Law," are the following
notices of this worthy:—"For he rides his circuit
with the devil, and Derrick must be his host, and
Tiburne the land at which he will light." "At the
gallows, where I leave them, as to the haven at
which they must all cast anchor, if Derrick's cables
do but hold." Again, at the end of his "Wonderful Year," is this passage:—"But by these tricks
imagining that many thousands have been turned
wrongfully off the ladder of life; and praying that
Derrick or his successors may live to do those a
good turn that have done so to others. Hic finis
Priami! Here is an end of an old song." Derrick
held his unenviable post for nearly half a century;
and from him was named the temporary crane
formed on board ship for unloading and general
hoisting purposes, by lashing one spar to another,
gibbet fashion. The next hangman was the notorious Gregory Brandon, who, as the story goes, by
a ruse played upon Garter King-at-Arms, had a
grant of arms confirmed to him, and was thereby
"made a gentleman," which the mob in a joke
soon elevated into esquire, "a title by which he
was known for the rest of his life, and which was
afterwards transferred to his successors in office."
He had frequently acted as a substitute for Derrick;
and had become so popular that the gallows was
sometimes called by his Christian name, as may be
seen in the following lines:—
"This trembles under the Black Rod, and he
Doth fear his fate from the Gregorian tree."
Gregory Brandon was succeeded by his son
Richard, who seems to have claimed the gallows
by inheritance. This Richard Brandon, as we
have shown in a previous volume, has the credit of
being the executioner of Charles I. (fn. 10) "Squire" Dun
was the next common hangman, and he in turn
was succeeded by the veritable Jack Ketch, who
was the executioner of Lord William Russell and
the Duke of Monmouth. Macaulay, in his account
of the death of the latter, says: "He then accosted
John Ketch, the executioner, a wretch who had
butchered many brave and noble victims, and
whose name has, during a century and a half, been
vulgarly given to all who have succeeded him in
his odious office. 'Here,' said the duke, 'are
six guineas for you. Do not hack me as you did
my Lord Russell. I have heard that you struck
him three or four times. My servant will give you
some gold if you do the work well.'" This notable
functionary does not seem to have had a very easy
time of it; at all events, in 1678, a broadside was
published, entitled "The Plotter's Ballad: being
Jack Ketch's incomparable receipt for the cure of
traytorous recusants." In the same year appeared
a quarto tract: "The Tyburn Ghost; or, Strange
Downfal of the Gallows: a most true Relation how
the famous Triple Tree, near Paddington, was pluckt
up by the roots, and demolisht by certain Evil Spirits;
with Jack Ketch's Lamentation for the Loss of his
Shop, 1678." In the next year was produced
"Squire Ketch's Declaration concerning his late
Confinement in the Queen's Bench and Marshalsea,
whereby his hopeful harvest was liked to have been
blasted." Two years later we find him at Oxford:—"Aug. 31, 1681. Wednesday, at 11, Stephen
College suffered death by hanging in the Castle
Yard, Oxon, and when he hanged about half an
hour was cut down by Catch, or Ketch, and quartered
under the gallows." (fn. 11) The name of Ketch is often
mentioned, in the lampoons of the day, along with
that of the infamous Judge Jeffreys, as his brother
in crime. One poet writes:—
"While Jeffreys on the bench, Ketch on the gibbet sits."
He is also mentioned by D'Urfey, in his humorous
poem, entitled "Butler's Ghost," published in 1682;
and in the following year he is thus mentioned in
the epilogue to Dryden and Lee's "Duke of
Guise:"—
"Lenitives, he says, suit best with our condition;
Jack Ketch, says I, 's an excellent physician."
For the following scrap of antiquarian lore respecting the interesting locality of which we treat,
our readers are indebted to "honest" John Timbs:—"Formerly, when a person prosecuted another
for any offence, and the prisoner was executed
at Tyburn, the prosecutor was presented with a
'Tyburn Ticket,' which exempted him and its
future holders from having to serve on juries.
This privilege was not repealed till the sixth year
of the reign of George IV."
