twonines
LIMERICUS
There`s no need to be jealous.
-
Sign up or login, and you'll have full access to opportunities of forum.
Rebecca and The Bloody Codes
- Thread starter Praefectus Praetorio
- Start date
twonines
LIMERICUS
D on`t worry , there is no " M" so you seem to have got away with it.They even had a “B” for Barbara
whipmaster2
Magistrate
Hope I'm not the only one here who's in love with Susan Sarandon!
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Not direct illustrations, but wonderful works from @montycrusto that are evocative of this section of the story
Rebecca, alone in her cell
Praying with child-like faith
Imagine what it would be like in that cell, in pain, awaiting your hanging:
Rebecca, alone in her cell
Praying with child-like faith
Imagine what it would be like in that cell, in pain, awaiting your hanging:
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Nice to observe your heartfelt empathy for Rebecca!Knew it!!!!!
See my earlier post
Saw that coming and I didn’t need to read any fine print
I hope the condemned will at least get her prison shift back for her hanging. As you all know I am very concerned with public mores.
As for the Hellfire Club, they have definitely chose their name well because if there is any justice in this (fictional) world, hellfire is where they are most definitely headed.
As for the Hellfire Club, they have definitely chose their name well because if there is any justice in this (fictional) world, hellfire is where they are most definitely headed.
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Not exactly.
Having 'strong' (hung) and 'weak' (hanged) forms of the past tense is familiar to speakers or learners of German, Dutch and Icelandic, though I think it's more or less vanished from the continental Scandinavian languages. I don't know whether there are examples in any of those languages of the 'same' verb having both strong and weak past forms with different meanings. As PrPr shows, In English the story was complicated by the co-existence of Old English and Old Norse forms - eventually falling together in the present tense, 'hang', but having somewhat different meanings in their past tense/ past participle forms: hung - intransitive, or transitive with usually an inanimate object; hanged - transitive, with a human object, usually one being executed.
"I'll be hanged" and "I'll be damned" get merged and disguised as "I'll be danged!"
What wisdom from a Scottish woman...
"Depend upon it Sir, when a man knows he is to be hanged in a fortnight, it concentrates his mind wonderfully"
Mind, "Tak the high road" was a Scots term for being hanged, and Dr Johnson also said,
"The noblest prospect which a Scotchman ever sees, is the high road that leads him to England!"
(Googling 'Johnson insults Scots' now brings up a long list of utterances by another of that name
)
Mind, "Tak the high road" was a Scots term for being hanged, and Dr Johnson also said,
"The noblest prospect which a Scotchman ever sees, is the high road that leads him to England!"
(Googling 'Johnson insults Scots' now brings up a long list of utterances by another of that name
)
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Chapter 45 Thursday June 17, 1723 Morning
Exactly one month after Rebecca’s eighteenth birthday
Rebecca was awoken at dawn as her cell door slammed open. The short sleep had restored her slightly. Nevertheless, she came back to a world with great pain from her wounds and a terrible fate ahead. Mistress Bly came in and brushed her hair, “A glory that onlookers will treasure,” she said.
Spite came and tied a thin apron around her hips. It covered pussy in front but was shamefully are in the rear. Leering at her body, he said, “You may have the body of an angel, but you lack the wings to help you dance on air today!” he laughed heartily at his own joke.
Toby came and, using the end of a long rope, tied her wrists tightly together in front of her. He spent a minute clumsily groping her body, insensitive to her cries of pain. Then he roughly pulled her out of the cell by the rope and down a corridor which emptied on the street.
Emerging into the morning chill made her shiver in her nakedness. Looking round, she saw an oxcart standing nearby. The rear railing had a two-foot upward extension to where a pulley was fastened. Jacks stood in the back of the cart, while Breaker, Spite, Fair, and four pike-wielding guards stood by. An old teamster sat in the drey of the cart behind the ox. Several passers-by had halted to wonder at the cause for the gathering.
Tommy Godwyn woke early. He had found a quiet spot off the road in Southwark to sleep last night. The first rays of dawn in the east were very early on this morning less than a week before midsummer. By that light, the big sixteen-year-old could see his way to London Bridge to cross to the city. He hoped to get to Seven Dials by mid-morning to find some word of his sister. She’d left for London 19 days ago. Without a word in all this time, he finally decided to come look for her. He planned to look up their cousin, William Dodge, whom Rebecca had been coming to see.
William Dodge looked at the sun, just appearing over the Dome of St. Paul’s past Ludgate Hill. It was good to be out and free again after 19 days in Fleet Prison on a mistaken charge of debt. That shoulder-clapper had been over-diligent in serving the Capias Writ. Fortunately, unlike some of the poor souls in that prison, William has the means to pay for his food and other care. Those with no funds, slowly starved on moldy bread and rancid water.
He gave a sigh of relief. His friends had worked to clear up the miss-directed funds issue and he was now out of debt with good capital to get on with starting his fledgling house-cleaning service. With a new-found spring in his step, he headed for his place at #27 St. Andrews Street, near Seven Dials. As he walked along, he wondered what had become of his cousin, Rebecca, who was to come work for him. Their meeting was of course aborted by his imprisonment.
Sir Elliott arose from his breakfast. His cook had done a fine job. Scottish salmon, smoked and cured, coddled eggs, toasted bread with butter and marmalade washed down with sweet white wine. His valet removed his linen apron and brushed his clothes clear of any crumbs. He entered the drawing room where his pretty young wife, Anne, was reading to their two beautiful daughters. Sir Elliott kissed and petted them all.
