Recollections of Old Liverpool. James Stonehouse

greatly to obtain a reform in the atrocious abuses which then existed in prison discipline. In the present half-century there has been great progress made in the improvement of prison discipline, health, and economy. Where formerly existed notorious and disgraceful abuses, the most abject misery, and the very depth of dirt, we find good management, cleanliness, reformatory measures, and firm steps taken to reclaim both the bodies and souls of the erring. It is a most strange circumstance that the once gross and frightful abuses of the prison system did not force themselves upon the notice of government—did not attract the attention of local rulers, and cry out themselves for change. Still more strange is it that, although Mr. Howard in 1787, and again in 1795, and Mr. James Nield (whose acquaintance I also made in 1803), pointed out so distinctly the abuses that existed in our prisons, the progress of reform therein was strangely slow, and moved with most apathetic steps. Howard lifted up the veil and exposed to light the iniquities prevalent within our prison walls; but no rapid change was noticeable in consequence of his appalling revelations. To show how careless the authorities were about these matters, we can see what Mr. Nield said eight years after Mr. Howard’s second visit, in 1795, in his celebrated letters to Dr. Lettsom, who, by the way, resided in Camberwell Grove, Surrey, in the house said to have belonged to the uncle of George Barnwell. Now, it should be borne in mind that Mr. Howard actually received the freedom of the borough, with many compliments upon his exertions in the cause of the poor inmates of the gaol, and yet few or no important steps were taken to remedy the glaring evils which he pointed out. Some feeble reforms certainly did take place immediately after his first and second visits to Liverpool, but a retrograde movement succeeded, and things relapsed into their usual jog-trot way of dirt and disorder. When Mr. Howard received the freedom of the borough an immense fuss was made about him; people used to follow him in the street, and he was feted and invited to dinners and parties; and there was no end of speechifying. But what did it all come to? Why, nothing, except a little cleaning out of passages and whitewashing of walls. I went with Mr. Howard several times, over the Tower Prison, and also with Mr. Nield, in 1803. As it then appeared I will try to describe it.

      The keeper of the Tower or Borough Gaol, which stood at the bottom of Water-street in 1803, was Mr. Edward Frodsham, who was also sergeant-at-mace. His salary was £130 per annum. His fees were 4s. for criminal prisoners, and 4s. 6d. for debtors. The Rev. Edward Monk was the chaplain. His salary was £31 10s. per annum; but his ministrations did not appear to be very efficacious, as, on one occasion, when Mr. Nield went to the prison chapel in company with two of the borough magistrates, he found, out of one hundred and nine prisoners, only six present at service. The sick were attended by a surgeon from the Dispensary, in consideration of 12 guineas per annum, contributed by the corporation to that most praiseworthy institution. There was a sort of sick ward in the Tower, but it was a wretched place, being badly ventilated and extremely dirty. When Mr. Nield and I visited the prison in 1803, we did not find the slightest order or regulation. The prisoners were not classed, nor indeed, separated; men and women, boys and girls, debtor and felon, young and old, were all herded together, meeting daily in the courtyards of the prison. The debtors certainly had a yard to themselves, but they had free access to the felon’s yard, and mixed unrestrainedly with them. The prison allowance was a three-penny loaf of 1lb. 3oz. to each prisoner daily. Convicts were allowed 6d. per day. The mayor gave a dinner at Christmas to all the inmates. Firing was found by the corporation throughout the building. There were seventy-one debtors and thirty-nine felons confined on the occasion of our visit. In one of the Towers there were seven rooms allotted to debtors, and three in another tower, in what was called “the masters side.” The poorer debtors were allowed loose straw to lie upon. Those who could afford to do so, paid ls. per week for the use of a bed provided by the gaoler. The detaining creditor of debtors had to pay “groating money,” that is to say, 4d. per day for their maintenance. In the chapel there was a gallery, close to which were five sleeping-rooms for male debtors. The size of these cells was six feet by seven. Over the Pilot Office in Water-street were two rooms appropriated to the use of female debtors. One of these rooms contained three beds, the other only one. This latter room had glazed windows, and a fire-place, and was, comparatively speaking, comfortable. The same charge was made for the beds in these rooms as in other parts of the prison. The debtors were also accommodated with rooms in a house adjoining the gaol, from which, by the way, an escape of many of the prisoners, felon and debtor, took place in 1807—a circumstance which created immense public interest. When the prisoners were discovered, they stood at bay, and it was not until they were fired upon, that they surrendered. The criminals were lodged in seven close dungeons 6½ feet by 5 feet 9 inches. These cells were ranged in a passage 11 feet wide, under ground, and were approached by ten steps. Over each cell door was an aperture which admitted such light and air as could be found in such a place. Some improvement took place in this respect after Mr. Howard’s visit. There was also a large dungeon or cell which looked upon the street, in which twelve prisoners were confined. This dungeon was not considered safe, so that only deserters were put into it. As many as forty persons have been incarcerated in it at one time. In five of the cells there were four prisoners; in the other two, there were only three.