The following is said to be the reason why Tyburn
was chosen as the place of execution and burial
of traitors:—The parishioners of St. Sepulchre's,
near Newgate, were not over-well pleased that the
bodies of those malefactors who had suffered the
last penalty of the law should be buried amongst
them; in proof, it may be mentioned, on the authority of a letter from Fleetwood to Lord Burghley,
that they "would not suffer a traytor's corpes to be
layed in the earthe where theire parents, wyeffs,
chyldren, kynred, maisters, and old naighboures
did rest: and so his carcas was returned to the
buryall ground neere to Tyborne."
The gallows at Tyburn was triangular in plan,
having three legs to stand on, and appears to have
been a permanent erection. From the number of
criminals hanged there, it would indeed seem to
have been useless to have taken it down after each
execution. We may learn, from a sermon preached
by good Bishop Horne, towards the close of the
eighteenth century, that it was no uncommon thing
to see scores of felons executed here. Taylor, the
Water Poet, in "The Praise and Virtue of a Jayle
and Jaylers" (1623), gives these lines:—
"I have heard sundry men ofttimes dispute,
Of trees that in one yeare will twice beare fruit;
But if a man note Tyburn. It will appeare
That that's a tree that bears twelve times a yeare."
CONNAUGHT PLACE.
Again, in Dr. Johnson's "London" (a poem),
we read:—
"Scarce can our fields—such crowds at Tyburn die—
With hemp the gallows and the fleet supply."
Then there is a parody on Gray's "Elegy," in
which we read—
"Yet e'en these humble vices to correct,
Old Tyburn lifts his triple front on high."
In Shirley's play of The Wedding, published in
1629, an execution at Tyburn is thus depicted:—"Rawbone: I do imagine myself apprehended
already; now the constable is carrying me to Newgate; now, now, I'm in the Sessions House, in the
dock; now I'm called; 'Not guilty, my lord.'
The jury has found the indictment, billa vera.
Now, now, comes my sentence. Now I'm in the
cart, riding up Holborn in a two-wheeled chariot,
with a guard of halberdiers. 'There goes a proper
fellow,' says one; 'Good people, pray for me.'
Now I'm at the three wooden stilts. Hey! now I
feel my toes hang i' the cart; now 'tis drawn away;
now, now, now!—I'm gone!"
At Tyburn, upon the restoration of monarchy,
was performed the farce of dragging Sir Henry
Mildmay, Wallop, and some other members of the
regicide party, to the fatal tree, with halters round
their necks. Miles Corbet, the regicide also,
having been arrested on the Continent, was brought
to London, dragged through the streets hither, and
executed.
Evelyn, in his "Diary," under date January 30,
1661, the first anniversary of the murder of
Charles I. since the Restoration, writes:—"The
carcases of those rebels, Cromwell, Bradshaw, the
judge who condemned his Majesty, and Ireton
(son-in-law to the Usurper), were dragged out of
their superb tombs in Westminster among the
kings to Tyburn, and hanged on the gallows there
from nine in the morning till six at night, and
then buried under that fatal and ignominious
monument in a deep pit, thousands who had seen
them in all their pride being spectators." How far
this "deep pit" can be regarded as really the last
resting-place of Cromwell's body may be inferred
from what we have already written on the subject,
in our account of Red Lion Square, Holborn. (fn. 12)
THE IDLE APPRENTICE EXECUTED AT TYBURN. (After Hegarth's Print.)
In the "New View of London," published in
1708, no mention is made of either Oxford or
Uxbridge Road, but the thoroughfare is entered
as Tyburn Road. It is thus described as lying
"between St. Giles' Pound, east, and the lane
leading to the Gallows, west, 350 yards in length."
The writer adds:—"This street has its name as
being the next street to Tyburn, the place for
execution of all such malefactors, generally speaking, as have committed acts worthy of death within
the City and Liberties of London and County
of Middlesex. I have known, he continues,
"nineteen executed at one sessions, though these
are held about eight times a year; but this is
near twenty years ago." He then congratulates
the nation on the decrease in the number of
executions of late, which he ascribes to improvements in the law, and to the efforts of societies for
the reformation of manners; and ends by telling a
story of a man who revived, after being cut down
off the gallows, in 1705.