"Are you home, today," asked Anne. "Sarah and Hope so wish to play with their papa."
"I'm out on business now, my heart," he said, kissing her again. But I hope to be back for dinner in the afternoon. Perhaps then."
"You work too hard, my dear," Anne said. "It wears you down, I fear."
"Today is light work. I shall be fine," Sir Elliott said, taking his leave.
Grabbe limped out (damn that gout again!) into the morning sun on St. James Street where his calèche was waiting for him. The morning was dawning in beauty with weather worthy of June. As his footman helped him into the carriage, he thought back to last evening and the "convivial society" with Lady Mary at Ramsey House. She had been appropriately responsive to the whip, he mused. Sir Elliott recited to himself a piece from the late Earl of Rochester:
Naked she lay, clasped in my longing arms,
I filled with love, and she all over charms.
Yesterday had been a fulfilling day in more ways than one. And today would provide the denouement.
Somehow, despite the intense sexual abuse she had suffered over the last two weeks, Rebecca still had retained a modicum of modesty. When paraded almost naked outside in daylight before a crowd of strangers, she recoiled with shame. Hands tied, she held her forearms together to partially cover her exposed breasts. Toby roughly pulled her over to the cart and tossed the end of the rope to Jacks. He, in turn fed the end through the pulley and drew it to a cleat bolted to a corner post of the railing, pulling Rebecca up on her toes.
Spite came up swearing, “Jacks, you buffle-headed Cunningham! How’s you expect her to walk from here to Tyburn like that? Her feets ain’t on the ground!” He carefully told Jacks how much slack to let out.
With Rebecca now standing a little way from the cart, her arms were raised just above her head, preventing her from shielding her tits. The strangers standing around, began making comments to each other and out loud about the brands on her breasts and the still raw welts on her back. From these, everyone knew that she was a criminal convicted of vagrancy and theft. And being tied, half-naked behind the cart, told them she would be whipped to Tyburn, there to be hanged. Tears of shame and fear ran down her cheeks.
Most of the bystanders, having seen who she was, moved on to go about their business. A few, rougher individuals, remained to watch the spectacle they knew would soon follow.
Drey -18th century term for the place where the driver or coachman sat to drive the horses or oxen. Derived from the term for a squirrel’s nest.
Shoulder-clapper - the person who arrested for a debt.
Capias Writ - capias ad respondendum, court order which permitted an officer to take the defendant into custody.
Calèche – light, 2-wheeled carriage drawn by a single horse, with a folding hood and seats for 2 passengers with another for the driver on the splashboard.
Convivial society - A polite term used by the upper crust to describe sexual intercourse.
Buffle-headed - confused and stupid.
Cunningham - A simple fellow, a fool. Origin unclear but believed to be a slur on the Scottish surname.
Exactly one month after Rebecca’s eighteenth birthday
Rebecca was awoken at dawn as her cell door slammed open. The short sleep had restored her slightly. Nevertheless, she came back to a world with great pain from her wounds and a terrible fate ahead. Mistress Bly came in and brushed her hair, “A glory that onlookers will treasure,” she said.
Spite came and tied a thin apron around her hips. It covered pussy in front but was shamefully are in the rear. Leering at her body, he said, “You may have the body of an angel, but you lack the wings to help you dance on air today!” he laughed heartily at his own joke.
Toby came and, using the end of a long rope, tied her wrists tightly together in front of her. He spent a minute clumsily groping her body, insensitive to her cries of pain. Then he roughly pulled her out of the cell by the rope and down a corridor which emptied on the street.
Emerging into the morning chill made her shiver in her nakedness. Looking round, she saw an oxcart standing nearby. The rear railing had a two-foot upward extension to where a pulley was fastened. Jacks stood in the back of the cart, while Breaker, Spite, Fair, and four pike-wielding guards stood by. An old teamster sat in the drey of the cart behind the ox. Several passers-by had halted to wonder at the cause for the gathering.
Tommy Godwyn woke early. He had found a quiet spot off the road in Southwark to sleep last night. The first rays of dawn in the east were very early on this morning less than a week before midsummer. By that light, the big sixteen-year-old could see his way to London Bridge to cross to the city. He hoped to get to Seven Dials by mid-morning to find some word of his sister. She’d left for London 19 days ago. Without a word in all this time, he finally decided to come look for her. He planned to look up their cousin, William Dodge, whom Rebecca had been coming to see.
William Dodge looked at the sun, just appearing over the Dome of St. Paul’s past Ludgate Hill. It was good to be out and free again after 19 days in Fleet Prison on a mistaken charge of debt. That shoulder-clapper had been over-diligent in serving the Capias Writ. Fortunately, unlike some of the poor souls in that prison, William has the means to pay for his food and other care. Those with no funds, slowly starved on moldy bread and rancid water.
He gave a sigh of relief. His friends had worked to clear up the miss-directed funds issue and he was now out of debt with good capital to get on with starting his fledgling house-cleaning service. With a new-found spring in his step, he headed for his place at #27 St. Andrews Street, near Seven Dials. As he walked along, he wondered what had become of his cousin, Rebecca, who was to come work for him. Their meeting was of course aborted by his imprisonment.