      The court-yards (one of which was 20 yards by 30, the other 20 yards by 10) were kept in a most filthy state, although a fine pump of good water was readily accessible. The yards were brick-paved. In one yard I noticed a large dung-heap, which, I was informed, was only removed once a month. There were numbers of fowls about the yard, belonging to the prison officials and to the prisoners. In these yards, as may readily be supposed, scenes of great disorder took place. The utmost licentiousness was prevalent in the prison throughout. Spirits and malt liquors were freely introduced without let, hindrance, or concealment, though against the prison rules—not one of which, by the way, (except the feeing portion) was kept. The felons’ “garnish,” as it was called, was abolished previous to 1809, but the debtors’ fee remained. The prison was dirty in the extreme; the mud almost ankle deep in some parts in the passages, and the walls black and grimy. There seemed to be no system whatever tending towards cleanliness, and as to health that was utterly disregarded. Low typhoid fever was frequently prevalent, and numbers were swept off by it. The strong prisoners used to tyrannise over the weak, and the most frightful cases of extortion and cruelty were practised amongst them, while the conduct of the officials was culpable in the highest degree. At one time the chapel was let as an assembly room. The prisoners used to get up, on public ball nights, dances of their own, as the band could be plainly heard throughout the prison. The debtors used to let down a glove or bag by means of a stick, from their tower into the street, dangling it up and down to attract the notice of passengers, who dropped in pieces of money for the use of the “poor debtors,” which money was invariably spent in feasting and debauchery. The town boys used to put stones into the bags, and highly relished the disappointment of the “poor debtors,” on discovery of their “treasure.”

      I recollect an execution taking place in front of the Tower, which created an immense sensation throughout the country. In March 1789, two men named Burns and Dowling, suffered the extreme penalty of the law for robbing the house of Mrs. Graham, which stood on Rose Hill. They broke into the lady’s dwelling, and acted with great ferocity. It was on the 23rd December previous; they entered the house, with two others, about seven o’clock in the morning. One stayed below, while the others went into the different rooms armed with pistols and knives, threatening the various members of the family with death if they made any alarm. They robbed some guests in the house of nineteen guineas, and some silver; and from Mrs. Graham they took bills to a large amount. On the 7th January, following, Burns and Dowling were arrested at Bristol, in consequence of an anonymous letter sent to the mayor of that city, giving information of their being in the neighbourhood. They were on the point of embarking for Dublin, having several packages containing Mrs. Graham’s property on board the vessel, besides £1000 in Bills of Exchange. Dowling made a fierce resistance, and would have escaped, but was held by the leg by a dog belonging to one of the constables. Rose Hill at that time was quite in the suburbs, and was a very fashionable locality. The town was crowded with strangers from all parts to witness the execution of these villains. Men of the present day would be horror-struck at the number of executions that took place at that time in England. I recollect once when in London (I was only three days going there) seeing three men hanging at Newgate, while the coal waggoners were letting off their waggons as stages for spectators at twopence per head.

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