Some of the cases of nervous or putrid fever in the epidemics of 1727-29 appear to have been marked by relapses in the country districts as well as in London. Huxham says under date of April, 1728, that those who had wholly got rid of the putrid fever were exceedingly apt to have relapses. Hillary does not mention relapses until March, 1733, when a fever, with many hysterical symptoms, which succeeded the influenza of that year, relapsed in several, “though seemingly perfectly recovered before.” But he seems really to be contrasting relapsing fever and typhus when he points out that, whereas the inflammatory type of fever in the first year of the epidemic (1727) was greatly benefited by enormous phlebotomies, the fever patients in the two seasons following, when the fever was more of the nature of spotted typhus, could not stand the loss of so much blood, or, it might be, the loss of any blood[120]. This was precisely the remark made by Christison and others a century later, when the inflammatory synocha, which often had the relapsing type very marked, changed to the spotted typhus.

From the year 1731 we begin to have annual accounts (soon discontinued) of the reigning maladies in Edinburgh, on the same plan as Wintringham’s, Hillary’s and Huxham’s, with which, indeed, they are sometimes collated and compared[121]. The fevers of Edinburgh and the villages near were as various as those of Plymouth, according to Huxham, and singularly like the latter. Thus, in the winter of 1731-32, there was much worm fever, comatose fever, or convulsive fever among children, but not limited to children, marked by intense pain in the head, raving in some, stupor in others, tremulous movements, leaping of the tendons, and all the other symptoms described by Willis for the fever of 1661, a fatal case of October, 1732, in a boy of ten, recorded by St Clair one of the Edinburgh professors, reading exactly like the cases of Willis already given[122]. St Clair’s case, which was soon fatal, had no worms; but in the general accounts, both for the winter of 1731-32 and the autumn of 1732, it is said that many of the younger sort passed worms, both teretes and ascarides, and recovered, the fatalities among children being, as usual, few. In March and April, 1735, there were again “very irregular fevers of children.” Huxham records exactly the same “worm-fever” of children at Plymouth in the spring of 1734—a fever with pains in the head, languor, anxiety, oppression of the breast, vomiting, diarrhoea, and a comatose state (affectus soporosus), which attacked the young mostly, and was often attended by the passage of worms. He gives the same account of the seasons as Gilchrist—the years 1734 and 1735 marked by almost continual rains, the country more squalid than had been known for some years[123].

But it is the nervous fever that chiefly engrosses attention both in Scotland and in England. In 1735, Dr Gilchrist, of Dumfries, made it the subject of an essay, returning to the subject a few years after[124]. “As our fever,” he says, “seems to be peculiar to this age, it is not a little surprising that much more has not been said upon it.” He is not sure whether its frequency of late years may not be owing to the manner of living (it was the time of the great drink-craze, which Huxham also connects with the reigning maladies) and to a long course of warm, rainy seasons; the winters for some years had been warm and open, and the summers and harvests rainy. It was only the poorer sort and those a degree above them who were subject to this fever; he knew but few instances of it amongst those who lived well, and none amongst wine-drinkers. It was in some insidious in its approach; those who seemed to be in no danger the first days for the most part died. In others the onset was violent, with nausea, heat, thirst and delirium. Among the symptoms were looseness, pains in the belly, local sweating, tickling cough, leaping of the tendons. Sometimes they were in continual cold clammy sweats; at other times profuse sweats ran from them, as if water were sprinkled upon them, the skin feeling death cold.

At Edinburgh, from October, 1735, to February, 1736, the fever became very common, and was often a relapsing fever.

These evidences, beginning with Strother’s for London in 1728 and extending to the Edinburgh record of 1735, must suffice to identify true relapsing fever. In the chapter on Irish fevers we shall find clear evidence of relapsing fever in Dublin in 1739, before the great famine had begun.

