Old Church Lore

Deputies sometimes performed the ordeals. A notable instance of employing a substitute is that of Theatberge, wife of Lothaire, of France. She confessed to having been guilty of incest, but subsequently recanting, it was decided to try her by the ordeal, and a ring was thrown into boiling water according to custom. The Queen elected a proxy, and it is recorded of him whom she chose that he “produced the ring without injuring his hand, in spite of the fire under the caldron being so intense that the water boiled over.”

It is asserted that the familiar saying of going “through fire and water” for any one is derived from the practice of employing deputies in the performance of ordeals.

In Mr. James Forbes’ “Oriental Memoirs,” published 1813-15, are some details of boiling oil ordeals. One of the cases relates to the coolies of a village in the northern part of Guzerat, who were charged with seizing and imprisoning a Bohra, and extorting a bond from him for 450 rupees. The chief denied the charge, and offered to prove his innocence by trial by ordeal. We are told that “a large copper pot full of oil was put on a fire in the market-place, and a pair of blacksmith’s bellows applied to blow the fire until the oil became very hot.” A rupee was thrown into the boiling oil. The chief next declared his innocence, said his prayers, plunged his hand into the boiling liquid, and brought out the coin. He next exhibited his hand to the spectators, when no traces of scalding could be detected; indeed it appeared as if it had been dipped in cold oil. Himself and his tribe were pronounced not guilty of the charge, and he was dismissed with the gift of a turban.

The cold water ordeal appears to have been usually employed to try the humbler classes. The accused went through fasting and discipline similar to the trial by boiling water. After attending church, the person on trial was conducted to a deep pool, and then bound hand and foot with cords. The priest next adjured the water to receive the accused into its bosom if innocent, but to reject him if he were guilty. He was cast into the water. If he sank he was deemed innocent, and was at once drawn out by a rope which had previously been tied round his waist. We gather from Hallam’s “Middle Ages” that a citizen of London, having failed in the ordeal of cold water, was hanged by the order of Henry II. The man tried to save his life by offering 500 marks. In cases of murder, if the accused even went through the ordeal of water, he was banished from the realm.

Some attention is paid to this ordeal by Dr. Charles Mackay, in his “Popular Delusions.” “It was,” he says, “a trial of the poor and humble, and whether they sank or swam was thought of very little consequence. Like witches of more modern times, the accused were thrown into a pond or river. If they sank they were drowned, their friends had the consolation that they were innocent; if they swam they were guilty. In either case society was rid of them.” We believe there is little foundation in fact for the foregoing statement by Dr. Mackay. After careful investigation we have not found a record of persons being drowned. The rope fastened to the body of the accused would prevent any such accident.

Towards the close of the twelfth century the use of this ordeal was very general. Lea, in his “Superstition and Force,” says that “The assizes of Clarendon, in 1166, confirmed at Northampton in 1176, direct an inquest to be held in each shire, and all who are indicted for murder, robbery, harbouring of malefactors, are to be at once, without further trial, passed through the water ordeal to determine their guilt or innocence.” Mr. Lea thinks that the basis of this ordeal may be traced back to the primitive Aryans, who believed that the pure element would not receive into its bosom a person stained with the crime of a false oath.

Many strange stories are related respecting the ordeal of red-hot iron; and not a few of a tragical character. There were two ways of performing the red-hot iron ordeal. One was by taking up a piece of red-hot iron, weighing from one to three pounds, or walking barefoot and blindfolded over nine red-hot ploughshares placed lengthwise at irregular distances. If the accused passed through this ordeal without being hurt he was deemed innocent. There is a popular story that Emma, the mother of Edward the Confessor, was charged with undue familiarity with Alwyn, Bishop of Winchester. She proved her innocence by passing unharmed over heated ploughshares.

Among the many instances of persons tried by this ordeal of hot iron may be mentioned Remigius, the Bishop of Dorchester, who was accused of treason against William the Conqueror. One of the bishop’s followers underwent the ordeal, and cleared his lordship of the charge.

