on that glorious day.” About midnight brickbats were thrown from the neighbouring houses upon the soldiers on guard; and the guard in retaliation fired up at the places whence came the attack. Mr. Carleton Smith, whose turn it was to sit up, feared some attempt was being made to break the gaol, and “leaping out to know the occasion of the firing, searched several of the houses; in doing which he was like to have been shot by a ball which came up to the room where he was.” But the loyalty of the rebels to their cause was not to be checked. It broke out again on the 10th June, the anniversary of the Pretender’s birth. “Captain Booth, whose window looked into Phœnix Court, was so insolent as to put out a great bunch of white roses at his window,” and several visitors of both sexes came wearing the same rebellious badges. But again the keepers pulled them out and threw them on the floor.
In all these disturbances Captain Silk was a ringleader. He is continually ready to make a noise. Now he swears revenge upon the keeper for not allowing supper to be carried in to him and his “conrogues” after 10 P.M.; now he incites other prisoners to riot. “They are for the most part very drunk and rude, so that it was with great difficulty that they were got to their rooms by one o’clock in the morning.” Next day Captain Silk continues his insolence. He threatens Mr. Smith for refusing to pass in visitors after regulated hours. Again he and his companions are drunk and insolent, and cannot be got to their rooms till the same late hour. A night or two later they crowded about the doors when they were opened, cursing and assaulting the person who rang the night-bell. Captain Silk, as before, encouraged them, and to provoke them further, when the bell sounded cried out, “Get up, ye slaves, and go.”
Sadder moments soon supervened. The trials were proceeding, and already the law had condemned several. Among the first to suffer were Colonel Oxborough and Mr. Gascoigne: the latter was offered his pardon on conditions which he rejected, and both began to make great preparations for “their great change.” Colonel Oxborough, who lay in the condemned hold, behaved with an astonishing serenity of mind; and when his friends expressed their concern in tears, he gravely rebuked them, showing an easiness very unaccustomed in the bravest minds under such a sentence. Next an order of the court came down for the execution of twenty-four more who had been condemned, and “universal sorrow” prevailed in the gaol. Parson Paul,[98] one of the number, was “so dejected he could not eat;” most of the other prisoners retired to their apartments to vent their grief, and a vast number of their friends in tears came to condole with them. After this all were busy with petitions to the court. Some were immediately successful. Handsome young Archibald Bolair was discharged, “at which Lady Faulconbridge, his supposed benefactress, went out with a smiling countenance.” Next night he returned in his kilt to visit his friends, but was denied entrance. That same midnight there were great shouts of joy in the prison: a reprieve had come down for all but Parson Paul and Justice Hall,[99] both of whom were led next day to Tyburn. Neither would admit the ministrations of the Ordinary, to whom they “behaved rudely,” and they were attended at the place of execution by priests of their own stamp in a lay habit. They (the condemned) were hardened to the highest degree, says their implacable opponent, and gave free vent to their treason in seditious speeches at the gallows.
Great consternation prevailed after these executions. It was greatly increased by the known displeasure of the Government at the demeanour of some of the condemned at Tyburn. But the king (George I.) was now gone on a visit to Hanover; and the Prince of Wales, as regent, was pleased to put an end to the further effusion of blood. Rumours of an Act of Indemnity were spread abroad, and abundance of visitors came to congratulate the prisoners on their approaching release. But the happy day being still postponed, the Jacobites became turbulent once more; Mr. Pitt, the old governor, who had been tried for neglect in allowing Mr. Forster and others to escape, had been acquitted, upon which the Lord Mayor and sheriffs recalled Messrs. Carleton Smith and Russell. The latter delivered up their charge, “having performed it so well that not one prisoner had escaped.” But Mr. Pitt was again unfortunate; and suffering another man (Flint) to escape, the court of aldermen resolved to reinstate Smith and Russell. This gave great dudgeon to the rebels in the press-yard, who soon proved very refractory, refusing to be locked up at the proper time. Then they made bitter reflections on the advice given to the new keepers in the ‘Flying Post,’ a Whiggish organ, who were, as the author of the ‘Secret History’ observes sarcastically, “so inhuman, that they would let none of the rebels make their escape, either in the habits of women, footmen, or parsons.” It was difficult for the keepers not to give cause of offence. Their prisoners were angry with them because they would not sit down and drink with them, “as the old ones used to do;” even upon the bribe, offered when the indemnity loomed large, of swallowing a bumper to King George. Captain Silk was troublesome as ever. One Sunday he cursed and swore prodigiously because the doors had been shut during divine service, and his roaring companions could not have access to him. Another time the prisoners insulted the keepers, asking them why they carried arms? The Jacobites declared they could not endure the sight since the battle of Preston. Just about now the keepers were informed that the rebels intended to do them a mischief—a threat which did not deter them, however, from strictly performing their duty.