Tyburn, it need scarcely be added, figures constantly in the caricatures of Hogarth. Thus, in
his "Industry and Idleness," "Tom Idle" goes to
Tyburn in a cart with a coffin in it, whilst the
other apprentice, Francis Goodchild, drives to the
Mansion House, as Lord Mayor of London, with
footmen and sword-bearer, the King and the Court
looking on from a balcony in St. Paul's Churchyard, and smiling approval. In Hogarth's print of
Tyburn Tree, the hangman is represented coolly
smoking his pipe, as he reclines by the gibbet, in
full view of the hills of Hampstead and Highgate.
"Could Tom Idle's ghost have made its appearance in 1847," asks Thackeray, in his "Humourists," "what changes would have been remarked by
that astonished escaped criminal! Over that road
which the hangman used to travel constantly, and
the Oxford stage twice a week, go ten thousand
carriages every day; over yonder road, by which
Dick Turpin fled to Windsor, and Squire Western
journeyed into town, when he came to take up his
quarters at the Hercules Pillars on the outskirts of
London, what a rush of civilisation and order flows
now! What armies of gentlemen with umbrellas
march to banks, and chambers, and countinghouses! What regiments of nursery-maids and
pretty infantry; what peaceful processions of
policemen; what light broughams and what gay
carriages; what swarms of busy apprentices and
artificers, riding on omnibus-roofs, pass daily and
hourly! Tom Idle's times are quite changed;
many of the institutions are gone into disuse which
were admired in his day. There's more pity and
kindness, and a better chance for poor Tom's
successors now than at that simpler period, when
Fielding hanged him and Hogarth drew him."
Tyburn also figures in one of Hogarth's pictures
of "Marriage à la Mode," where Counsellor Silvertongue pays the last penalty of the law for sending
a certain noble earl out of the world before his
time. In Hogarth's hands, no doubt, Tyburn was
usefully employed, both
"To point a moral and adorn a tale."
But Tyburn has witnessed other scenes besides
those of which we have spoken above. The story
of Queen Henrietta Maria doing penance here is
thus told by Mr. S. W. Gardiner, in his "History
of England under the Duke of Buckingham and
Charles I.:"—"It was after a long day spent in
attendance on the devotions of her Church at the
Chapel at St. James's that the young queen of
Charles I. strolled out, with her ladies, to breathe
the fresh evening air in St. James's Park. Byand-by she found her way into Hyde Park, and
by accident or design directed her steps towards
Tyburn. In her position it was quite natural that
she should bethink herself of those who had suffered there as martyrs for the faith which she had
come to England to support. What wonder if her
heart beat more quickly, and if some prayer for
strength to bear her weary lot rose to her lips?
A week or two probably passed away before the
tale reached Charles, exaggerated in its passage
through the mouths of men. . . . The Queen
of England, he was told, had been conducted on a
pilgrimage to offer prayer to dead traitors, who
had suffered the just reward of their crimes. The
cup of his displeasure was now full;. . . those
who had brought her to this should no longer
remain in England. . . . On July 31 the king
and queen dined together at Whitehall. After
dinner he conducted her to his private apartments,
locked the door on her attendants, and told her
that her servants must go." Meanwhile, Conway
was taking measures for the removal of her ladies
to Somerset House. "As soon as the young queen
perceived what was being done she flew to the
window and dashed to pieces the glass, that her
voice might be heard by those who were bidding
her adieu for the last time; and Charles, it is said,
dragged her back into the room, with her hands
bleeding from the energy with which she clung
to the bars." As we have already stated, in our
account of Somerset House, (fn. 13) no time was lost in
sending off the queen's French attendants to their
native country.
It is more probable that the act on the part of
her Majesty was a voluntary one; for, although
pious and devout, the queen was not at all a person
to be led blindly at the will of any confessor.
However, in the illustrated edition of Pennant's
"London," in the British Museum, there is to be
seen a copy of a rare German print, purporting
to be a representation of the scene. At a short
distance off is the confessor's carriage, drawn by
six horses; in the coach is seated the confessor
himself, and a page, with a lighted candle or torch,
is standing at the door. The fact is certainly
recorded in a cotemporary document published in
the first series of "Original Letters," edited by Sir
Henry Ellis; but as the language used is of the
most rabid and foul-mouthed kind—the confessor
being styled "Luciferian," and the details of the
affair styled "ridiculous," "absurd," "beggarly"—we
may reasonably entertain a doubt whether it was
not a "mare's-nest." In all probability the story
was concocted by some Titus Oates of the day.