It has been suggested by some authorities on this subject that the apparently hot iron was really cold and painted red. In some instances the hands and feet were perhaps rubbed with certain compositions which would enable the persons going through the ordeal to touch the iron without doing injury to themselves. We know that in our own time, to shew the power of resisting fire is not by any means a difficult feat, and it often forms an item on the programmes of popular entertainments.

Shakspeare and other writers refer to the ancient superstition that the wounds of a murdered person would bleed again if touched by the murderer. In Richard III., the dramatist writes as follows respecting Richard, Duke of Gloster: —

“O gentlemen, see, see! dear Henry’s woundsOpen their congeal’d mouths and bleed afresh!Blush, blush, thou lump of foul deformity;For ’tis thy presence that exhales this bloodFrom cold and empty veins, where no blood dwells;Thy deed, inhuman and unnatural,Provokes this deluge most unnatural.”

Stow, in his “Annals,” records that the king’s body “was brought to St. Paul’s in an open coffin, barefaced, where he bled; thence he was carried to Blackfriars, and there bled.”

King James, in his “Dæmonologie,” thus refers to this superstition: “In a secret murder,” says the King, “if the dead carkasse be at any time thereafter handled by the murderer, it will gush out of blood, as if the blood were crying out to heaven for the revenge of the murderer.” Dryden adverts to the theme: —

“If the vile actors of the heinous deedNear the dead body happily be brought,Oft hath been proved the breathless corpse will bleed.”

This ordeal in bygone times was frequently tried, and it was the means of bringing not a few murderers to justice. In some instances the details of the crimes and their detection read more like romance than a statement of facts.

In the olden days witnessing an execution was a sight not to be missed by old or young folk; even children wended their way to the fatal tree. Sir Symonds D’Ewes, the antiquary, in his boyhood days, attended the execution of a man named Babb, and subsequently wrote an account of the painful circumstances connected with the case. We gather from his notes that Babb had formerly lived near to Wambrook, on the southern border of Somerset. He had sought in vain for the hand in marriage of a widow living near Taunton. She, however, declined his proposal. Babb, although greatly disappointed at his failure, resolved to make one more attempt to win the woman. He hid himself in a brewhouse used by the widow, and when she appeared he once more pressed his suit. She heard him with disdain, and almost before he had finished his speech she said, “Have thee, base rascal? No!” She then struck him on the head with a pewter candlestick. This made his blood boil, and he inflicted upon her sixteen wounds, causing her death. Afterwards, he put the knife in her hand, making it appear as if she had committed suicide, and then quietly stole away from the place.

The unfortunate widow was buried, but tongues and brains were not set at rest, for it was the opinion of not a few that she had met her death at the hands of a murderer. Amongst the active in this matter was a leading local magistrate, named Mr. Ware, Hestercombe House, near Taunton. Like other people of this period, he believed in the ordeal by touch. “This active magistrate,” we find stated, “caused the body to be disinterred, that all the inhabitants living within a circle of three miles might assemble to touch the body, and go through this powerful ordeal. Babb ran away to escape this dreadful mode of testing the inhabitants’ innocence. His racking conscience gave him no repose; he returned and yielded himself up to justice.” At the next county assizes for Somerset, held at Chard, in the year 1613, he was tried, found guilty, and condemned to death. Shortly afterwards he was hanged near Wambrook.