Huxham’s account of the fevers at Plymouth, in Devonshire generally, and in Cornwall about the years 1734-36 is of the first importance. It is highly complex, owing to the prevalence of an affection of the throat, so that one part of the constitution is “anginose fever.” This has been dealt with in the chapter on Scarlatina and Diphtheria. Another part was true typhus. In his account of the nervous fever we are introduced, as in the Yorkshire annals, 1726-27, to a phenomenon that was almost distinctive of the low, nervous or putrid fever from about 1750 to 1760 or longer, namely, the eruption of red, or purple, or white watery vesicles, from which it got the name of miliary fever. Huxham’s annals are full of this phenomenon about the years 1734-36[126]. The red pustules, or white pustules, with attendant ill-smelling sweats, are mentioned over and over again. He thought them critical or relieving: “Happy was then the patient who broke out in sweats or in red pustules.” These fevers are said to have extended to the country parts of Devonshire, after they had ceased in Plymouth, and to Cornwall in August, 1736. In Plymouth itself the type of fever changed after a time to malignant spotted fever, synochus, or true typhus.

The malignant epidemic seemed to have been brought in by the fleet; it had raged for a long time among the sailors of the fleet lying at Portsmouth, and had destroyed many of them. In March, 1735, it was raging among the lower classes of Plymouth. About the 10th day of the fever, previously marked by various head symptoms, there appeared petechiae, red or purple, or livid or black, up to the size of vibices or blotches, or the eruption might be more minute, like fleabites. A profuse, clammy, stinking sweat, or a most foetid diarrhoea wasted the miserable patients. A black tongue, spasms, hiccup, and livid hands presaged death about the 11th to 14th day. So extensive and rapid was the putrefaction of the bodies that they had to be buried at once or within twenty-four hours. It was fortunate for many to have had a mild sweat and a red miliary eruption about the 4th or 5th day; but for others the course of the disease was attended with great risk. In April the type became worse, and the disease more general. There was rarely now any constriction of the throat. Few pustules broke out; but in place of them there were dusky or purple and black petechiae, and too often livid blotches, with which symptoms very many died both in April and May. In July this contagious fever had decreased much in Plymouth, and in September it was only sporadic there. With a mere reference to Hillary’s account of somewhat similar fevers at Ripon in 1734-5 (with profuse sweats, sometimes foetid, great fainting and sinking of spirits, starting of the limbs and beating of the tendons, hiccup for days, etc.[127]) we may pass to a more signal historical event, the great epidemic of fever in 1741-42, of which the Irish part alone has hitherto received sufficient notice[128].

The epidemic fever of 1741-42.

The harvest of 1739 had been an abundant one, and the export of grain had been large. At Lady-day the price of wheat had been 31s. 6d. per quarter, and it rose 10s. before Lady-day, 1740. An extremely severe winter had intervened, one of the three memorable winters of the 18th century. The autumn-sown wheat was destroyed by the prolonged and intense frost, and the price at Michaelmas, 1740, rose to 56s. per quarter, the exportation being at the same time prohibited, but not until every available bushel had been sold to the foreigners. The long cold of the winter of 1739-40 had produced much distress and want in London, Norwich, Edinburgh and other towns. In London the mortality for 1740 rose to a very high figure, 30,811, of which 4003 deaths were from fever and 2725 from smallpox. In mid-winter, 1739-40, coals rose to £3. 10s. per chaldron, owing to the navigation of the Thames being closed by ice; the streets were impassable by snow, there was a “frost-fair” on the Thames, and in other respects a repetition of the events preceding the London typhus of 1685-86. The Gentleman’s Magazine of January, 1740, tells in verse how the poor were “unable to sustain oppressive want and hunger’s urgent pain,” and reproaches the rich,—“colder their hearts than snow, and harder than the frost”; while in its prose columns it announces that “the hearts of the rich have been opened in consideration of the hard fate of the poor[129].” The long, hard winter was followed by the dry spring and hot summer of 1740, during which the sickness (in Ireland at least) was of the dysenteric type. In the autumn of 1740 the epidemic is said to have taken origin both at Plymouth and Bristol from ships arriving with infection among the men—at the former port the king’s ships ‘Panther’ and ‘Canterbury,’ at the latter a merchant ship. At Plymouth it was certainly raging enormously from June to the end of the year—“febris nautica pestilentialis jam saevit maxime,” says Huxham; it continued there all through the first half of 1741, “when it seemed to become lost in a fever of the bilious kind.” It was in the dry spring and very hot summer of 1741 that the fever became general over England. Wall says that it appeared at Worcester at the Spring Assizes among a few; at Exeter also it was traced to the gaol delivery; and it was commonly said that the turmoil of the General Election (which resulted in driving Walpole from his long term of power) helped its diffusion. But undoubtedly the great occasion of its universality was a widely felt scarcity. The rise in the price of wheat was small beside the enormous leaps that prices used to take in the medieval period, having been at no time double the average low price of that generation. It was rather the want of employment that made the pinch so sharp in 1741. The weaving towns of the west of England were losing their trade; of “most trades,” also, it was said that they were in apparent decay, “except those which supply luxury[130].” Dr Barker, of Sarum, the best medical writer upon the epidemic, says:

He explains that the price of wheat had driven the poor to live on bad bread. This is borne out by a letter from Wolverhampton, 27 November, 1741[132]. The writer speaks of the extraordinary havoc made among the poorer sort by the terrible fever that has for some time raged in most parts of England and Ireland. At first it seldom fixed on any but the poor people, and especially such as lived in large towns, workhouses, or prisons. Country people and farmers seemed for the most part exempt from it, “though we have observed it frequently in villages near market towns”; whereas, says the writer, the epidemic fevers of 1727, 1728 and 1729 were first observed to begin among the country people, and to be some time in advancing to large towns. This writer’s theory was that the fever was caused by bad bread, and he alleges that horse-beans, pease and coarse unsound barley were almost the only food of the poor. To this a Birmingham surgeon took exception[133]. Great numbers of the poor had, to his knowledge, lived almost entirely upon bean-bread, but had been very little afflicted with the fever. Besides, every practitioner knew that the fever was not confined to the poor. He pointed out that in Wolverhampton, whence the bad-bread theory emanated, the proportion of poor to those in easier circumstances was as six to one, poverty having increased so much by decay of trade that many wanted even the necessaries of life. The Birmingham surgeon was on the whole inclined to the theory of “the ingenious Sydenham, that the disease may be ascribed to a contagious quality in the air, arising from some secret and hidden alterations in the bowels of the earth, passing through the whole atmosphere, or to some malign influence in the heavenly bodies”—these being Sydenham’s words as applied to the fever of 1685-6.

Barker, also, draws a parallel between the epidemic of 1741 and that of 1685-86: the Thames was frozen in each of the two winters preceding the respective epidemics, and the spring and summer of 1740 and 1741 were as remarkable for drought and heat as those of 1684 and 1685.

In London the deaths from fever in 1741 reached the enormous figure of 7528, the highest total in the bills of mortality from first to last, while the deaths from all causes were 32,119, in a population of some 700,000, also the highest total from the year of the great plague until the new registration of the whole metropolitan area in 1838. It will be seen from the following table (on p. 81) of the weekly mortalities that the fever-deaths rose greatly in the autumn, but, unlike the old plague, reached a maximum in the winter.

The effects of the epidemic of typhus upon the weaving towns of the west of England, in which the fever lasted, as in London, into the spring of 1742, were seen at their worst in the instance of Tiverton. It was then a town of about 8000 inhabitants, having increased little during the last hundred years. Judged by the burials and baptisms in the parish register it was a more unhealthy place since the extinction of plague than it had been before that. It was mostly a community of weavers, who had not been in prosperous circumstances for sometime past. In 1735 the town had been burned down, and in 1738 it was the scene of riots. The hard winter of 1739-40 brought acute distress, and in 1741 spotted fever was so prevalent that 636 persons were buried in that year, being 1 in 12 of the inhabitants. At the height of the epidemic ten or eleven funerals were seen at one time in St Peter’s churchyard. Its population twenty years after is estimated to have declined by two thousand, and at the end of the 18th century it was a less populous place than at the beginning[134].

Mortality by Fever in London, 1741-42.

Effects of the Epidemic of 1741-42 on Provincial Towns.
(Short’s Abstracts of Parish Registers.)