The letter in question, which purports to be "from
Mr. Pory to Mr. Joseph Mead," contains the following expressions:—"No longer agone then upon St.
James his day last, those hypocritical dogges made
the pore Queen to walke a foot (some add barefoot) from her house at St. James to the gallowes
at Tyborne, thereby to honour the Saint of the day in
visiting that holy place where so many martyrs
(forsooth) had shed their bloud in defense of the
Catholique cause. . . . Yea, they have made
her to go barefoot, to spin, to eat her meat out of
tryne (wooden) dishes, to waite at the table and
serve her servants, with many other ridiculous and
absurd penances. It was, certainly, 'high time'
that this French train should be dismissed; and
packed off they were ('contumaciously refusing to
go') in coaches, carts, and barges, to Gravesend."
If it be true that old George III. took such an
interest in the welfare of those condemned to die
upon the gallows as he is represented to have
done in an anecdote which was at one time freely
circulated, his time must have been pretty well
occupied by devotional exercises. The anecdote
in question, albeit highly honourable to his sense
of public duty, is mentioned on the authority of
Stevenson, the American envoy in London. Some
extraordinary occurrence having called a French
statesman to the palace as late as two o'clock in
the morning, he found the king in his cabinet,
examining the case of a prisoner condemned to
execution. The envoy afterwards ascertained that
the king keeps a register, recording the name of
every person capitally condemned, the decision,
and its reasons. Frequently, in the still hours of
the night, he performs the task of investigating
those cases, and adds to the record the circumstances which had influenced his decision. The
envoy probably did not know that the great and
good George III. had pursued nearly the same
practice fifty years before, weighed the evidence
with the deepest anxiety, and generally shut himself up in his cabinet at Windsor (it was presumed in prayer) during the hour appointed for
the execution in London.
The exact spot on which the fatal Tyburn Tree
was erected has been often discussed by antiquaries. It would appear, however, to be identified with the site of the house in the south-east
corner of Connaught Square, formerly numbered
49; for in the lease granted by the Bishop of
London, to whom the property belongs, this fact
is particularly mentioned. A writer in The Antiquary, in October, 1873, says, with reference to
this subject:—"I was born within 100 yards of
the exact spot on which the gallows stood, and
my uncle took up the stones on which the uprights
were placed. The following is his statement to
me, and the circumstance of his telling it:—In
1810, when Connaught Place was being built, he
was employed on the works, and for many years
lived at the corner of Bryanston Street and the
Edgware Road, nearly opposite Connaught Mews.
My father, a master carpenter, worked for several
years in Connaught Place, and on one occasion he
employed his brother, I think in the year 1834;
at all events, we had just left No. 6, the residence
of Sir Charles Coote. It was at this time I said
to my uncle, 'Now you are here, tell me where the
gallows stood;' to which he replied, 'Opposite
here, where the staves are.' I thereupon crossed
over, and drove a brass-headed nail into the exact
spot he indicated. On reaching home, I told
my mother of the occurrence, and asked if it were
correct. She said it was so, for she remembered
the posts standing when she was a child. This
might be about the year 1800; and, as she was
born in Bryanston Street, I believe she stated
what she knew to be a fact. I well remember
Connaught Square being built, and I also recollect
a low house standing at the corner of the Uxbridge
Road, close to No. 1, Connaught Place (Arklow
House), and that, on the removal of this house,
quantities of human bones were found. I saw
them carted away by Mr. Nicholls, contractor, of
Adams' Mews. He removed Tyburn toll-house in
1829. From what I have been told by old inhabitants that were born in the neighbourhood, probably about 1750, I have every reason to believe
that the space from the toll-house to Frederick
Mews was used as a place of execution, and the
bodies buried adjacent, for I have seen the remains
disinterred when the square and adjoining streets
were being built."