Sir Elliott arose from his breakfast. His cook had done a fine job. Scottish salmon, smoked and cured, coddled eggs, toasted bread with butter and marmalade washed down with sweet white wine. His valet removed his linen apron and brushed his clothes clear of any crumbs. He entered the drawing room where his pretty young wife, Anne, was reading to their two beautiful daughters. Sir Elliott kissed and petted them all.
"Are you home, today," asked Anne. "Sarah and Hope so wish to play with their papa."
"I'm out on business now, my heart," he said, kissing her again. But I hope to be back for dinner in the afternoon. Perhaps then."
"You work too hard, my dear," Anne said. "It wears you down, I fear."
"Today is light work. I shall be fine," Sir Elliott said, taking his leave.
Grabbe limped out (damn that gout again!) into the morning sun on St. James Street where his calèche was waiting for him. The morning was dawning in beauty with weather worthy of June. As his footman helped him into the carriage, he thought back to last evening and the "convivial society" with Lady Mary at Ramsey House. She had been appropriately responsive to the whip, he mused. Sir Elliott recited to himself a piece from the late Earl of Rochester:
Naked she lay, clasped in my longing arms,
I filled with love, and she all over charms.
Yesterday had been a fulfilling day in more ways than one. And today would provide the denouement.
Somehow, despite the intense sexual abuse she had suffered over the last two weeks, Rebecca still had retained a modicum of modesty. When paraded almost naked outside in daylight before a crowd of strangers, she recoiled with shame. Hands tied, she held her forearms together to partially cover her exposed breasts. Toby roughly pulled her over to the cart and tossed the end of the rope to Jacks. He, in turn fed the end through the pulley and drew it to a cleat bolted to a corner post of the railing, pulling Rebecca up on her toes.
Spite came up swearing, “Jacks, you buffle-headed Cunningham! How’s you expect her to walk from here to Tyburn like that? Her feets ain’t on the ground!” He carefully told Jacks how much slack to let out.
With Rebecca now standing a little way from the cart, her arms were raised just above her head, preventing her from shielding her tits. The strangers standing around, began making comments to each other and out loud about the brands on her breasts and the still raw welts on her back. From these, everyone knew that she was a criminal convicted of vagrancy and theft. And being tied, half-naked behind the cart, told them she would be whipped to Tyburn, there to be hanged. Tears of shame and fear ran down her cheeks.
Most of the bystanders, having seen who she was, moved on to go about their business. A few, rougher individuals, remained to watch the spectacle they knew would soon follow.
Drey -18th century term for the place where the driver or coachman sat to drive the horses or oxen. Derived from the term for a squirrel’s nest.
Shoulder-clapper - the person who arrested for a debt.
Capias Writ - capias ad respondendum, court order which permitted an officer to take the defendant into custody.
Calèche – light, 2-wheeled carriage drawn by a single horse, with a folding hood and seats for 2 passengers with another for the driver on the splashboard.
Convivial society - A polite term used by the upper crust to describe sexual intercourse.
Buffle-headed - confused and stupid.
Cunningham - A simple fellow, a fool. Origin unclear but believed to be a slur on the Scottish surname.
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Sir Elliott quotes John Wilmot, second Earl of Rochester and Baron of Adderbury in England, Viscount Athlone in Ireland (died 1680) He was the cynosure of the libertine wits of Restoration England. He was anathematized as evil incarnate and simultaneously adored for his seraphic presence, beauty, and wit. Andrew Marvell stated: "The Earle of Rochester was the only man in England that had the true veine of Satyre." Voltaire wrote in his Lettres philosophiques (1734), "Tout le monde connoit de réputation le Comte de Rochester," and then added that the gossip writers have pictured Rochester as a man of pleasure, but he would like to make known the genius, the great poet.
Wilmot was inducted, posthumously, into the Hellfire Club, in 1719.
Wilmot was inducted, posthumously, into the Hellfire Club, in 1719.
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Whipped at the Cart's Tail (or arse) or Air and Exercise.
One of the most famous incidents of this happened in New England in New Hampshire in 1662. Three young Quaker women from England came to Dover. True to their faith, they preached against professional ministers, restrictions on individual conscience, and the established customs of the church-ruled settlement. For six weeks the Quaker women held meetings and services at various dwellings around Dover. Finally, a petition by some of the inhabitants of Dover was presented "humbly craving relief against the spreading & the wicked errors of the Quakers among them."
Captain Richard Walderne, crown magistrate, issued the following order: "To the constables of [11 towns], and until these vagabond Quakers are carried out of this jurisdiction, you, and every one of you are required in the name of the King's Majesty's name, to take these vagabond Quakers, Ann Coleman, Mary Tompkins, and Alice Ambrose, and make them fast to the cart's tail, and driving the cart through your several towns, to whip their naked backs, not exceeding ten stripes apiece on each of them, in each town; and so to convey them from constable to constable, till they are out of this jurisdiction". Walderne's punishment was severe, calling for 110 lashes each, and requiring travel over eighty miles in bitterly cold weather.
