THE NEWGATE CALENDAR

Part 1 (to 1740)



PREFACE

To the 1780 edition

 IN an age abandoned to dissipation, and when the ties of religion
and morality fail to have their accustomed influence on the mind,
the publication of a New Work of his nature makes its appearance
with peculiar propriety.

 It has not been unusual, of late years, to complain of the
sanguinary complexion of our laws; and if there were any reason to
expect that the practice of felony would be lessened by the
institution of any laws less sanguinary than those now in force, it
would be a good argument for the enacting of such laws.

 Wise and virtuous legislators can wish nothing more ardently than
the general welfare of the community; and those who have from time
to time given birth to the laws of England, have indisputably done
it with a view to this general welfare. But as the wisest
productions of the human mind are liable to error, and as there is
visibly an increasing depravity in the manners of the age, it is no
wonder that our laws are found, in some instances, inadequate to the
purposes for which they were enacted: and, perhaps, if, in a few
instances they were made more, and in others less severe than they
are at present, the happiest consequences might result to the
public.

 It is with the utmost deference to the wisdom of their superiors,
that the editors of this work offer the following hints for the
improvement of the police of this country, and the security of the
lives and properties of the subject: and,

 1stly. If his majesty would be graciously pleased to let the law
operate in its full force against every convicted house-breaker, it
would probably greatly lessen the number of those atrocious
offenders; and consequently add to the repose of every family of
property in the kingdom. What can be conceived more dreadful than a
band of ruffians drawing the curtains of the bed at midnight, and
presenting the drawn dagger, and the loaded pistol? The imagination
will paint the terrors of such a situation, in a light more striking
than language can display them.

 2dly. If the same royal prerogative was exerted for the punishment
of women convicts, it would indisputably produce very happy effects.
It is to the low and abandoned women that hundreds of young fellows
owe their destruction. They rob, they plunder, to support these
wretches. Let it not seem cruel that we make one remark, of which we
are convinced experience would justify the propriety. The execution
of ten women would do more public service than that of an hundred
men; for, exclusive of the force of example, it would perhaps tend
to the preservation of more than an hundred.

 3dly. Notorious defrauds, by gambling, or otherwise, should he
rendered capital felonies by a statute; for, as the law now stands,
after a temporary punishment, the common cheat is turned loose to
make fresh depredations on the public.

 4thly. Forgery, enormous as the crime is, in a commercial state,
might perhaps be more effectually punished and prevented than at
present, by dooming the convict to labour for life on board the
ballast-lighters. Forgers are seldom among the low and abandoned
part of mankind. Forgery is very often the last dreadful refuge to
which the distressed tradesman flies. These people then are sensible
of shame, and perpetual infamy would be abundantly more terrible to
such men than the mere dread of death.

5thly. Highwaymen, we conceive, might with propriety be punished by
labouring on the high-way, chained by the legs, agreeable to a
design we have given in a plate in this work. Many a young fellow is
hardened enough to think of taking a purse on the highway, to supply
his extravagancies, who would be terrified from the practice, if he
knew he could not ride half a dozen miles out of London, without
seeing a number of highwaymen working together, under the
ignominious circumstances above-mentioned.

 With regard to murderers, and persons convicted of unnatural
crimes, we cannot think of altering the present mode of punishment.
'Him that sheddeth man's blood, by man shall his blood be shed:' as
to the other wretches, it is highly to be lamented that their deaths
cannot be aggravated by every species of torment!

 Having said thus much, we submit our labours to the candid revision
of the public, nothing doubting that, on a careful perusal, they
will be found to answer the purpose of guarding the minds of youth
against the approaches of vice; and, in consequence, of advancing
the happiness of the community.

 THE EDITORS

PREFACE
 To Knapp and Baldwin's edition

 THE penal laws of the British empire are, by foreign writers,
 charged with being too sanguinary in the cases of lesser offences. They
 hold that the punishment of death ought to be inflicted only for crimes
 of the highest magnitude; and philanthropists of our own nation have
 accorded with their opinion. Such persons as have had no opportunity of
 inquiring into the subject will hardly credit the assertion that there
 are above one hundred and sixty offences punishable by death, or, as it
 is denominated, without benefit of clergy. The multiplicity of
 punishments, it is argued, in many instances defeat their own ends; for
 the object is alone the prevention of crime.

 One of these writers says, "The injured, through compassion, will
 often forbear to prosecute: juries, through compassion, will sometimes
 forget their oaths, and acquit the guilty, or mitigate the nature of
 their offence; and judges, through compassion, will rescue one half of
 the convicts, and recommend them to royal mercy;" yet, from the great
 population of the British islands, and the extensive commerce carried
 on by its subjects, it is absolutely necessary that every means of
 protection of persons and property should be adopted. The finger of God
 pointed at Cain the first murderer, and because, at the creation of the
 world, it contained but one family, he did not doom the guilty man to
 death; but we are taught that a mark was set upon him, as a terror to
 others in the like case offending. When mortals increased, laws were
 enacted to punish the murderer with death; and, when empires were
 formed, they extended to treason against the state: the introduction of
 commerce caused them to be inflicted on forgers and thus, as luxury
 increased the catalogue of crimes, they have progressively reached the
 number already mentioned.

 The Roman empire never flourished so much as during the era of
 the Portian law, which abrogated the punishment of death; and it fell
 soon after the revival of the utmost severity of its penal laws. But
 Rome was not a commercial nation, or it never could, under such an
 abrogation, have so long remained the mistress of Europe. In the
 present state of society it has become indispensably necessary that
 offences which in their nature are highly injurious to the community,
 and where no precept will avail, should be punished with the forfeiture
 of life: but those dreadful examples should be exhibited as seldom as
 possible; for while, on the one hand, such punishment often proves
 inadequate to its intended effect, by not being carried into execution;
 so, on the other, by being often repeated, the minds of the multitude
 are rendered callous to the dreadful example.

 Mr. Colquhoun observes, "Can it be thought a correct system of
 jurisprudence, which inflicts the penalty of death for breaking down
 the mound of a fish-pond, whereby the fish may escape; or cutting down
 a fruit-tree in a garden or orchard; or stealing a handkerchief or any
 trifle from a person's pocket, above the value of twelve-pence; while
 the number of other crimes, of much greater enormity, are only punished
 with transportation and imprisonment; and while the punishment of
 murder itself is, and can be, only death, with circumstances of
 additional ignominy?"

 The punishment awaiting this most dreadful of all crimes, from
 the earliest ages of civilized nations, has been the same as that
 inflicted by the laws of the British empire, varying alone in the mode
 of putting the sentence into execution. We find the murderer punished
 by death in the ancient laws of the Jews, the Romans, and the
 Athenians; in nations of heathens and idolaters. The Persians, who
 worship the sun as their deity, press murderers to death between two
 stones. Throughout the Chinese empire, and the vast dominions of the
 east, they are beheaded; a death in England esteemed the least
 dishonourable; but here considered the most ignominious. Mahometans
 impale them alive, where they long writhe in agony before death comes
 to their relief. In Roman Catholic countries the murderer expiated his
 crime upon the rack. Several writers on crimes and punishments deny the
 right of man to, take away life, given to us by God alone; but a crime
 like murder, however sanguinary they may find our laws in regard to
 lesser offences, unquestionably calls loudly for death. "Whosoever
 sheddeth man's blood, by man shall his blood be shed," saith Holy Writ;
 but with the life of the murderer the crime should be fully expiated.
 The English law on this head goes still further -- the effects of the
 murderer revert to the state, thus, as it were, carrying punishment
 beyond the grave, and involving in its consequences the utter ruin of
 many a virtuous widow and innocent children. Yet may we be thankful for
 laws, the dread of which affords us such ample security for our lives
 and property. Our Saxon ancestors afforded themselves no such
 protection. In Britain, one of the last nations of Europe emerging from
 a state of barbarity, this crime was suffered to be expiated by private
 revenge, or by such pecuniary composition as the friends of the
 murdered were base enough to accept. Hence resulted the most pernicious
 consequences, rather adding blood to blood, than serving as an example
 to evil-doers. The dreadful passion of revenge, knowing no bounds, oft
 fell upon the innocent, while the guilty escaped with impunity. On the
 other hand, the security of a compromise was, in those days of brutal
 ferocity, but a weak barrier against the passion, hatred, or caprice,
 of the rich and powerful. We have much reason to revere those laws,
 which make no discrimination of rank, wealth, or power; and, however
 corrupt our parliaments may be, our judges remain upright, and, in
 every case of doubt, ever inclining to mercy. Of this we have a
 striking instance in the execution of Laurence Earl Ferrers, a peer of
 the realm, descended from the royal blood of the Plantagenets, and who
 had been convicted of the crime of murder. Interest, rank, and wealth,
 could not save him from death, ignominious as the execution of the
 meanest criminal; even his suit to King George the Second, to receive
 his death from the axe instead of the halter, was refused. That upright
 monarch answered by observing, that, though ennobled, he should die
 according to the strict letter of the law; and he was consequently
 hanged at Tyburn. The powerful but unsuccessful interest exerted for
 the lives of Doctor Dodd, the Perreaus, Ryland, Fauntleroy, and many
 others, cuts off all hopes of mercy in this world on conviction of the
 commission of heinous crimes.

 The end of punishment is no other than to prevent the criminal
 from doing further injury to society, and to deter others from
 committing the like offence. Such punishments, therefore, and such
 modes of inflicting them, ought to be chosen, as will make the
 strongest and most lasting impression on the minds of others, with the
 least torment to the body of the criminal.

 The more immediately, after the conviction of a crime, a
 punishment is inflicted, the greater will be the lesson to mankind. It
 will also be more just, because it spares the criminal the superfluous
 torments of uncertainty. The time alone necessary to make his peace
 with God should be granted; and respites, unless they eventually prove
 the royal mind entirely inclined to mercy, are little better than
 torment to the malefactor. "An immediate punishment," says another
 commentator, is, in this respect, more useful, because the smaller the
 interval of time between the punishment and the crime, the stronger and
 more lasting will be the association of the two ideas of CRIME and
 PUNISHMENT so that they may be considered, one as the cause and the
 other as the unavoidable and necessary effect. It is demonstrated that
 an association of ideas is the cement which unites the fabric of the
 human intellect, without which pleasure and pain would be simple and
 ineffectual sensations.  Men who have no general ideas, or universal
 principles, act in consequence of the most immediate and familiar
 associations; but the more remote and complex only present themselves
 to the minds of those who are passionately attached to a single object
 or to those of a greater understanding, who have acquired a habit of
 rapidly comparing together a number of objects and of forming a
 conclusion; and the result, that is, the action, in consequence, by
 these means becomes less dangerous and uncertain.

 It is, then, of the greatest importance that punishment should
 succeed the crime as immediately as possible, if we intend that in the
 rude minds of the multitude the picture of the crime shall instantly
 awaken the attendant idea of punishment, delaying which serves only to
 separate these two ideas; and thus affects the minds of the spectators
 rather as a terrible sight than the necessary consequences of a crime.
 The horror should contribute to heighten the idea of the punishment.

 Next to the necessary example of punishment to offenders is the
 record of such examples, in order that such as are unhappily moved with
 the sordid passion of acquiring wealth by violence, or stimulated by
 the heinous sin of revenge to shed the blood of a fellow-creature, may
 have before them a picture of the torment of mind and bodily sufferings
 of such offenders. In this light the following Criminal Chronology must
 prove highly acceptable to all ranks and conditions of men; for we
 shall find, in the course of these volumes, that even the sacred
 character, the noble, and the wealthy, are not free from those
 passions, which are in them more unworthy, because education ought to
 have taught them better, than in the lowest individual.



THOMAS DUN

Head of a Gang of Outlaws, on Account of whom King Henry I. is
credibly supposed to have built Dunstable. Executed Piecemeal.

 THIS person was of very mean extraction, and born in a little
village between Kempston and Elstow, in Bedfordshire. It is said he
had contracted thieving so much from his childhood, that everything
he touched stuck to his fingers like birdlime, and that, the better
to carry on his villainies, he changed himself into as many shapes
as Proteus, being a man that understood the world so well -- I mean
the tricks and fallacies of it -- that there was nothing which he
could not humour, nor any part of villainy that came amiss to him.
To-day he was a merchant, on the morrow a soldier, the next day a
gentleman, and the day following a beggar. In short, he was every
day what he pleased himself. When he had committed any remarkable
roguery his usual custom was to cover his body all over with
nauseous and stinking sear cloths and ointments, and his face with
plasters, so that his own mother could not know him. He would be a
blind harper to commit one villainy, and a cripple with crutches to
bring about another; nay, he would hang artificial arms to his body.
Besides, his natural barbarity and cruel temper was such, that two
or three men together durst scarcely meet him; for one day, being
upon the road, he saw a wagoner driving his wagon full of corn to
Bedford, which was drawn by five good horses, the sight of which
inflamed him to put the driver to death; accordingly, without making
any reflection on the event, he falls on the wagoner, and with two
stabs killed him on the spot, boldly took so much time as to bury
him, not out of any compassion for the deceased, for he never had
any, but the better to conceal his design; and then, mounting the
wagon, drives it to Bedford, where he sells it, horses and all, and
marched off with the money. Dun at first thought it the best way to
commit his robberies by himself, but finding, upon trial, the method
not so safe as where they were a company together, he betook himself
to the woods, where he was soon joined by gangs of thieves as wicked
as himself. These woods served them as a retreat on all occasions,
and the caverns and hollow rocks for hiding places, from whence,
night and day, they committed a thousand villainies. The report of
their barbarity diffusing itself round about, caused all the country
to keep off from them, and more especially to avoid the road leading
from St Albans to Towcester, betwixt which they every day acted
insupportable mischiefs, murdering and robbing all travellers they
met, insomuch that King Henry I. built the town of Dunstable, in
Bedfordshire, to bridle the outrageousness of this Dun, who gave
name to the aforesaid place. However this precaution of the King was
no impediment to Dun's designs, who still pursued his old courses,
and though the age he lived in was not so ripe for all manner of
villainy as it is now, yet the gang under his command consisted of
several sorts of artists, who were made to serve different purposes
and uses, just as he observed which way every man's particular 
genius directed him. Some of these being very expert in making false
keys and betties, he never suffered them to remain idle or without
business; others were ingenious at wrenching of locks and making
deaf files, which wasted the iron without noise, making the
strongest bolts give way for their passage. His fraternity being
thus composed of lifters, pickpockets and filers, he refines,
corrects, augments and establishes their laws, and one day having
read to them some few comments on the art and mystery of robbing on
the highway, he for a while leaves them, but in a short time
returns. Dun having intelligence that the Sheriff of Bedford with
his men were in search of him, and that they had determined to beset
the wood where he then was, obliged him to be upon his defence,
which, however, did not make him lose his usual courage; wherefore,
to prevent any danger that might happen, he musters up his company
of grand rogues and retires into the thickest part of the wood, to a
place in his opinion the most advantageous; where, having left
necessary orders, he sent out scouts; but judging it not safe to put
his confidence in spies, in a case of such importance, he puts on a
canvas doublet and breeches, old boots without spurs, and a steeple
crowned hat on his head, and so draws near them, where taking notice
that they were unequal to him, both in number and strength, he comes
back to his companions, makes them stand to their arms, and so
encourages them, by words and example, that in setting upon them, as
they did immediately, they were presently routed; and pursuing them
closely, they took eleven prisoners, whom they stripped of their
liveries, and hanged them on several trees in the wood, after which
they made their coats serve them to commit several robberies in. For
Dun, going one night to a castle near this wood, ordered, in the
King's name, the gates to be opened, pretending that Dun and his
companions had hid themselves there. Accordingly the gates were 
opened without the least suspicion of what afterwards fell out. Dun
made a pretence of searching into every corner for thieves, bustling
everywhere throughout the castle with the greatest eagerness
imaginable; but happening to find none, he would needs persuade the
waiters that they had concealed themselves in the trunks. Upon this
he gave orders for the keys to be immediately brought him; when,
opening the trunks, and having loaded himself and companions with
everything that was any way valuable, he returns back to the wood.
Meantime the lord of the castle was extremely enraged at this
proceeding, and could not brook to think that he should be thus
robbed, concluding that the sheriff's men, under colour of searching
for thieves, had thus pillaged him. Upon this he addresses the King
and Parliament, giving an account by whom he thought he was thus
robbed, who immediately issued out an order for examining the
sheriff's men, one of whom was hanged to see what influence it would
have on the other; but they persisting (as well they might) on their
innocency, and discovering how eleven of their companions had been
used by Dun and his associates, were set at liberty. By this time
the person we are speaking of was become formidable to all; for not
only the peers and other great personages of the kingdom stood in

awe of him, but also those of the lower rank durst not frequent the
roads as usual. What a melancholy circumstance in his conduct was
his generally committing murder; and we find but one instance, among
the several particulars of his life, in which he refrained from this
barbarity. We shall draw now to his last period and only endeavour
to show the extraordinary struggles he made to obtain his usual
liberty and preserve his life, without being called to give an
account of his actions or answer the laws of his country what he was
indebted to them for the many villainies and barbarities he had
committed. He had continued in his wild and infamous course of life
for above twenty years, and about the River Ouse in Yorkshire was
the general scene where he played his pernicious and destructive
pranks, where men, women and children fell a prey to his attempts,
for he went constantly attended with fifty horse, and the men of the
country round about were so much terrified at his inhuman cruelties,
and the number of his partisans, that very few had the courage or
even durst venture to attack him, in order to apprehend and bring
him to justice. We may venture to affirm that if his life contained
many unaccountable and strange exploits, yet that his death was as
remarkable. He having transacted things beyond imagination, his
fame, or rather infamy, increased every day, so that the country was
determined to put up with his insolencies no longer. It seems
threatenings against him came from all parts, but these, instead of
working a reformation, or making him reflect on his past conduct,
only the more inflamed his audacious and villainous temper. A stout
fellow, we are told, about Dunstable, had made five or six of the
sheriff's officers to come to his house with a design to apprehend
Dun, who sometimes would venture to walk out by himself. But Dun,
having got previous information of this design against him, came in
the night-time with his partisans to the man's house, and filled it
with a thousand oaths and curses, which presently got wind
throughout the town, and among the sheriff's men, who came and
pursued him with all their forces. The fellows, his partisans,
finding they were closely pursued, divided themselves into separate
companies, and fled away to what places they could come to; but Dun
got out into a certain village, where he took up his quarters for
that time. However, the pursuit still continued very warm, and his
adversaries, arriving at the house where he had concealed himself,
asked where he was hid, and at last found that he was concealed
there. Immediately on this report, the people in crowds gathered
together about the house, and two especially posted themselves in
the threshold of the door to apprehend him; but Dun, with an
insurmountable courage, started up, with his dagger in his hand,
from the table, and laid one dead that instant, and then dispatched
his companion, who ventured to oppose him. But what was the most
surprising, he had the boldness to bridle his horse in the very
midst of this confused uproar, mount and force his way out of the
inn. The people no sooner saw this but they fell upon him to the
number of one hundred and fifty, armed with clubs, forks, rakes and
what else they could next come at. With these weapons they forced
him from his horse, but this was so far from dismaying our
adventurer that he mounted again, in spite of all oppositions and
made his way clear through the crowd that opposed him, with his
sword. The countrymen upon this found there was more difficulty than
they at first apprehended in taking him; but, fresh supplies coming
in to their assistance, they gave him chase still. Our adventurer,
now finding the last period of his life drawing on, made all the
haste he was able, and got among the standing corn, and then taking
to his heels (for by this time be was forced to quit his horse)
outstripped his pursuers a matter of two miles, a circumstance that
seems almost incredible. Dun having procured this advantage, as he
thought, would have lain him down to rest, and composed himself a
while, but was presently, to his exceeding surprise, hemmed in with
no less a number than three hundred men. Thus was he brought into as
great a dilemma as before, but, resuming his wonted courage, he
pushed valiantly through them, and got to some valleys, where,
considering there was but one expedient left to save himself, he
presently undressed himself, and then, taking his sword between his
teeth, plunged into the river below, and fell a-swimming. Instantly
were all the banks covered with multitudes of people, some of whom
were drawn together merely out of curiosity to be eye-witnesses of
the event; while others got ready boats, with a design to give him
chase, and try if they could take him. It was an astonishing sight
to behold him, with the sword all the time between his teeth,
swimming so many cross and various ways as still to elude his
pursuers. At length he got upon a little island which was in the
river, where he sat down to get breath a while; but his adversaries,
having determined not to let him have any rest, followed him in
their boats, but were forced to return back wounded in the attempt.
After this he jumps in again, falls to swimming, and tries to gain
the shore at another place; but ill-fortune attends him, and the
people, crowding thither, make at him with all their oars, when they
found it no way possible to take him without blows. Several times
they

