Imprisonment for debt has long ceased to exist in England; debtors now only suffering incarceration for contempt of Court: that is to say, that the judge has satisfied himself that the debtor has the means to pay, and will not. But, in the eighteenth century, it was a fearful fact, and many languished in prison for life, for most trifling sums. Of course, there were debtors and debtors. If a man had money or friends, much might be done to mitigate his position; he might even live outside the prison, in the Rules, as they were called, a limited district surrounding the prison; but for this advantage he must find substantial bail—enough to cover his debt and fees. But the friendless poor debtor had a very hard lot, subsisting on charity, going, in turn, to beg of passers-by for a coin, however small, rattling a box to call attention, and dolorously repeating, ‘Remember the poor prisoners.’

There were many debtors’ prisons, and one of the principal, the Fleet, was over-crowded; in fact, they all were full. Newgate, the Marshalsea, the Gate House, Westminster, the Queen’s Bench, the Fleet, Ludgate, Whitecross Street, Whitechapel, and a peculiar one belonging to St. Katharine’s (where are now the docks).

Arrest for debt was very prompt; a writ was taken out, and no poor debtor dare stir out without walking ‘beard on shoulder,’ dreading a bailiff in every passer-by. The profession of bailiff was not an honoured one, and, probably, the best men did not enter it; but they had to be men of keen wit and ready resource, for they had equally keen wits, sharpened by the dread of capture, pitted against them. Some rose to eminence in their profession, and as, occasionally, there is a humorous side even to misery, I will tell a few stories of their exploits. As I am not inventing them, and am too honest to pass off another man’s work as my own, I prefer telling the stories in the quaint language in which I find them.

‘Abram Wood had a Writ against an Engraver, who kept a House opposite to Long Acre in Drury Lane, and having been several times to serve it, but could never light on the Man, because he work’d at his business above Stairs, as not daring to shew his Head for fear of being arrested, for he owed a great deal of Money, Mr. Bum was in a Resolution of spending no more Time over him; till, shortly after, hearing that one Tom Sharp, a House-breaker, was to be hang’d at the end of Long Acre, for murdering a Watchman, he and his Follower dress’d themselves like Carpenters, having Leather Aprons on, and Rules tuck’d in at the Apron Strings: then going early the morning or two before the Malefactor was to be executed, to the place appointed for Execution, they there began to pull out their Rules, and were very busie in marking out the Ground where they thought best for erecting the Gibbet. This drew several of the Housekeepers about ’em presently, and among the rest the Engraver, who, out of a selfish humour of thinking he might make somewhat the more by People standing in his House to see the Execution, in Case this Gibbet was near it, gave Abram a Crown, saying,

‘“I’ll give you a Crown more if you’ll put the Gibbet hereabouts;” at the same time pointing where he would have it.

‘Quoth Abram: “We must put it fronting exactly up Long Acre; besides, could I put it nearer your door, I should require more Money than you propose, even as much as this” (at the same time pulling it out of his pocket) “Writ requires, which is twenty-five Pounds.” So, taking his prisoner away, who could not give in Bail to the Action, he was carried to Jayl, without seeing Tom Sharp executed.’

‘William Browne had an Action given him against one Mark Blowen, a Butcher, who, being much in debt, was never at his Stall, except on Saturdays, and then not properly neither, for the opposite side of the way to his Shop being in the Duchy Liberty44 (with the Bailiff whereof he kept in Fee) a Bailiff of the Marshal’s Court could not arrest him. From hence he could call to his Wife and Customers as there was occasion; and there could Browne once a week see his Prey, but durst not meddle with him. Many a Saturday his Mouth watered at him; but one Saturday above the rest, Browne, stooping for a Purse, as if he found it, just by his Stall, and pulling five or six guineas out of it, the Butcher’s Wife cry’d “Halves;” his Follower, who was at some little distance behind him, cry’d out, “Halves” too.

‘Browne refused Halves to either, whereupon they both took hold of him, the Woman swearing it was found by her Stall, therefore she would have half; and the Follower saying, As he saw it as soon t’other, he would have a Share of it too, or he would acquaint the Lord of the Mannor with it. Mark Blowen, in the meantime, seeing his Wife and another pulling and haling the Man about, whom he did not suspect to be a Bailiff, asked, “What’s the Matter?” His wife telling him the Man had found a Purse with Gold in it by her Stall, and therefore she thought it nothing but Justice but she ought to have some of it.