Another prisoner added greatly to the trials of the keepers about this period. This was Mr. Freeman, who was committed for firing a pistol in the playhouse when the prince was there. Freeman was continually intoxicated when in gaol. He was also very mischievous, and kept a burning candle by him most part of the night, to the great danger of the prison, especially when in his mad freaks. “He is a lusty, strong, raw-boned man, has a stern, dogged look, as of an obstinate temper when vexed, but fawning and treacherous when pleased.” In a day or two Freeman showed the cloven foot. He flew into a violent passion, and beat one of the female servants of the prison, “shutting the door against the keepers, after he had wounded one of them with a fork which he held in one hand, having a knife and pistol in the other.” He was overpowered, and carried to the condemned hold, where he was put in irons. His villainous designs there appeared by his setting his handkerchief on fire, and concealing it in his hat near his bed, and it was suspected that he wished to set the gaol on fire, so that the prisoners might have the opportunity to escape. A day later Mr. Freeman “regretted that he had not murdered his keeper in the last scuffle;” and the same day Mr. Menzies and Mr. Nairn did honestly tell the keepers that the prisoners meant to injure them, Freeman’s disturbance having been raised “chiefly to that end, and that the female servant he only pretended to assault, so as to make her cry out murder before she was in the least hurt.”
Royal clemency was still delayed, and the advancing summer was intensely hot. The close confinement of so many persons in a limited space began to tell seriously on the prisoners. A spotted fever,[100] which had before shown itself with evil effects, reappeared. It had proved fatal to Mr. Pitcairn the previous August, and in the winter Mr. Butler had died of the same. Now it carried off Mr. Kellet, Sir Francis Anderson’s man. Mr. Thornton was also attacked, but through the care of his doctors recovered. Next month (June) Mr. David Drummond died, and Mr. Ratcliffe was indisposed. It was generally feared that the distemper would become contagious; whereupon some of the principal inmates, among them Mr. Ratcliffe, the two Mr. Widdingtons, Mr. Murray, and Mr. Seaton, “who is styled by them the Earl of Dumferline,” petitioned the Prince Regent and council for enlargement to more commodious prisons. The king’s physicians were accordingly despatched to the prison to inquire into its sanitary condition. Their report was that no contagious distemper existed. The matter was therefore ordered to stand until his Majesty’s pleasure should be known at his arrival from Hanover. George I. soon afterwards returned, and signified his orders for an Act of Grace, which duly passed both Houses of Parliament.
The news of an amnesty was joyfully received in the press-yard. One of the first acts of the prisoners so soon to be set free was to get in a poor fiddler, “whom they set to play tunes adapted to their treasonable ballads; … but this was so shocking to the keepers that they turned the fiddler out.” Next the prisoners had a badger brought in, and baited him with dogs. Other already pardoned rebels came and paid ceremonious visits, such as Mr. Townley, who appeared with much pomp and splendour after his discharge from the Marshalsea. Several clergymen also visited; and a noted common council man, whose friends stood a bowl of punch that night in Captain Silk’s