struck him on the head, and, the blows stunning him, it was no hard
matter then to apprehend him, which they did, and conveyed him to a
surgeon, in order to have his wounds cured and care taken of him.
When his wounds were dressed, he was conducted before a magistrate,
who, with very little examination, sent him to Bedford Jail, under a
strong guard, to hinder his being rescued by his companions. Within
a fortnight after this, being tolerably well cured, he was brought
into the market-place at Bedford, without being put to the trouble
of undergoing a formal trial, where a stage was erected for his
execution and two executioners appointed to finish his last scene of
life. Dun, on beholding these dreadful men, was so far from giving
in to the least concern or dismay, that he warned them, with an
unconcerned air, not to approach him for fear of the consequences,
telling them he would never suffer himself to undergo the
punishments determined him from their hands. Accordingly, to
convince the spectators round him that his usual intrepidity and
greatness of mind had not left him, he grasped both the
executioners, and struggled so long with them that he was seen nine
times successively upon the scaffold, and the men upon him. However,
he had still strength to rise up from them, and taking his solemn
walks from one end of the stage to the other, all which time he
cursed the day of his birth, vented a thousand imprecations on those
who had been the cause of his being apprehended, but chiefly on him
who had been the first to beset him. But his cruel destiny is
determined not to leave him; he finds his strength diminish, and
that he cannot, in spite of himself, defend himself any longer. He
yields, and the executioners chop off his hands at the wrists, then
cut off his arms at the elbows, and all above next, within an inch
or two of his shoulders; next his feet were cut off beneath the
ankles, his legs chopped off at the knees, and his thighs cut off
about five inches from his trunk, which, after severing his head
from it, was burnt to ashes. So after a long struggle with death, as
dying by piecemeal, he put a period to his wicked and abominable
life; and the several members cut off from his body, being twelve in
all, besides his head, were fixed up in the principal places in
Bedfordshire, to be a terror to such villains as survived him.



SIR GOSSELIN DENVILLE

Head of a Gang of Robbers who had the audacity, so it is said, to
hold up King Edward II.

 THE gentleman we are going to give an account of was descended of
very honourable parents at Northallerton, a market-town in the North
Riding of Yorkshire. The family was very ancient, and came into
England with William the Conqueror, who assigned them lands for the
services done him in the North of England, where they lived in great
esteem, and the successors after them for several ages, till the
time of Sir Gosselin. The father of this gentleman, being a pious
and devout man, sent his son to Peter College, in Cambridge, where
for some time he pursued his studies with great warmth, and to
outward appearance gave signs of making a fine man. This gave the
ancient father extreme joy, who began to think of placing his son in
the priesthood; but it seems Gosselin sat at his books purely to
amuse his father and to gain some advantage he had in view by it. It
was found out afterwards that a religious life, as his father had
designed for him, was not the thing he relished; but that the
prosecution of amours and love intrigues had the greatest ascendant
over his mind; nay, he began now to display his natural propensity
to a luxurious and profligate life.  These steps creating great
discontent in the breast of the father, he took the violent courses
of his son so much to heart that it was not long before he died,
leaving our gentleman in full possession both of the dignity of the
family and his estate, valued at twelve hundred pounds per annum, a
considerable fortune in those days. Thus our gentleman becomes a
knight, rolls in a plentiful fortune, and gives a loose more
extravagant than ever to his ill course. He associates a brother of
his, named Robert, with him, and they two together, by their
profuseness, soon made an end of the estate.  Being now out of the
reach of maintaining themselves as usual, and finding the poverty of
their circumstances still increasing upon them, they perceived there
was no other way of supporting themselves than by raising
contributions on the highway. To this end, being men of
extraordinary valour and courage, they equipped themselves out for a
daring enterprise, which was to rob two cardinals, sent into this
kingdom by the Pope to mediate a peace between England and Scotland
and terminate the differences then on foot between Edward II. and
the Earl of Lancaster.  One Middleton and Selby, two robbers of
these times, having heard of Denville's design, came and joined him
with all the forces under their command, which were no
inconsiderable number. In short, the cardinals were robbed, and a
very large booty taken from them, which put our bravo into a
tolerable way of subsistence for some time; but there happening some
difference between Middleton and him, with regard to the sharing of
this booty, the former left the association, and went some time on
the road by himself; but being soon apprehended, was brought up to
London, and there executed.  All this while Sir Gosselin pursued his
illegal practices; the valour of his arm and the continual preys he
and his men made on all travellers put the whole country into a
terrible panic; for there was no such thing as travelling with any
safety; and the great number of persons, of whom his gang was
composed, plainly showed that they defied the laws, and everything
else. What they could not obtain on the highway, they sought for in 
houses, monasteries, churches and nunneries, which were rifled
without any distinction, and the most valuable and sacred things
carried off. The men under Sir Gosselin's conduct led a most
licentious life, and, like their master, committed the worst of
villainies and barbarities. Persons were murdered in their houses
when their goods might have been taken without using bloodshed: so
that killing and doing havoc rather looked like sport or pastime
with these desperadoes. Our countryman Tom Shadwell seems to point
at our knight in his play called The Libertine; nay, to have founded
the main plot of that piece upon his barbarous and licentious
conduct. They who have a mind to be further informed in this
particular may, by perusing that dramatic performance, see how near
the whole conduct of the libertine squares with that of the person
we are speaking of.  A while after, our knight and his associates
marching on the road between Marlow in Buckinghamshire and Henley-
upon-Thames, met with a Dominican monk, named Andrew Sympson, who
not only was obliged to deliver what little gold he had to them, but
also to climb into a tree and preach them a sermon, which he did
with a great deal of judgment and good sense, though pronounced
extempore. This sermon is at the very time recorded in the Bodleian
Library as a piece containing sound divinity and a great deal of
wit.  This sermon was vastly well received by Sir Gosselin and his
associates, who returned the monk their extraordinary thanks for the
excellent sermon he had made; in short, they gave back not only the
gold they had taken from him, but, making a collection among
themselves, presented to him a purse (above his money) by Sir
Gosselin, their spokesman, who, after a few ceremonies on either
side, left the monk to descend out of the tree quietly, and go home
in peace.  If accounts be true that are transmitted down to us
concerning this knight and his confederates, whole parties of horse
and foot sent out to suppress their career were several times
defeated; at which the whole kingdom was put into so much terror and
amazement that none durst take a journey or appear on the roads. The
King then reigning having acquainted his nobles of his intention to
make a progress through the north of England, Sir Gosselin came
timely to heat of it, and accordingly put himself and his whole gang
in priests' habits. Now the King being on his progress, and near
Norwich, our adventurers, being a considerable number, drew up to
him in their venerable habits, which making the King halt to observe
them a little more closely, Sir Gosselin closed up with him. The
King upon this seemed desirous to hear what he had to say, which Sir
Gosselin observing, after a low obeisance made to his Majesty, he
told him that he was not come to discourse about religious matters,
but secular affairs, which was to lend him and his needy brothers
what money he had about him, otherwise not all the indulgences he
could obtain from the Pope should save him from being exposed to a
very hard and rigid penance. The King, having but about forty to
attend him, found it impossible to get clear of his adversary, or
save his money, but was obliged to surrender all, nay, look on while
his noblemen's pockets were searched; after which Sir Gosselin and
his associates left them to perform the remaining part of their
progress.

 This attempt upon the King was highly resented; and several
proclamations, with considerable rewards inserted, were issued to
apprehend any of the persons concerned in this robbery, alive or
dead. In less than six months above sixty were treacherously taken
by people in order to obtain the premium. Notwithstanding, this
change of fortune was so far from working any reformation in our
knight, that he and his brother robbed with greater boldness; so
that those noblemen and gentlemen who had seats in the country were
afraid to reside at them, and were obliged to secure themselves and
their effects in the fortified cities and towns of the kingdom.  The
last adventure which we have on record of this knight was this: Sir
Gosselin and the remaining part of the associates being in the north
of England were determined to see what the rich Bishop of Durham
could afford them; accordingly they got into his palace, which they
rifled from top to bottom of all the valuable things in it; and, not
content with the spoil they found, bound the reverend prelate and
his servants hand and foot, while they went down into the cellar,
drank as much wine as they could well digest, and then let the rest
run out of the barrels; after which they departed, leaving the
ecclesiastic to call upon God to deliver him in his necessities. 
But fortune now weighs down the scale of our knight's iniquities It
seems a man kept a public house in a by-place in Yorkshire, where
Sir Gosselin frequently went, not so much for the liquors there, as
the beauty of the woman of the house. A freer acquaintance than
consisted with decency had been kept up very openly some time
between the knight and the landlady; which the husband at first
connived at, through a notion his dignified customer, and the
company he brought to his house, would be of considerable advantage
to his trade. But Sir Gosselin and his wife pursuing their love
intrigues in broad daylights to the small scandal of his family, and
he beginning too late to think himself injured, found no other
resource to repair the ill name thrown upon him by the people in the
neighbourhood than by removing the knight out of the way. To which
end he goes to the sheriff of the county, and acquaints him how Sir
Gosselin might be apprehended with little difficulty at his house,
provided he came that night. The sheriff rejoiced at the
opportunity, but considered that the knight and his associates were
men of desperate fortunes, vast courage, and resolved to hazard the
last rather than surrender or be taken; upon which he mustered up
between five and six hundred men-at-arms, came privately at night
with them to the house, which they vigorously attacked as our knight
and his company were revelling over their cups. Now or never was an
important battle, or rather siege, to be determined. The persons
within resolutely defended themselves for some time, and the men-at-
arms without were not less valiant. Good fortune seemed to incline
to our knight's side, who, in conjunction with his men, laid two
hundred of his adversaries dead on the spot; but being tired with
the slaughter, and fresh enemies pouring in upon him he was
presently hemmed in on every side, and obliged to surrender, though
not without fighting to the last. The sheriff, exasperated to think
of losing so many men, took care to put the captive knight, and
three and twenty of his comrades, who were made prisoners at the
same time, under a very strong guard, who safely conducted them to
York, where, without any trial, or other proceedings had upon them,
they were executed, to the joy of thousands, the satisfaction of the
great, and the desire of the common people, who waited upon them to
the gallows, triumphing at their ignominious exit.

ALICE ARDEN of FEVERSHAM

Executed with her lover Mosbie and Others in the Year 1551 for the
Murder of her Husband

 THOMAS ARDEN was but a private gentleman, living at Feversham, in
the county of Kent; yet the circumstance of his murder, the
detection of it, and the punishment of the offenders were so
exceeding remarkable, that they may very well be inserted in this
place. He was a tall and comely person, and married a gentlewoman
who was young, well shaped, and every way handsome; who having
unhappily contracted an unlawful familiarity with one Mosbie, a
black swarthy fellow, servant to Lord North, it happened by some
means or other that they fell out, and so continued at variance for
some time: but she being desirous of a reconciliation, and to use
her former familiarity with him, sent him a pair of silver dice by
the hands of one Adam Fowle, living at the Flower-de-Luce, in
Feversham, for a present.  This brought them together again, so that
Mosbie lay often in Arden's house, and in a short time the
intercourse between them was so open that Mr Arden could not but
perceive it; although common report says that he winked at it, for
fear of disobliging her relations, from whom he had some great
expectations. Having continued their lewd practices for a
considerable time, the woman doted more and more upon Mosbie, and
began to loathe her husband extremely; insomuch that she would have
been glad to have found out a way to get rid of him. There was a
painter at Feversham who was reported to be versed in the art of
poisoning; to him she applied herself, and asked him whether he had
any skill in that or not. The man seeming to own it, she told him
she would have such a dose prepared as would make a quick dispatch.
"That I can do," said he. So he presently went to work, and gave it
her, with directions to put it into the bottom of a porringer and so
to pour milk upon it; but the woman, forgetting the direction, put
in the milk first, and then the poison. Now her husband designing
that day to take his horse and ride to Canterbury, his wife brought
him his breakfast, which was usually milk and butter. Having taken a
spoonful or two of the milk, and liking neither the taste nor colour
of it, he said: "Mrs Alice, what sort of milk is it you gave me?"
Upon which she threw down the dish and said: "I find nothing can
please you." Upon which he went away for Canterbury, and by the way
vomited extremely, so that he escaped for that time.

 Arden's wife became afterwards acquainted with one Green, of
Feversham, a servant of Sir Anthony Agers; from which Green, Arden
had wrested a piece of ground lying on the back side of the abbey of
Feversham; about which some blows and many menacing expressions had
passed between them; and therefore the woman knowing that Green
hated her husband, she began to concert with him how to make away
with Arden. The agreement at last was thus: that if they could
procure anyone to murder her husband, he should have ten pounds for
his wicked pains. Now Green having some business to be transacted at
London for his master Sir Anthony, set out for that city, where his
master then was, and having a charge of money about him, he desired
one Bradshaw, a goldsmith of Feversham and his neighbour, to go with
him as far as Gravesend, and he would satisfy him for his trouble.
When they had got as far as Rainhan Down they saw some gentlemen
coming; Bradshaw discerned a man coming up the hill from Rochester,
armed with a sword and buckler, and another with a huge staff upon
his shoulder, and thereupon said to Green: "It is well that there is
some company coming after us, for there is coming up against us as
murdering a villain as any in England; and were it not for the other
people we should scarce be able to come off without the loss of our
lives and money." Green, as he afterwards confessed, imagining that
such a one was fit for his purpose, asked the other "Which is he?"
"That's he," quoth Bradshaw, "who has the sword and buckler; his
name is Black Will." "How do you know that?" said Green. Bradshaw
answered: "I knew him at Boulogne, where he was a soldier and I was
Sir Richard Cavendish's man, and there he committed several
robberies and horrid murders between the passes of that town and
France." By this time the company having overtaken them, they
advanced all together and met Black Will and his companion. Some of
the strangers, knowing Black Will, asked him how he did, and whither
he was going. He answered by his blood, for he accented almost every
word with an oath, "I know not, neither do I care; I'll set up my
stick and go as it falls." Then said they to him, "If you will go
back with us to Gravesend we will give you a supper." "By my blood,"
said he, "I care not, I'll go along with you." As they travelled on,
Black Will claimed an acquaintance with Bradshaw, saying, "Friend
Bradshaw, how dost thou do?" Bradshaw having no mind to renew his
acquaintance, or to have anything to do with such a horrid fellow,
replied: "Why, do you know me?" "Yes, that I do," said he; "did we
not serve together at Boulogne?" "I beg your pardon," said Bradshaw,
"I had forgot you."

 Then Green entered into discourse with Black Will and said: "When
you have supped, come to my quarters at such a sign, and I will give
you some sack and sugar." "By my blood," said he, "I thank you."
Thither he went, according to his promise, and was well treated.
Then Green and he went and talked together, aside from Bradshaw, and
the former proposing to give the other ten pounds to kill Mr Arden,
he answered, with a great oath, he would if he could but know him.
"I'll show him to you to-morrow in St Paul's," said Green. When they
had done talking, Green bade him go home to his quarters; and then,
sitting down, he wrote a letter to Mrs Arden, wherein, among others,
he made use of these expressions: "We have got a man for our
purpose; we may thank my brother Bradshaw for it." Bradshaw, knowing
nothing of the matter, took the letter, and went the next morning
and delivered it to Mrs Arden, while Green and Black Will bent their
course to London.  Green, at the time appointed, showed Black Will
Mr Arden walking in St Paul's; upon which Black Will asked him: "Who
is he that follows him?" "Marry," said Green, "one of his men." "By
my blood," quoth Will, "I'll kill them both." "Nay," said Green, "do
not do that, for he is in the secret." "By my blood, I care not for
that, I will kill them both," replied he. "By no means," said Green.
Then Black Will proposed to murder Mr Arden in Paul's Churchyard,
but there were so many gentlemen with him that he could not affect
it. Green imparted the whole discourse to Arden's man, whose name
was Michael, and who ever after was afraid lest Black Will should 
kill him. The reason why Michael conspired with the rest against his
master was because he should marry a kinswoman of Mosbie's.

  Mr Arden taking up his lodgings in a certain parsonage-house which
he had in

London, Michael and Green agreed that Black Will should go thither
in the night-time, where he should find the doors left open for him
to go in and murder Mr Arden. Michael having put his master to bed,
left the doors open according to agreement, though Mr Arden, after
he was in bed, asked him if he had made them all fast, to which he
answered Yes. But afterwards growing afraid when he had got to bed,
lest Black Will should kill him as well as his master, he rose, shut
the doors, and bolted them very fast; insomuch that when Black Will
came thither, and could find no entrance, he returned in great fury
that he should be so disappointed, and in that mood he went next day
to Green, swearing and staring like a madman, and with many horrible
oaths and execrations threatened to kill Arden's man first, wherever
he met him. "Nay," said Green, "pray forbear that; let me first know
the reason why the doors were shut." Green having found out Arden's
man, and expostulated the matter with him about his not leaving the
doors open, according to his promise, Michael, who had framed his
answer before, said: "Marry, I will tell you the reason: my master
last night did that which I never found him to do before; for, after
I was in bed, he got up himself and shut the doors, and chid me
severely in the morning for my carelessness in leaving them open."
This pacified Green and Black Will.  Now Arden having done his
business in London, and being ready to return home, his man went to
Green and informed him his master would go down that night. Upon
this they agreed that Black Will should kill him on Rainham Down.
When Mr Arden had got to Rochester, his man growing apprehensive
that Black Will would murder him as well as his master, he pricked
his horse on purpose, and made him go lame, that so he might
protract the time and stay behind. His master observing the lameness
of his horse, and asking him the reason of it, Michael said he did
not know. "Well," quoth his master, "when we come to the smith's
forge, which is between Rochester and the foot of the hill over
against Chatham, let him take off his shoe and search, and then come
after me." So that his master rode on; but before he came to the
place where Black Will lay in wait for him he was overtaken by
several gentlemen of his acquaintance, so that the assassin failed
here also to accomplish his bloody design.