On a frigid winter day, constables seized the three women. An eyewitness account: "Deputy Waldron caused these women to be stripped naked from the middle upwards, and tied to a cart, and after awhile cruelly whipped them, whilst the priest stood and looked and laughed at it. The women thus being whipped at Dover, were carried to Hampton and there delivered to the constable and he did the execution. Then he carried them to Salisbury through the dirt and the snow half the leg deep; and here they were whipped again. Indeed their bodies were so torn, that if Providence had not watched over them, they might have been in danger of their lives." In Salisbury, Sergeant Major Robert Pike stopped the persecution of the Quaker women. Dr. Walter Barefoot, who was one of the company that went with the constable, dressed their wounds and brought them back to the Piscataqua, setting them up on the Maine side of the river at the home of Major Nicholas Shapleigh of Kittery.
Eventually the Quaker women returned to Dover, and established a church. In time, over a third of Dover's citizens became Quaker.
John Greenleaf Whittier immortalized the suffering of the Quaker women in the poem “How The Women Went from Dover”
One of the most famous incidents of this happened in New England in New Hampshire in 1662. Three young Quaker women from England came to Dover. True to their faith, they preached against professional ministers, restrictions on individual conscience, and the established customs of the church-ruled settlement. For six weeks the Quaker women held meetings and services at various dwellings around Dover. Finally, a petition by some of the inhabitants of Dover was presented "humbly craving relief against the spreading & the wicked errors of the Quakers among them."
Captain Richard Walderne, crown magistrate, issued the following order: "To the constables of [11 towns], and until these vagabond Quakers are carried out of this jurisdiction, you, and every one of you are required in the name of the King's Majesty's name, to take these vagabond Quakers, Ann Coleman, Mary Tompkins, and Alice Ambrose, and make them fast to the cart's tail, and driving the cart through your several towns, to whip their naked backs, not exceeding ten stripes apiece on each of them, in each town; and so to convey them from constable to constable, till they are out of this jurisdiction". Walderne's punishment was severe, calling for 110 lashes each, and requiring travel over eighty miles in bitterly cold weather.
On a frigid winter day, constables seized the three women. An eyewitness account: "Deputy Waldron caused these women to be stripped naked from the middle upwards, and tied to a cart, and after awhile cruelly whipped them, whilst the priest stood and looked and laughed at it. The women thus being whipped at Dover, were carried to Hampton and there delivered to the constable and he did the execution. Then he carried them to Salisbury through the dirt and the snow half the leg deep; and here they were whipped again. Indeed their bodies were so torn, that if Providence had not watched over them, they might have been in danger of their lives." In Salisbury, Sergeant Major Robert Pike stopped the persecution of the Quaker women. Dr. Walter Barefoot, who was one of the company that went with the constable, dressed their wounds and brought them back to the Piscataqua, setting them up on the Maine side of the river at the home of Major Nicholas Shapleigh of Kittery.
Eventually the Quaker women returned to Dover, and established a church. In time, over a third of Dover's citizens became Quaker.
John Greenleaf Whittier immortalized the suffering of the Quaker women in the poem “How The Women Went from Dover”
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Chapter 46 Routes to Tyburn
With all prepared, Breaker, Fair, and Spite climbed up to ride in the cart, while Toby and Jacks stood ready with dogwhips (thin, medium length whips which inflicted much pain without the extensive damage of heavier implements) and the four guards with their pikes took up position at the four corners to protect the procession. The object of the guards was to prevent any attempt at rescue by friends of the condemned. They rarely discouraged onlookers from casting objects at the prisoner, since the very purpose of the march was to embarrass and hurt them.
Allen directed the driver to start and the ox leaned forward pulling Rebecca’s arms up and out, fully exposing her nakedness to the cat-calls of those watching. In bare feet, she hastened to keep up with the cart. A moment later, Toby snapped his whip against her bare butt and Jacks did the same on her thighs. The tethered girl cried out and staggered forward, dragged like an animal to the slaughter
William Dodge arrived at #27 St. Andrews Street by mid-morning and was ripping down the now defunct Sheriff’s sale sign and slipping his key in the lock when he heard a voice from above. He looked up and saw his insufferably unpleasant neighbor, Simon Nose looking out his bedroom window.
“That youse, Dodge? I thought the shoulder clapper roasted you for debt.”
“A shit mistake that was. All settled and I’m back.”
“There was a slut round here a-trying to burglar your place and lifting goods from the vendors down at the Dials. Claimed to be your cousin.”
“What? What did she look like? Was her name Rebecca?”
“Aye, I thinks so. Dirty thing she was, but with shining dark-red hair.”
“That’s my cousin! Do you know where she’s gone?”
“Last saw, Watchman Todd roasted her and took her to the watchhouse.”
As they were talking, a large young man came up the street looking at the house numbers. He came and stood in front of #27.
“Shool yar pardon, mister,” he said, removing his cap. “Do ya knows where I finds Villiam Dodge?”
“I’m Dodge. Who may you be?”
“Tommy Godwyn, I’m yar cousin from Dartford. I’s here looking for my zoster, Rebecca. We ain’t heerd from her in forever long.”
William quickly told him what had happened and they both set off for the watchhouse.
Sir Elliott stopped off in Clerkenwell at the townhouse of Sir Francis Page on Red Lion Street. Together the rode to the Red Lion for refreshment. Well-fortified with brandy, they proceeded down Clerkenwell Road to Theobald’s Road (pronounced Tibbalds) to St. Giles and then on to Tyburn to see justice done.