“‘Ay ay,” (quoth the Butcher), “and nothing but Reason, Wife.”

‘So, coming from his privileged side of the Way, he takes hold of Browne too, bidding his Wife look after the Shop, for he would take care of him before they parted.

‘Browne, being thus hemm’d in by his Follower and the Butcher, quoth he:

‘“Look’ee here, Gentlemen, I have Six Guineas here, ’tis true, but, if I should give you one half of it, why, then there is but a quarter Share of the other two.”

‘“No, no”, (replyed they), “we’ll have Man and Man alike, which is Two Guineas apiece.”

‘“Well,” (quoth Browne), “if it must be so, I’m contented; but, then, I’ll tell you what, I’ll have the odd Eighteen Pence spent.”

‘“With all my heart,” said Blowen. “We’ll never make a dry Bargain on’t.”

‘They are all agreed, and Browne leads them up to the Blackmore’s Head Alehouse, in Exeter Street, where a couple of Fowls are ordered to be laid down, and Stout and Ale is called for by wholesale. At last they went to Dinner, and, afterwards, Browne, changing his Six Guineas for Silver, gave his Follower (to carry on the jest) Forty Shillings, and put the rest in his pocket. Mark Blowen, seeing that, began to look surly, and asked for his Share.

‘Said Browne: “What Share, friend?”

‘Quoth Mark Blowen: “Forty Shillings, as you gave this Man here.”

‘Browne reply’d: “Why, truly, Sir, I shall have an urgent Occasion to Night for what Sum I have about me, and if you’ll be pleas’d to lend me your Share but till Monday Morning, I’ll come and pay you then at this House without fail, and return you, with infinite thanks, for the Favour.”

‘Quoth Mark (who was a blundering, rustical sort of a Fellow): “D—— me, Sir, don’t think to Tongue-Pad me out of my Due. I’ll have my Share now, or else he that’s the best Man here of us three shall have it all, win it, and wear it.”

‘“Pray, Sir,” (said Browne), “don’t be in this Passion. I’ll leave you a sufficient Pledge for it till Monday.”

‘Quoth Mark: “Let’s see it.”

‘Hereupon Browne pulls out his Tip-Staff, and lays it on the Table; but the Butcher, not liking the Complexion of it, began to be moving, when the Follower, laying Hands on him, they arrested him in an Action of Eighteen Pounds, and carried him to the Marshalsea, where, after a Confinement of Nine Months, he ended his Days.’

There is another famous bailiff on record, named Jacob Broad; and of him it is narrated that, ‘being employed to arrest a Justice of the Peace living near Uxbridge, he went down there very often, and had us’d several Stratagems to take him, but, his Worship being very cautious in conversing with any of Jacob’s Fraternity, his Contrivances to nap him prov’d always abortive. However, a great deal of Money was proffer’d by the Creditor to take the worshipful Debtor; so one Day Jacob, with a couple of his Followers, took a Journey in the Country, and, being near the end of their Journey, Jacob alights, and flings his Bridle, Saddle, and Boots into a Thick Hedge, and then puts a Fetlock45 on his Horse. The Followers tramp’d it a-foot, to one of whom giving the Horse, he leads it to a Smith at Uxbridge, and, telling him he had lost the Key of the Fetlock, he desir’d him to unlock it, whilst he went to a neighbouring Alehouse, where he would give him a Pot or two of Drink for his Pains. Accordingly the Smith unlockt it, and carried the Horse to the Alehouse; and, after he had drank Part of half-a-dozen of Drink, return’d to his Work again. Shortly after, came the other Follower to the Smith, inquiring if he did not see such a Horse come by that way, describing at the same time the Colour and Marks of it, and how his Master had lost him out of his Grounds that Morning. The Smith reply’d, that such a Horse was brought to him but a little before, to have a Fetlock taken off, and that he did imagine the Fellow to be a Rogue that had him; but, however, he believ’d he was still at such an Alehouse hard by, and might be there apprehended. Hereupon the Smith and Follower went to the Alehouse, where they found the Horse standing at the Door, and the other Follower in the House, whom they call’d a thousand Rogues, and charg’d with a Constable for a Thief. In the meantime, came Jacob Broad, who own’d the Horse to be his, and the Town-People, being all in a hurly-burly, they carried him before the Justice whom Jacob wanted; but no sooner were Jacob, the supposed Thief, and the other Follower entered the House, but charging the Constable to keep the Peace, they arrested his Worship, and brought him forthwith to London, where he was forc’d to pay the Debt of two hundred and thirty-four Pounds before he could reach home again.’