 After Mr Arden had got home he sent his man to the Isle of Sheppey,
to Sir Thomas Cheney, then Lord Warden of the Cinque Ports, about
some business; by whom Sir Thomas sent a letter back to his master.
But when he came home, his good mistress took and concealed the
letter, and ordered the fellow to tell his master that he had a
letter for him from Sir Thomas Cheney, but that he had unfortunately
lost it; and added withal, that he thought it would be his best way
to go in the morning himself to Sir Thomas's, because he knew
nothing of the contents of it. Having resolved to do so, he ordered
his man to be up betimes in the morning. In the meanwhile Black Will
and one George Shakebag, his companion, were, by Green's
appointment, concealed in a storehouse of Sir Anthony Agers, at
Preston, to which place Mrs Arden went to see him, who brought and
sent him victuals and drink several times. He was charged very
strictly to be up early in the morning to waylay Mr Arden in a
broom-close between Feversham and the Ferry, and there to murder
him. Now Black Will was up in the morning betimes, but, missing his
way, he tarried in a wrong place.

 Arden and his man, early in the morning, riding towards Shoreham,
where Sir Thomas Cheney lay, when they were come near the broom-
close, Michael, who was ever afraid that Black Will would murder him
with his master, pretended he had lost his money purse. "Why," said
his master," thou foolish fellow, couldst thou take no more care of
thy purse? How much was there in it?" "Three Pounds,'' said he. "Go
back, you fool," quoth his master, "and look for it! it is so early
that there is nobody yet stirring; thou mayst be sure to find it,
and so make haste and over take me at the ferry." But Arden
nevertheless escaped this time by reason of the mistake of Black
Will, who thought he was sure of him in his return home. But whether
some of the lord warden's servants attended him back to Feversham,
or that he considered it was too late for him to go through the
broom-close and so took another way, Black Will once more failed to
execute his murdering designs. St Valentine's Day being near, the
villainous crew thought it a proper time to perpetrate their wicked
devices. Mosbie intended to pick some quarrel or other with Arden at
the fair, and so fight with him, saying he could not find in his
heart to murder a gentleman in such a manner as his wife would have
it; though they had made mutual promises to each other to be
altogether as man and wife, and had there upon received the
sacrament at London openly together. But this project of quarrelling
with Mr Arden would not do, for though he had been often before and
was then also highly provoked by Mosbie, he would not fight. Mosbie
had a sister who lived in a tenement of Arden's near his house in
Feversham, so that Black Will, on the eve of the fair, was sent for
to come thither. Green was the man who brought him, and met Mrs
Arden, accompanied with Michael her man and one of her maids; there
were also present Mosbie and George Shakebag, and here the plot was
laid to murder Arden in the manner they afterwards perpetrated the
horrid fact.

 Mosbie indeed at first would not consent to so base and cowardly an
act, but flung away in a fury, and went up Abbey Street towards the
Flower-de-Luce, the house of Adam Fowle, whither he often resorted;
but before he got thither he was overtaken by a messenger sent after
him by Mrs Arden, importuning him by all means to return, which he
did accordingly; and then she fell down upon her knees before him,
and pressed him to go through with the business if he had any manner
of love for her, and as she had several times told him, he might be
assured there was nobody that would be concerned at his death, or
make any search after them that dispatched him.

 The importunity of the wicked woman at length prevailing, he was
brought to a compliance with the accursed project, and thereupon
Black Will was conveyed into Mr Arden's house, and hid in a closet
at the end of the parlour, before which they had sent all the
servants out upon some pretence or other, except those who were
privy and consenting to the villainous design. Mosbie went and stood
at the door in a silk night-gown tied about him, between the hours
of six and seven at night; soon after which Arden, who had been at a
neighbour's house called Dunding, and had cleared some accounts that
were between them, went home, and finding Mosbie at the door, asked
him if it was not supper-time. "I think not," said he; "I believe it
is not yet ready." "Then," quoth Mr Arden, "let us in the meantime
go and play a game at tables"; and so going directly into the
parlour through the hall where his wife was walking, Mr Arden said
to her: "How now, Mrs Alice?" but she made him little or no answer.
In the meantime the wicket door of the entry was chained by
somebody, and when they had got into the parlour Mosbie sat down on
the bench, facing the closet wherein Black Will was hid; Michael,
Arden's man, stood behind his master, with a candle in his hand to
shadow Black Will, that his master might by no means perceive him
come out of the closet. In their play Mosbie said (and that was the
signal for Black Will to come out): "Now, sir, I can take you if I
please." "Take me!" said Arden. "Which way?" With that Black Will
rushed out of the closet and threw a towel about his neck to stop
his breath and strangle him; then Mosbie having a pressing iron,
weighing fourteen pounds, at his girdle, struck him so on the head
with it that he knocked him down, upon which he gave a loud groan,
which made them believe he was killed. From the parlour they carried
him into the counting-house, where, as they were about to lay him
down, the pangs of death came upon him, and groaning in a most
grievous manner, he extended himself, and Black Will, giving him a
terrible gash in the face, slew him outright; then he laid him
along, took his money out of his pocket and the rings off his
fingers, and coming out of the counting-house said: "The business is
over, give me my money." Upon which Mrs Arden gave him ten pounds,
and then he went to Green's, borrowed a horse of him, and rode away.
After Black Will was gone, Mrs Arden went into the counting-house
and with a knife stuck the corpse seven or eight times in the
breast; then they cleaned the parlour, wiped away the blood with a
cloth, and strewed the rushes which had been disordered during the
struggle. The cloth and the bloody knife wherewith she had wounded
her husband they threw into a tub by the well's side, where they
were afterwards both found. This done, she sent for two Londoners
then at Feversham to come to supper, to which they had been invited
before the horrid murder was committed. They were grocers by trade,
and their names were Prune and Cole. When they came she said: "I
wonder where Mr Arden is? He will not stay long. Come, let us sit
down, he will be quickly with us." Then Mosbie's sister was sent
for, and sat down with them, and they were all very merry. When
supper was over, Mrs Arden made her daughter play on the virginals,
and they danced, and she amongst them, frequently saying, "I wonder
Mr Arden stays so long; come, let us sit down, he will surely soon
be with us; let us play a game at tables." But the Londoners said
they must go to their lodgings, or else they should be locked out
and so took their leave of the company and departed. As soon as they
were gone, the servants who were not privy to the murder were sent
into the towns some to look for their master, and others upon other
errands; then Michael, a maid, Mosbie's sister, and one of Mrs
Arden's own daughters took the dead body, and carried it out into a
field adjoining to the churchyard, and to his own garden wall,
through which he went to church. In the meantime it began to snow,
and when they came to the garden door they had forgot the key, so
that one of them was sent to fetch it. It was brought at last, and
the door being unlocked, they conveyed the corpse into the field,
about ten paces from the door of that garden, and laid it down on
its back, in its night-gown and slippers, between one of which and
the foot stuck a long rush or two.

 Having by this management effectually secured themselves, as they
imagined, from all manner of discovery, they returned the same way
into the house; the doors were opened, and the servants, who had
been sent into the town, being come back, it was by this time grown
very late. However, the wicked woman sent her people out again in
search for their master, directing them to go to such places where
he mostly frequented, but they could hear no manner of tidings of
him; then she began to exclaim, and wept like a crocodile. This
brought some of her neighbours in, who found her very sorrowful, and
lamenting her case, that she could not find out what was become of
her husband. At last the mayor of the town and others went upon the
search for him. Here we are to observe that the fair was wont to be
kept partly in the town and partly in the abbey, but Arden procured
it to be wholly kept in the abbey ground, of which he had made a
purchase; and by this means, being like to have all the benefit of
it, to the prejudice of the town and inhabitants, he was bitterly
cursed for it. After they had searched other places up and down,
they came at length to the ground where the dead body was laid;
where Prune, the London grocer above mentioned, happening to spy it
first, called to the rest of the company, who, narrowly viewing the
same, found it to be the corpse of Arden, and how it was wounded.
They found the rushes sticking in his slippers, and found some
footsteps of people in the snow between the place where he lay and
the garden door. This causing suspicion, the mayor ordered everybody 
to stand still, and then appointed some of the company to go about
to the other side of the house and get in that way, and so through
into the garden, towards the place; where, finding the prints of
people's feet all along before them in the snow, it appeared very
plain that he was conveyed that way, through the garden into the
place where they had laid him.

 The mayor and the company hereupon went into the house, and being
no strangers to the ill conduct of Mrs Arden, they very strictly
examined her about her husband's murder. She defied them and said:
"I would have you to know I am no such woman"; but they having found
some of his hair and blood near the house, in the way he was carried
out, as also the bloody knife she had thrust into his body, and the
cloth wherewith the murderers had wiped off the blood spilt in the
parlour -- these things were so urged home, that she confessed the
murder, and upon beholding her husband's blood, cried out: ''Oh! the
blood of God help me, for this blood have I shed." She then
discovered her guilty associates.

 Mrs Arden, her daughter, Michael, and the maid were seized and sent
to prison; then the mayor and the rest that attended him went to the
Flower-de-Luce, where they found Mosbie in bed. They soon discovered
some of the murdered person's blood upon his stockings and purse,
and when he asked them what they meant by coming in that manner,
they said, "You may easily see the reason"; and showing him the
blood on his purse and hose, "these are our evidences." He thereupon
confessed the horrid fact, and was committed to prison, as well as
all the rest of the bloody crew, except Green, Black Will, and the
painter, which last was never heard of after.

 Some time after, the assizes were held at Feversham, where all the
prisoners were arraigned and condemned. There are no parts extant
that we can possibly meet with of the formality of their trials; the
confession they had made of the cruel fact could not admit much of
it; only there was one unhappy circumstance which attended it --
that an innocent man should suffer with the guilty; for Mrs Arden
accused Bradshaw, upon the account of the letter sent by Green from
Gravesend about Black Will, as before related. All the business was,
that by the description Bradshaw gave of Black Will's qualities, he
judged him to be a proper instrument for the perpetration of the
intended murder; to which, as Green some years after at his death
declared, he was no way privy. Nevertheless the man, upon Mrs
Arden's accusation, was presently taken up and indicted as a
procurer of Black Will to murder Mr Arden. The man made all the
defence he could for his life, and desiring to see the condemned
persons, he asked if they knew him, or ever had any conversation
with him, and they all said No. Then the letter was produced and
read. Here the prisoner told the Court the very truth of the matter,
and upon what occasion he had told Green what he said of Black Will,
but it availed him nothing; condemned he was, and suffered death for
a murder he had no manner of knowledge of, and which he denied to
the last.

 As for the real bloody criminals, they were executed in several
places; for Michael, Mr Arden's man, was hanged in chains at
Feversham, and one of the maid servants was burned there, most
bitterly lamenting her condition, and loudly exclaiming against her
mistress, who had brought her to that deplorable end, for which she
would never forgive her. Mosbie and his sister were hanged in
Smithfield, at London. As for Mrs Arden, the founder of all the
mischief, she was burnt at Canterbury. Green returned some years
after, was apprehended, tried, condemned, and hanged in chains in
the highway between Ospringe and Boughton, over against Feversham;
but before his death he proclaimed the innocence of Bradshaw, though
it was then too late. Black Will was burnt on a scaffold at
Flushing, in Zeeland. Adam Fowle, who lived at the Flower-de-Luce,
in Feversham, was brought into trouble about this unhappy affair; he
was carried up to London with his legs tied under the horse's belly,
and committed to the Marshalsea. The chief ground for this was
Mosbie's saying is that had it not been for Adam Fowle, he had not
been brought into that trouble -meaning the

silver dice he had brought for a token from Mrs Arden to him; but
when the matter was thoroughly searched into, and Mosbie had cleared
him of any manner of privity to the murder, he was at length
discharged.



LORD STOURTON AND FOUR OF HIS SERVANTS

Executed 6th of March, 1556, for the Murder Of William Hartgill,
Esq., and his Son John, of Kilmington, Somerset, after an implacable
Persecution

On the 28th of February, 1556, Lord Stourton was arraigned at
Westminster Hall before the judges and several of the council. It
was long before he would answer to the charge laid against him, till
at last the Lord Chief Justice declared to him that he must be
pressed to death, according to the laws of the land, if he would not
answer; after which he made answer, and was convicted, and condemned
to be hanged, together with his four men, for the following murders.
In the reign of Edward VI., William Lord Stourton, having charge of
one of the King's places near Boulogne, died; and shortly after his
death, Charles Lord Stourton, his son and heir, went to Kilmington,
to the house of William Hartgill, Esq., where Dame Elizabeth, late
wife to Lord William and mother to the said Charles Lord Stourton,
sojourned, and earnestly persuaded William Hartgill to be a means
that Dame Elizabeth should enter into a bond to him, in a great sum
of money, that she should not marry; which the said William Hartgill
refused, unless Lord Stourton would assign some yearly portion for
his mother to live upon.  In discoursing on this matter Lord
Stourton quarrelled with William Hartgill; and on Whitsunday, in the
morning, he went to Kilmington Church with several men, with bows
and arrows, and guns; and when he arrived at the church door, John
Hartgill, son of William, being told of the said Lord Stourton's
coming, went out of the church, drew his sword, and ran to his
father's house adjoining the churchyard side. Several arrows were
shot at him in passing, but he was not hurt. His father and mother
were forced to go up into the tower of the church with two or three
of their servants for safety. When John Hartgill arrived at his
father's house he took his long-bow and arrow, bent a cross bow,
charged a gun, and caused a woman to bring the cross-bow and gun
after him, and he with his long-bow came forth and drove away the
said Lord Charles and his men from the house, and from about the
church, except half-a-score that had entered the church, among whom
one was hurt in the shoulder with a hail shot. His father advised
him to take his horse and ride up to the court, and tell the council
how he had been used. On Monday, towards evening, he reported to the
honourable council how his father had been dealt with, whereupon
they sent down Sir Thomas Speak, the High Sheriff of Somerset, not
only to deliver the captives, but to bring with him the said Charles
Lord Stourton, who, when he came, was committed to the Fleet, where
he remained but for a short time.  It appeared that as soon as John
Hartgill had set off towards London, Lord Stourton's men returned to
the church of Kilmington, and about Mr Hartgill's house, and
continued about there till the arrival of the sheriff, which was on
Wednesday; during which time William Hartgill's wife was permitted
to go home on Whitsunday, towards night. But in the meantime Lord
Stourton's men went to the pasture of William Hartgill, took his
riding gelding, and carried him to Stourton Park pales and shot him
with a cross bow, reporting that Hartgill had been hunting in his
park upon the gelding. Thus Lord Stourton continued his malice
throughout King Edward's reign, and with violence took from William
Hartgill all his corn, cattle, etc.  On the death of King Edward,
William Hartgill and his son petitioned Queen Mary and her council
for redress, her Majesty being then at Basing End, in Hampshire. The
council called Lord Stourton and William Hartgill before them, and
Lord Stourton promised that if William Hartgill and his son would
come to his house, and desire his good will, they should not only
have it, but also be restored to their goods and cattle; where upon
his promise, made in such presence, they took John Dackcombe, Esq.,
with them to witness their submission. When they came near Stourton
House, in a lane half-a-dozen of Lord Stourton's men rushed forth,
and letting Mr Dackcombe and William Hartgill pass them, they
stepped before John Hartgill, and when he turned his horse to ride
away, six others of the said lord's men beset him before and behind;
and, before he could draw his sword and get from his horse, wounded
him in three or four places, and left him for dead. Nevertheless, in
half-an-hour, he recovered himself, got upon his horse, and took
refuge in the house of Richard Mumpesson, of Maiden Bradley, gent. 
This at last became a subject of Star Chamber inquiry, and Lord
Stourton was fined in a certain sum to be paid to the Hartgills, and
imprisoned in the Fleet, whence he obtained licence, upon some
pretence, to retire to his house in the country, and took an
opportunity to murder both the Hartgills.  Within three or four days
after his arrival at Stourton Caundle he sent advice to the
Hartgills that he was ready to pay them the sums of money as ordered
by the Star Chamber, and to end all disputes between them.   They
agreed to meet him at Kilmington church on Monday after Twelfth Day,
at ten o'clock; and Lord Stourton came accordingly to Kilmington,
accompanied by fifteen or sixteen of his servants, sundry tenants,
and some gentlemen and justices, to the number of sixty. He went to
the church house and sent word to the Hartgills, who were in the
church, that the church was no place to talk of worldly matters, and
that he thought the church house a fitter place. The Hartgills came
out of the church; but fearing ill, refused to enter into any
covered place, the church excepted; whereupon it was proposed that a
table should be set upon the open green, which was done accordingly. 
Lord Stourton laid thereupon a cap-case and a purse, as though he
intended to make payment, and calling the two Hartgills, said that
the council had ordered him to pay them a certain sum of money,
every penny of which they should have. Marry, he would first know
them to be true men; and then laid hands upon them, saying, "I
arrest you of felony"; on which his men, to the number of ten or
twelve, by violence thrust them into the church house, where, with
his own hand, the lord took from them their purses. Then having in
readiness two cords, he delivered them to his man to bind the
Hartgills; and to the younger of the Hartgills, when bound, he gave
a blow in his face, and coming out of the house with his sword, and
finding at the door young Hartgill's wife, he kicked at her, and
gave her such a stroke with his sword between her neck and head,
that she fell to the ground nearly dead. From hence he caused the
two Hartgills to be conveyed to the parsonage of Kilmington, where
they were kept with their arms bound behind them, and without meat
or drink. About one o'clock in the morning they were conveyed to a
house called Bonham near Stourton; and arriving on Tuesday about
three in the morning, they were laid, fast bound, in separate
places, without meat, drink, or fire, or anything to lie upon. 
About ten o'clock Lord Stourton sent to Bonham, William Farree,
Roger Gough, John Welshman and Macute Jacob, commanding them to
convey to the Hartgills to a place appointed, and warning them, that
in case they should make any noise, to kill them at once. These four
brought them into a close adjoining Stourton, and knocked them on
the head with two clubs, till the murderers thought they had been
dead (his lordship in the meantime standing at the gallery door,
which was but a small distance from the place). This done, they
wrapped themselves in their own gowns, and carried the bodies
through a garden into his lordship's gallery, and from thence into a
place at the end, his lordship bearing the candle before them. Being
not quite dead, they groaned much, especially old Hartgill. When
William Farree, one of the murderers, swearing by God's blood they
were not yet dead, his lordship himself ordered their throats to be
cut,

lest a French priest, lying near to the place, might hear them; and
William Farree took out his knife and cut both their throats, Lord
Stourton standing by with the candle in his hand. One of the
murderers then said: "Ah! my lord, this is a pitiful sight. Had I
thought what I now think before the thing was done, your whole land
should not have won me to consent to such an act." His lordship
answered: "What a fainthearted knave is this: is it any more than
ridding us of two knaves that, living, were troublesome both to
God's love and man's? There is no more account to be made of them
than the killing of two sheep." Then their bodies were tumbled into
a dungeon; and after Henry Sims and Roger Gough had been let down
with cords, for there were no steps, they dug a pit and buried them
together; Lord Stourton often calling to them from above to make
speed.   The bodies were afterwards taken up by Sir Anthony
Hungerford, and were found in the same apparel that they were taken
in, buried very deep, covered first with earth, then two courses of
thick paving, and finally with chips and shavings of timber, above
the quantity of two cartloads.  In the examination of the atrocities
of Lord Stourton it appeared that he had caused, not long before, a
barn of one Thomas Chaffin to be set on fire by three of his
servants; and then against Chaffin, for saying it was not done
without the knowledge of the said Lord Stourton, or some of his
servants, he brought an action, and recovering a hundred pounds
damage, he took for the payment out of his pasture by force twelve
hundred sheep, with the wool upon their backs, and all the oxen,
kine, horses and mares that he could find. On another occasion, from
one Willoughby he caused to be taken, for his pleasure, a whole team
of oxen, whereof two were found fatting in the stall of his house
when he was apprehended.  On the 2nd of March Lord Stourton and four
of his servants rode from the Tower with Sir Robert Oxenbridge, the
lieutenant, with certain of the guards, through London towards
Salisbury. The first night they lay at Hounslow, the next day they
went to Staines, thence to Basingstoke, and to Salisbury.   Lord
Stourton was accordingly executed on the 6th of March, in the market
place at Salisbury, and his four men in the country near the place
where the murder was committed; and previous to his death he made
great lamentation for his wilful and impious deeds.

