Manchester.—Journey to Chester.—Packet-boat.—Brindley.—Rail Roads.—Chester Cathedral.—New Jail.—Assassination in the South of Europe not like Murder in England.—Number of Criminals.—but Abatement of Atrocity in Crimes.—Mitigation of Penal Law.—Robert Dew.—Excellent Administration of Justice.—Amendments still desired.
A place more destitute of all interesting objects than Manchester it is not easy to conceive. In size and population it is the second city in the kingdom, containing above fourscore thousand inhabitants. Imagine this multitude crowded together in narrow streets, the houses all built of brick and blackened with smoke; frequent buildings among them as large as convents, without their antiquity, without their beauty, without their holiness; where you hear from within, as you pass along, the everlasting din of machinery; and where, when the bell rings, it is to call wretches to their work instead of their prayers.... Imagine this, and you have the materials for a picture of Manchester. The most remarkable thing which I have seen here is the skin of a snake, fourteen English feet in length, which was killed in the neighbourhood, and is preserved in the library of the collegiate church.
We left it willingly on Monday morning, and embarked upon the canal in a stage-boat bound for Chester, a city which we had been advised by no means to pass by unseen. This was a new mode of travelling, and a delightful one it proved. The shape of the machine resembles the common representations of Noah's ark, except that the roof is flatter, so made for the convenience of passengers. Within this floating house are two apartments, seats in which are hired at different prices, the parlour and the kitchen. Two horses, harnessed one before the other, tow it along at the rate of a league an hour; the very pace which it is pleasant to keep up with when walking on the bank. The canal is just wide enough for two boats to pass; sometimes we sprung ashore, sometimes stood or sate upon the roof,—till to our surprise we were called down to dinner, and found that as good a meal had been prepared in the back part of the boat while we were going on, as would have been supplied at an inn. We joined in a wish that the same kind of travelling were extended every where: no time was lost; kitchen and cellars travelled with us; the motion was imperceptible; we could neither be overturned nor run away with, if we sunk there was not depth of water to drown us; we could read as conveniently as in a house, or sleep as quietly as in a bed. England is now intersected in every direction by canals. This is the province in which they were first tried by the present duke of Bridgewater, whose fortune has been amply increased by the success of his experiment. His engineer Brindley was a singular character, a man of real genius for this particular employment, who thought of nothing but locks and levels, perforating hills, and floating barges upon aqueduct bridges over unmanageable streams. When he had a plan to form he usually went to bed, and lay there working it out in his head till the design was completed. It is recorded of him, that being asked in the course of an examination before the House of Commons for what he supposed rivers were created, he answered after a pause,—To feed navigable canals.
Excellent as these canals are, rail-roads are found to accomplish the same purpose at less expense. In these the wheels of the carriage move in grooves upon iron bars laid all along the road; where there is a descent no draught is required, and the laden waggons as they run down draw the empty ones up. These roads are always used in the neighbourhood of coal-mines and founderies. It has been recommended by speculative men that they should be universally introduced, and a hope held out that at some future time this will be done, and all carriages drawn along by the action of steam-engines erected at proper distances. If this be at present one of the dreams of philosophy, it is a philosophy by which trade and manufactures would be benefited and money saved; and the dream therefore may probably one day be accomplished.
The canal not extending to Chester, we were dismissed from the boat about half way between the two cities, near the town of Warrington, which was just distant enough to form a pleasing object through the intervening trees. A stage, to which we were consigned, was ready to receive us; and we exchanged, not very willingly, the silent and imperceptible motion of a water journey, to be jolted over rough roads in a crowded and noisy coach. The country was little interesting, and became less so as we advanced. I saw two bodies swinging from a gibbet by the road side; they had robbed and murdered a post-boy, and, according to the barbarous and indecent custom of England, were hanged up upon the spot till their bones should fall asunder.