Another story is related of Jacob Broad.

‘A certain Gentleman who liv’d at Hackney, and had been a Collector of the late Queen’s Duties, but cheated her of several thousands of Pounds, goes home, and pretends himself sick. Upon this he keeps his Bed, and, after a Fortnight’s pretended Illness, it was given out that he was Dead. Great preparations were then made for his Funeral. His Coffin, which was filled with Bricks and Saw-Dust, was covered with black Velvet, and his Wife, and Six Sons and Daughters, all in deep Mourning, follow’d it to the Grave, which was made in St. John’s Church, at Hackney. This sham Funeral was so well carried on, that all the People of the Town would have sworn the Collector was really Dead. About a Week after his supposed Interment, Jacob Broad had an Action of one hundred and fifty Pounds against him. He went to Hackney to serve the Writ, but, enquiring after the Person he was to arrest, and being told that he was dead and buried, he return’d home again.

‘About Seven Years afterwards, the Creditor being certainly inform’d that the Collector was alive and well in his own House, he employed Jacob again to arrest him, and accordingly he and another went to execute the Writ. Jacob planted himself in an Alehouse adjacent to the long-supposed Deceased’s Habitation, and, while his Aid-de-Camp, or Follower, was doing something else, he told a Woman, coming by with a great Load of Turnips on her Head, that the People of such a House wanted some, which was the House where the Seven Years dead Man dwelt. She went forthwith and knockt at the Door, which was open’d to let her in, and the Follower, who was close at her Heels, rush’d in after her, and ran into a Back Parlour, where he saw the Person (according to the Description of him) whom he wanted sitting by the Fire Side. It happening then to be a festival Day, for the Entertainment of the Collector’s Children, and Grand Children, the Table was spread with Variety of Dainties; the Follower leapt over the Table, overthrowing the Viands on it, and laying hold of the Prisoner, all their Mirth was spoilt at once. In the mean Time came Jacob Broad, and, taking out the supposed dead Man, he seem’d to be overjoy’d at his Resurrection from a Seven Years’ Confinement and for tasting the fresh Air. Jacob brings him to London, whence he remov’d himself by a Writ of Habeas Corpus to the King’s Bench Prison in Southwark, where he died again in a Week’s time, for he was never heard of till he was seen about Three Years after in Denmark.

‘Jacob Broad was always very happy in having Followers as acute as himself in any sort of Roguery, especially one Andrew Vaughan, afterwards a Bailiff himself on Saffron Hill, and one Volly Vance, otherwise call’d Glym Jack from his having been a Moon Curser,46 or Link Boy ... From a Link Boy Glym Jack came to be Jacob Broad’s Follower, who, together with Andrew Vaughan, he once took into the Country along with him to arrest a Justice of Peace, who was one of the shyest cocks that ever Jacob had to take by Stratagem. In order to accomplish this Undertaking, Jacob, Andrew, and Glym Jack were very well drest in Apparel, and mounted on good Geldings, having fine Hangers on their Sides, and Pistols in their Holsters, beside Pocket Pops sticking in their Bosoms. Being thus accoutred they rid into an Inn in the Town where the Justice of Peace they wanted dwelt, and, putting up their Horses, they ask’d the Landlord for a private Room, which, being accommodated with, they refresh’d themselves with a good Dinner, and afterwards set to play.

‘Whilst they were shaking their Elbows at 7 or 11 nick it, a great deal of Money and three or four Watches lying on the Table, when at last one of ’em cry’d, this Watch is my Snack, for I’m sure I first attackt the Gentleman from whom we took it; another swore such a Purse of Gold was his, which they had taken that Morning from a Gentlewoman, and, in short, everyone of ’em was swearing such a Prize was his, all which the Landlord (who listened at the Door) overhearing, thought to himself they were all Highwaymen. Hereupon he goes and acquaints the shy Justice of Peace with the matter, who ask’d If he were sure they were Rogues.

‘“Nothing,” (quoth the Innkeeper), “is more certain, for they are all arm’d with more Pistols than ordinary, swearing, damning, cursing, and sinking every Word they speak, and falling out about dividing their Booty.”

‘“Ay, ay,” (reply’d the Justice), “they are then certainly Highwaymen,” and so order’d him to secure them.