THOMAS WYNNE Housebreaker and Palacebreaker, whom Conscience made
confess a Murder twenty years afterwards. Executed in the Reign of
Queen Elizabeth

THIS notorious criminal was born at Ipswich in Suffolk, where, for
aught we find to the contrary, he continued till he was between
fifteen and sixteen, at which age he betook himself to the sea,
which he followed between eight and nine years. Happening then to
come to London, and habituating himself with ill company, especially
lewd women, he left no villainy unperpetrated for the support of
himself and them in their extravagances, till at last he became so
expert in housebreaking, and, in short, all sorts of theft, that he
was reckoned the most notable artist in his way of those times.  It
was in the reign of that glorious monarch, Queen Elizabeth, that our
artist flourished; accordingly we find that, scorning a meaner prey,
he had once the boldness, or rather impudence, to rob the royal
lodgings at Whitehall Palace of as much plate as amounted to above
four hundred pounds; for which he had the ill-luck to be taken and
committed to Newgate. But, fortunately for him, her Majesty's Act of
Grace coming out soon afterwards, granting a free pardon for all
offences, except treason, murder, and some other notorious crimes,
he was allowed the benefit thereof, and obtained his liberty,
amongst many other criminals, whom their evil courses had brought
into the same condition.

 But Wynne, making a very ill use of the royal mercy, and taking no
warning, still pursued his vicious ways, till at last, being in
imminent danger of being apprehended, he got into the service of the
Earl of Salisbury, into whose kitchen he was received in the
capacity of a scullion.

  Whilst he was in this post he had the impudence to pretend love to
the countess's woman, who, admiring such insolence in a fellow of
his rank, returned his addresses with the greatest scorn and
contempt. This exasperating Wynne, his pretended love turned to
hatred, and he vowed revenge, which he effected soon after in this
manner.   As she was coming downstairs one night after undressing
her lady and putting her to bed, he used her so roughly that the
poor gentlewoman was immediately put to bed very ill; and the earl
being next day made acquainted with the whole story, took upon
himself to be his judge, and ordered him to be forthwith stripped,
and severely lashed by his coachman, which was executed to some tune
upon the spot. However his lordship, not thinking this a sufficient
punishment, threatened to have it repeated once a week for a month
together, but Wynne, not liking his sentence, thought proper to seek
out fresh quarters, and accordingly packed up his awls and went off.
But resolving to be revenged on his prosecutors, before he took his
final leave of the family, he broke open the trunk of the coachman
who had flayed him, and robbed him of nine pounds. He borrowed
likewise fifteen pounds of the master cook's, a silver dish of his
lord's, and all the best clothes of the poor woman whom he had
handled so unmercifully; after which he set out in quest of new
adventures.   It seems that in Wynne's time innkeepers were not so
sharp as they are at present; wherefore our artist would frequently
dress himself in a porter's habit, with a knot and cord, and going
to one of the best inns, fix his eye on any bundle or parcel which
seemed to be of value, and throwing it upon his shoulders, when he
saw the coast clear, walk off with it directly, without the servants
having the least suspicion of him, although they met him, each of
them thinking he was known by one of his fellow-servants.   He
followed this course about two years, in which time he got above two
hundred pounds, which fell heavy on the carriers, who were obliged
to make good what was lost. But dear-bought experience making them
look better after what they were entrusted with for the future, he 
had no opportunity of supporting himself any longer that way, which
obliged him to have recourse to other methods.   One day then,
hearing a man, as he was going out of his house, tell his wife he
should not be back again in less than five or six hours, he dogged
him to the place whither he went, and going to an ale-house hard by,
inquired the name of the people of the house. This done, he went
back into the tradesman's neighbourhood, and getting his name after
the same manner, goes to his wife and tells her that he was sent by
Mr Such-a-one, where her husband was taken on a sudden so violent
ill that it was questioned whether he would live or die; wherefore
she was desired to make all the haste she could thither. At this the
poor wife fell a-shrieking terribly, and after bidding the maid take
care of the house, hurried away with the sham messenger, either to
assist her husband or take her leave of him before he departed this
world.   They had not gone very far together before Wynne pretended
business another way, left the woman to pursue her journey by
herself, and returning to the house again, told the maid her
mistress had sent him to acquaint her that if she did not come back
by such an hour she might go to bed, for she should not come home
all night. As Wynne pretended to be mightily tired with having made
so much haste, the maid asked him very civilly to walk into the
kitchen and rest himself, which being what he wanted, he readily
accepted. In the meanwhile, the poor wench going to fetch him
something to eat, whilst her back was turned he knocked her down
suddenly, and binding her hand and foot, and gagging her, he rifled
all the trunks, boxes, chests of drawers and cupboards, carrying off
to the value of two hundred pounds in plate and money.   He had now
reigned about eight years in his villainy when, taking notice of an
old man who had formerly been a linen-draper, but being rich had
left off trade and lived on what he had, together with his wife, in
Honey Lane, near Cheapside, he had for a long time a strong desire
of robbing them. Accordingly one night he resolved to put it in
execution, and broke into their house; but not content with robbing
them, he determined also to murder them, to prevent a discovery,
which he did by cutting their throats in a most barbarous manner, as
they were sleeping in their bed together. This done, he robbed the
house to the value of two thousand five hundred pounds, and fled
away, with his wife and four children he had by her, to Virginia  
Next day, the old people being not seen by their neighbours either
to go out or in as usual, and the house being close shut up from
morning to nights they began to be surprised at the meaning of it;
and some among them suspecting some foul play, a constable was sent
for and the door broken open, when upon entering the chamber the old
couple were found in their bed, to their great astonishment and
horror, with their throats cut from ear to ear, and weltering in
their blood.   A great inquiry and search was then made after the
murderer; and a poor man who begged his bread, having been observed
to walk to and fro about the door, and sometimes to sit on a bench
belonging to the house, the day before the murder was perpetrated,
he was apprehended on suspicion, and being carried before a justice
of peace, was by him committed to Newgate. The poor wretch was
afterwards brought upon his trial; and though there was no other
proof against him than some suspicious circumstances, he was cast
for his life, and sentenced to be hanged before the door of the
murdered persons; which was accordingly executed, though he denied
the fact to the last, as well he might, and he was afterwards hanged
in chains at Holloway.   In the meanwhile Wynne was safe enough with
his family beyond sea, where it pleased God that he thrived
prodigiously with his ill-got money, the price of innocent blood.
But having now been absent from his native country twenty years, and
being very desirous of seeing it once before he died, designing
afterwards to return back and lay his bones in Virginia, he took his
leave of his wife, children and grandchildren (or his family had
multiplied as well as his riches), and came over to England. But
mark how Providence pursued him.   Being one day at a goldsmith's
shop in Cheapside to buy a parcel of plate, which he designed to
carry with him to Virginia, whilst he was bargaining for it and the
master of the shop was weighing it, a great uproar arose in the
street -- some sergeants having arrested a gentleman, and he
breaking from the catchpoles who were in pursuit of him. Hereupon
Wynne ran out of the shop the same way as the mob, and some that
were behind him crying out, "Stop him! Stop him!" his conscience
flew in his face, so that he stopped short, and said: "I am the
man." "You the man!" cried the people. "What man?" "The man,"
replied Wynne, "that committed such a murder in Honey Lane twenty
years ago, for which a poor man was hanged wrongfully. "

  Upon this confession he was taken into custody and carried to a
magistrate, before whom he again owned the same; and being committed
to Newgate, was tried, condemned and executed also before the house
where he had perpetrated the murder; after which he was carried to
Holloway and hanged in chains.

  Thus the just judgment of God at last overtook him for shedding
innocent blood, when he thought himself secure from the stroke of
justice. Neither was it wanting to punish his wife and posterity for
being privy thereunto, and living upon the fruits thereof, for his
wife ran distracted upon receiving the news of his shameful end, and
died so. Two of his sons also were hanged in Virginia, for a robbery
and murder they committed there; and what plantations he had
purchased were seized upon for the Queen's use, as forfeited by his
conviction of murder and felony; so that his posterity were reduced
to beggary ever after, and died very miserable.



ALISTER MACGREGOR Who, for slaughtering the Laird of Luss's Friends,
caused the Name of Macgregor to be abolished. Executed in 1604

THIS trial, relating to the Clan Gregor, affords characteristic
evidence of the barbarous state of the Highlands in those times, of
the lawless manners of the people, and the despicable imbecility of
the executive arm.   The crimes with which the prisoner was charged
resemble more the outrage and desolation of war than the guilt of a
felon. He was accused of having conspired the destruction of the
name of Colquhoun, its friends and allies, and the plunder of the
lands of Luss; of having, on the 7th of February preceding, invaded
the lands of Sir Alexander Colquhoun of Luss, with a body of four
hundred men, composed partly of his own clan and of the clan of
Cameron, and of lawless thieves and robbers, equipped in arms, and
drawn up on the field of Lennox, in battle array; of having fought
with Sir Alexander, who, being authorised by a warrant from the
Privy Council, had convocated his friends and followers to resist
this lawless host; of having killed about one hundred and forty of
Sir Alexander's men, most of them in cold blood, after they were
made their prisoners; of having carried off eighty horses, six
hundred cows, and eight hundred sheep; and of burning houses, corn-
yards, etc.   The Jury unanimously convicted the prisoner, who, in
consequence of the verdict, was condemned to be hanged and quartered
at the Cross of Edinburgh, his limbs to be stuck up in the chief
towns, and his whole estate, heritable and movable, to be forfeited.  
Four of the Laird of Macgregor's followers who stood trial along
with him were convicted and condemned to the same punishment, eleven
on the 17th of February, and six on the 1st of March. A statute was
passed in the year 1633 ordaining that the whole of the Clan
Macgregor, which should be within the realm on the 15th of March
thereafter, should appear before the Privy Council, and give surety
for their good behaviour; that each of the clan, on arriving at the
sixteenth year of his age, should appear before the Privy Council on
the 24th of July and find surety as above required; that the surname
of Macgregor should be abolished, and the individuals adopt some
other; that no minister should baptize a child, or clerk or notary
subscribe a bond or other security, under the name of Macgregor
under pain of deprivation; but this Act was rescinded at the
Restoration.



ROBERT CREIGHTON, BARON OF SANQUIRE Executed in 1612 for the Murder
of John Turner, who had accidentally put out one of his Eyes

 THE indictment charged the prisoner, as accessory before the fact,
to the murder of John Turner, fencing-master.

  Robert Creighton, Baron of Sanquire (or Sanchar, in Scotland),
while playing at foils with John Turner, about five years before the
murder, had an eye thrust out by one of Turner's foils; whereupon
the baron, resolving to be revenged, tampered with several assassins
to murder Turner.   He had not an opportunity of effecting it till
the year 1612, when he prevailed on Gilbert Gray, one of his
servants, and Robert Carliel, a dependent, both Scotsmen, to
undertake it; but Gray afterwards declining the attempt, Robert
Carliel associated himself with one James Irweng, another Scotsman,
and these two, on the 11th of May, 1612, about seven in the evening,
went to a public-house in the Friars, which Turner frequented as he
came from his school, and finding Turner there they saluted him, and
fell into conversation with him; when Carliel, on a sudden, fired a
pistol at Turner, and shot him in the breast; and he immediately
dropped down dead, saying only, "Lord have mercy upon me, I am
killed."   After this, Carliel fled to Scotland, Lord Sanquire
absconded, but Irweng and Gray were taken while endeavouring to make
their escape; and Gray was afterwards made an evidence against the
rest.   At length, Lord Sanquire surrendering himself, and Carliel,
the principal assassin, being brought back from Scotland, Carliel
and Irweng were tried at the old Bailey, London, and being convicted
of the murder, they were executed in Fleet Street, near the Friars;
and Lord Sanquire being afterwards arraigned at the King's Bench bar
as accessory before the fact, confessed the indictment, and was
thereupon condemned, and executed in Palace Yard.

SAWNEY BEAN

An incredible Monster who, with his Wife, lived by Murder and
Cannibalism in a Cave. Executed at Leith with his whole Family in
the Reign of James I

 THE following account, though as well attested as any historical
fact can be, is almost incredible; for the monstrous and
unparalleled barbarities that it relates; there being nothing that
we ever heard of, with the same degree of certainty, that may be
compared with it, or that shews how far a brutal temper, untamed by
education, may carry a man in such glaring and horrible colours.

 Sawney Bean was born in the county of East Lothian, about eight or
nine miles eastward of the city of Edinburgh, some time in the reign
of Queen Elizabeth, whilst King James I. governed only in Scotland.
His parents worked at hedging and ditching for their livelihood, and
brought up their son to the same occupation. He got his daily bread
in his youth by these means, but being very much prone to idleness,
and not caring for being confined to any honest employment, he left
his father and mother, and ran away into the desert part of the
country, taking with him a woman as viciously inclined as himself.
These two took up their habitation in a cave, by the seaside on the
shore of the county of Galloway, where they lived upwards of twenty-
five years without going into any city, town, or village.

 In this time they had a great number of children and grandchildren,
whom they brought up after their own manner, without any notions of
humanity or civil society. They never kept any company, but among
themselves, and supported themselves wholly by robbing; being,
moreover, so very cruel, that they never robbed anyone whom they did
not murder.   By this bloody method, and their living so retiredly
from the world, they continued such a long time undiscovered, there
being nobody able to guess how the people were lost that went by the
place where they lived. As soon as they had robbed and murdered any
man, woman or child, they used to carry off the carcass to the den,
where, cutting it into quarters, they would pickle the mangled
limbs, and afterwards eat it; this being their only sustenance. And,
notwithstanding, they were at last so numerous, they commonly had
superfluity of this their abominable food; so that in the night time
they frequently threw legs and arms of the unhappy wretches they had
murdered into the sea, at a great distance from their bloody
habitation. The limbs were often cast up by the tide in several
parts of the country, to the astonishment and terror of all the
beholders, and others who heard of it.  Persons who had gone about
their lawful occasions fell so often into their hands that it caused
a general outcry in the country round about, no man knowing what was
become of his friend or relation, if they were once seen by these
merciless cannibals.   All the people in the adjacent parts were at
last alarmed at such a common loss of their neighbours and
acquaintance; for there was no travelling in safety near the den of
these wretches. This occasioned the sending frequent spies into
these parts, many of whom never returned again, and those who did,
after the strictest search and inquiry, could not find how these
melancholy matters happened. Several honest travellers were taken up
on suspicion, and wrongfully hanged upon bare circumstances; several
innocent innkeepers were executed for no other reason than that
persons who had been thus lost were known to have lain at their
houses, which occasioned a suspicion of their being murdered by them
and their bodies privately buried in obscure places to prevent a
discovery. Thus an illplaced justice was executed with the greatest
severity imaginable, in order to prevent these frequent atrocious
deeds; so that not a few innkeepers, who lived on the Western Road
of Scotland, left off their business, for fear of being made
examples, and followed other employments. This on the other hand
occasioned many great inconveniences to travellers, who were now in
great distress for accommodation for themselves and their horses
when they were disposed to refresh themselves and their horses, or
put up for lodging at night. In a word, the whole country was almost
depopulated.   Still the King's subjects were missing as much as
before; so that it was the admiration of the whole kingdom how such
villainies could be carried on and the perpetrators not discovered.
A great many had been executed, and not one of them all made any
confession at the gallows, but stood to it at the last that they
were perfectly innocent of the crimes for which they suffered. When
the magistrates found all was in vain, they left off these rigorous
proceedings, and trusted wholly to Providence for the bringing to
light the authors of these unparalleled barbarities, when it should
seem proper to the Divine wisdom.

  Sawney's family was at last grown very large, and every branch of
it, as soon as able, assisted in perpetrating their wicked deeds,
which they still followed

with impunity. Sometimes they would attack four, five or six foot
men together, but never more than two if they were on horseback.
They were, moreover, so careful that not one whom they set upon
should escape, that an ambuscade was placed on every side to secure
them, let them fly which way they would, provided it should ever so
happen that one or more got away from the first assailants. How was
it possible they should be detected, when not one that saw them ever
saw anybody else afterwards? The place where they inhabited was
quite solitary and lonesome; and when the tide came up, the water
went for near two hundred yards into their subterraneous habitation,
which reached almost a mile underground; so that when people, who
had been sent armed to search all the places about had passed by the
mouth of their cave, they had never taken any notice of it, not
supposing that anything human would reside in such a place of
perpetual horror and darkness.   The number of the people these
savages destroyed was never exactly known, but it was generally
computed that in the twenty-five years they continued their
butcheries they had washed their hands in the blood of a thousand,
at least, men, women and children. The manner how they were at last
discovered was as follows.   A man and his wife behind him on the
same horse coming one evening home from a fair, and falling into the
ambuscade of these merciless wretches, they fell upon them in a most
furious manner. The man, to save himself as well as he could, fought
very bravely against them with sword and pistol, riding some of them
down, by main force of his horse. In the conflict the poor woman
fell from behind him, and was instantly murdered before her
husband's face; for the female cannibals cut her throat and fell to
sucking her blood with as great a gust as if it had been wine. This
done, they ripped up her belly and pulled out all her entrails. Such
a dreadful spectacle made the man make the more obstinate
resistance, as expecting the same fate if he fell into their hands.
It pleased Providence, while he was engaged, that twenty or thirty
from the same fair came together in a body; upon which Sawney Bean
and his bloodthirsty clan withdrew, and made the best of their way
through a thick wood to their den.   This man, who was the first
that had ever fallen in their way and came off alive, told the whole
company what had happened, and showed them the horrid spectacle of
his wife, whom the murderers had dragged to some distance, but had
not time to carry her entirely off. They were all struck with
stupefaction and amazement at what he related, took him with them to
Glasgow, and told the affair to the provost of that city, who
immediately sent to the King concerning it.   In about three or four
days after, his Majesty himself in person, with a body of about four
hundred men, set out for the place where this dismal tragedy was
acted, in order to search all the rocks and thickets, that, if
possible, they

might apprehend this hellish crew, which had been so long pernicious
to all the western parts of the kingdom.   The man who had been
attacked was the guide, and care was taken to have a large number of
bloodhounds with them, that no human means might be wanting towards
their putting an entire end to these cruelties.   No sign of any
habitation was to be found for a long time, and even when they came
to the wretches' cave they took no notice of it, but were going to
pursue their search along the seashore, the tide being then out. But
some of the bloodhounds luckily entered this Cimmerian den, and
instantly set up a most hideous barking, howling and yelping; so
that the King, with his attendants, came back, and looked into it.
They could not yet tell how to conceive that anything human could be
concealed in a place where they saw nothing but darkness. Never the
less, as the bloodhounds increased their noise, went farther in, and
refused to come back again, they began to imagine there was some
reason more than ordinary. Torches were now immediately sent for,
and a great many men ventured in through the most intricate turnings
and windings, till at last they arrived at that private recess from
all the world, which was the habitation of these monsters.   Now the
whole body, or as many of them as could, went in, and were all so
shocked at what they beheld that they were almost ready to sink into
the earth. Legs, arms, thighs, hands and feet of men, women and
children were hung up in rows, like dried beef. A great many limbs
lay in pickle, and a great mass of money, both gold and silver, with
watches, rings, swords, pistols, and a large quantity of clothes,
both linen and woollen, and an infinite number of other things,
which they had taken from those whom they had murdered, were thrown
together in heaps, or hung up against the sides of the den.  
Sawney's family at this time, besides him, consisted of his wife,
eight sons, six daughters, eighteen grandsons, and fourteen
granddaughters, who were all begotten in incest.   These were all
seized and pinioned by his Majesty's order in the first place; then
they took what human flesh they found and buried it in the sands;
afterwards loading themselves with the spoils which they found, they 
returned to Edinburgh with their prisoners, all the country, as they
passed along, flocking to see this cursed tribe. When they were come
to their journey's end, the wretches were all committed to the
Tolbooth, from whence they were the next day conducted under a
strong guard to Leith, where they were all executed without any
process, it being thought needless to try creatures who were even
professed enemies to mankind. The men had their privy-members cut
off and thrown into the fire; their hands and legs were severed from
their bodies; by which amputations they bled to death in some hours.
The wife, daughters and grandchildren, having been made spectators
of this just punishment inflicted on the men, were afterwards burnt
to death in three several fires. They all in general died without
the least signs of repentance; but continued, to the very last gasp
of life cursing and venting the most dreadful imprecations upon all
around, and upon all those who were instrumental in bringing them to
such well merited punishments.