Rebecca’s shameful procession went north to the Strand and then west. Ten minutes in, they reached the meeting with Drury Lane and turned there. By now the summer morning had heated and Rebecca was glistening with sweat. The salty liquid entered her wounds and made her agony worse. She was exhausted and her feet were bleeding from the rough road. Toby and Jacks had been instructed to not cause too much damage early. They had also been told to direct many of their lashes at the string holding the apron on her hips. The regulations forbid setting a prisoner off to the gallows with their lower belly bare, but Owen Spite reasoned they couldn’t be held responsible if the stupid whore lost her clothes on the way.
Plodding up Drury Lane, Rebecca fell twice, each time to be dragged a little way until the ox could be halted. Then Toby and Jacks were sure to apply their whips liberally to make her stand. Crying in agony from the abrasions on her burned breasts, the poor damsel used the rope to pull herself up to her feet.
As they continued, the crowds lining the street grew larger and more vocal. Shouting abuse and insults at the prisoner, some of the nastier ones threw clumps of mud and dung at her. A few even tossed rocks. One so sharp and hard, it open a cut on her left flank. When they came to Broad Street Giles’s, Rebecca recognized the Watchhouse where she had first been a prisoner. Just then, a hard snap by Toby, finally cut through the apron cord and the thin garment fell to her ground. The crowd cheered the nakedness of the well figured girl and surged forward to gain a closer look. It took several minutes for the guards to push them back and get the cart moving again. Not quite halfway to her destination, Rebecca, stark naked, covered with sweat and dirt, driven with cruel whips, staggered blindly on, totally humiliated, and weaving from side to side.
Watchman Howard Todd finished his late shift at 10 AM and was hanging around the Watchhouse with Mr. Fine, sharing a bit of ale. The date was nagging in his head. But, tired from a long night and longing to be home in bed, he could not focus his mind. As he prepared to say his farewells to the keeper, a small commotion could be heard out on Great Holborn.
“I’s wonder what the ruckus is?” he said to Fine.
The keeper looked at his calendar and said, “June the 17th? Ah yes. It’s the day they’re a hanging that slut you roasted and took to the Old Bailey, what’s her name, Rebecca Godwyn! That must be her cart just passed, heading for Tyburn Road.”
“Lord, that’s right! The poor wee thing. Didn't seem no slut to me. She don’t deserve to hang, Mr. Fine! That’s God’s own truth.” He poured another tankard of ale and downed it sorrowfully.
“Perhaps it’s so,” said Fine. “But I hears how they’ll be whipping her at the cart’s arse all the way to Tyburn!”
“Blood and 'ounds!” swore the watchman, staring into his drink, thinking of the sweet, pretty young redhead who would die in agony today. It just wasn’t right, he thought.
A little later, there came a pounding on the door. Mr. Fine got up to open it. He admitted two men into the watchhouse.
“Beg your pardon, keeper Fine, watchman Todd,” said the older. “I’ve come to see you about my cousin, Rebecca. This is her brother Tommy. I’m told as you arrested her.”
Shool – beg, Kentish
Blood and 'ounds! - an exclamation. Short for Christ’s Blood and Wounds.
With all prepared, Breaker, Fair, and Spite climbed up to ride in the cart, while Toby and Jacks stood ready with dogwhips (thin, medium length whips which inflicted much pain without the extensive damage of heavier implements) and the four guards with their pikes took up position at the four corners to protect the procession. The object of the guards was to prevent any attempt at rescue by friends of the condemned. They rarely discouraged onlookers from casting objects at the prisoner, since the very purpose of the march was to embarrass and hurt them.
Allen directed the driver to start and the ox leaned forward pulling Rebecca’s arms up and out, fully exposing her nakedness to the cat-calls of those watching. In bare feet, she hastened to keep up with the cart. A moment later, Toby snapped his whip against her bare butt and Jacks did the same on her thighs. The tethered girl cried out and staggered forward, dragged like an animal to the slaughter
William Dodge arrived at #27 St. Andrews Street by mid-morning and was ripping down the now defunct Sheriff’s sale sign and slipping his key in the lock when he heard a voice from above. He looked up and saw his insufferably unpleasant neighbor, Simon Nose looking out his bedroom window.
“That youse, Dodge? I thought the shoulder clapper roasted you for debt.”
“A shit mistake that was. All settled and I’m back.”
“There was a slut round here a-trying to burglar your place and lifting goods from the vendors down at the Dials. Claimed to be your cousin.”
“What? What did she look like? Was her name Rebecca?”
“Aye, I thinks so. Dirty thing she was, but with shining dark-red hair.”
“That’s my cousin! Do you know where she’s gone?”
“Last saw, Watchman Todd roasted her and took her to the watchhouse.”
As they were talking, a large young man came up the street looking at the house numbers. He came and stood in front of #27.
“Shool yar pardon, mister,” he said, removing his cap. “Do ya knows where I finds Villiam Dodge?”
“I’m Dodge. Who may you be?”
“Tommy Godwyn, I’m yar cousin from Dartford. I’s here looking for my zoster, Rebecca. We ain’t heerd from her in forever long.”
William quickly told him what had happened and they both set off for the watchhouse.
Sir Elliott stopped off in Clerkenwell at the townhouse of Sir Francis Page on Red Lion Street. Together the rode to the Red Lion for refreshment. Well-fortified with brandy, they proceeded down Clerkenwell Road to Theobald’s Road (pronounced Tibbalds) to St. Giles and then on to Tyburn to see justice done.