‘The Innholder went for a Constable, who, with a great many Rusticks, arm’d with Pitch Forks, long Poles, and other Country Weapons, went with the Landlord to the Inn, suddenly rush’d into the Room, and surpriz’d Jacob and his Followers, with Money and Watches lying before them.

‘“So,” (says the Constable), “pretty Gentlemen, are not ye, that honest people can’t travel the Country without being robb’d by such villains as you are?—Well,” (quoth the Constable to Jacob), “what’s your Name?”

‘His answer was Sice-Ace.47

‘“A fine Rogue, indeed!” said the Constable, at the same time asking Andrew his Name, whose answer was,

‘“Cinque-Duce.”

‘“Another Rogue in Grain!” quoth the Constable; and then ask’d Glym Jack what his Name was, who reply’d,

‘“Quater-Tray.”

‘“Rogues! Rogues all!” said the Constable; “ay, worse than all, they are mear Infidels, Heathens, for I never heard such names before in a Christian Country. Come, Neighbours, bring ’em away before Mr. Justice, his Worship will soon make them change their Notes.”

‘Accordingly the Rusticks haled them along the Town to his Worship’s House, into which they were no sooner enter’d but he began to revile Jacob and his Brethren for Highwaymen, and asking them their Names, they still were in the same Tone of Sice-Ace, Cinque-Duce, and Quater-Tray, at which the Justice, lifting up his Hands and Eyes to the Ceiling, cry’d out, Such audacious Rogues as these were never seen before.

‘“Here, Tom,” (quoth his Worship to his Clerk), “write their Mittimus, for I will send them everyone to Newgate.”

‘Whilst their Commitment was writing, Jacob pulls a Bit of Parchment out of his Pocket, and, asking the Constable if he could read it, he put on his Spectacles, and posing and mumbling over it a Minute or two, said,

‘“I cannot tell what to make of it. It is Latin, I think.”

‘“Well, then,” (quoth Jacob), “I’ll tell you what it is, it is the King’s Process against this Gentleman that is going to commit us to Newgate; therefore, in my Execution of it, I require you, as you are a Constable, to keep the Peace.”

‘This turn of the Dice made the Magistrate, the Peace Officer, and all the Rusticks stare at one another as if they were out of their Senses. However, Jacob brought his Prisoner to London, and oblig’d him to make Satisfaction before he got out of his Clutches.’

The above anecdotes illustrate the humorous side of a bailiff’s life, but sometimes they met with very rough treatment, nay, were even killed. On the 4th of August, 1722, a bailiff named Boyce was killed by a blacksmith, who ran a red-hot iron into him; and the book I have quoted from thus speaks of bailiffs as ‘such Villains, whose Clan is suppos’d to descend from the cursed Seed of Ham, and therefore stinks in the Nostrils of all honest Men. Some of them have been paid in their own Coyn, for Captain Bew kill’d a Sergeant of one of the Compters. Shortly after, a Bailiff was kill’d in Grays-Inn Walks; another Bailiff had his Hand chopt off by a Butcher in Hungerford Market, in the Strand, of which Wound he dyed the next Day, and another Man kill’d two Bailiffs at once with a couple of Pistols in Houghton Street, by Clare Market, for which he was touch’d with a cold iron48 at the Sessions House at the Old Baily, besides several others of that detestable Tribe have deservedly suffer’d the same fate....

‘But, by the way, we must take Notice that a Bailiff is Universally hated by Man, Woman, or Child, who dearly love to see them duckt (Pick-pocket like) in the Muse Pond,49 or the cleanly Pond of the Horse Guards, at Whitehall, and sometimes well rinsed at the Temple, or Grays-Inn Pump; and if any of these napping Scoundrels is taken within the Liberty of the Mint, the enraged Inhabitants of this Place tye him fast with Ropes in a Wheelbarrow; then they trundle him about the Streets, with great Shouts and Huzzas.... After he is convey’d in the like Order to a stinking Ditch, near St. George’s Fields, where he is plunged over Head and Ears, À la mode de Pickpocket; and then, to finish the Procession, he is solemnly convey’d to a Pump, according to the antient Custom of the Place, where he is sufficiently drench’d for all his dirty Doings.’