THOMAS WITHERINGTON, JONATHAN WOODWARD AND JAMES PHILPOT

Who, in the Reign of King James I. were the first to hear the
Exhortation of the Bellman of St Sepulchre's

WITHERINGTON was the son of a very worthy gentleman of Carlisle, in
the county of Cumberland, who possessed a plentiful estate, and
brought up his children handsomely and suitably to his condition.
Thomas, of whom we are going to speak, had extraordinary education
given him, and was designed for a gentleman, to live at his ease,
free from the toil and hazard of business. The good old gentleman
dying, Thomas came into possession of a considerable estate, which
soon procured him a rich wife; but she proving loose, and violating
his bed, pushed him on, in revenge, to extravagances, which
otherwise he had no inclination to. Her falsehood to his bed was a
mortification to his thoughts he could never reconcile to his mind,
and being resolved to requite her perfidy and treachery, he
abandoned himself to the company of all manner of women. These by
degrees perverted all the good qualities he possessed. Nor was his
estate less subject to ruin and decay; for the mortgages he made of
it, in order to support his

profusion and luxury, soon reduced his circumstances to a low ebb,
and made him miserably poor. What should a gentleman of Mr
Witherington's late affluent fortune do in this wretched case? He
was above the mean submission of stooping to either relations or
friends for a dependence; and to ask charity or crave the
benevolence of his brother men was a circumstance his soul abhorred.
One way he must do to live; to starve presented nothing but
frightful and melancholy ideas to the mind. Collecting money on the
road was judged the best, though not the surest, expedient of
raising his fortune. And with this view he committed robberies in
most parts of England for six or seven years with admirable success.

  But between Acton and Uxbridge he committed a robbery on the
highway for which he was sent to Newgate, where he lived a very
profligate life to the very day of his execution.

  At the same time flourished one Jonathan Woodward and one James
Philpot, two most notorious housebreakers, who, in the cities of
London and Westminster, the suburbs thereof, Southwark, and most
towns and villages in the counties of Middlesex and Surrey, had
committed daily robberies for some years, for which they were sent
to the Marshalsea, and condemned to be hanged upon St Margaret's
Hill, in the borough of Southwark; but King James I. happening that
year to come to the throne of England, they were both pardoned upon
an Act then put out for all criminals, excepting for high treason
and wilful murder. However, these villains, not making good use of
this mercy, still pursued their old wicked courses, and committed
frequent burglaries and robberies, till at last, being apprehended
again, and sent to Newgate, they were tried, with the above-
mentioned Thomas Witherington, at the Sessions House in the old
Bailey, and with eight other malefactors were condemned; but only
these three, being most notorious offenders, were appointed for
death. And while they continued in the condemned hold they led 
abominable lives, abandoning themselves to all manner of cursing and
swearing, notwithstanding the extraordinary pains and cares of the
ordinary to reclaim them.

  At the same time there was living one Mrs Elizabeth Elliot, who
having a son that about two or three years before was condemned to
be hanged for the like practices, but received mercy, and became a
good man, in compassion for other criminals, and in acknowledgement
of the King's royal favour, on her death-bed willed two hundred and
fifty pounds to the parish of St Sepulchre's in London to find a man
who should for ever, betwixt the hours of eleven and twelve of the
clock of the night before any prisoners were to die, go under
Newgate, and giving them notice of his being come, by a solemn
ringing of a hand-bell,* should then put them in mind of their
approaching end, by repeating several godly expressions, tending to
instruct them for a true preparation for death. After which he says
to the prisoners appointed for death: "Gentlemen, are you awake?"
Who from the condemned hold answering "Yes," he then proceeds thus:  
"Gentlemen, I am the unwelcome messenger who brings you the fatal
news that you must to-morrow die. Your time is but short, the hours
slide away apace, the glass runs fast, and the last sand being upon
dropping, when you must launch out into boundless eternity, give not
yourselves to sleep, but watch and pray to gain eternal life. Repent
sooner than St Peter, and weep before the cock crows, for now
repentance is the only road to salvation; be fervent in this great
duty, and without doubt to-morrow you may be with the penitent thief
on the cross in Paradise. Pray without ceasing. Quench not the
Spirit. Abstain from all appearance of evil. As your own wickedness
has caused all this evil to fall upon you, and brought the day of
tribulation near at hand, so let goodness be your sole comfort, that
your souls may find perpetual rest with Your blessed Saviour, Who
died for the sins of the world; He will wipe all tears from your
eyes, remove your sorrows, and assuage your grief, so that your sin-
sick souls shall be healed for evermore. I exhort you earnestly not
to be negligent of the work of Your salvation, which depends upon
your sincere devotion betwixt this and to-morrow, when the sword of
justice shall send you out of the land of the living. Fight the good
fight of faith, and lay hold of eternal life whilst you may, for
there is no repentance in the grave. Ye have pierced yourselves
through with many sorrows, but a few hours will bring you to a place
where you will know nothing but joy and gladness. Love
righteousness, and hate iniquity, then God, even your God, will
anoint you with the oil of gladness, above your fellows. Go now
boldly to the throne of grace, that ye may obtain mercy, and find
grace to help in time of need. The God of peace sanctify you wholly,
and I pray God your whole spirits, and souls, and bodies may be
preserved blameless unto the meeting of your blessed Redeemer. The
Lord have mercy upon you; Christ have mercy upon you! Sweet Jesus
receive your souls; and to-morrow may you sup with Him in Paradise."

  To all which the spectators cry "Amen."

 Next day, on which they are to die, the bell in the steeple is to
toll for them, and under St Sepulchre's churchyard wall, the cart or
carts stopping, the aforesaid man, after ringing his hand-bell again
from over the wall, repeats again some religious exhortations to the
prisoners, which are as follows: --

SAID BY THE BELLMAN OVER ST SEPULCHRE'S CHURCH WALL

 "Gentlemen, consider now you are going out of this world into
another, where you will live in happiness or woe for evermore. Make
your peace with God Almighty, and let your whole thoughts be
entirely bent upon your latter end. Cursed is he that hangeth on a
tree; but it is hoped the fatal tie will bring your precious souls
to a union with the great Creator of heaven and earth, to Whom I
recommend your souls in this your final hour of distress. Lord have
mercy upon you; Christ look down upon you, and comfort you. Sweet
Jesus receive your souls this day into eternal life. Amen."  I
thought inserting these particulars would not be unacceptable to the
candid reader, since the three persons above mentioned were the
first to whom these exhortations and warnings were given.

  And thus ended the life of our adventurer, Thomas Witherington.

* This spell is still preserved in the church, hanging in a glass
case on the north side.

ARTHUR NORCOTT AND MARY NORCOTT, HIS MOTHER

Executed in 1629 for the Murder of the former's Wife after the Test
of touching the Body

 THE following relation was found among the papers of Sir John
Maynard, an eminent lawyer, and formerly one of the Commissioners of
the Great Seal of England. We think proper to give it in his own
words.

  The case, or rather history of a case, that happened in the county
of Hertford, I thought good to report here, though it happened in
the fourth year of King Charles I., that the memory of it may not be
lost, by miscarriage of my papers, or otherwise. I wrote the
evidence that was given, which I and many others did hear; and I
wrote it exactly according to what was deposed at the trial, at the
bar of the King's Bench -- viz.

  Joan Norcott, wife of Arthur Norcott, being murdered, the question
was, How came she by her death? The coroner's inquest, on view of
the body, and depositions of Mary Norcott, John Okeman, and Agnes
his wife, inclined to find Joan Norcott felo-de-se, they informed
the coroner and jury that she was found dead in her bed, the knife
sticking in the floor, and her throat cut. That the night before,
she went to bed with her child, her husband being absent; and that
no other person, after such time as she was gone to bed, came into
the house. That the examinants, lying in the outer room, must needs
have seen or known if any stranger had come in.

  The jury, upon these evidences, gave up their verdict to the
coroner that she was felo-de-se. But afterwards, upon rumour among
the neighbourhood, and their observation, divers circumstances,
which manifested that she did not, nor, according to those
circumstances, could not possibly, murder herself, the jury, whose
verdict was not yet drawn up in form by the coroner, desired the
coroner that the body, which was buried, might be taken out of the
grave, which the coroner assented to. So that thirty days after her
death she was taken up in the presence of the jury and a great
number of people; whereupon the jury changed their verdict. The
persons, being tried at Hertford Assizes, were acquitted; but so
much against the evidence, that judge Harvey let fall his opinion
that it were better an appeal were brought than so foul a murder
escape unpunished. Whereupon, Pascha 4 Car., they were tried on the
appeal which was brought by the young child against his father,
grandmother, aunt and her husband, Okeman; and because the evidence
was so strange, I took exact and particular notice, and it was as
follows: --   After the matters above mentioned were related, an
ancient and grave person, minister of the parish where the fact was
committed (being sworn to give evidence according to custom),
deposed that the body being taken out of the grave thirty days after
the party's death, and lying on the grass, and the four defendants
pressed, they were required each to touch the dead body. Okeman's
wife fell on her knees and prayed God to show some token of her
innocency, or to that purpose; her very words I have forgot. The
appellees did touch the dead body, which was before of a livid and
carrion colour (that was the verbal expression in terminis of the
witness), whereupon the brow of the dead began to have a dew, or
gentle sweat, arise on it, which increased by degrees, till the
sweat ran down by drops on her face. The brow changed to a lively
colour, and the dead opened one of her eyes and shut it again; and
this opening of the eye was done three several times. She likewise
thrust out the ring - or wedding-finger three times, and pulled it
in again, and the finger dropped blood from it on the grass.

  Sir Nicholas Hyde, Lord Chief justice, seeming to doubt the
evidence, asked the witness: "Who saw this besides you?"  WITNESS: I
cannot swear what others saw; but, my Lord, I do believe the whole
company saw it; and if it had been thought a doubt, proof would have
been made of it, and many would have attested with me.

  Then the witness, observing some admiration in the auditors, spake
further:

  "My Lord, I am minister of the parish, and have long known all the
parties, but never had any occasion of displeasure against any of
them, nor anything to do with them, or they with me, but as I was
their minister. The thing was wonderful to me, but I have no
interest in the matter; only as I am called upon to testify the
truth, I have done it."

  This witness was a very reverend person, as I guessed, about
seventy years of age; his testimony was delivered gravely and
temperately, but to the great admiration of all the auditory;
whereupon, applying himself to the Lord Chief justice, he said
further:

  "My Lord, my brother here present is minister of the next parish
adjacent, and I am assured he saw all done that I have affirmed."

  Here that person was also sworn to give evidence, and deposed the
same in every point -- viz. the sweating of the brow, the change of
the colour, the opening of the eye, the thrice moving of the finger
and drawing it in again. Only the first witness added that he
himself dipped his finger in the blood which came from the dead
body, to examine it, and he swore that he believed it was blood.

  I conferred afterwards with Sir Edward Powel, barrister-at-law,
and others, who all concurred in the observation; and for myself, if
I were upon my oath, I can testify that these depositions,
especially the first witness, are truly reported in substance.

  The other evidence was given against the prisoners -- viz. the
grandmother of the plaintiff, and against Okeman and his wife --
that they confessed that they lay in the next room to the dead
person that night, and that none came into the house till they found
her dead in the morning. Therefore, if she did not murder herself,
they must be the murderers.  To prove that she did not murder
herself it was further deposed:

  Firstly, that she lay in a composed manner in her bed, the bed-
clothes nothing at all disturbed, and her child by her in bed.

  Secondly, that her neck was broken, and she could not possibly
break her neck in the bed if she first cut her throat, nor contra.

  Thirdly, that there was no blood in the bed, saving a tincture of
blood on the bolster whereon her head lay, but no substance of blood
at all.

  Fourthly, that from the bed's head there was a stream of blood on
the floor, which ran along till it ponded in the bending of the
floor in a very great quantity; and that there was also another
stream of blood on the floor at the bed's foot, which ponded also on
the floor, to another great quantity, but no continuance or
communication of blood, at either of these two places, from one to
the other, neither upon the bed; so that she bled in. two places
severally. And it was deposed, that upon turning up the mat of the
bed, there were found clots of congealed blood in the straw of the
mat underneath.

  Fifthly, that the bloody knife was found in the morning sticking
in the floor, at a good distance from the bed; and that the point of
the knife, as it stuck, was towards the bed, and the haft from the
bed.

  Lastly, that there was the print of a thumb and four fingers of a
left hand.

  Sir Nicholas Hyde, Lord Chief justice, said to the witness: "How
can you know the print of a left hand from the print of a right in
such a case?

  WITNESS: My Lord, it is hard to describe; but if it please that
honourable judge to put his left hand upon your left hand , you
cannot possibly place your own right hand in the same posture. This
was tried and approved.

  The prisoners had now time to make their defence, but gave no
evidence to any purpose; whereupon the jury departed out of the
court; and returning, acquitted Okeman and found the other three
guilty; who being severally demanded what they could say why
judgment should not be pronounced, they only cried out after one
another: "I did not do it, I did not do it."

  Judgment was given, and the grandmother and the husband executed;
but the aunt, being with child, had the privilege to be spared
execution.

  I inquired if they confessed anything at the gallows, but could
not hear that they did.

WALTER TRACEY To whom is attributed a poetic Encounter with Ben
Jonson. Executed in 1634 after a Robbery On the Duke Of Buckingham

 THIS person was the younger son of a gentleman worth nine hundred
pounds per annum in the county of Norfolk. He was sent to the
university to qualify him for divinity, and had a hundred and twenty
pounds left him by his father when he died. But his studies not
having a relish pleasing enough to his mind, and his estate being
too little to support his extravagances, he, to uphold himself in
his profuse expenses, would now and then appear well accoutred on
the highway, and make his collections. But happening once to rob
some persons who knew him, he was obliged to leave the college, and
directly went down into Cheshire, where he put himself into the
service of a wealthy grazier in the country, whose daughter he
married and then, having obtained her estate, decamped.   Tracey
made his way to Ware, where, taking up his lodgings for that night,
he got into the company of a young Oxonian, who had brought a large
portmanteau behind him. The student seemed very well pleased at his
friend's conversation, as he thought, and, to increase a better
understanding betwixt them, they supped together, and drank a couple
of bottles of wine afterwards. They lay together in the same bed,
and an hour or two before they went to sleep had a great deal of
conversation about the ways of mankind, which terminated at last
about the university, which Tracey pretended to be an entire
stranger to. In the morning both drank sack posset, mounted, and
pursued their journey together. Tracey endeavoured to amuse his
fellow-traveller with a series of foreign adventures which he had
never performed; the scholar, on his part, laid open the wicked
practices of the colleges, so that both seemed to be fit and choice
companions for each other. Tracey would now and then take hold of
the student's portmanteau and tell him it was very heavy, and
wondered he did not bring a servant along with him, so much
undervaluing his profession by being master and man himself. The
student constantly answered that the times were exceeding hard, and
he travelled by himself to save charges. "How," replies the other,
"charges!" "Why, the charges of a servant are vastly insignificant
in comparison of the loss you may probably sustain on the road for
want of one. I hope, sir, you have not got any great charge of money
within your portmanteau, for I think you act a very unwise part if
you carry much about you without having someone or other in company
with you." The student told him he had no less than threescore
pounds within it, which he was carrying to the university to defray
the customary fees for taking up his degrees of Master of Arts.
"Ah," says Tracey, "that's a round sum, on my word! and it is a
thousand pities so much should be given to persons that no way
deserve a far thing of it. If I had known of Your having threescore
pounds about you when we were at the inn, I could have procured you
a chap that would have sold you a place for it much more beneficial
than anything you hope for by being a Master of Arts; but as we are
too far a distance off from Ware to return in time, you shall be
eased of your money and portmanteau presently; for I have an
occasion at this very conjuncture for such a quantity of money, and
there's no better person myself you can lend it to." After which
words Tracey unloosens the straps, takes the portmanteau, and puts
it on own horse. The student observing this, immediately cried
aloud: "Oh, dear sir, I hope your design is not to rob me; I shall
lose a pretty good parsonage that is offered me in Essex if you take
away my money from me. Pray, sir, consider the crime you are going
to act, for the loss of my threescore pounds will not only deprive
me of a competent means of livelihood, but also the Almighty will
lose a minister of His Word. And for the sake of heaven, I beseech
you to be compassionate, and not so severe on a poor man who was
obliged to borrow this money of several persons, who would not have
lent it but through a view of being soon repaid. Sir, you commit a
thing against the laws of your country, and the precepts of
humanity, to wrest thus by force what belongs to another man, and I
dare say you are not so much a stranger to the injustice of it but
you know it is an error and a great one. The sin, too, is vastly
enlarged when a specious pretence of friendship made use of for such
a dishonourable deed; for how will any man know he is safe in
travelling if everyone he meets with on the road converses with him
in the sincere manner (I mean outwardly) as you have pretended to
me. But, sir, not to enlarge further, let me entreat you over and
over again not to take my all from me; for if so, I am inevitably
ruined, and am an undone man for ever." Tracey seemed to mind the
student's desire of having his portmanteau again with a grave
attention; but the thought of having obtained such a considerable
booty made him banish every compassionate sentiment out of his
breast, till, no longer able to bear with the tedious importunities
of the scholar, he pulled out of his breeches pocket a leathern
purse with four pounds odd money in it, and gave it the collegian,
saying: "Friend, I am not yet so much lost to the sense of
compassion but I can extend my charity and generosity; it is not
customary for a gentleman of my fortune to give money, but your
intercession has won me over to it. Here are four pounds odd money
to bear your expenses to the university, so that you will not be all
the loser, and when you come to the college, acquaint all those whom
it may concern that you have paid your Master of Arts fees already
to a collector on the road, who had a thousand times more occasions
for the money than a parcel of old mollies, who live by whoring and
stealing out of other authors' works." And so saying, he bid the
poor collegian farewell, leaving him to pursue his journey and
obtain his degree as well as he could, while he himself made the
nearest way to the next village; where opening the portmanteau, he
found nothing but two old shirts, half-a-dozen dirty bands, a
threadbare student's torn gown, a pair of stockings without feet, a
pair of shoes but with one heel to them, some other old trumpery,
and a great ham of bacon, but not one farthing of money; which set
him a-swearing and cursing like a devil, to think he should be such
a preposterous ass, to give four pounds and more for that which was
not worth forty shillings.  We have but two adventures more of
Tracey which we find on record; the first relating to a robbery he
committed on the famous poet, Ben Jonson, the other to another on
the Duke of Buckingham, who was slain by Fenton as he was going to
embark at Portsmouth.  Ben Jonson had been down in Buckinghamshire
to transact some business, but in returning to London happened to
meet with Tracey, who, knowing the poet, bid him stand and deliver
his money. But Ben, putting on a courageous look, spoke to him thus:
"Fly, villain, hence, or by thy coat of steel

I'll make thy heart my leaden bullet feel,

And send that thrice as thievish soul of thine

To Hell, to wean the devil's valentine."

