ELIZABETH RYMES - A Remarkable Life

By Ian J White

The life and times of Elizabeth Rymes, convicted in the Old Bailey in 1789 at the age of 15, sentenced to transportation to NSW Australia for a period of seven years, and transported on the Second Fleet to New South Wales, Australia, as a convict. In NSW she met and married Matthew James Everingham, a young convict who had arrived on the First F

• Language: English
• Publisher: Translation House
• Release date: Jan 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9780646849102

Book preview

1

Escorted by prison guards, fifteen-year-old Elizabeth Rymes walked haughtily, almost contemptuously, along the uneven stones of the underground passageway that connected London’s Newgate Prison with the Old Bailey Courthouse. After seven weeks in remand at Newgate she had, this afternoon, been taken from her cell and informed that today she would face trial together with her co-accused, John Moore, with whom she had been living for several months prior to their arrest and incarceration in Newgate. They were to face trial together, charged with theft from a specified place, a charge of which they would no doubt be found guilty, a charge which would result in one of three possible sentences at the judge’s pleasure: death by hanging, imprisonment or transportation to an unknown world. With the male and female prisoners confined in separate wings at Newgate, Elizabeth had not seen Moore since the day of their arrest.

Will ’e still want t’ be with me? she wondered, ’nd will it matter?

Whether it would matter, of course, depended upon the sentence the Judge would impose upon her. During the time she had spent in Newgate Prison, Elizabeth had heard a number of prisoners saying that the best sentence she could hope for would be transportation to a place of banishment beyond the seas.

Git yerself sentenced t’ transportation if y’ ken, Lizzie me girl, more than one woman had said to her. It’s y’ ticket t’ a betta life than one ’ere on London’s streets.

Such assumptions had been based on the practice of transporting British convicts to North America where they were sold as indentured servants, but that place of banishment had ceased to be an option following the outbreak of the American War of Independence in 1775. Another place for disposing of British criminals had then needed to be found. To date, only one fleet had transported convicts to New South Wales, the new place of banishment, and as yet there had been no news coming back, at least to prisoners’ ears, about this new penal colony. Nonetheless, the belief persisted that banishment beyond the seas was a better option than life on the streets of London, and certainly a better option than imprisonment in England. Elizabeth Rymes remained fatalistic about this, however.

What will be, will be, ’nd I’ll make the best of it, she decided.

As she reached the end of the passageway, cold on her bare feet, she found herself in some sort of holding room, with a set of stone steps leading up into what she could only imagine would be the courtroom. Seven other prisoners stood in line at the bottom of the steps, guarded and waiting their turn before the Court, amongst them her partner in crime and in life, John Moore. The guards pushed her into the line, reuniting her with Moore, who acknowledged her merely with a surly nod of his head. There would be four other cases to be tried before she and Moore were brought before the Court, the guard told them.

Elizabeth looked up at Moore, attempting to make eye contact, but he stood head and shoulders taller than her, and his eyes remained firmly fixed on some empty space above her head. She reached out for his arm and spoke his name, only to have him pull away and turn away to face the steps. For several moments she stood confused, wondering why he had displayed such a reaction. Then, finally, she resolved the issue in her mind.

So be it, she thought, Ye’r’ on yer own now, Lizzie me girl.

She observed him with disdain, noticing the smell of urine on his trousers and the muddy shoes without laces. And when she pulled him around to face her again, she noticed the food spillage on his shirt, the gaunt, unshaven face, the filthy and unkempt hair. But most of all, she noted the blank emptiness in his eyes, and she pitied him. Seven weeks in remand at Newgate Prison would do that to anyone and Elizabeth knew that, physically, she herself had fared little better. She stood there in bare feet, clothed only in a filthy cotton shift dress, her arms, her feet, her face, indeed her whole body showing the dirt and grime of the Newgate cell. But there was one difference between him and her. Her eyes remained bright and lively. His spirit had been broken, while hers remained strong and defiant.

Moore ’nd Rymes, Yer on! called the guard, pushing them towards the steps. Together with Moore, Elizabeth mounted the steps from the prison passageway to the dock; Thirteen steps, she thought. Weren’t thirteen steps supposed t’ be the traditional climb t’ a gallows trapdoor?