Other parts of the kingdom may be represented by Norwich, Newcastle and Edinburgh. The record of baptisms in Norwich is almost certainly defective; in only two years from 1719 to 1741, is a small excess of baptisms over burials recorded, namely, in 1722 and 1726, while in a third year, 1736, the figures are exactly equal. In 1740 there are 916 baptisms to 1173 burials, and in 1741, 851 baptisms to 1456 burials; while in 1742, owing to an epidemic of smallpox, the deaths rose to 1953, or to more than double the recorded births[135]. The distress was felt most in East Anglia in 1740. Blomefield, who ends his history in that year, says there was much rioting throughout the kingdom, “on the pretence of the scarcity and dearness of grain.” At Wisbech Assizes fourteen were found guilty, but were not all executed. In Norfolk two were convicted and executed accordingly. At Norwich the military fired upon the mob and killed seven persons, of whom only one was truly a rioter[136]. It was also in the severe winter of 1739-40 that the distress began in Edinburgh. The mills were stopped by ice and snow, causing a scarcity of meal; the harvest of 1740 was bad, riots took place in October, and granaries were plundered[137]. The deaths from fever were many in 1740, but were nearly doubled in 1741, with a significant accompaniment of fatal dysentery[138]:

Edinburgh Mortalities, 1740-41.

(Population in 1732, estimated at 32,000.)[139]

The last four items are of children’s maladies, for which Edinburgh was worse reputed even than London.

At Newcastle the deaths in the register in 1741 were 320 more than in 1740, in which year they were doubtless excessive, as elsewhere. But there is a significant addition: “There have also been buried upwards of 400 upon the Ballast Hills near this town[140].”

The symptoms of the epidemic fever of 1741-42 are described by Barker, of Salisbury, and Wall, of Worcester[141]. It began like a common cold, as was remarked also in Ireland. On the seventh day spots appeared like fleabites on the breast and arms; in some there were broad purple spots like those of scurvy. Miliary eruptions were apt to come out about the eleventh day, especially in women. In most, after the first six or seven days, there was a wonderful propensity to diarrhoea, which might end in dysentery. The cough, which had appeared at the outset, went off about the ninth day, when stupor and delirium came on. Gilchrist, of Dumfries, describes the fever there in November, 1741, as more malignant than the “nervous fever” which he had described in 1735. It came to an end about the fourteenth day; the sick were almost constantly under a coma or raving, and they died of an absolute oppression of the brain; a profuse sweat about the seventh day was followed by an aggravation of all the symptoms[142]. An anonymous writer, dating from Sherborne, uses the occasion to make an onslaught upon blood-letting[143].

Sanitary Condition of London under George II.

The great epidemic of fever in 1741-42 was the climax of a series of years in London all marked by high fever mortalities. If there had not been something peculiarly favourable to contagious fever in the then state of the capital, it is not likely that a temporary distress caused by a hard winter and a deficient harvest following should have had such effects. This was the time when the population is supposed to have stood still or even declined in London. Drunkenness was so prevalent that the College of Physicians on 19 January, 1726, made a representation on it to the House of Commons through Dr Freind, one of their fellows and member for Launceston:

“This state of things,” said the College, “doth every year increase.” Fielding guessed that a hundred thousand in London lived upon drink alone; six gallons per head of the population per annum is an estimate for this period, against one gallon at present. The enormous duty of 20s. per gallon served only to develope the trade in smuggled Hollands gin and Nantes brandy. In the harvest of 1733 farmers in several parts of Kent were obliged to offer higher wages, although the price of grain was low, and could hardly get hands on any terms, “which is attributed to the great numbers who employ themselves in smuggling along the coast[145].”

The mean annual deaths were never higher in London, not even in plague times over a series of years, the fever deaths keeping pace with the mortality from all causes, and, in the great epidemic of typhus in 1741, making about a fourth part of the whole. The populace lived in a bad atmosphere, physical and moral. As Arbuthnot said in 1733, they “breathed their own steams”; and he works out the following curious sum:

In the growth of London from a medieval walled city of some forty or sixty thousand inhabitants to the “great wen” of Cobbett’s time, these considerations had been little attended to so far as concerned the quarters of the populace. The Liberties of the City and the out-parishes were covered with aggregates of houses all on the same plan, or rather want of plan. In the medieval period the extramural population built rude shelters against the town walls or in the fosse, if it were dry, or along the side of the ditch. The same process of squatting at length extended farther afield, with more regular building along the sides of the great highways leading from the gates. Queen Elizabeth’s proclamation of 1580 was designed to check the growth of London after this irregular fashion; but as neither the original edict nor the numerous copies of it, reissued for near a hundred years, made any provision for an orderly expansion of the capital, these prohibitions had merely the effect of adding to the hugger-mugger of building, “in odd corners and over stables.” The outparishes were covered with houses and tenements of all kinds, to which access was got by an endless maze of narrow passages or alleys; regular streets were few in them, and it would appear from the account given by John Stow in 1598 of the parish of Whitechapel that even the old country highway, one of the great roads into Essex and the eastern counties, had been “pestered[147].” The “pestering” of the field lanes in the suburban parishes with poor cottages is Stow’s frequent theme[148]. The borough of Southwark, as part of the City, may have been better than most: “Then from the Bridge straight towards the south a continual street called Long Southwark, built on both sides with divers lanes and alleys up to St George’s Church, and beyond it through Blackman Street towards New Town or Newington”—the mazes of courts and alleys on either side of the Borough Road which may be traced in the maps long after Stow’s time. So again in St Olave’s parish along the river bank eastwards from London Bridge—“continual building on both sides, with lanes and alleys, up to Battle Bridge, to Horsedown, and towards Rotherhithe.” In the Western Liberty, the lanes that had been laid out in Henry VIII.’s time, Shoe Lane, Fetter Lane and Chancery Lane, served as three main arteries to the densely populated area between Fleet Street and Holborn, but for the rest it was reached by a plexus or rete mirabile of alleys and courts, notorious even in the 19th century. In like manner Drury Lane and St Martin’s Lane were the main arteries between High Holborn and the Strand. One piazza of Covent Garden was a new centre of regular streets, to which the haberdashers and other trades were beginning to remove from the City, for greater room, about 1662. The Seven Dials were a wonder when they were new, about 1694, and had the same intention of openness and regularity as in Wren’s unused design for the City after the fire. The great speculative builder of the Restoration was Nicholas Barbone, son of Praise-God Barbones. He built over Red Lion Fields, much to the annoyance of the gentlemen of Gray’s Inn[149], and his manner of building may be inferred from the following:

In these mazes of alleys, courts, or “rents” the people were for the most part closely packed. Overcrowding had been the rule since the Elizabethan proclamation of 1580, and it seems to have become worse under the Stuarts. On February 24, 1623, certain householders of Chancery Lane were indicted at the Middlesex Sessions for subletting, “to the great danger of infectious disease, with plague and other diseases.” In May, 1637, one house was found to contain eleven married couples and fifteen single persons; another house harboured eighteen lodgers. In the most crowded parishes the houses had no sufficient curtilage, standing as they did in alleys and courts. When we begin to have some sanitary information long after, it appears that their vaults, or privies, were indoors, at the foot of the common stair[151]. In 1710, Swift’s lodging in Bury Street, St James’s, for which he paid eight shillings a week (“plaguy deep” he thought), had a “thousand stinks in it,” so that he left it after three months. The House of Commons appears to have been ill reputed for smells, which were specially remembered in connexion with the hot summer of the great fever-year 1685[152].

The newer parts of London were built over cesspools, which were probably more dangerous than the visible nuisances of the streets satirized by Swift and Gay. There were also the “intramural” graveyards; of one of these, the Green Ground, Portugal Street, it was said by Walker, as late as 1839; “The effluvia from this ground are so offensive that persons living in the back of Clement’s Lane are compelled to keep their windows closed.” But that which helped most of all to make a foul atmosphere in the houses of the working class, an atmosphere in which the contagion of fever could thrive, was the window-tax. It is hardly possible that those who devised it can have foreseen how detrimental it would be to the public health; it took nearly a century to realize the simple truth that it was in effect a tax upon light and air.

The Window-Tax.

Willan, writing of fever in London in 1799, mentions that even the passages of tenement houses were “kept dark in order to lessen the window-tax,” and the air therefore kept foul[153]. Ferriar, writing of Manchester in the last years of the 18th century, mentions, among other fever-dens, a large house in an airy situation which had been built for a poor’s-house, but abandoned: having been let to poor families for a very trifling rent, many of the windows and the principal entrance were built up, and the fever then became universal in it[154]. The Carlisle typhus described by Heysham for 1781 began in a house near one of the gates, tenanted by five or six very poor families; they had “blocked up every window to lessen the burden of the window-tax[155].” John Howard’s interest having been excited in the question of gaol-fever, he noted the effects of the window-tax not only in prisons but in other houses. The magistrates of Kent appear to have paid the tax for the gaols in that county from the county funds; but in most cases the burden fell on the keepers of the gaols.