We found Chester to be as remarkable a place as our travelling friend at Manchester had represented it. The streets are cut out of a soft red rock, and passengers walk, not upon flag-stones at the side, as in most other cities, nor in the middle of the street,—but through the houses, upon a boarded parade, through what would elsewhere be the front room of the first floor. Whenever a lane or street strikes off, there is a flight of steps into the carriage road. The best shops are upon this covered way, though there are others underneath it on a level with the street. The cathedral is a mean edifice of soft, red, crumbly stone, apparently quarried upon the spot: it would have been folly to have erected any thing better with such wretched materials.
The old walls are yet standing; there is a walk on the top of them, from whence we overlooked the surrounding country, the mountains of Wales not far distant, and the river Dee, which passes by the city, and forms an estuary about two leagues below it. The new jail is considered as a perfect model of prison architecture, a branch of the art as much studied by the English of the present day, as ever cathedral building was by their pious ancestors. The main objects attended to are, that the prisoners be kept apart from each other, and that the cells should be always open to inspection, and well ventilated, so as to prevent infectious disorders, which were commonly occurring in old prisons. The structure of this particular prison is singularly curious, the cells being so constructed that the jailor from his dwelling-house can look into every one,—a counterpart to the whispering dungeons in Sicily, which would have delighted Dionysius. I thought of Asmodeus and Don Cleofas. The apartment from whence we were shown the interior of the prison was well, and even elegantly furnished; there were geraniums flowering upon stands,—a piano-forte, and music-books lying open,—and when we looked from the window we saw criminals with irons upon their legs, in solitary dungeons:—one of them, who was intently reading some devotional book, was, we were told, certainly to be executed at the next assizes. Custom soon cauterizes human sympathy; or the situation of the keeper who sits surrounded with comforts, and has these things always in view, would be well nigh as deplorable as that of the wretches under his care. Of late years the office of jailor has become of considerable importance, and ennobled by the title of Governor. The increase of criminals has given it this consequence; and that the number of criminals must be prodigiously increased, is sufficiently proved by the frequency and magnitude of these new prisons. In fact, more persons annually suffer death in this country than in the whole of Christendom besides; and from hence it has been inferred, that either the people of England are the most depraved people in Europe, or their laws are the bloodiest. No, say the English; the true reason is, that in other countries crimes are committed with impunity,—and they never fail to instance assassination: thus they satisfy themselves and silence the objector. True it is that in all the southern parts of Europe, to our shame be it spoken, assassination is far more frequently committed than punished; but murder with us, generally speaking, is neither in its motive nor in its manner, the same atrocious crime which in England is regarded with such religious abhorrence, and punished with such certain severity. Among us, a love dispute between peasants or mechanics leads as regularly to this deadly spirit of revenge, as a quarrel upon the point of honour between two English gentlemen. The Spanish zagal holds the life of his rival no cheaper than the English gentleman that of his equal, who has elbowed him in the street, or intruded into his places at the theatre; a blow with us is revenged by the knife, as it is in England with the pistol. The difference is, that the sense of honour extends lower in society among us, and that the impunity which we allow to all, is restricted in England to the higher orders; and the truth is, that, wherever assassination or duelling prevails, the fault is more to be imputed to the laws than to the people. These are offences from which men may be easily deterred; life will never be held cheap by the people, if the laws teach them that it should be held sacred.
Every stage of society has its characteristic crimes. The savage is hard-hearted to his children, brutal to his women, treacherous to his enemies; he steals and runs away with his booty; he poisons his weapons; he is cowardly and cruel. In the barbarian, pride and courage introduce a sense of honour which lays the foundation for morality: he is a robber, not a thief, ferocious instead of cunning, rather merciless than cruel. When states become settled, new offences spring up, as the weeds in meadow land differ from those of the waste; laws are necessary to restrain the strong from oppression, and the weak from revenge. A new tribe of evils accompany civilization and commerce,—the vices which are fostered by wealth, and the crimes which are produced by want. Still the progress of the human race, though slow, is sure; the laws and the people soften alike, and crimes and punishments both become less atrocious.