 Upon which Tracey made this answer: "Art thou great Ben? or the
revived ghost

Of famous Shakespeare? or some drunken host

Who, being tipsy with thy muddy beer,

Dost think thy rhymes will daunt my soul with fear?

Nay, know, base slave, that I am one of those

Can take a purse, as well in verse, as prose,

And when thou art dead write this upon thy hearse,

' Here lies a poet who was robbed in verse.' "

 These words alarmed Jonson, who found he had met with a resolute
fellow: he endeavoured to save his money, but to no purpose, and was
obliged to give our adventurer ten jacobuses. But the loss of these
was not the only misfortune he met with in this journey; for, coming
within two or three miles of London, it was his ill chance to fall
into the hands of worse rogue, who knocked him off his horse,
stripped him, and tied him neck and heels in a field, wherein some
other passengers were enduring the same hard fate, having been also
robbed. One of them cried out that he, his wife and children were
all undone, while another who was bound, overhearing, said, "Pray,
if you are all of you undone, come and undo me." This made Ben,
though under his misfortunes, burst out into a loud laugh, who,
being delivered in the morning from his bands by some reapers, made
the following verses: -- " Both robbed and bound as I one night did
ride,

With two men more, their arms behind them tied,

The one lamenting what did them befall,

Cried, ' I'm undone, my wife and children all ';

The other hearing it, aloud did cry,

' Undo me then, let me no longer lie ';

But to be plain, those men laid on the ground

Were both undone, indeed, but both fast bound."

 The last robbery he committed was on the Duke of Buckingham above
mentioned; but some say he endeavoured to commit many more. Now as
we have neither the place nor in what manner this attempt was made,
nor how much he took from his Grace, nor any other circumstances to
help us to a discovery of this adventure, we are obliged to be
silent, and only say that he suffered for it at Winchester in 1634,
aged thirty-eight years.

SAWNEY CUNNINGHAM

An abandoned Villain who inveigled and murdered his Wife's Lover,
murdered his Uncle, terrorised the Country-side, and was executed at
Leith, 12th of April, I635

 THIS person had no reason to say he was come of mean parents, or
that good education or tuition was denied him, whereby he might have
avoided the several pernicious actions and villainies he committed,
as will presently be shown in the sequel. His family lived in
tolerable good repute at Glasgow in Scotland, where he was born;
but, in spite of all the learning his parents had given him, or good
examples they had set before him to regulate his passions and direct
his conduct right, he abandoned himself, from his earliest
acquaintance with the world, to little shuffling and pilfering
tricks; which growing habitual to him as he advanced in age, he
increased in his wicked practices, till at last he became a monster
of profaneness and wicked living. However, these (which one would
take to be) great disadvantages hindered him not from making a very
honourable match in wedlock. As his parents could not be blamed with
any misconduct, but still kept up an honest and genteel character in
the neighbourhood where they lived; and as it would have been
infamous to have reproached them for those miscarriages in the son
which they had strove all they could to root out of his mind, and
could not help, so an old gentleman, who had preserved for a long
time an inviolable friendship for the family, entered into an
alliance with Mr Cunningham the elder, which at last terminated in
giving his daughter to Sawney, and an estate in portion with her of
above one hundred and forty pounds per annum, thinking that marriage
might be a means to reclaim our adventurer from his ill course of
life, and at last settle his mind, to the mutual satisfaction of
both families, for which he thought his daughter's portion would be
a good purchase, and well laid out. But how are mankind deceived,
and, in short, all our foresight and consultation. Sawney no sooner
found himself in possession of an estate able to support his
extravagances but he immediately gave a more violent loose to his
passions than he had hitherto done. He made taverns and alehouses
the frequent places of his resort; and, not content idly to waste
the day in debauches and drunkenness, the night too must come in to
make up the reckoning. These destructive steps could not be attended
but with hurtful consequences, and he was too soon an eye-witness of
some of them; for not having always wherewithal to indulge his usual
expenses and method of living, he was forced to have recourse to
indirect measures, which ended in pawning everything he had, not
only of his wife's but of his own. Melancholy things were
unavoidably to follow, if some redress or care was not taken to put
a restraint on this destructive course. Sawney laughed at his
follies, and could not bring himself to believe he should ever want
while he had either hands or heart to support him. He was determined
to enter upon business as soon as possible -- I mean such business
as generally brings so many unhappy men to the gallows. His wife,
who was vastly beautiful and handsome, saw this, but with a prudence
that became her sex stifled her uneasiness so long, till, no longer
able to bear the torment upon her mind, she first began with kind
entreaties, since all they had in the world was gone, to fall into
some honest way of livelihood to support themselves, for it was much
and more commendable to do so than for him to give his countrymen
every day so many instances of his riotous and profuse living.

  Had Sawney been so good to himself as to have given ear to this
remonstrance, without doubt things had succeeded well, and we should
never have read the miserable end he suffered. But all admonition
was lost on a man abandoned to wickedness, and determined to support
his usual extravagances at any rate. The poor young gentlewoman,
instead of being answered civilly for her love and affection to him,
met with nothing but harsh and terrifying words, attended with a
thousand oaths and imprecations. The parents on both sides,
observing this, were in extreme grief and concern, and determined,
after a serious consultation, to dissolve the couple; but the young
and handsome wife would never consent to part from her husband,
though so base to her.

  Before we enter upon the first remarkable transaction of Sawney's
life, we think ourselves under an obligation to lay before our
readers some account of this young bride's rare qualifications. In
the first place, as I have taken notice above, she was extremely
beautiful, not only in a perfect symmetry of features, but likewise
to these were joined an exquisite person. She was tall, finely
shaped, full-breasted, and had all the other exterior ornaments of
her sex. For her temper and the qualifications of her interior part
or soul, she was sincere in her love to the last, ever patient under
the greatest difficulties, and ready at all times to extricate her
husband out of the misfortunes he involved himself in, by lawful and
justifiable methods; she had a nice conduct, and an extraordinary
restraint upon every passion that might betray her into unforeseen
miscarriages. In Glasgow, where a university was, and consequently
young gentlemen of fortune and address, it was impossible for Mrs
Cunningham to hide the charms of her face and person so as not to be
taken notice of. Several immediately offered their respects, and
money was not wanting to promote their suits; but all were below the
prudent sentiments of her mind. She could not endure to think of
dishonouring the bed of her husband by a base compliance with the
richest man in the kingdom, and always she put off her suitor with a
frown and a seemingly disdainful air. But this only served to
animate her lovers the more, who now seemed to attack her with a
resolution not to quit the siege till she had either capitulated or
surrendered herself. Amongst the rest was a certain lawyer, who was
so frequent in his importunities that she was quite tired out.
However, she was so discreet all the while as to conceal from her
husband Sawney the importunities of her several lovers; but their
solicitations increasing, and being determined to be delivered of
them as soon as possible, she one night, as she lay in bed with her
husband, began to discourse to him in words to the following effect:
"You are sensible, my dear, of the inviolable love I have, from the
first day of my marriage to you, preserved for you, which shall
still, let whatever will happen, be as chastely maintained; for the
infernal regions shall sooner open and receive me alive than I will
dare to break the laws of your bed, or bring dishonour to my person,
by a shameless prostitution of my person in the embraces of any man
alive. As a proof of what I tell you, you need only be acquainted
that for these several months I have been strongly importuned by Mr
Hamilton the lawyer to consent to his embraces, but still I have
warded off from his addresses, yet cannot be free from him; which
makes me now discourse thus, in order to hear your opinion in the
matter, and see which will be the safest and best expedient to be
delivered of his company." Here she ended, and Sawney, being
thoroughly convinced of his wife's loyalty and fidelity, first
answered her with a desire she should forget all his irregularities,
confessing their present poverty had been the immediate consequences
of his too liberal and profuse livings but that for the future she
should see a good alteration in his conduct, and he would make one
of the best of husbands. "As for Mr Hamilton," said he, "it is my
advice that you do not give him an absolute refusal, but pretending
a kind of love at a distance, make him think that a considerable sum
of money will finish his expectations, and gain him what he so much
longs for. You have youth and beauty on your side, and you may,
consequently, command him as you please: for I am not so much a
stranger to Mr Hamilton's temper and inclination but that I know
love will influence him to perform generous things. My dear, I have
no occasion to acquaint you with our poverty at this time, which, to
my extreme grief, has been the consequence of my irregular and
profane living; but our wants and necessities may be amply made up
by dextrously managing this adventure, the prosecution of which I
leave to your own prudence and conduct; and for my part, I shall
take effectual care to extricate you and myself out of any
consequences that may happen upon it."

  Mrs Cunningham, after this conference with her husband, had a
thousand thoughts in her head how to manage this scheme so as to
make the most advantage of it. She saw that the want of money in her
family must oblige her to it, though never so much against the bent
of her inclination to the contrary, and therefore, determining to
put it in execution as soon as possible, she composed herself to
rest for that night. The next day Sawney got purposely out of the
way, but not without a longing expectation of receiving
extraordinary matters from his wife's conduct. Hamilton appeared as
usual; and, protesting his love for her was the sincerest in the
world, said that it was impossible for him to enjoy a moment's rest
without tasting those joys she could so easily afford him. Mrs
Cunningham at first reproved him for such a bare declaration of his
desires, and said that so long as her husband lived she could not,
without the most manifest breach of conjugal fidelity, and an
eternal infamy to herself, give way to comply with his demands.
"Your person, Mr Hamilton," said she, "is none of the worst, neither
is your sense to be despised; but, alas! heaven has decreed it that
I am already another man's wife, and therefore deprived from
gratifying you as I would were the case otherwise. And I have
apprehensions of my husband, who is a choleric person, and presently
urged into a passion upon the most trifling affairs, which either he
doth not like, or squares not with his happiness or interest."
"Interest!" replied Hamilton. "Why, if that be the case, neither
your husband nor you shall have any reason to complain; for, let me
tell you once and for all, I do not require a gratification from
anyone without making a suitable return. Your circumstances, madam,
are not unknown to me; and I am sorry to think that, after having
brought Mr Cunningham so plentiful a fortune, I should have a just
occasion to say that you are poor. But mistake me not, I scorn to
make a handle of your circumstances; neither do I believe Mrs
Cunningham would ever consent to my desires on such servile terms."
Upon this madam answered him with a great deal of prudence and art:
she told him that he pleaded handsomely for himself, and if she was
not a married woman there should be nothing to obstruct their
desires. Mr Hamilton, finding this, made her a long harangue, in
which he endeavoured to show how weak her objection was, with
respect to her husband, concluding that what they did might be so
artfully contrived that neither Mr Cunningham nor the world should
know anything of it. In fine, the lawyer pleaded as if it were for
life for her consent, which madam observing, and not caring to
prolong the time too far, but dispatch a great deal of business in a
little time, she artfully told him that since her stars had so
directed the actions of her life that she had no power of herself to
contradict them, she resigned herself to him, and said that it was
to no purpose to stifle her inclinations for him any longer; for, to
be plain with him, she had loved him from their first acquaintance
together, before all the men she had ever seen, and that she hoped
there was no transgression in an affair which her destiny overruled;
and if the world proved censorious, she did not care, and left her
cause to be determined by the stars, who, together with Mr
Hamilton's fine person, had influenced her to it. To be short, an 
assignation was made, and a porch of one of the churches in Glasgow
designed to be the place where these two lovers were to meet.
Nothing in the world gave the lawyer so much satisfaction as the
thought of having obtained the consent of his fair mistress, who had
declared her love to him, and resigned herself up to his arms.
Hamilton promised to make her a present of a purse of a hundred
pounds sterling before anything was done, and she on her side
assured him she would please him to the utmost, and acquainted him
that he might expect all the kindness she was able to afford him.
Here they parted, and the lawyer thought the time contained a
thousand days till the hour appointed was come, and he in the arms
of his mistress. It arrives, and both appear in the porch; they
caress and toy, but no further than the laws of modesty permitted.
Hamilton wants to know where Mr Cunningham, her husband, is, and is
acquainted that he has gone a short journey into the country, which,
however, will take him up eight days; whereas madam has posted him,
or he has done it himself, in a private place in his chamber at
home. Hamilton seems extraordinarily pleased at his success, and the
repose he should find in humouring his appetites now his antagonist
was out of the way, as he thought. In a little time both these
lovers come to Sawney's house, and having entered his bed-chamber,
where he was concealed, and a good fire burning, Mr Hamilton pulls
out two purses of gold and gives them to her; and then, going to
undress himself, Sawney springs out from his secret place, and with
one stroke lays Mr Hamilton flat on the floor with a club he had in
his hand; for, not contented with his wife's having received the two
purses of gold, he must have the lawyer's clothes too; and
therefore, to make sure of them, he redoubles his blows, till the
poor gentleman gave up the ghost at Mrs Cunningham's feet. This was
a sacrifice to love with a witness. The lawyer had contributed
handsomely before for a night's lodging, and must he give his life
into the bargain? I know not how mankind may think on it; but the
affair was carried to a desperate length. Now Mrs Cunningham, not
dreaming her husband would have carried matters to such an issue,
seemed frightened to the last extreme at what had been done; but
Sawney endeavoured to give her ease by telling her that he would
work himself out of the scrape immediately, and, so saying, hoisted
the body on his shoulders and went out at a back door which led
directly to Hamilton's house, which easily opening, as a profound
sleep in the family and the darkness of the night favoured him, he
carried the lawyer to the vault, and placed him upright upon the
seat, to the end that the first who found him there might conclude
he had died in that place and posture.

  Now it seems Mr Hamilton, the day before, had acquainted a
particular friend who lived in his house with his success, and how
he was to have a meeting with Mrs Cunningham that night. This friend
had had the gripes upon him for three or four days, which made him
have a very violent looseness, and being obliged to untruss a point
about midnight, rises in his night-gown and steps down to the vault,
where, opening the door, he spies Mr Hamilton sitting, as he
supposed; and taking it that he was come there on the very same
errand as himself, stays without a while to let him have a quiet
play. But finding he made no motion to stir, after having waited a
considerable time, to his own uneasiness, he opens the door again,
and taking him by the sleeve of his coat was surprised to find him
fall down. He stoops to take him up, but finds him dead; at which,
being in a thousand perplexities, and fearing to be thought the
murderer, he brings to mind his acquainting him with the assignation
between him and Mrs Cunningham; upon which he concludes his friend
had found no fair play there, knowing the husband to be none of the
easiest of men. What should this lodger do in this case? Why, he
takes up the body, throws it upon his shoulders, and carries it to
Sawney's house door, where he sets it down. Madam, a little after
midnight, having occasion to discharge, gets out of bed and, opening
the door, lets the body of her late lover tumble into the house,
which putting her into a fright, she runs upstairs into the chamber
and tells Sawney how that the lawyer has come back. "Aye, aye," says
he (just waking out of his sleep), "I'll warrant he shall come back
no more, I'll secure him presently "; and so saying, gets
immediately out of bed, puts on his clothes, and hoists the dead
lawyer once more on his shoulders, with a design to carry him to the
river and throw him in; but seeing some persons at some distance
coming towards him, he steps up to the side of the street till they
were got by, fearing his design might be discovered, and
consequences were dangerous. But what should these persons be but
half-a-dozen thieves, who were returning from a plunder they had
made of two large flitches of bacon out of a cheese-monger's shop,
and as they came along were talking of a vintner hard by, who sold a
bottle of extraordinary wine. Sawney was somewhat relieved from his
fears (for fears he could not miss from having) at hearing this
conversation. He had not been in his post long before he had the
satisfaction of seeing this company put their bacon, which was in a
sack, into an empty cellar, and knock the master of the tavern up to
let them in. The coast being now clear, Sawney conveys the dead
lawyer into the cellar, and taking out the purloined goods, put his
uneasy cargo in the room, and then marches home. Meanwhile the
thieves were carousing, little dreaming what a change they should
presently find in their sack. Little or no money was found amongst
them, and the flitches were to answer the full reckoning, so that
they continued drinking till they thought the bacon was become an
equivalent for the wine they had drank. One of them, who pretended
to be spokesman, addressing the landlord, told him that he must
excuse him and his comrades for bringing no money in their pockets
to defray what they had expended, especially at such an unseasonable
time of night, when he had been called out of his bed to let them
in; "but, landlord, in saying this, we have no design of doing you
any wrong, or drinking your wine for nothing. For if we cannot
answer the shot with the ready cole, we will make it up by an
exchange of goods. Now we have got two flitches of bacon in a cellar
hard by, which will more than answer our expenses, and if you care
to have them, they are at your service; otherwise we must be obliged
to leave word with you where we live, or you lie under a necessity
of trusting us till the morning, when, on sending anybody along with
us, you may depend on receiving the money." "Gentlemen," says the
vintner, "you are all mere strangers to me, for to my eyes and
knowledge I cannot say I ever saw one of you before; but we will
avoid making any uneasiness about my reckoning. I do not care to
purchase a commodity I never saw, or, as the saying is, to buy a pig
in a poke. If the flitches of bacon you say you have are good, I'll
take them off your hands, and quit scores with you so they but
answer my demands." Immediately one of them, who had drunk more
plentiful than the rest, said he would go and fetch them, and
accordingly coming into the cellar, strove to hoist the sack up.
"Zounds," says he, "why, I think the bacon's multiplied, or I am
damnably deceived. What a pox of a load is here to gall a man's
shoulders! Tom might well complain they were heavy, and, by gad!
heavy and large ones they are, and the vintner will have a rare
bargain of them; much good go along with them!" And, so saying, he
lugs the corpse on his shoulders to the tavern. On coming to open
the mouth of the sack, lord! what a surprise were all in to see a
man's head peep out. Mr Dash presently knew the lineaments of the
deceased's face, and cried out: "You eternal dogs! did you think to
impose a dead corpse on me for two flitches of bacon? Why, you
rascals, this is the body of Mr Hamilton the lawyer, and you have
murdered him, have you, you miscreants! But your merits shall soon
be soundly rewarded, I'll warrant you." At this all the six were in
the saddest plight that could be imagined; nothing but horror and
dismay sat on their looks, and they really appeared as the guilty
persons. But the vintner, observing them bustling to get away, made
such a thundering noise of murderers, murderers, murderers, that
immediately all the family were out of their beds, and the watch at
the house door to know the reason of such an alarm. The thieves were
instantly conveyed to a place of durance for that night, and in the
morning were sent to the main prison, when after a little time they
took their trials, were found guilty (though innocent) of Mr
Hamilton's death, and executed accordingly.