Charles I. presented to Dr. Wren, the father of the famous Sir Christopher Wren, the rectory of Great Haseley, near Oxford. During his incumbency, occurred a sad event, which made a great impression on his mind. He detailed, in Latin, particulars of the matter, and duly attested the truth by signing it. Lucy Phillimore, the author of an ably-written work on “Sir Christopher Wren: his Family and his Times,” supplies an English version of the tragedy. “Among the retainers of Lord Norris,” we are told, “was an old man who had charge of the fish ponds; he had one nephew, who was the heir of all his uncle’s possessions and savings. The nephew enticed the old man out one night, waited till he fell asleep under an oak tree, murdered him by a blow on the head, dragged the body to one of the ponds, tied a great stone to the neck, and threw the corpse in. There it lay five weeks, during which time Lord Norris and all the neighbours wondered what had become of the old man. At length, attracted to the spot by the swarms of flies, the body was found by the men who were about to clean the pond. They raised the corpse with great difficulty, and recognised it. The stone tied to the neck was evidence of foul play, though no one could guess the murderer. Lord Norris, in order to detect the criminal, after the usual manner, commanded that the corpse, preserved by the water from the last extremity of decay, should, on the next Sunday, be exposed in the churchyard, close to the church door, so that every one entering the church should see and touch it. The wicked nephew shrank from the ordeal, feigning to be so overwhelmed with grief as to be unable to bear the sight of his dearest uncle. Lord Norris, suspecting that the old man had been murdered by the one person whom his death would profit, compelled him to come, and to touch with his finger, as so many had willingly done, the hand of the dead. At his touch, however, ‘as if opened by the finger of God, the eyes of the corpse were seen by all to move, and blood to flow from his nostrils.’ At this awful witness, the murderer fell on the ground and avowed the crime, which he had secretly committed, and the most just judgment of God had brought to light.” The murderer was tried before one of His Majesty’s judges, and the circumstances of the crime fully stated. He was condemned to death, and the sentence was duly carried out by the hangman.

Another strange story comes down to us from the days when the first Charles was king. It relates to Herefordshire. Johan Norkeff was found dead, and it was believed that she had laid violent hands upon herself. After she had been buried about a month, circumstances caused it to be suspected that she had met her death by foul play. The case came under the consideration of a coroner and jury, and they finally resolved to have the body exhumed, and cause the four suspected persons to touch it. The result of the ordeal was narrated at the assizes by an old minister as follows: “The body being taken out of the grave and laid on the grass, the accused were required to touch it. On laying on their hands on the brow, which before was of a livid and carrion colour, it began to have a dew or gentle sweat upon it, which increased by degrees until the sweat ran down the face. The brow then turned to a lifelike and flesh colour, and the dead woman opened one of her eyes and shut it again, and this opening of the eye was done three times. She likewise thrust out the ring or marriage finger three times, and the finger dropped blood on the grass.” The old minister swore to the correctness of the foregoing, and, says James Grant, in “The Mysteries of all Nations,” from whom we draw the evidence, another clergyman corroborated it. Sir Nicholas Hyde, the eminent lawyer, who rose to be Lord Chief Justice, questioned the correctness of the evidence, but the members of the jury did not agree with him, finding three of the prisoners guilty of murder. Two were executed, and the third, a woman, was reprieved.

On much weaker evidence to the preceding cases, Philip Stanfield was condemned, in 1688, for the murder of his father, Sir James Stanfield. An account of the matter will be found in Chambers’s “Domestic Annals of Scotland,” vol. 2, pages 491-92. The case may be briefly stated as follows: The body of Sir James Stanfield, of New Mills, was found in a stream near Haddington. It appeared that he had met his dead by strangling. James Muirhead, a surgeon, and another person swore that when Philip Stanfield was helping to place the body of his father in a coffin, blood started from the left side of his neck upon his touch, and that he exclaimed, “Lord have mercy upon me!” On this slight evidence he was, 7th February, 1688, pronounced guilty of parricide, and was publicly executed on the 24th of the same month, and his body hung in chains. He protested his innocence to the last. “The whole case,” says Dr. Robert Chambers, “seems to be a lively illustration of the effect of superstitious feeling in blinding justice.”

On the 14th June, 1641, a commission which sat at Dalkeith, pronounced Christina Wilson guilty of the death, by sorcery, of her brother, Alexander Wilson. She had been, prior to the trial, directed by the minister and others to touch the corpse of her brother. After an earnest prayer, in which she fervently prayed to God, who had made the sun to shine on their home, to bring the murderer to justice, she touched the body. It bled, although it had not done so when touched by others. This was deemed sufficient proof of her guilt, and on this evidence she suffered death.

With directing the attention to the survival of touching the dead, we must draw to a close our study of the romance of trial. In the north of England, and other parts of the country, it is the practice of persons who come to see a corpse to touch it, as a token “that they wished no ill to the departed, and were at peace and amity with them.”