Smith, in his "History of St. Marylebone," states
that "the gallows were for many years a standing
fixture on a small eminence at the corner of the
Edgware Road, near the turnpike, on the identical
spot where a toll-house was subsequently erected
by the Uxbridge Road Trust. Beneath this place
are supposed to lie the bones of Bradshaw, Ireton,
and other regicides, which were taken from their
graves after the Restoration, and buried under
the gallows. The gallows itself subsequently consisted of two uprights and a cross-beam, erected
on the morning of execution across the Edgware
Road, opposite the house at the corner of Upper
Bryanston Street and the Edgware Road, wherein
the gallows was deposited after being used; this
house had curious iron balconies to the windows
of the first and second floors, where the sheriffs
sat to witness the executions. After the place of
execution was changed to Newgate, in 1783, the
gallows was bought by a carpenter, and made into
stands for beer-butts in the cellars of the 'Carpenters' Arms' public-house, hard by."
"Around the gibbet," says Mr. Timbs, in his
"Curiosities of London," "were erected open
galleries, like a race-course stand, wherein seats
were let to spectators at executions: the key of
one of them was kept by Mammy Douglas, 'the
Tyburn pew-opener.' In 1758, when Dr. Henesey
was to have been executed for treason, the prices
of seats rose to 2s. and 2s. 6d.; but the doctor
being 'most provokingly reprieved,' a riot ensued,
and most of the seats were destroyed."
The name of "Tyburn," thus mixed up with
the saddest portions of our national history, and
associated with ideas of villany and crime, very
naturally smelt anything but sweet in the nose of
the metropolis; and it was not until the city grew
in bulk so tremendously that it threatened to burst
its swathing bands, that the region around the old
gallows, now known as "Tyburnia," came to be
built upon, and inhabited by the upper classes of
society.
It is recorded by Mr. Percy Fitzgerald, in his
sketch of Charles Townshend, that his eccentric
mother, Audrey, Lady Townshend, who so long
"entertained" at her house in Whitehall, was one
day rallied by her friends on taking a short lease
of "a villa at Tyburn." "Oh," replied the witty
woman, "you see it is a neighbourhood of which
I could never tire, for my neighbours are being
hanged every week; so we are always changing!"
It was this same lady who, on being asked if it was
true that Whitfield had recanted, answered, "No,
madam; but I know he has canted;" and who
sarcastically remarked of the royal family, who
took a fancy to go to all public shows and suppers,
that it was "the cheapest family to see, and the
dearest to keep, of any that had ever been seen."
Mr. G. A. Sala hits the right nail on the head, in
his "Gaslight and Daylight," when he remarks that
while the region of the Grosvenors is the place for
the "swells of the peerage, those of blue blood and
the strawberry-leaves," Tyburnia suits admirably
"the nobility of yesterday, your mushroom aristocrats, millionaires, ex-lord mayors, and people of
that sort;" and he also pithily adds, "Tyburn is
gone: I am not such an old fogey as to remember
that, nor so staunch a conservative as to regret it
now that it is gone."
"Tyburnia" proper, as we may call the city
which sprang up between the Edgware Road and
Westbourne Terrace, in the reign of William IV.,
consists of squares, terraces, and rows of stately
mansions, which now rival in elegance her more
southern sister, "Belgravia." Oxford and Cambridge Terraces, which run from the Edgware
Road to the southern end of Westbourne Terrace,
with Oxford and Cambridge Squares to the south
of them, will long keep in remembrance the munificence of Lady Margaret, Countess of Richmond,
as the founder of divinity professorships in our two
great and ancient universities.