  Sawney came off very wonderfully from this matter, though neither
his wife's admonitions nor his own frequent asseverations to her to
leave off his irregular course of life were of any force to make him
abandon it. The bent of doing ill, and living extravagantly, was too
deeply rooted within him ever to suppose now that any amendment
would come; nay, he began to show himself a monster in iniquity, and
committed every wickedness that could exaggerate the character of a
most profane wretch. For it is impossible to enumerate, much more to
describe, the quantity and qualities of his villainies, they being a
series of such horrid and incredible actions, that the very
inserting them here would only make the reader think an imposition
were put upon him in transmitting accounts so shocking and glaring.
The money he had obtained of Mr Hamilton was a dear purchase; it was
soon played away with and consumed, which made him throw himself on
other shifts to support his pockets; to which end he visited the
highway, and put those to death who offered to oppose him. His
character was too well known in the west of Scotland to want any
further information about him, which obliged him to retract towards
Edinburgh, where, meeting with a gang of his profession who knew him
to be most accomplished in their way, he was constituted
generalissmo of their body, and each man had his particular lodging
in the city. But Sawney, who ever chose to act the principal part in
all encounters, industriously took lodgings at a house noted for
entertaining strangers, where he was not long in insinuating himself
into their acquaintance, by making them believe that he was a
stranger as well as they, and was come to Edinburgh on no other
account than purely to see the city, and make his observations upon
its public buildings and other curiosities; and that his ambition
has been always to procure honest and genteel acquaintance. Sawney,
indeed, had a most artful method to conceal the real sentiments of
his mind and hide his actions, which in a little time so gained upon
the belief of these strangers, that they could not help taking him
for one of the sincerest men breathing. For it was his custom
sometimes to take them along with him two or three miles out of the
city to partake of some handsome dinner or supper, when he was sure
never to let them be at a far thing expense, but generously
discharge the reckoning himself. The design of all this was to make
his advantage of them, and force them to pay an extravagant interest
for the money he had been out of pocket in treating them. For
constantly were persons planted in one place or other of the road by
his immediate direction, who fell upon them as they returned to the
city, and robbed them of what they had. But the cream of all was,
that to avoid suspicion they always made Sawney their first prize,
and rifled him, who was sure in the morning to obtain his own loss
back again, and a considerable share of the other booty into the
bargain.

  Some time after this our adventurer, with two of his companions,
meeting on the road with three citizens of Edinburgh, affronted them
in a very audacious manner, and threw such language at them as
plainly discovered that either death or bloodshed was near at hand.
He had the impudence to tell the person who seemed the genteellest
and best dressed of the three that the horse he rode on was his, and
had been lately stolen from him, and that he must return it to him,
or else the sword he wore should do him right. Sawney's companions
began with the others after the same manners and would needs force
them to believe that the horses they rode upon were theirs. The
citizens, astonished at this gross piece of impudence, endeavoured
to convince them the horses they rode on were their own, and they
had paid for them, and wondered how they durst pretend to dispute an
affair which was so essentially wrong; but these words were far from
having any effect on Cunningham, and the citizens, in the
conclusion, were forced to dismount and give them their horses, and
money into the bargain, being somewhat satisfied they had suffered
no worse consequences, for Sawney, by this time, was drenched in all
manner of villainy, and bloodshed was now accounted a trifle, so
little value did he set on the lives of any persons.

  Sawney having run a merry course of roguery and villainy in and
about Edinburgh for some time, where he made a considerable
advantage to himself, so that fortune seemed to have requited him
for all the poverty and want he had before endured, determined now
to go home to his wife, and spend the remainder of his days
agreeably with her, on the acquisitions and plunder he had made on
his countrymen. Accordingly he came to Glasgow, where, among a few
acquaintances he conversed with, for he did not care to make himself
too public, he gave signs of amendment, which struck those who knew
him with such astonishment that at first they could hardly be
brought to believe it.

  One night, being in bed with his wife, they had a close discourse
together on all their foregoing life, and the good woman expressed
an extraordinary emotion of joy at the seeming alteration and change
in her husband; she could not imagine what reason to impute it to,
for she had been so much terrified from time to time with his
barbarities that she had no room to think his conversion was real;
neither, on reflecting on the many robberies and murders he had
committed, could she persuade herself that he could so soon abandon
his licentious and wicked courses; for she supposed, if his altered
conduct (as she thought) was real, it was miraculous, and an
original piece of goodness hardly to be met with. The sequel will 
prove that this woman had better notions of her husband than the
rest of his acquaintance and those who knew him, and that she built
all her fears on a solid and good foundation. The proverb says:
"What is bred in the bone wiIl never be out of the flesh"; and this
will be remarkably verified in Cunningham, as we shall endeavour to
show in its proper place. For all the signs he gave of an altered
conduct, and all the plausible hints to rectify his former mistaken
steps, were no other than only to amuse the world into a good
opinion of him, that so he might make his advantage, through this
pretended conversion, with the greater freedom and impunity. And he
was not out in his aim; for it seems, whenever he committed anything
sinister, or to the disadvantage of any of his countrymen, and he
was pitched on as the transgressor, the town would say: "It could
not be, for Mr Cunningham was too much reclaimed from his former
courses ever to give in to them again." I shall insert a very
notable adventure Sawney had with a conjurer, or fortune-teller, to
which end I shall trace it up from the fountain-head, and give my
readers the first cause that induced him to it. When Sawney was an
infant, he was put out to nurse to a poor countrywoman in a little
village a mile or two out of Glasgow. The woman, as the boy grew up,
could not help increasing in her love for him, and he being an
exceeding snotty child, would often say to her neighbours: "Oh, I
shall see this lad a rich man one day!" This saying coming to the
ears of his parents, they would frequently make themselves merry
with it, and thought no more of it than as a pure result of the
nurse's fondling. Sawney, having enriched himself with the spoils
about Edinburgh, actually thought his old nurse's words were
verified, and sent for her to give her a gratification for her
prediction. She came, but Sawney had changed his clothes, so that
the poor woman did not know him at first. He told her that he was an
acquaintance of Mr Cunningham's, who, on her coming, had ordered him
to carry her to Mr Peterson the astrologer's, where she would be
sure to see and speak to him; for he was gone there to get some
information about an affair that nearly concerned him. The nurse and
her pretended conductor went to the fortune-teller's, where,
desiring admittance, Peterson thought they were persons who wanted
his assistance, and bade them sit down when Sawney, taking a freedom
with the reverend old gentleman, as he was known to use with all
mankind, began to give a harangue about astrology, and the laudable
practice of it. "I and this old woman," said he, "are two of the
most accomplished astrologers or fortune-tellers in Scotland; but I
would not, reverend sir, by so saying, seem to depreciate from your
knowledge and understanding in so venerable a science. I came to
communicate a small affair to you, to the end that, not relying on
my judgment and this woman's, I might partake of yours. You are to
know, sir, that from six years of age I have led a very untoward
life, and been guilty of many egregious sins, too numerous to tell
you at present, and what your ears would not care to hear; for my
employment has been to lie with other men's wives, make a share of
other people's money, bilk my lodging, and ruin the vintners; for a
whore and a bottle I have sold the twelve signs in the zodiac, and
all the houses in a horoscope; neither sextile, quartile, nor trine
ever had power over me to keep my hands out of my neighbours'
pockets; and if I had not a profound respect for the persons of my
venerable order and profession, I should call Mercury the ascendant
in the fourth house at this minute, to lug half-a-score pieces of
yours. By my exceeding deep knowledge in astrology I can perfectly
acquaint all manner of persons, except myself, with every occurrence
of their lives; and were it not to frighten yourself, I would
conclude, from the appearance and conjunction of Saturn and Vulcan,
that your worship would be hanged for your profession. But, sir,
though destiny hangs this unfortunate death over your head, it is at
some distance from it, and may be some years before it strikes you.
Is it not surprising that a man shall be able to read the fates of
mankind, and not have any preknowledge of his own? And is it not
extremely afflicting to think that one who has done so much good in
his generation, and assisted so many thousands to the recovery of
things that would have been inevitably lost, without his advice,
should come at last to meet with an ignominious halter, as a fit
recompense for his services? Good heavens! where is the equity of
all this? Certainly, sir, if we are to measure the justice of things
by the laws of reason, we must naturally conclude that laudable and
good actions deserve a laudable and good recompense; but can hanging
be said to be this good recompense? No: but the stars will have it
so, and how can mankind say to the contrary?" Cunningham paused here
a while, and the astrologer and old nurse wondered who in the
devil's name they had got in company with. Mr Peterson could not
help staring, and well he might, at the physiognomy of our
adventurer, And, in spite of himself, began to be in a panic at his
words, which so terribly frightened him. The nurse was in
expectation of seeing Sawney come in every minute, little dreaming
the person she was so near was the man she wanted. Cunningham's
harangue was a medley of inconsistencies and downright banter. It is
true the man had received tolerable education in his youth, and
consequently

might obtain a jingle in several sciences, as is evinced from the
foregoing. "Well, venerable sir," says he, "do not be terrified at
my words, for what cannot be avoided must be submitted to. To put
you out of your pain, I'll tell you a story. A gentleman had a son
who was his darling and consequently trained up in all the virtuous
ways that either money could purchase or good examples teach. The
youth, it seems, took to a kind and laudable course of life, and
gave promising signs of making a fine man; nor indeed were their
expectations deceived, for he led a very exemplary life of prudence,
excellent conduct and good manners, which pleased the parents so
much, that they thought everything they could do for him too little.
But the mother, out of an inexpressible fondness for him, must needs
go to an astrologer, and inquire how the remaining part of his life
must succeed. Accordingly the horoscope is drawn, but a dismal
appearance results from it; it acquaints the mother that her son
shall remain virtuous for two and thirty years, and then be hanged.
'Monstrous and incredible,' says she, 'but I'll take care to secure
him in the right way; or all my care will be to no purpose.' Well,
the family are all soon acquainted with this threatening warning.
The person determined to be the sacrifice is already nine and twenty
years old, and surely they suppose they can easily get the other
three years, when all shall go well with their kinsman. But what
avails all the precaution of mankind? This same son obtains a
commission of a ship, goes to sea, and, acting quite contrary to his
orders, turns pirate, and in an encounter happens to kill a man, for
which, on his return to his native country, he is tried, condemned
and hanged. What think you of this, venerable brother? Is not he a
sad instance of an overruling influence of the stars? But, not to
prolong too much time on a discourse of this nature, let us come to
the purpose. You are now, as I cannot do it myself, to tell me my
fortune, and this old woman is to confront you if you tell me a lie.
There is no excuse to be made in the matter; for, by heavens, on 
your refusal, I'll ease this room of your damnable trumpery, and
send you packing to the devil after them!" These words were enough
to frighten any man out of his senses; nor could Peterson well
discover the intention or drift of his talkative and uneasy
visitant. "What would you be at?" says the astrologer. "Why, do not
you see what a terror you have put that good woman into, who
trembles like an aspen leaf? I am not used, friend, to have persons
come into my house and tell me to my face that I am to be hanged,
and then to confirm it, as you pretend, tell me an old woman's cock-
and-bull story of a young man who went to sea, and was hanged for
robbing, for which he certainly deserved the punishment he met with.
As for telling your fortune, I'll be so plain with you, that you'll
swing in a halter, as sure as your name is "Sawney Cunningham."
"Sawney Cunningham!" quoth the mawk, who straight way throwing her
arms about his neck, began to kiss him very eagerly, and then,
looking earnestly in his face, cried aloud: "O laird! and art thou
Sawney Cunningham? Why, I thought thou wouldst come to be a great
man, thou wast such a Scotty lad!" "Do you see now," says Sawney,
"what a damnable lie you have told me, in impudently acquainting me
that I shall be hanged, when my good prophetess here tells me, I am
a great man; for great men can never be hanged." "I do not care for
what she says, nor you neither, for hanged you'll be, and that in a
month's time, or else there never was a dog hanged in Scotland."
"Pray, brother, how came you to know this, without consulting my
horoscope?" "Know it! Why, your very condition tells me you have
deserved hanging these dozen years, but the laws have been too
favourable to you, else Mr Hamilton's death had been revenged before
this time of day. Now, to convince you of my superior knowledge in
astrology, I mean in telling how far their influence extends over
any man's actions, I will point to you the very action and persons
that will bring you to the gallows. This very day month you shall
go, in spite of all your foresight and endeavour to the contrary, to
pay a visit to Mr William Bean, your uncle by the mother's side, who
is a man of an unblamable character and conversation. Him shall you
kill, and assuredly be hanged." Was there ever such a prophetic or
divining tongue, especially in these modern days, heard of? For the
sequel will presently discover how every circumstance of this
prediction fell out accordingly. Sawney, having observed the air of
gravity wherewith Mr Peterson delivered his words, could not help
falling into a serious reflection about them, and thinking the place
he was in not convenient enough to indulge the thought he found
rising within him, abruptly left the fortune-teller, and giving his
old nurse five shillings returned home.

  But what does he determine on now? After having seriously weighed
on the several particulars of Peterson's words, he could not for his
heart but think that the old man, in order to be even with him for
telling him of being hanged, had only served him in his own coin; so
that, after a few hours, every syllable was vanished out of his
mind, and he resolved to keep up to his usual course of life.

  King James I. sitting on the throne of Scotland at this time, and
keeping his Court at Edinburgh, the greatest part of the Scottish
nobility resided there, when our adventurer used frequently to go to
make the best hand he could of what spoil he found there. The Earl
of Inchiquin, having a considerable post under the King, and several
valuable matters being under his care, had a sentinel assigned, who
constantly kept guard at this lord's lodgings' door. Guards were not
much in fashion at this time, and about two or three hundred in the
same livery were kept only on the establishment. Cunningham having a
desire of breaking into this minister's lodgings, and having no way
so likely to succeed as by putting on a soldier's livery, went in
that dress to the Sentinel, and after some little talk together they
dropped accidentally into some military duty and exercise; which
Cunningham so well displayed that the sentinel, seeming to like his
brother's notions, and smile extraordinarily, it made Cunningham
stay a considerable time, till in the end he asked the sentinel to
partake of two mugs of ale, and put sixpence into his hand to fetch
them from an ale-house at some distance from his post, giving some
reason for it that it was the best drink in the city, and none else
could please his palate half so well as that. Hereupon the sentinel
acquainted him that he could not but know the consequences that
attended leaving his post, and that he had rather enjoy his company
without the ale, than run any risk by fetching it. "Oh!" says our
adventurer, "I am not a stranger to the penalties we incur on such
an action, but there can no harm come of it if I stand in your place
while you are gone." And with that the sentinel gives Cunningham his
musket, and goes to the place directed for the drink; but, on
returning, he must needs fetch a pennyworth of tobacco from the same
place, during which some of our adventurer's companions had broken
into the lord's apartments, and rifled the same of three hundred
pounds' value. Cunningham was, however, so generous as to leave the
sentinel his musket. The poor soldier returns in expectation of
drinking with his friend, and enjoying his company some time longer;
but alas! the bird has flown, and he is taken up to answer for his
forthcoming, and committed to the Tolbooth Prison, where he was kept
nine months in very heavy irons, and had only bread and water all
the while allowed him to subsist on. At length he is tried,
condemned and hanged. Thus did several innocent persons suffer death
for that which ought to have been the portion of our adventurer.

  We draw on to his last scene now, which shall be dispatched with
all the brevity we are masters of. Sawney having thus escaped so
many dangers, and run through so many villainies with impunity, must
needs go to his Uncle Bean's house, who was a very good Christian,
and a reputable man, as we have before observed, to pay him a visit,
with no other design than to boast to him of his late successes, and
how fortune had repaired the injuries his former misconduct and
remissness had done him. He went, and his uncle, with his moral
frankness, bade him sit down, and call for anything his house could
afford him. "Nephew," says he, "I have desired a long time to see an
alteration in your conduct, that I might say I had a nephew worthy
of my acquaintance, and one to whom I might leave my estate, as
deserving of it; but I am acquainted from all hands that you go on
worse and worse, and rather than produce an amendment, abandon
yourself to the worst of crimes." The good old man followed this
with a long exhortation, after which he issued a flood of tears,
which pity and compassion had forced from his eyes; nor could Sawney
forbear shedding a tear or two at hearing. But it was all pretence,
and an imitation of the crocodile; for he was determined to take
this reverend old gentleman out of the world to get possession of
his estate, which, for want of male issue, was unavoidably to
devolve upon him after his death. With this view, after he had made
an end of his exhortation, he steps up and, without once speaking,
thrusts a dagger to his heart, and so ends his life. Thus fell a
venerable old uncle for pronouncing a little seasonable advice to a
monster of a nephew who, finding the servant maid come into the room
at the noise of her master's falling on the floor, cut her throat
from ear to ear, and then to avoid a discovery being made, set fire
to the house, after he had rifled it of all valuable things in it.
But the divine vengeance was resolved not to let this barbarous act
go unpunished; for the neighbourhood, observing a more than ordinary
smoke issuing out of the house, concluded it was on fire, and
accordingly unanimously joined to extinguish it, which they
effectually did, and then going into the house, found Mr Bean and
his maid inhumanly murdered. Our adventurer was got out of the way,
and no one could be found to fix these cruelties upon; but it was
not long before justice overtook Cunningham, who being impeached by
a gang of thieves that had been apprehended, and were privy to
several of his villainies, was taken up and committed a close
prisoner to the Tolbooth, where so many witnesses appeared against
him that he was condemned and hanged for his tricks at Leith, in
company with the same robbers that had sworn against him. When he
went to the place of execution he betrayed no signs of fear, nor
seemed any way daunted at his approaching fate. As he lived, so he
died, valiantly and obstinately to the last, unwilling to have it
said that he, whose hand had been the instrument of so many murders,
proved pusillanimous at the last.

ISAAC ATKINSON

A Highwayman who specialised in robbing Lawyers. Hanged at Tyburn in
1640

ISAAC ATKINSON was the only son of a gentleman of a good estate at
Faringdon in Berkshire. His father took care to put him to the most
celebrated schools in the country, where, with the doctrines, he
imbibed the vices which are too apt to prevail in large seminaries.
At sixteen years of age he was sent to Brazen Nose College in
Oxford, together with others of his school-fellows, where he soon
learned to rail at the statutes of the university and lampoon the
rulers, to wear his clothes after the mode, to curse his tutor, and
sell his books. In a word, he forgot in the second year after his
admittance what, for form's sake, he had condescended to learn in
the first, concluding still that he had knowledge enough for himself
and his posterity after him for ever.