Emerging from the steps into the highly elevated prisoners’ dock she stood shoulder to shoulder with John Moore. They made an odd couple, she realised. Moore stood there forlornly, taller than her, and older by about ten years. Yet here she was, only a fifteen-year-old slip of a girl in a filthy shift dress, barely able to see above the bar of the dock. Her unkempt hair, cut a couple of inches above her shoulders, might once have been pretty, might once have been a light brown colour, and might be once again if it were ever to be washed.

While Moore stood there apparently lost in his own disconsolate thoughts, Elizabeth looked wide-eyed around the courtroom — at the jury, twelve men who had probably already decided her fate, at the Judge sitting at the bench in his red and black gown and his silly white wig, at the registrars preparing to write down the words of all who would speak in the court proceedings, then up behind her at the scattering of spectators who had paid their fourpence to watch from the public gallery. There was, of course, no defence counsel. She took it all in, including the intimidating style of the Old Bailey courtroom itself.

It was oppressively dark, perhaps by design. All the walls were of aged oak and all furniture and fittings, including all tables, chairs, the Judge’s bar, the jury benches, the dock and the witness box, were made of dark mahogany. The layout of the courtroom had also been deliberately designed to intimidate the accused who stood in the dock on a highly elevated platform, on the same level as the Judge, and directly facing him. Front right of the Judge and slightly below was the witness box, facing into the space between the Judge and the accused, so that both could see the witness’s face. On the opposite side of the courtroom, against the wall, were two rows of bench seats for the jurors, again facing across the courtroom into the space between the Judge and the accused. Thus, the Judge, the witnesses, the jurors and the accused could all see one another clearly.

Seated in a sunken part between the Judge and the accused were the registrars who would record every word of the proceedings, and on the wall behind the Judge and to his left, positioned between the Judge and the jury benches, hung a large portrait of His Majesty King George III, whom everyone knew to be quite mad.

A large mirror hung on a pivot above the dock, reflecting light directly onto the face of the accused to highlight any facial expressions. And the Judge sat beneath a high ornately carved canopy which made him look like a huge eagle, ready to swoop on its prey. In Newgate, she had heard prisoners refer to the Judge as The Beak. Now she understood why.

Okay, she thought, I’m ’ere at last. Do yer worst t’ me.

Docket number T17891028-23, Theft in a Specified Place. called the Court Official in a loud and commanding voice. John Moore and Elizabeth Rymes, indicted in concert for stealing, on the 11th of September last, one woollen blanket, value three shillings, and one linen sheet, value four shillings, the property of Richard Williams, in a lodging room. Mr. Justice Heath presiding.

The Court came to some kind of order, with a hush descending upon the spectators in the public gallery and the jury members dispersing from their huddled groups to sit apathetically in two rows behind the jury bench.

The sound of the Judge’s gavel announced his authority to act as presiding officer in the Court.

First Witness, he called.

Prosecutor: The Court calls Witness Williams.

Witnesses had their own guarded waiting room to avoid the likelihood of Court Officers not being able to find them or having to fetch them from the local public house.

An officer of the Court now escorted a rather frumpish woman of about fifty years of age to the witness box where she stood with some display of vanity, smiling at the jury, and, with her hand on the Bible, swore to tell the truth before the Court. She had clearly presented herself in her best finery, but if it were her intent to convey the impression that she was at all gentrified, she had failed. She wore a rather crumpled purple coloured bonnet adorned with three large, red flowers and green foliage. The overall effect was hideous, clashing even further with the bright yellow ankle-length dress covering her more than ample bosom and body. Her face was painted in a manner which she no doubt thought handsome, but which suffered from a truly excessive use of rouge on her cheeks and garish, red paint on her lips. Elizabeth thought the woman looked like a clown and fought to supress a giggle.

A woman of about thirty years whose appearance and demeanour seemed appropriate to her name was ushered to the witness box where she was duly sworn in.

A man of about 30 years was ushered to the witness box, forcing Mary Williams and Mary Jolly to squeeze together in the far side. He was sworn to tell the truth before the Court, then stood ready to be addressed by the Prosecutor.

Without dismissing any of the witnesses standing in the witness box, the Prosecutor addressed himself to the Court Official.

Prosecutor: The Court calls witness Huckwell.