A Fight between the Mayor of Hull and the Archbishop of York

The prelates of the past enjoyed not a few peculiar privileges which are not inherited by their successors in modern times. In the mediæval era, the dignitaries of the church led comparatively exciting lives, and were by no means strangers to the use of sword and lance, many gaining fame on the field of battle.

Representatives of the church often possessed rights in respect to the gallows and its victims. A few facts about a case occurring far back, in the days of our first Edward, shew how keenly they maintained their privileges. The Abbot of Peterborough set up a gallows at Collingham, Nottinghamshire, and had hanged thereon a thief. This proceeding came under the notice of the Bishop of Lincoln, and he, with considerable warmth and temper, declared that the Abbot had usurped his rights, since he held from the king’s predecessors the liberty of the Wapentake of Collingham, and the right of executing criminals. The Abbot declared that Henry III. had given to him and his successors “Infangthef and Utfangthef in all his hundreds and demesnes.” After investigation it was decided that the Abbot was in the wrong, and he was directed to take down the gallows he had erected. One, and perhaps the chief, reason of the prelate being so particular to retain his privileges was on account of it entitling him to the chattels of the condemned criminals.

William the Conqueror invested the Abbot of Battle Abbey with authority to save the life of any malefactor he might find being executed, and whose life he wished to spare.

Amongst the many privileges enjoyed by the Archbishop of York, was that of having a mint. As early as the year 1070, we find a mention of the mint, and particulars of attempts made, without success, to destroy or curtail His Grace’s coining. Archbishop Lee, who died in 1544, is said to have been the last to exercise the power of issuing money.

In bygone times, the Archbishops of York appear to have enjoyed almost regal power. The baronies of Beverley, Sherburn, Patrington, Otley, and Wilton belonged to them. They appointed justices for these important towns, had prisons, gallows, pillories, and ducking-stools, and did their utmost to maintain law and order.

It will be gathered from the foregoing that prelates were granted privileges which enabled them to exercise much power amongst the people. Some of the rights enjoyed at Hull by the Archbishop of York were oppressive to the inhabitants of the town, and gave rise to much strife. It was the practice, exercised according to ancient custom, of the Archbishop of York to claim prisage from every vessel of twenty tons burden entering the river Hull. Two casks of wine were demanded, one from before and the other from behind the mast. The casks, however, might be redeemed by paying twenty shillings for each cask. The merchants successfully evaded payment of duty by unloading their ships in the Humber, and bringing their goods into port in small craft. As may be readily expected, the Archbishop was much annoyed at the conduct of the men of Hull, who received the support of the Mayor of the town; indeed, if we read history aright, we find the local authorities had a desire to enjoy the privileges claimed by the prelate. A great difficulty had been experienced for a long time by the officers of the Archbishop in collecting the dues, and Archbishop Neville saw that unless he made a firm stand to maintain his privileges, they would be lost. In the year 1378, he decided to visit Hull, and enforce his rights. The Mayor of Hull, at that time was Sir Thomas de Waltham, a knight of quick temper, and with no particular respect for persons with whom he came in contact.

The Archbishop, with a few attendants, numbering less than a dozen, came to the town. The Mayor, accompanied by two bailiffs, named John Arnold and Thomas Green, and a large company of local supporters, met His Grace. The Archbishop complained bitterly to the Mayor, saying, amongst other serious faults, that he had shown himself wanting in that respect for the Archbishop which the representative of religion was entitled to receive. His Worship soon waxed warm, declaring that he had only done his duty in maintaining the rights of his fellow-townsmen. The prelate insisted that the Mayor was in the wrong, and that it was his intention to enforce the payment of his dues. The Mayor soon shewed signs of his displeasure, and seeing one His Grace’s men mocking him, he, without ceremony, snatched from the Archbishop his crosier, and struck the man. This was the commencement of a free fight, in which the prelate and his people suffered a severe defeat. Blood freely flowed, and the Archbishop, seeing that he could not make, with any degree of success, a stand against so many opponents, beat a hasty retreat, followed a considerable distance out of the town by a large number of excited inhabitants of Hull, eager to avenge the wrongs it was believed His Grace had done to the port by collecting, or attempting to collect, prisage. The Mayor, it must be recorded, fought manfully with the crosier, which was broken into several pieces.