This, as I have said, shows the humorous side of imprisonment for debt. An unimpeachable and veracious authority, one who only gave dry statistics, and did not draw upon his imagination for his facts, was John Howard, the philanthropist, who published, in 1777, ‘The State of the Prisons in England and Wales.’ From his report we learn that the allowance to debtors was a penny loaf a day—and when we consider that, during the French war, bread at one time rose to a price equivalent to our half-crown per quartern loaf, it could hardly be called a sufficient diet. But the City of London, generous then, as ever, supplemented this with a daily (? weekly) supply of sixteen stone, or one hundred and twenty-eight pounds, of beef, which, as Howard gives the average of debtors in two years (1775-6) at thirty-eight, would be more than ample for their needs—and there were other charities amounting to fifty or sixty pounds a year—but, before they were discharged, they were compelled to pay the keeper a fee of eight shillings and tenpence.

In the Fleet Prison they had no allowance, but, if they made an affidavit that they were not worth five pounds, and could not subsist without charity, they had divided amongst them the proceeds of the begging-box and grate, and the donations which were sent to the prison. Of these, Howard says, at the time of his visit, there were seventeen. But the other prisoners who had any money had every facility afforded them to spend it. There was a tap, at which they could purchase whatever liquor they required; there was a billiard-table, and, in the yard, they could play at skittles, Mississippi, fives, tennis, &c. On Monday nights there was a wine club, and on Thursday nights a beer club, both of which usually lasted until one or two in the morning; and pretty scenes of riot and drunkenness took place. The prisoners were allowed to have their wives and children to live with them.

Ludgate had ceased to exist, and the debtors were transferred to New Ludgate, in Bishopsgate Street. It was a comparatively aristocratic debtors’ prison, for it was only for debtors who were free of the City, for clergymen, proctors, and attorneys. Here, again, the generosity of the City stepped in; and, for an average number of prisoners of twenty-five, ten stone, or eighty pounds of beef, were given weekly, together with a daily penny loaf for each prisoner. The lord mayor and sheriffs sent them coals, and Messrs. Calvert, the brewers, sent weekly two barrels of small beer, besides which, there were some bequests.

The Poultry Compter was in the hands of a keeper who had bought the place for life, and was so crowded that some of the prisoners had to sleep on shelves over the others, and neither straw nor bedding was allowed them. The City gave a penny loaf daily to the prisoners, and remitted for their benefit the rent of thirty pounds annually; the Calverts also sent them beer. At Howard’s visits, eight men had their wives and children with them.

Wood Street Compter was not a pleasant abode, for Howard says the place swarmed with bugs. There were thirty-nine debtors, and their allowance was a daily penny loaf from the City, two barrels of beer weekly from the Calverts; the sheriffs gave them thirty-two pounds of beef on Saturdays, and for some years a benevolent baker sent them, weekly, a large leg and shin of beef.

At Whitechapel was a prison for debtors, in the liberty and manor of Stepney and Hackney, but it was only for very small debtors, those owing above two pounds, and under five. Howard’s story of this prison is a very sad one, the occupants being so very poor:

‘The Master’s-side Prisoners have four sizeable chambers fronting the road—i.e., two on each storey. They pay two shillings and sixpence a week, and lie two in a bed; two beds in a room. The Common-side Debtors are in two long rooms in the Court Yard, near the Tap-room. Men in one room, women in the other: the Court Yard in common. They hang out a begging-box from a little closet in the front of the House, and attend it in turn. It brings them only a few pence a day, and of this pittance none partake but those who, at entrance, have paid the keeper two shillings and sixpence, and treated the Prisoners with half a gallon of beer. The last time I was there, no more than three had purchased this privilege....

‘At my first visit there were, on the Common-side, two Prisoners in Hammocks, sick and very poor. No chaplain. A compassionate Man, who is not a regular Clergyman, sometimes preaches to them on Sunday, and gives them some small relief. Lady Townsend sends a Guinea twice a year, which her Servant distributes equally among the Prisoners.

‘As Debtors here are generally very poor, I was surprised to see, once, ten or twelve noisy men at skittles; but the Turnkey said they were only visitants. I found they were admitted here as at another public-house. No Prisoners were at play with them.’

At St. Catherine’s, without the Tower, was another small debtors’ prison. This parish was a ‘peculiar,’ the Bishop of London having no jurisdiction over it, and the place was under the especial patronage of the Queens of England ever since the time of Matilda, the wife of Stephen, who founded a hospital there, now removed to Regent’s Park. It was a wonderful little parish, for there people could take sanctuary—and there also were tried civil and ecclesiastical cases. Howard says that the prison for debtors had been rebuilt seven years before he wrote. It was a small house of two storeys; two rooms on a floor. In April, 1774, there was a keeper, but no prisoners. ‘I have since called two or three times, and always found the House uninhabited.’