Rebecca’s shameful procession went north to the Strand and then west. Ten minutes in, they reached the meeting with Drury Lane and turned there. By now the summer morning had heated and Rebecca was glistening with sweat. The salty liquid entered her wounds and made her agony worse. She was exhausted and her feet were bleeding from the rough road. Toby and Jacks had been instructed to not cause too much damage early. They had also been told to direct many of their lashes at the string holding the apron on her hips. The regulations forbid setting a prisoner off to the gallows with their lower belly bare, but Owen Spite reasoned they couldn’t be held responsible if the stupid whore lost her clothes on the way.
Plodding up Drury Lane, Rebecca fell twice, each time to be dragged a little way until the ox could be halted. Then Toby and Jacks were sure to apply their whips liberally to make her stand. Crying in agony from the abrasions on her burned breasts, the poor damsel used the rope to pull herself up to her feet.
As they continued, the crowds lining the street grew larger and more vocal. Shouting abuse and insults at the prisoner, some of the nastier ones threw clumps of mud and dung at her. A few even tossed rocks. One so sharp and hard, it open a cut on her left flank. When they came to Broad Street Giles’s, Rebecca recognized the Watchhouse where she had first been a prisoner. Just then, a hard snap by Toby, finally cut through the apron cord and the thin garment fell to her ground. The crowd cheered the nakedness of the well figured girl and surged forward to gain a closer look. It took several minutes for the guards to push them back and get the cart moving again. Not quite halfway to her destination, Rebecca, stark naked, covered with sweat and dirt, driven with cruel whips, staggered blindly on, totally humiliated, and weaving from side to side.
Watchman Howard Todd finished his late shift at 10 AM and was hanging around the Watchhouse with Mr. Fine, sharing a bit of ale. The date was nagging in his head. But, tired from a long night and longing to be home in bed, he could not focus his mind. As he prepared to say his farewells to the keeper, a small commotion could be heard out on Great Holborn.
“I’s wonder what the ruckus is?” he said to Fine.
The keeper looked at his calendar and said, “June the 17th? Ah yes. It’s the day they’re a hanging that slut you roasted and took to the Old Bailey, what’s her name, Rebecca Godwyn! That must be her cart just passed, heading for Tyburn Road.”
“Lord, that’s right! The poor wee thing. Didn't seem no slut to me. She don’t deserve to hang, Mr. Fine! That’s God’s own truth.” He poured another tankard of ale and downed it sorrowfully.
“Perhaps it’s so,” said Fine. “But I hears how they’ll be whipping her at the cart’s arse all the way to Tyburn!”
“Blood and 'ounds!” swore the watchman, staring into his drink, thinking of the sweet, pretty young redhead who would die in agony today. It just wasn’t right, he thought.
A little later, there came a pounding on the door. Mr. Fine got up to open it. He admitted two men into the watchhouse.
“Beg your pardon, keeper Fine, watchman Todd,” said the older. “I’ve come to see you about my cousin, Rebecca. This is her brother Tommy. I’m told as you arrested her.”
Shool – beg, Kentish
Blood and 'ounds! - an exclamation. Short for Christ’s Blood and Wounds.
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Clerkenwell had been, until Henry VIII, the Priory of St John of Jerusalem, held by the group known as the Knights Hospitallers, who followed the Augustinian Order. A group of townhouses on a piece of open ground were built in 1719/20. The new street was then, and for the next couple of hundred years, called Red Lion Street, after a tavern at the top of the road, on Clerkenwell Green. The developer was a lawyer called Simon Michell, MP for Boston, and the Red Lion Street homes were reckoned to be “the best class of houses erected in his time in Clerkenwell.”
Migoz2
Senator
The tension is becoming unbearable. Is a rescue possible for our poor Rebecca? What a cliffhanger! Superb instalment, PrPr.
twonines
LIMERICUS
Hear, Hear, the research is tremendous and the story exciting, what more can one ask?Wow! No one paints a scene ... setting, action, detailing, atmosphere, dialogue in dialect, living characters ... quite like our PrPr. Bravo! Very well done, indeed!
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Chapter 47 Coming to Tyburn Tree
Grabbe and Page arrived early at Tyburn and entered Tyburn House Ordinary to visit the House of Commons and grab a cool ale before going out on the warm day. The crossroads square was already filling with the curious, the morbidly fascinated, the cruel and the sadistic, and those with a prurient interest in a scantily clad young woman. A dozen men with swords or pikes stood guard around the scaffold.
A bleacher had been erected on the southwest side of the square for Sir Elliott’s paying guests, and the two knights had a reserved spot in the front row middle. Already there in the seat beside Grabbe was the Duke of Wharton. When Sir Elliott greeted him, the Duke responded warmly, “Can’t wait to see the slut ‘dancing on air.’ Those last few minutes can be wonderful arousing. The flogging and branding yesterday was magnificent. The little bitch suffers beautifully! Will it be a ‘gentle’ hanging?”
“Naked and gentle as can be, my Grace, take my word,” replied Grabbe. The Duke rubbed his hands eagerly in anticipation of Rebecca enduring a long, slow death.
Rebecca’s woeful procession made the usual stop at Bowl Inn in St Giles, where the condemned were often allowed to drink strong liquors or wine. The others in the party all grabbed ale or wine, prepaid, courtesy of Sir Elliott.
Rebecca, naked, bound to the cart in the hot sun, and thoroughly parched, asked Spite. “Please sir. I shool ya. My I have a wee ale?”