Such impressions are known to be often fallacious; but in the history of the window-tax, which we shall now follow, it will appear that there was a new law, with increased stringency, in the years 1746-1748, corresponding to the “twenty or thirty years ago” of Howard’s recollection.

The window-tax was originally a device of the statesmen of the Revolution “for making good the deficiency of the clipped money.” By the Act of 7 and 8 William and Mary, cap. 18, taking effect from the 25th March, 1696, every inhabited house owed duty of two shillings per annum, and, over and above such duty on all inhabited houses, every dwelling-house with ten windows owed four shillings per annum, and every house with twenty windows eight shillings. In 1710 houses with from twenty to thirty windows were made to pay ten shillings, and those with more than thirty windows twenty shillings. Various devices were resorted to to check the evasions of bachelors, widows and others. A farmer had to pay for his servants, recouping himself from their wages. A house subdivided into tenements was to count as one; which would have made the tax difficult to gather except from the landlord. The machinery of collection was a board of commissioners, receivers-general and collectors.

But in the 20th of George II. (1746) the basis of the law was changed. The tax was levied upon the several windows of a house, so much per window, so that it fell more decisively than before upon the tenants of tenement-houses, and not on the landlords. The two-shillings house duty was continued; but the window-tax became sixpence per annum for every window of a house with ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen or fourteen windows, or lights, ninepence for every window of a house with fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen or nineteen windows, and one shilling for every window of a house with twenty or more windows. An exemption in the Act in favour of those receiving parochial relief was decided by the law officers of the Crown not to apply to houses with ten or more windows or lights, which would have included most tenement-houses; on the other hand they ruled that hospitals, poor-houses, workhouses, and infirmaries were not chargeable with the window duty. To remove doubts and check evasions another Act was made in 21 George II. cap. 10. All skylights, and lights of staircases, garrets, cellars and passages were to count for the purpose of the tax; also certain outhouses, but not others, were to count as part of the main dwelling whether they were contiguous or not. The 11th paragraph of the Amendment Act shows how the law had been working in the course of its first year: “No window or light shall be deemed to be stopped up unless such window or light shall be stopped up effectually with stone or brick or plaister upon lath,” etc.

This remained the law down to 1803, when a change was made back to the original basis of rating houses as a whole, according to the number of their windows, the rate being considerably raised and fixed according to a schedule. The tax for tenement houses was at the same time made recoverable from the landlord. The window-tax thus became a form of the modern house-tax, rated upon windows instead of upon rental, and so lost a great part of its obnoxious character.

The law of 1747-48, which taxed each window separately, and was enforced by a galling and corrupt machinery of commissioners, receivers-general and collectors paid by results, could not fail to work injuriously; for light and air, two of the primary necessaries of life, were in effect taxed. Even rich men appear to have taken pleasure in circumventing the collectors[157]. But it was among the poor, and especially the inhabitants of tenement houses, that the effect was truly disastrous; a tax on the skylights of garrets and on the lights of cellars, staircases and passages, taught the people to dispense with them altogether. Towards the end of the 18th century the grievance became now and then the subject of a pamphlet or a sermon.

Gaol-Fever.

Besides these ordinary things favouring contagious epidemic fever both in town and country, there were two special sources of contagion, the gaols and the fleets and armies. I shall take first the state of the gaols, which has been already indicated in speaking of the window-tax. In the opinion of Lind, a great part of the fever, which was a constant trouble in ships of the navy, came direct from the gaols through the pressing of newly discharged convicts.