No notice of debtors’ prisons would be complete without mention of the King’s Bench, which was in Southwark. Howard reports:

‘The Prisoners are numerous. At more than one of my visits, some had the Small Pox. It was so crowded this last summer, that a Prisoner paid five shillings a week for half a bed, and many lay in the chapel. In May, 1766, the number of Prisoners within the Walls was three hundred and ninety-five, and, by an accurate list which I procured, their wives (including a few only called so) were two hundred and seventy-nine, children seven hundred and twenty-five—total, one thousand and four; about two-thirds of these were in the Prison.’

The prisoners had, as in the Fleet, their weekly wine and beer clubs, and they also indulged in similar outdoor sports. The Marshalsea and Horsemonger Lane gaol complete the list of London debtors’ prisons.

Howard’s description of the county prisons is something appalling. Gaol-fever, distemper, or small-pox being recorded against most of them. At Chelmsford there had been no divine service for above a year past, except to condemned criminals. At Warwick the debtors’ common day-room was the hall, which was also used as a chapel. At Derby a person went about the country, at Christmas-time, to gentlemen’s houses, and begged for the benefit of the debtors. The donations were entered in a book, and signed by each donor. About fourteen pounds were generally collected in this manner.

Chesterfield gaol was the property of the Duke of Portland, and Howard describes it thus:

‘Only one room, with a cellar under it, to which the Prisoners occasionally descend through a hole in the floor. The cellar had not been cleaned for many months. The Prison door had not been opened for several weeks, when I was there first. There were four Prisoners, who told me they were almost starved; one of them said, with tears in his eyes, “he had not eaten a morsel that day,”—it was afternoon. They had borrowed a book of Dr. Manton’s; one of them was reading it to the rest. Each of them had a wife, and they had, in the whole, thirteen children, cast on their respective parishes. Two had their groats from the Creditors, and out of that pittance they relieved the other two. No allowance: no straw: no firing: water a halfpenny for about three gallons, put in (as other things are) at the window. Gaoler lives distant.’

At Salisbury gaol, just outside the prison gate, a round staple was fixed in the wall, through which was passed a chain, at each end of which was a debtor padlocked by the leg, who offered for sale to the passers-by, nets, laces, purses, etc., made in the prison. At Knaresborough the debtors’ prison is thus described:

‘Of difficult access; the door about four feet from the ground. Only one room, about fourteen feet by twelve. Earth floor: no fireplace: very offensive: a common sewer from the town running through it uncovered. I was informed that an Officer confined here some years since, for only a few days, took in with him a dog to defend him from vermin; but the dog was soon destroyed, and the Prisoner’s face much disfigured by them.’

The gaolers were not always the most gentle of men, as may be seen by the trial of one Acton, deputy-keeper and turnkey of the Marshalsea, for the murder of a prisoner named Thomas Bliss. The indictment will briefly tell the story:

‘That the said William Acton, being Deputy Keeper, under John Darby, of the said prison, being a person of inhuman and cruel disposition, did, on the 21st of October, in the Year of our Lord, 1726, cruelly, barbarously, and feloniously Beat, Assault, and Wound the said Thomas Bliss in the said Prison, viz., in the Parish of Saint George’s-in-the-Fields, in the Borough of Southwark, in the County of Surrey, and did put Irons and Fetters of great and immense weight upon his legs, and an Iron Instrument, and Engine of Torture, upon the Head of the said Thomas Bliss, called the Scull-cap, and also Thumb-screws upon his Thumbs; and the said Thomas Bliss was so wounded, fettered, tortured and tormented in the Strong Room of the said Prison (which is a dangerous, damp, noisome, filthy, and unwholesome place) did put, and him did there detain several days; by means of which excruciating Tortures, close Confinement, Duress, and cruel Abuses, the said Thomas Bliss got so ill an Habit of Body, that he continued in a languishing Condition till the 25th Day of March following, and then died.’

Although the facts of the indictment were fully borne out by the evidence, the jury acquitted Acton. I should mention that Bliss had twice attempted to escape from the prison.

Let us pass to a pleasanter theme, and see what was the inner life of a debtor’s prison about 1750, the story of which is told in a little book undated.50 The foot-notes are taken from the book.