More offences are committed in England than in other countries, because there is more wealth and more want; greater temptations to provoke the poor, greater poverty to render them liable to temptation, and less religious instruction to arm them against it. In Scotland, where the puritan clergy retain something of their primitive zeal, the people are more moral; poverty is almost general there, and therefore the less felt, because there is little wealth to invite the contrast. In both countries the greater number of offences are frauds; even they who prey upon society partake of its amelioration, and forsake the barbarous habits of robbery and murder, for methods less perilous to themselves and to others. The weasel fares better than the wolf, and continues her secret depredations after the wolf has been extirpated. In Ireland, on the contrary, where the characteristics of savage life are still to be found, murder is the most frequent crime; and, horrid as it is, it is generally rendered still more so by circumstances of wanton cruelty. If the Welsh are addicted to any peculiar offence it is sheep-stealing, because the sheep have ceased to be wild,—and the people have not.
The laws are mitigated in due proportion to the amelioration of the people:—it was formerly the custom, if a prisoner refused to plead to a capital charge, to stretch him upon his back, and lay weights upon his breast, which were daily to be increased till he died; now he is regarded as guilty, and sentenced as such. Till lately, women were burnt when men were only hanged;[9] the punishment is now the same for both sexes; the horrible butchery for treason, by which the martyrs suffered under the persecutions of Elizabeth and James, is commuted for beheading. In these last instances the mitigation is of the national manners, and not of the law: but the laws themselves should be amended; custom is no security: a cruel minister might enforce these inhuman sentences which are still pronounced,—and nations can never take too many precautions against the possibility of being rebarbarized. There is no Misericordia in England: and, except indeed for spiritual assistance, its humane services are not needed; the prisoners are sufficiently fed and clothed, and the law which punishes, allows every alleviation of punishment which does not defeat the main end of justice. Something of the spirit of this charitable institution was displayed by an individual in the metropolis two centuries ago. He gave fifty pounds to the parish in which the great prison is situated, on condition that, for ever after, a man on the night preceding an execution should go to Newgate in the dead of the night, and strike with a hand-bell twelve tolls with double strokes, as near the cells of the condemned criminals as possible,—then exhort them to repentance. The great bell of the church was also to toll when they were passing by on their way to execution, and the bellman was to look over the wall and exhort all good people to pray to God for the poor sinners who were going to suffer death. Robert Dew was the name of this pious man: the church is dedicated to the Holy Sepulchre, which these heretics have ingeniously converted into a saint!
I need not tell you that the torture has long since been abolished in England. In no other part of the world are laws so well executed; crimes are never committed here with impunity;—there is no respect of persons, justice is never defeated by delay, and the people are not familiarised to cruelty by the sight of cruel punishments. The effect of so familiarizing a nation has been dreadfully exemplified in France. All history does not present a spectacle more inexpiably disgraceful to the country in which it occurred, than the council of surgeons assembled to fix the sentence of Damiens; a council appointed by the king of France and his ministers, to discover in what manner the poor madman could be made to feel the most exquisite tortures, and kept alive as long as possible to endure them! Louis XV. signed this sentence,—and then desired he might not be told when it was to be executed,—because it would hurt his feelings! The present king of England has, in like manner, twice escaped death; and in both instances the unhappy persons concerned have been lodged in the public hospital for the insane. Is there upon record another contrast so striking between two neighbouring nations?
Even however in England some improvements are still desirable in criminal law. The principle of the law is, that every man shall be presumed innocent till he is proved guilty; yet this principle is never carried into effect, and the accused are confined in irons:—it is necessary to secure them; but any rigour not absolutely necessary for this purpose, is in manifest violation of this humane and just axiom. A pleader should be permitted to defend the prisoner, as well as one to accuse him; where the innocence of the prisoner is proved, he ought to be indemnified for the losses he has sustained, and the expenses he has incurred by his imprisonment and trial; where he is convicted, the expense of bringing him to justice ought to fall upon the public, not upon the individual prosecutor, already a sufferer by the offence.