The state of the prisons in the first half of the 18th century was certainly not better than Howard found it to be a generation after; it was probably worse, for the administration of justice was more savage. About the beginning of the century, many petitions were made to Parliament by imprisoned debtors, complaining of their treatment, and a Bill was introduced in 1702. Sixty thousand were said to be in prison for debt[158]. On 25 February, 1729, the House of Commons appointed a committee “to inquire into the state of the gaols of this Kingdom”; but only two prisons were reported on, the Fleet and the Marshalsea, in London, the inquiries upon these being due to the energy of Oglethorpe, then at the beginning of his useful career. The committee found a disgraceful state of things:—wardens, tip-staffs and turnkeys making their offices so lucrative by extortion that the reversion of them was worth large sums, prisoners abused or neglected if they could not pay, some prisoners kept for years after their term was expired, the penniless crowded three in a bed, or forty in one small room, while some rooms stood empty to await the arrival of a prisoner with a well-filled purse. On the common side of the Fleet Prison, ninety-three prisoners were confined in three wards, having to find their own bedding, or pay a shilling a week, or else sleep on the floor. The “Lyons Den” and women’s ward, which contained about eighteen, were very noisome and in very ill repair. Those who were well had to lie on the floor beside the sick. A Portuguese debtor had been kept two months in a damp stinking dungeon over the common sewer and adjoining to the sink and dunghill; he was taken elsewhere on payment of five guineas. In the Marshalsea there were 330 prisoners on the common side, crowded in small rooms. George’s ward, sixteen feet by fourteen and about eight feet high, had never less than thirty-two in it “all last year,” and sometimes forty; there was no room for them all to lie down, about one-half of the number sleeping over the others in hammocks; they were locked in from 9 p.m. to 5 a.m. in summer (longer hours in winter), and as they were forced to ease nature within the room, the stench was noisome beyond expression, and it seemed surprising that it had not caused a contagion; several in the heat of summer perished for want of air. Meanwhile the room above was let to a tailor to work in, and no one allowed to lie in it. Unless the prisoners were relieved by their friends, they perished by famine. There was an allowance of pease from a casual donor who concealed his name, and 30 lbs. of beef three times a week from another charitable source. The starving person falls into a kind of hectic, lingers for a month or two and then dies, the right of his corpse to a coroner’s inquest being often scandalously refused[159]. The prison scenes in Fielding’s Amelia are obviously faithful and correct.

Oglethorpe’s committee had done some good since they first met at the Marshalsea on 25th March, 1729, not above nine having died from that date to the 14th May; whereas before that a day seldom passed without a death, “and upon the advancing of the spring not less than eight or ten usually died every twenty-four hours.” Two of the chief personages concerned were found by a unanimous vote of the House of Commons to have committed high crimes and misdemeanours; but when they were tried before a jury on a charge of felony they were found not guilty.

About a year after these reports to the Commons there was a tragic occurrence among the Judges and the Bar of the Western Circuit during the Lent Assizes of 1730. The Bridewell at Taunton was filled for the occasion of the Assizes with drafts of prisoners from other gaols in Somerset, among whom several from Ilchester were said to have been more than ordinarily noisome. Over a hundred prisoners were tried, of whom eight were sentenced to death (six executed), and seventeen to transportation. As the Assize Court continued its circuit through Devon and Dorset several of its members sickened of the gaol fever and died: Piggot, the high-sheriff, on the 11th April, Sir James Sheppard, serjeant-at-law, on 13th April at Honiton, the crier of the court and two of the Judge’s servants at Exeter, the Judge himself, chief baron Pengelly, at Blandford, and serjeant-at-law Rous, on his return to London, whither he had posted from Exeter as soon as he felt ill[160]. It is said that the infection afterwards spread within the town of Taunton, where it arose, “and carried off some hundreds”; but the local histories make no mention of such an epidemic in 1730, and no authority is cited for it[161]. Something of the same kind is believed to have happened at a gaol delivery at Launceston in 1742, but the circumstances are vaguely related, and it does not appear that any prominent personage in the Assize Court died on the occasion[162].

The great instance of a Black Assize in the 18th century, comparable to those of Cambridge, Oxford and Exeter in the 16th[163], was that of the Old Bailey Sessions in London in April, 1750. It has been fully related by Sir Michael Foster, one of the justices of the King’s Bench, who had himself been on the bench at the January sessions preceding, and was the intimate friend of Sir Thomas Abney, the presiding judge who lost his life from the contagion of the April sessions[164].