The Archbishop, being a Court favourite, brought the matter under the notice of the King. The Mayor was summoned to appear before His Majesty at Westminster. This proceeding doubtless caused much trouble in Hull, but the Mayor, feeling that he had right on his side, proceeded to London with a brave heart, and at the trial pleaded his cause with considerable eloquence. The case resulted in judgment being left in abeyance, or, in other words, His Grace was non-suited.

We can readily imagine that the Mayor would return home in higher spirits than when he left it to appear in the King’s Court, and that he would receive a hearty welcome from his fellow townsmen.

The place where the fight occurred was regarded by the superstitious as sacred, crowds of fanatics repairing to it to shed tears. Not a little inconvenience was caused by their conduct, and their proceedings were stopped by a permanent guard being appointed to keep folk away from the place.

After the death of the Archbishop, it was believed for many years that his spirit haunted the spot where the battle was fought.

In spite of the serious breach between Prelate and Mayor, Hull appears to have been a favourite residence in past times of the Archbishops of York. We know, from the annals of the town, that in the year 1442 the Archbishop had a house in the historic High Street.

Dr. Thomson, the late Archbishop of York, was a frequent and welcome visitor to the town. The last time he was in Hull, His Grace was the guest of Alderman Sherburn, the Mayor. When we saw the two gentlemen in friendly conversation, we could not help contrasting the conditions of 1889 with those of 1378, and noting the great changes which five centuries have brought about, changes better alike for gentle and simple.

Chapels on Bridges

The building of bridges in bygone times was regarded as a religious duty. An order of friars was established on the continent, in the twelfth century, having for its object the erecting and repairing of bridges. Its work extended into several countries. In France, the friars built the celebrated bridge over the Rhone at Avignon, and a bridge, still in use, at Pont St. Esprit, was one of their works. We have not any traces of the operations of the order in England, but there were in the country, prior to the reign of Richard II., lay-brotherhoods performing a similar good work.

Queen Matilda erected and endowed bridges at Stratford and Bow, which she regarded as meritorious. The Church looked upon the work as one deserving of encouragement. Richard de Kellawe, Bishop of Durham, from 1311 to 1316, for example, promised to remit penances for those engaged in bridge-building. The Registry of his Episcopal Chancery contains many entries similar to the following: “Memorandum … his lordship grants forty days’ indulgence to all who will draw from the treasure that God has given them, valuable and charitable aid towards the building and repair of Botyton bridge.” We read in another entry: “Forty days’ indulgence is allowed to those sincerely contrite and confessed of all their sins, who shall help by their charitable gifts, or by their bodily labour, the building and maintenance of the causeway between Brotherton and Ferrybridge, where many people pass by.” On another occasion, a similar indulgence was granted for help towards the highroad and bridge between Billingham and Norton.

The most striking case which has come under our notice, where pious motives have caused the erection of a bridge, is set forth in a contract of the thirteenth century. The particulars are given in Jusserand’s “English Wayfaring Life in the Middle Ages.” “Reginald de Rosels,” we are told, “allowed Peter, Abbot of Whitby, to build a permanent bridge on the river Esk, between his own and the convent’s lands. He pledges himself in that act to permit to all comers free access to the bridge through his own property. ‘For which concession the aforesaid Abbot and convent have absolved in chapter all the ancestors of the same Reginald of all fault and transgression they may have committed against the church of Whiteby, and have made them participant of all the good works, alms, and prayers of the church of Whiteby.’” The original contract is in Latin, and was printed by the Surtees Society (1881).

“It was very usual,” says Leland, “in greater brydges to build chappells in which they did pray for the soules of their founders.” There were other reasons for erecting chapels, one being for a place of residence for priests to solicit alms from all who passed over the bridge, whether walking or riding, to keep it in repair. Some were built for sheltering benighted travellers, having crypts where rest and refreshment might be obtained. In these chapels, the wayfarer could pray for protection on his journey, and return thanks for safety after his undertaking had been completed. Travelling, in mediæval times, was beset with trial and hardship on every side.