Low life imitating low art: blood, basins and ballads, 1647

I've been reading A true and sad reration [sic] of the great and bloudy murder committed at Ratcliff in Stepney Parish neer the City of London, upon the body of John Hunter, a sea man, who was stabbed to the heart with a long knife, by one Mr. Smith and his wife and a young maid. Wherein is related, the manner how they received his bloud in a bason, and how they were discovered. With their examination the last Sessions in the Old-Bayley, before the honourable bench, and their confession. For which fact, both Smith, his wife, and the other strumpet hath now suffered death January, 22. 1647.

John Hunter married the daughter of one Mr Smith of Ratcliff “who for many years have lived at the fore named place, but in no honest way”. There was a dowry promised him “a certaine summe of money with her”. This was not immediately paid, but after some months of marriage, Hunter with the agreement of his wife, went back to sea. He returned after an unspecified time on his voyage, spent the evening drinking with his shipmates, then went to his Mother-in-Law’s house ‘and being somewhat in drink asked his mother for his wifes portion, who immediately replyed, saying she would pay him his portion before he went to bed.’ Mrs Smith asked him to step into the parlour to receive what was due to him:

“Whereupon, she called in her husband, and another strumpet that were her maid, and having a long knife in her hand, gave him a mortal stab, piercing him to his very heart at the first blow.

The maid (like a cunning strumpet stood ready with a Bason to receive his bloud, the men (sic) also assisting them with his utmost power…”

But, immediately, “by a little Boy it was discovered, who seeing his brother fall, & his bloud to run in a bason, presently ran out, and cryed his Brother were slain.” Mrs Smith tried to get the child back into the house, but it was too late, neighbours called the watch, who, denied entrance at the front door, broke in at the back, and found the corpse.

The three were arrested, and taken to Whitechapel prison. On trial at Newgate, the women had nothing to say, but the husband vainly denied that he had been present. He was sentenced to hang at Tyburn, as was the maid, but the sentence on the old woman was that she was to be to be hanged at her own door. Suddenly, the pamphleteer launches into a bit of biographical detail:

“It is to be noted, that this Mrs Smith hath for many years, lived a most wicked & lewd life, keeping beautiful Creatures, (but many graines too light) within her house. And it is further related, that she had followed the trade so long, that she had worne her nose third-bare, being ashamed of the colour and out-side, insomuch, that her face were very much deformed. But in a short time she got a remedy for it, by getting a counterfeit Nose, having worn it for many years together.”

A sordid tale: a brothel-keeper (a noseless syphilitic) gets her daughter respectably married off to a sailor, but for a price. He is fobbed off from immediate payment of the dowry, and goes back to sea. Counter to Mrs Smith’s sanguine expectations, he survived, and, emboldened by drink, demanded payment of the promised dowry from his formidable Mother in Law. She barely took a moment to plan and execute his killing, accomplished with one accurate stab.

But isn’t this a case of low-life imitating low art? John Lawrence seems to have stepped out of a ballad: the sailor who returns to a marriage that was never meant to last, the sudden violence, the child who exposes the crime, and, as my colleague Adam Roberts reminds me, the collection of his blood in a basin. I suppose that households had basins for medicinal bleedings, and their utility was obvious to an old woman long familiar with doctors, who intends to stab her son in law.

This is the ballad of Lamkin, or ‘Long Lankyn’, in one of its recited forms. Lamkin is a bogeyman, neither alive nor dead (one feels that Mrs Smith probably had more than something of the same creepy vibe), an eternal have-not that will assail those who live well, and find ready allies among servants irked by the ease and sumptuous possessions of the family they work for:

Said my lord to his ladye,
as he mounted his horse,
Take care of Long Lankyn,
who lies in the moss.

~

Said my lord to his ladye,
as he rode away,
Take care of Long Lankyn,
who lies in the clay.

~

Let the doors be all bolted,
and the windows all pinned,
And leave not a hole
for a mouse to creep in.

~

Then he kissed his fair ladye,
and he rode away;
He must be in London
before break of day.
~

The doors were all bolted,
and the windows were pinned,
All but one little window,
where Long Lankyn crept in.

~

'Where is the lord of this house?'
said Long Lankyn:
'He is gone to fair London,'
said the false nurse to him.

~

'Where is the ladye of this house?'
said Long Lankyn:
'She’s asleep in her chamber,'
said the false nurse to him.

~

'Where is the heir of this house?'
said Long Lankyn:
'He’s asleep in his cradle,'
said the false nurse to him.

~

'We’ll prick him, and prick him,
all over with a pin,
And that will make your ladye
to come down to him.'

~

So he pricked him and pricked,
all over with a pin,
And the nurse held a basin
for the blood to run in.

~

'Oh nurse, how you sleep!
Oh nurse, how you snore!
And you leave my little son Johnstone
to cry and to roar.'

~

'I’ve tried him with suck,
and I’ve tried him with pap;
So come down, my fair ladye,
and nurse him in your lap.'

~

'Oh nurse, how you sleep!
Oh nurse, how you snore!
And you leave my little son Johnstone
to cry and to roar.'

~

'I’ve tried him with apples,
I’ve tried him with pears;
So come down, my fair ladye,
and rock him in your chair.'

~

'How can I come down,
'tis so late in the night,
When there’s no candle burning,
nor fire to give light?'

~

'You have three silver mantles
as bright as the sun;
So come down, my fair ladye,
by the light of one.'

~

'Oh spare me, Long Lankyn,
oh spare me till twelve o'clock,
You shall have as much gold
as you can carry on your back.'

~

'If I had as much gold
as would build me a tower,'
[.....]
[.....]

'Oh spare me, Long Lankyn,
oh spare me one hour,
You shall have my daughter Betsy,
she is a sweet flower.'

~

'Where is your daughter Betsy?
she may do some good;
She can hold the silver basin,
to catch your heart’s blood.'

~

Lady Betsy was sitting
in her window so high,
And she saw her father,
as he was riding by.

~

'Oh father, oh father,
don’t lay the blame on me;
'Twas the false nurse and Long Lankyn
that killed your ladye.'

~

Then Long Lankyn was hanged
on a gallows so high,
And the false nurse was burnt
in a fire just by.

Interesting that the lady offers her daughter to the ghoul to buy time – and that they can somehow hang Lamkin. There’s the collection of blood in a basin by the Jew’s daughter, in the ballad of the same name, and by Lavinia in Titus Andronicus. My image is an upmarket 18th century barber's basin, and if you didn't care what it had been used for, it's yours for $1875 from:

http://www.michaeljwhitmanantiques.com/cmpg/gallery2/main.php?g2_itemId=37