The Rev. J. Richardson, referring to the days of
the Regency, writes thus in his "Recollections,"
published in 1856:—"The northern boundary of
the old metropolis, then called Oxford Road, terminated abruptly at the entrance of the Park, where
now stands the triumphal arch lately removed
from Buckingham Palace. The now fashionable
district which forms one side of the Bayswater
Road, and occupies the angle between that road
and Paddington, was, in the eyes of all respectable people, a locality to be avoided. Ragged
fields stretched over scores of acres of ground;
and the ominous name of Tyburn frightened, not,
indeed, those whom it ought to have deterred,
but those who either assumed a character for
decency, or really possessed one. In fact, this
part was a blank in the improvements of London
for years after other suburbs had been built upon;
and it was not until comparatively a recent date
that the tea-gardens, and other similar low haunts of
debauchery, gave way to the elegant and stately
buildings with which it is now covered." It is
impossible not to recognise these places of amusement in the portrait which Charles Dickens gives
us, in his "Sketches by Boz," of the typical
London tea-gardens, with their snug boxes and
alcoves; the men and women, boys and girls,
sweethearts and married folks, babies in arms and
children in chaises, the pipes and the shrimps, the
cigars and the periwinkles, the tea and tobacco,
are each and all described with a skill almost equal
to that of a photographer. To the particular
"Sketch" entitled "London Recreations" we must
refer our readers for all further details. As we
have shown in the preceding chapter, the last of
the tea-gardens—covering what is now Lancaster
Gate—did not disappear until about 1855.
At Connaught House, Connaught Place, close
by the Edgware Road, the unfortunate Caroline,
Princess of Wales, took up her residence when
banished from the Palace; and hither came the
Princess Charlotte in a hackney-coach, when she
quarrelled with her father and left Warwick House,
as we have stated in our account of that place. (fn. 14)
The young princess, as she advanced towards
womanhood, became more and more intractable
and wilful. In the end, the Regent and his
Ministers thought the best step would be to find
her a husband; and the youthful Prince of Orange
was suggested as the most eligible. He was by
birth a Protestant; he had been educated at
Oxford, and had served in Spain with credit; but
the self-willed young lady refused him—in a word,
"turned up her nose" at him. Every opportunity
was given to him to make himself agreeable to the
future heiress of the English throne; but either his
capacities and acquirements were of a low order,
or the princess had proposed to herself quite
another standard of excellence as her beau ideal.
She simply said "she did not like Oranges in any
shape;" and though her royal papa stormed, and
bishops reasoned with her, her resolution remained
unshaken. The public admired her pluck and
firmness, and her refusal to be sold into matrimony
like a common chattle. She was a princess, but
she was also a true-hearted woman, and she felt
that she must really love the man whom she should
wed, if she would escape the unhappiness which
had darkened the married life of her parents. The
fortunate individual who pleased her taste was
not long in appearing; and her marriage with
Prince Leopold of Saxe-Coburg was solemnised, ere
long, with her father's consent, and with the hearty
good wishes of the people. The Prince himself,
then a humble cadet of a petty German house,
was travelling in England; he met the Princess
Charlotte at one of the many mansions of the
aristocracy, and he soon obtained an interest in
her affections, and also the consent of the Prince
Regent, who was probably glad enough to get his
intractable daughter off his hands at any price.
Leopold at that time was one of the noblestlooking young princes in Europe. Tall and
princely in his bearing, and fascinating in his
manners, a brave soldier, and an accomplished
courtier, he was worthy to win such a prize. They
were married on May 2nd, 1816. Alas! within a
little more than a year the great bell of St. Paul's
was tolled to announce to a sorrowing people the
death of the princess in giving birth to a dead
infant!
The sale of the effects of the Princess of Wales,
at Connaught House, took place in October, 1814.
The name of the mansion was at a later date
changed to Arklow House; the latter, like the
former, being one of the titles inherent in the
royal family. The late Duke of Sussex was also
Baron of Arklow. Sir Augustus D'Este, son of
the Duke of Sussex, lived here for some time
subsequently. It is now the town residence of
Mr. A. Beresford-Hope.
At No. 13 in Hyde Park Square, lived that
specimen of a fine old English gentleman, Mr. T.
Assheton-Smith, whose name is so well known
among Masters of Hounds. A glass apartment
on the roof of this house, after his death, was
magnified, by the fears of the servant-girls in the
neighbourhood, into the abode of a ghost; and
the ghost—or, at all events, the alarm—was only
suppressed by editors "writing it down" in the
London newspapers.
In concluding this chapter, we may remark that
the whole neighbourhood is of too recent a growth
to have many historical reminiscences. Haydon,
the painter, it is true, lived for some time in
Burwood Place, close by Connaught Square, and
there he died by his own hand in 1846. We shall
have more to say about him when we come to
Paddington.