Owen responded spitefully. “You never offered your favors to the likes of me when you were sleeping on silks with all the topping men. Why would I do you a favor now, when soon you’ll be dancing on air? What say you give me a lark in turn for some ale?” Recoiling at the thought of her aching, burned breasts being used thusly, Rebecca was denied even this succor.
After all the men had downed their refreshments, they started up again, sounded by the snap of the whips on Rebecca’s backside. The group moved onto Tiburn Road, toward the gallows. The sun had climbed high in the sky, and Rebecca was dripping sweat. Parched and exhausted, the nude young woman staggered from side to side as she tried to keep up with the cart. Her raw back was now bleeding noticeably as the henchmen continued to ply their whips.
The road was becoming more crowded with spectators attracted by the news that a beautiful young woman would be dancing the Tyburn jig. As it was approached noon, Breaker had the driver hurry the ox and told Toby and Jacks to lay in with their whips to move Rebecca along. The two thugs did so with a will.
Mr. Fine, feeling topping since he received his two-shilling tip for alerting Sir Elliott to Rebecca (which, of course, none of these knew), invited the men in and gave them each a tankard. Mr. Todd told them the story of being called to the Dials to catch a thief, how Rebecca had been apprehended by the Hue and Cry, the shoplifting, the vagrancy, and the planning burglary charges, and how he brought her to the watchhouse for the night.
“Burglary?” snorted William, “she was merely trying to see me, her cousin, as she’d been instructed. She wasn’t no vagrant, she had employment promised with me. And I’ll be paying those conveyancer vendors the amounts they claimed. Where is she now? How do I stand bail for her?”
“Ay, there’s your rub,” said Todd. “She didn’t appear before the local justice. If she’d done so, she have been pilloried and out by now. No, she went to the King’s Bench at the Old Bailey and that sour old bastard, Just-ass Page. He sentenced her to be whipped, branded and hanged.”
“Rebecca, branded! Hanged?” cried Tommy. “How can dis be?”
“Ain’t be quite yet, youngster.” Said Fine. “Due today. She just ‘went west’ by here not more’n an quarter hour ago.”
“Mr. Dodge! We can’t let her hang!”
“I don’t think there’s a way we can stop it. But I’m game to try.” Said William, standing.
“Due to hanged at noon, she is,” said Mr. Fine. “I reckon not more’n fifteen or twenty minutes from now.”
“God in Heaven,” cried Dodge “We must fly! Come on Tommy,” he said, hurrying for the door.
“I’m with you,” said Watchman Todd and followed them out.
The north side of Tyburn Road cleared out to open fields as they started leaving the developed part of the city. Breaker, having made the journey many times, knew it wasn’t far to the crossroads and the Tree. He was supposed to deliver the prisoner there by noon. But Rebecca, weakened and thirsty, had slowed their progress.
“Move the little jade along, you bull-calves! I ‘ll get her to the sheriff's picture frame by noon, or I'll lump your jolly-nobs for you!”
The thugs redoubled their strokes and the driver urged the ox onward. However, they soon reached the limit of Rebecca’s endurance. As the tall gallows came into sight ahead, Rebecca collapsed for the third time in as many poles, and the whips of Toby and Jacks were not enough to get the tortured girl to pull herself up to a stand.
“She’s terrible baked, Mr. Breaker, your honour.” reported Toby.
“God's truth, your honour!” added Jacks
“It’s milkin’ the pigeon to drive her anyfar.” Toby opined.
“God's truth, your honour!” added Jacks
Given how close they were to Tyburn, Breaker decided it was time to bring Rebecca into the cart. The henchmen untied her rope and boosted her over the rail to fall painfully on the wagon floor. Spite took a thinner rope and tied her wrists tightly behind her back. He added another above her elbows to force her arms further back and make her lovely but burned breasts stand out. Getting her up, he tied a small cloth around her hips as a makeshift loincloth for decency at the hanging. He and Breaker took her arms to keep her upright and steady at the front of the cart for all to see as the ox resumed the march to the place of execution.
Ordinary - a tavern serving food and drink.
House of Commons – a privy
Lark – Masturbating between a woman’s breasts. Modern slang: titty bang
Dancing the Tyburn Jig – one of many euphemisms for hanging derived from the Tyburn tree. Some others were: “take a ride to Tyburn” or simply “go west.”
Conveyancer - a thief
Stand Bail – take responsibility or put up security for an accused to return to court. The English Bill of Rights of 1689 proclaimed “that excessive bail ought not to be required.”
sheriff's picture frame - the gallows.
Jolly nob – head
Pole – old surveyors measure, also called a rod, 16.5 feet.
Terrible – extremely
Milk the pigeon - try and do the impossible.
Grabbe and Page arrived early at Tyburn and entered Tyburn House Ordinary to visit the House of Commons and grab a cool ale before going out on the warm day. The crossroads square was already filling with the curious, the morbidly fascinated, the cruel and the sadistic, and those with a prurient interest in a scantily clad young woman. A dozen men with swords or pikes stood guard around the scaffold.
A bleacher had been erected on the southwest side of the square for Sir Elliott’s paying guests, and the two knights had a reserved spot in the front row middle. Already there in the seat beside Grabbe was the Duke of Wharton. When Sir Elliott greeted him, the Duke responded warmly, “Can’t wait to see the slut ‘dancing on air.’ Those last few minutes can be wonderful arousing. The flogging and branding yesterday was magnificent. The little bitch suffers beautifully! Will it be a ‘gentle’ hanging?”