Elizabeth was, by now, familiar with the procedure of swearing in witnesses and watched with interest as Huckwell approached the now crowded witness box. Unable to enter because of the other three witnesses there, he was directed to stand alongside it and then swore to tell the truth to the Court.

Witness Lodwich approached the overflowing witness box, stood alongside Constable Huckwell and went through the now repetitious procedure of being sworn in.

The Judge banged his gavel and addressed the accused.

Elizabeth did not turn her head, but her eyes rolled sideways to catch a glimpse of Moore on her left. She knew his words were untrue. She knew Moore had not gone looking for work that day, or on any other day. She knew that on that day, as on every day, Moore had gone in search of items which could be stolen and pawned. She knew, also, that all eleven duplicates of pawn receipts found on her were for items she and Moore had stolen, together, in recent weeks.

A twitter of laughter was heard from the public gallery.

The Judge banged his gavel again.

Retire was the wrong word. The jury would not retire to a jury room to discuss the evidence and deliberate on their verdict. They had already heard twenty-two cases that day, and there were several more to come before the day was out. They merely huddled in a group, mumbled amongst themselves for a few moments, then resumed their seats. Their deliberations had lasted less than a minute.

The Jury Foreman rose to his feet.

Bang. The sound of the gavel rang out again.

John Moore turned as if to leave, then hesitated and waited for Elizabeth’s fate to be announced. We was charged ‘in concert’, he whispered to her, so could be we’ll both walk out of ’ere together.

Bang. The gavel sounded much louder this time.

Her freedom had been denied but, even before coming into the courtroom, Elizabeth had decided not to cower in the face of her sentence, whatever it might be. She would face her future with a self-assured and resolute attitude. She looked across the courtroom at the Judge, a broad smile breaking out on her face, and she could feel her eyes scrunch up as they always did when she smiled, giving her young face an elfin attractiveness.

Thank y’, me Lord, she said.

Then she dropped an exaggerated, mock curtsey to the portrait of the mad King George before turning back to the Judge with yet another broad smile, again causing her eyes to scrunch up.

Thank y’, me Lord.

The Judge shook his head in incredulity.

Take her down! he said.

Bang. The gavel rang out. It was over. The proceedings had taken little more than fifteen minutes.

The guards pulled her away from Moore towards the steps leading back down into the passageway beneath and thence back to Newgate Prison. John Moore watched her being bustled towards the steps.

Good luck t’ y’, Lizzie me girl, he said. Good luck t’ y’.

At the top of the steps, she stood straight and proud, all five feet two inches of her, shaking off the hands of the guards.

I don’t need t’ be pushed nor dragged, she resolved in her mind. I’ll walk back to that prison cell meself. They’ll not break me. Not now. Not eva.

It was 4pm, Wednesday, the 28th day of October 1789.

2

In December 1789, a report appeared in The Times of London, stating that a Second Fleet was being prepared for the purpose of transporting one thousand prisoners to the penal colony at Botany Bay in New South Wales. The report went on to state that, unlike the First Fleet which had been fully financed by the British government and had proved to be exorbitantly expensive, the Second Fleet would be tendered to private contractors. It was expected such measures would result in a significant saving to the public purse.

That same issue of The Times carried an idyllic description of the new settlement written by the Governor of the Colony of New South Wales, Arthur Phillip. He had found Botany Bay unsatisfactory for settlement, but a few miles further north, he had found a harbour which offered exceptional conditions for the establishment of a new penal colony. In 1770, Captain James Cook had raised the British flag in Botany Bay and claimed the territory for the British Crown, much to the amusement of the native onlookers who, of course, did not understand the significance of the event. Cook had also sighted the entrance to a harbour which he had named Port Jackson after Sir George Jackson, one of the Lord Commissioners of the British Admiralty, but Cook had not taken time to explore it. When Arthur Phillip explored Port Jackson, he found it to be an excellent site for the establishment of the Colony of New South Wales and wrote:

Here a Thousand Sail of the Line may ride in the most perfect Security. ¹

On its shores, Phillip had named the new settlement Sydney Cove, in honour of Lord Sydney. Sydney Cove, according to Phillip, had a pleasant climate, a fresh and pristine supply of spring water, the natives were friendly and helpful, and the landscape most picturesque. Phillip’s description of Port Jackson was, indeed, correct, but his description of the conditions at Sydney Cove, on the other hand, was fanciful