“Naked and gentle as can be, my Grace, take my word,” replied Grabbe. The Duke rubbed his hands eagerly in anticipation of Rebecca enduring a long, slow death.
Rebecca’s woeful procession made the usual stop at Bowl Inn in St Giles, where the condemned were often allowed to drink strong liquors or wine. The others in the party all grabbed ale or wine, prepaid, courtesy of Sir Elliott.
Rebecca, naked, bound to the cart in the hot sun, and thoroughly parched, asked Spite. “Please sir. I shool ya. My I have a wee ale?”
Owen responded spitefully. “You never offered your favors to the likes of me when you were sleeping on silks with all the topping men. Why would I do you a favor now, when soon you’ll be dancing on air? What say you give me a lark in turn for some ale?” Recoiling at the thought of her aching, burned breasts being used thusly, Rebecca was denied even this succor.
After all the men had downed their refreshments, they started up again, sounded by the snap of the whips on Rebecca’s backside. The group moved onto Tiburn Road, toward the gallows. The sun had climbed high in the sky, and Rebecca was dripping sweat. Parched and exhausted, the nude young woman staggered from side to side as she tried to keep up with the cart. Her raw back was now bleeding noticeably as the henchmen continued to ply their whips.
The road was becoming more crowded with spectators attracted by the news that a beautiful young woman would be dancing the Tyburn jig. As it was approached noon, Breaker had the driver hurry the ox and told Toby and Jacks to lay in with their whips to move Rebecca along. The two thugs did so with a will.
Mr. Fine, feeling topping since he received his two-shilling tip for alerting Sir Elliott to Rebecca (which, of course, none of these knew), invited the men in and gave them each a tankard. Mr. Todd told them the story of being called to the Dials to catch a thief, how Rebecca had been apprehended by the Hue and Cry, the shoplifting, the vagrancy, and the planning burglary charges, and how he brought her to the watchhouse for the night.
“Burglary?” snorted William, “she was merely trying to see me, her cousin, as she’d been instructed. She wasn’t no vagrant, she had employment promised with me. And I’ll be paying those conveyancer vendors the amounts they claimed. Where is she now? How do I stand bail for her?”
“Ay, there’s your rub,” said Todd. “She didn’t appear before the local justice. If she’d done so, she have been pilloried and out by now. No, she went to the King’s Bench at the Old Bailey and that sour old bastard, Just-ass Page. He sentenced her to be whipped, branded and hanged.”
“Rebecca, branded! Hanged?” cried Tommy. “How can dis be?”
“Ain’t be quite yet, youngster.” Said Fine. “Due today. She just ‘went west’ by here not more’n an quarter hour ago.”
“Mr. Dodge! We can’t let her hang!”
“I don’t think there’s a way we can stop it. But I’m game to try.” Said William, standing.
“Due to hanged at noon, she is,” said Mr. Fine. “I reckon not more’n fifteen or twenty minutes from now.”
“God in Heaven,” cried Dodge “We must fly! Come on Tommy,” he said, hurrying for the door.
“I’m with you,” said Watchman Todd and followed them out.
The north side of Tyburn Road cleared out to open fields as they started leaving the developed part of the city. Breaker, having made the journey many times, knew it wasn’t far to the crossroads and the Tree. He was supposed to deliver the prisoner there by noon. But Rebecca, weakened and thirsty, had slowed their progress.
“Move the little jade along, you bull-calves! I ‘ll get her to the sheriff's picture frame by noon, or I'll lump your jolly-nobs for you!”
The thugs redoubled their strokes and the driver urged the ox onward. However, they soon reached the limit of Rebecca’s endurance. As the tall gallows came into sight ahead, Rebecca collapsed for the third time in as many poles, and the whips of Toby and Jacks were not enough to get the tortured girl to pull herself up to a stand.
“She’s terrible baked, Mr. Breaker, your honour.” reported Toby.
“God's truth, your honour!” added Jacks
“It’s milkin’ the pigeon to drive her anyfar.” Toby opined.
“God's truth, your honour!” added Jacks
Given how close they were to Tyburn, Breaker decided it was time to bring Rebecca into the cart. The henchmen untied her rope and boosted her over the rail to fall painfully on the wagon floor. Spite took a thinner rope and tied her wrists tightly behind her back. He added another above her elbows to force her arms further back and make her lovely but burned breasts stand out. Getting her up, he tied a small cloth around her hips as a makeshift loincloth for decency at the hanging. He and Breaker took her arms to keep her upright and steady at the front of the cart for all to see as the ox resumed the march to the place of execution.
Ordinary - a tavern serving food and drink.
House of Commons – a privy
Lark – Masturbating between a woman’s breasts. Modern slang: titty bang
Dancing the Tyburn Jig – one of many euphemisms for hanging derived from the Tyburn tree. Some others were: “take a ride to Tyburn” or simply “go west.”
Conveyancer - a thief
Stand Bail – take responsibility or put up security for an accused to return to court. The English Bill of Rights of 1689 proclaimed “that excessive bail ought not to be required.”
sheriff's picture frame - the gallows.
Jolly nob – head
Pole – old surveyors measure, also called a rod, 16.5 feet.
Terrible – extremely
Milk the pigeon - try and do the impossible.