  Everyone may imagine the grief which the good old gentleman went
through. There were no hopes, after such a discovery as this, that
his son would ever get any advantage by being at school; so that,
though he would have given half his estate to make young Isaac what
in reality he once took him to be, he thought it was better to take
him home and employ him in the management of his rural affairs, than
suffer him to spend such a large income to no purpose. Accordingly
he sent to the heads of the college, and procured his discharge,
taking him now into his own care, and constituting him steward in
ordinary.

  Had there been the least spark of grace left in young Atkinson,
his father's indulgence in not punishing his neglect at the
university more severely must have had some effect on him, and have
made him at least more dutiful for the future; but he had hardened
himself, before he was aware, against every tender sentiment, as is
frequently the case with young extravagants; so that this removal
from the academy was but the forerunner of greater misfortunes to
this unhappy youth. In the country he gave himself up to all manner
of sports and diversions, to the entire neglect of his father's
affairs. Nor did he only pursue pastimes in themselves innocent to
excess, but abandoned himself to all manner of lawless delights. Not
a maidservant could live with the old gentleman for the son's
importunities, unless she gave up her honour to his desires. Not a
handsome wife or daughter in the neighbourhood but either submitted
to his pleasure or complained of him to his father. The scandal of
these things was not all; for the old gentleman perceived (what with
bastard children, and paying for other mischievous actions, besides
a continual round of expenses) he should let his son spend all the
substance of the family before his eyes, unless he found some way to
put a stop to these unwarrantable courses.

  The last resource of an injured, abused father was the only one
left for poor old Atkinson, which was to turn his only son out of
doors, and disinherit him. This, to be sure, was hard work to a
parent who hardly knew till lately what it was to be angry with his
child. However, after frequent unsuccessful remonstrances, rather
than be entirely ruined, he put the first part of this sentence in
execution upon him, and threatened him very hardly with the other;
though in his mind he was determined to defer it till he saw what
effect his exile would have upon Isaac's behaviour.

  Now was our young hero turned into the wide world, with but a very
small matter of money in his pocket, and not a friend to apply to;
such was the character which his extravagances had procured him
amongst his relations. These desperate circumstances determined him,
when the little he had was gone, to get possessed of more by any
means whatsoever, whether lawful or unlawful. Atkinson came up to
London, where the vices of the place soon drained him of all his
money. Now was he so put to his shifts again, that he was obliged to
return into the country, where he committed several petty robberies
to support him till he came to his father's house. He had been long
sensible that he must never expect to re-enter those once hospitable
doors with his father's consent, at least till he had given manifest
proof of a thorough reformation.

  To enter the windows therefore, without asking any leave at all,
was now his resolution. In order to this, he skulked about
unobserved till the family was gone to bed, and then very easily got
into the kitchen, as there were no shutters to oppose him. He found
means here to get possessed of about fifty pounds in silver, and one
hundred and twenty broad-pieces of gold; five of the latter he
wrapped up in a copy of verses, which were ready written in his
pocket, and put them into his father's clasped Bible. The verses
were:

Sir, you your son did often bully,

Because he never read in Tully;

What parents teach they ought to practise,

And I confess your test exact is 'Tis just to turn it on yourself

Your Bible stands upon the shelf;

The gold is yours, if you unclose it;

Else I shall find the dear deposit

Safe in a place by all forgotten,

When you, good man, are dead and rotten."

  What a graceless, hopeless young heir was here! -- first to rob
his father, and then to banter him in this ludicrous manner. Anyone
may imagine what was the consequence of all this, as soon as the old
gentleman discovered the writing. A lawyer was sent for, and the
estate was given, after old Atkinson's demise, to a near kinsman,
who had a very large income before, and knew how to make use of it
to his own advantage as well as any man in England. Shortly after
this the old gentleman died with grief, and Isaac had the
mortification to see another in possession of what he had forfeited
by his extravagances.

  Besides the money, he took the best horse in his father's stable
to bring him to London. It happened to be Sunday when he came
through Uxbridge, and a whim came into his head that he would put up
his horse and go to church. The parson took for his text these words
of the Apostle Paul: "For ye know that the day of the Lord cometh as
a thief in the night" (i Thes. V. 2). The sermon was full of zealous
and pious exhortations to a timely preparation for the great and
terrible day; so that any man less hardened in impiety than Atkinson
was, must have gone away deeply affected. But he, instead of that,
made it his business to dog the parson home after church was done;
and was very well pleased when he saw him go across the fields
alone. About half-a-mile out of town Isaac stops the reverend priest
and demands his money. The good man was sufficiently surprised, and
desired to know his meaning. "I mean," says Isaac, "to let you know
that all thieves do not come in the night; so the next time you
preach, you may tell the people that the day of the Lord cometh like
a thief at noon, which, in my opinion, is a much better simile. For
at night we are apt to expect thieves; but who the devil ever feared
being robbed at noonday so near a town?" The parson, notwithstanding
his logic, was obliged to concede both to his argument and demand. A
good silver watch and about one pound eighteen shillings were
delivered. After which Atkinson carried his reverence as far as he
could out of the path, and there bound him, and left him, while he
got off towards London unsuspected.

  Another time he met with the famous Noy, Attorney-General to King
Charles I., on horseback. As he knew him very well, he was resolved
to accost him in his own language: "Sir," says he, "I have a writ of
Capias ad Computandum against you, which requires an account of all
the money in your pocket." Noy was a merry man naturally, and he was
sure it would do him little service to be sour upon this occasion,
so he pleasantly asked our desperado by what authority he acted.
Isaac, upon this, pulled out a brace of pistols, and told him that
those weapons had as much authority in them as any tipstaff in
England, which he should be convinced of, if he made any delays. The
Attorney-General had no more to say, but very contentedly gave him a
purse well lined, and then they parted with mutual compliments.

  Atkinson was in general the greatest plague to the lawyers of any
highwayman that ever was in England. He had the impudence to follow
the circuits, and rob all of that profession that ever came in his
way. It is reported that once in less than eight months he stopped
above one hundred and sixty attorneys only in the county of Norfolk, 
and took from them upwards of three thousand pounds. He was so
intrepid as frequently to assault three, four or five men himself,
and so successful as always to escape, till the unfortunate action
that brought him to Tyburn. But almost all our celebrated robbers
have been taken in a very silly manner.

  He met a market-woman upon Turnham Green, with a bag of halfpence
in her lap. He eyed the bag as he passed by her, and supposing it to
be a larger booty than it really was, returned and bid her deliver.
The woman, being of a bold daring spirit, immediately tossed the bag
over a hedge on the roadside, and made the best of her way towards
Brentford. Atkinson thought it much better to secure the money than
to be revenged on the woman; so alighting, and hanging his horse's
bridle to a stump, he went over the hedge. It seems his horse had
taken a fancy to the poor woman's mare, for he instantly got loose
and ran after her, neighing and snuffing up the wind. The market-
woman looked back, and observed the particulars, which she related
as soon as she came into Brentford. Half-a-score of men immediately
went out after poor Isaac, and it was not long before they found him
in a field, unable to make his escape by reason of a great pair of
jack-boots which he could not get off; nor had he any knife to cut
them down. When he saw himself surrounded he pulled out several
pocket-pistols and discharged them; so that he killed four of the
men on the spot, and afterwards mortally wounded another with a
hanger, which he wore by his side. But there were still enough left
to secure him, which at last they did.

  Being carried before a magistrate, he was committed to Newgate,
where, and at the Old Bailey, he behaved with intolerable insolence.
After condemnation he continued to scoff at the ordinary, and turn
all his wholesome admonitions into ridicule.

  When the day for his execution was come, he desperately stabbed
himself with a pen-knife; but the wound not proving mortal he was
afterwards carried to Tyburn, and hanged, in the year 1640, being
twenty-six years of age.

  As he was such a noted highwayman, and was besides known to be a
gentleman and a scholar, it was generally expected he would at least
have left a speech behind him in writing; but instead of that, he
only stood up at the gallows and said: "Gentlemen, there's nothing
like a merry life, and a short one."

WILLAM BRANDON ALIAS JACK KETCH
 Who beheaded King Charles the First.

 IN various instances, it will be observed, that as we handle
 ancient records, and turn over musty leaves of books, which treat of 
the final sentence of the law, we seize upon each scrap which can
 possibly interest our readers,. Though the present case goes beyond the
 time in which we first date our chronology, yet so remarkable a
 historical anecdote, cannot, we think, be deemed an intrusion.

 When King Charles I. was doomed to death by the mock tribunal,
 and self-created judges, the tools of the usurper, Oliver Cromwell, a
 man named Richard Brandon was the common executioner in London; and, as
 it were, to heap additional degradation on the head of the royal
 martyr, he was ordered to perform the bloody work.

 Brandon survived the death of the king but a very short time,
 having, as it was said, been seized with such severe compunction for
 being the instrument of the fatal deed, that he could never after look
 up and smile in the face of heaven. He, died on Wednesday the 20th of
 June, 1649, being within five months of the day of the martyrdom.

 "The Sunday before Brandon's death," said the old accounts, " a
 young man of his acquaintance being to visit him, asked him how he did;
 and if he was not troubled in conscience, for cutting off the King's
 head. Brandon replied; yes, because he was at the King's trial, and
 heard the sentence denounced against him; which caused the said Brandon
 to make this solemn vow or protestation, viz. "Wishing God to perish
 his body and soul, if he ever appeared on the scaffold to do the act,
 or lift up his hand against him." And he further declared, that "he was
 no sooner on the scaffold (to do that wicked act) but he immediately
 felt a trembling, and ever since, to his death, continued. in the like
 agony."

 "He likewise confessed, that he had thirty pounds* for his pains,
 and all paid him in half crowns, within an hour after the fatal blow
 was struck, and that he took an orange stuck full of cloves, and a
 handkerchief, out of the King's coat-pocket. As soon as he had
 descended from the scaffold, he was proffered twenty shillings for that
 orange, by a gentleman in Whitehall, but he refused the same, and
 afterwards sold it for ten shillings in Rosemary-lane.

 "About six o'clock that evening, he returned to his wife, living
 in Rosemary-lane, and gave her the money, saying, it was the dearest
 money he ever earned in his life, which prophetical words were soon
 made manifest. About three days before his death, he lay speechless,
 uttering many a sigh and heavy groan, and in a most deplorable manner
 departed his bed of sorrow.

 "For his burial, great store of wine was sent by the sheriffs of
 the city of London, and a great multitude of people stood waiting, to
 see his corpse carried to the church-yard; some crying out, hang him,
 the rogue, bury him in a dung-hill; others pressed upon the coffin,
 saying, 'they would quarter him, for executing the King;' insomuch that
 the church-wardens and overseers were fain to come for the suppressing
 them, and with great difficulty he was at last carried to Whitechapel
 church-yard, having a bunch of rosemary at the end of the coffin, and
 on the top thereof, a rope, tied across, from one end to the other.
 
 "The man who waited on this executioner, when he gave the fatal
 blow to the King, was a rag-man in Rosemary-lane."

 [*Note: According to the present difference of the value of
 money, this was an enormous fee, and may be calculated not much short
 of one hundred pounds; and this shews the difficulty which the
 regicides found to get a man to do so foul a deed.]

 Editor's Note: For an alternative identification of the
 executioner, see the appendix on the Maiden, or Scottish Guillotine.



PATRICK FLEMMING

An Irish Highwayman who held Sway near the Bog of Allen and, after
numerous Murders, was executed On 24th of April, 1650

 PATRICK FLEMMING was a native of Ireland, and born at Athlone,
which is remarkably situated in the counties of East and West Meath,
as well as in the provinces of Leinster and Connaught. His parents
rented a potato garden of about fifteen shillings per annum, upon
the produce of which, and the increase of their geese, hens, pigs,
etc., they wholly depended for the subsistence of themselves and
nine children. They, and their whole family of swine, poultry and
progeny, all took up their lodging at night not only under the same
roof, but in the same room; according to the practice of abundance
of their country-people, who build only for necessity, without any
idea of what we call beauty and order. One may guess from the
circumstances of the father that the son had small share of liberal
education, though he had the most claim to it of any one of the
children, as he was the eldest. But what he wanted in acquirements
was made up with impudence, a quality which in most ignorant people
happily fills up their void of knowledge.  When he was about
thirteen years of age the Countess of Kildare took him into her
service, in the capacity of foot-boy; and finding him so utterly
destitute of learning, she was so indulgent as to put him to school.
But instead of being grateful to her ladyship in improving his time
to the best advantage, he was entirely negligent, and discovered no
inclination to his book. His lady admonished him frequently, but to
no purpose; for he grew not only careless but insolent, till at
last, being found incorrigible, he was discharged from the family. 
It was not long, however, before he was so fortunate as to get to be
a domestic of the Earl of Antrim's; but here his behaviour was worse
than before. He was a scandal to the whole family, for the little
wit he had was altogether turned on mischief. His Lord bore it a
pretty while, notwithstanding the repeated complaints of his fellow 
servants, and took no notice so long as he could avoid it; but at
last this nobleman also was obliged to turn him out of doors; and
this was the occasion. The Earl of Antrim was a Roman Catholic, and
kept a priest in the house as his chaplain and confessor, to whom
every one of the servants was required to pay great respect.
Patrick, on account of his disorderliness, was often reproved by
this gentleman, and he received it very well, till one day he
happened to find the holy father asleep in some private part of the
house in a very indecent pose, whereupon he went and got all the
family to that place, and showed them what he had discovered as a
revenge upon the parson, who at that instant awoke. With respect to
the servants this had the desired effect, and exposed the priest to
ridicule. But the earl, when he heard it, took the part of his
chaplain, believed the story a slander, and immediately gave
Flemming a discharge, as desired. Patrick found means, however,
before he entirely left the neighbourhood, to rob his lordship of
money and plate to the value of about two hundred pounds, with which
he fled to Athenrea, in the province of Connaught.  He hid himself
here in a little hut that he found for ten or twelve days, till he
imagined the hue and cry after him might be over, and then made the
best of his way to Dublin, where he soon entered into a gang of
housebreakers, and during the space of six years was concerned in
more robberies than had ever before been committed in that city in
the memory of man.  While he continued in Dublin he was twice in
danger of being hanged for his offences, which were so great as to
make him the subject of public conversation all over the city. He
now perceived he began to be too well known to stay there any longer
in safety, and so he retired into the country and turned highwayman.
The chief place of his haunt was about the Bog of Allen, where he
attacked almost all who passed that way, of whatever quality;
telling them that he was absolute lord of that road, and had a right
to demand contribution of all that travelled it, and to punish those
with death who refused to comply; therefore, if they had any regard
for their lives, he advised them to deliver what they had peaceably,
and not put him to the trouble of exerting his prerogative. By these
means he became more dreaded in the counties where he robbed than
any thief of his time, for he not only threatened those with death
who disputed with him, but actually murdered several, and used many
others with abundance of barbarity.  It is reported that in a few
days he robbed one hundred and twenty five men and women upon the
mountain of Barnsmoor, near which is a wood which they call
Colorockedie, where he had assembled a numerous gang, out of which
not a few at several times were taken and executed. Persons of
quality he usually addressed in their own style, and told them he
was as well bred as they, and therefore they must subscribe towards
maintaining him according to his rank and dignity.  Among the
principal persons whom he stopped and robbed were the Archbishop of
Armagh and the Bishop of Rapho, both in one coach; the Archbishop of
Tuam; and the Lady Baltimore, with her young son, a child of four
years old, whom he took from her, and obliged her to send him a
ransom within twenty four hours, or else, he told her, he would cut
the young puppy's throat and make a pie of him. From the Archbishop
of Tuam he got a thousand pounds. After this he fled into Munster,
and continued the same trade there, till he was apprehended for
robbing a nobleman of two hundred and fifty pounds, or which fact he
was carried to Cork and committed to prison.  But even now they were
far from having him so safe as they imagined; for the county jail
was not strong enough to hold him. He was no sooner confined than
his eyes were about him, and his head plotting an escape. At last he
found means to get up a chimney and, by removing some few obstacles,
to get out at the top, and so avoid hanging for that offence.  He
followed his villainies for some years after his breaking out of
prison, during which time he murdered five men, two women and a boy
of fourteen years old. Besides which he mangled and wounded a great
many others; in particular, Sir Donagh O'Brien, whose nose, lips and
ears he cut off, for making some small resistance while he robbed
him. At last he was apprehended by the landlord of a house where he
used to drink, near Mancoth. The landlord sent advice to the sheriff
of the county when he would be there with several of his associates,
and the sheriff, according to the instruction, came one evening with
a strong guard, and beset the house. Patrick and his company would
have defended themselves, but the landlord had taken care to wet all
their fire arms and prevent their going off, by which means they
became useless; and our desperado, with fourteen more, was taken,
carried to Dublin, and there executed, on Wednesday, the 24th of
April, in the year 1650. After which Patrick Flemming was hanged in
chains on the high road a little without the city.

CAPTAIN ZACHARY HOWARD

A Royalist who lost his Estates and turned Highwayman. Executed 1652

 THIS unhappy person was a gentleman born and bred. He came to an
estate in Gloucestershire, of fourteen hundred pounds per annum,
just about the breaking out of the Civil War in 1641, his father
dying that year. A sincere love of loyalty and allegiance inspiring
him with the gallantry of fighting for his King and country, he soon
mortgaged his estate for twenty thousand pounds, with which he
raised a troop of horse for the service of King Charles I., who gave
him the command of them. He remained in the army till the republican
party became sole conqueror, and triumphed over religion and
monarchy, when he, with many other Cavaliers, was obliged to retire
into exile, for fear of the prevailing power.

 It was not long that he continued abroad before he returned to
England with King Charles II., on whom he attended at Worcester
fight, where he performed wonders to the honour of the Royal army,
and more especially to his own glory and praise; for he was even
taken notice of and applauded by his Majesty himself, who also that
day showed himself worthy of the crown he fought for, by his
uncommon courage. Everyone knows that the Parliamentarians carried
the field in this engagement, and that his Majesty escaped with much
difficulty, by hiding himself in an oak in Warwickshire, whence,
after six weeks' wandering up and down, he at length found a passage
into France. We need not add that he continued twelve years in
foreign countries, and that he was afterwards restored to the throne
of his ancestors by the general consent of the nation. Zachary
Howard, in the meantime, remained in England, and having lost his
estate, and being out of all employment, he could find no other way
of supporting himself than by robbing on the highway -- a very
indifferent method indeed, but what a great many gentlemen in those
days were either obliged to take to, or to want bread.  It is said
of Howard that when he resolved on this course of life, he did like
Hind, and some others of his contemporaries, in swearing he would be
revenged, as far as lay in his power, on all persons who were
against the interest of his Royal master. Accordingly we are told
that he attacked all whom he met and knew to be of that party. It
appears too by the following accounts that he succeeded in hunting
out those regicides.  The first whom he assaulted on the road was
the Earl of Essex, who had been general-in-chief of all the
Parliament's forces. His lordship was riding over Bagshot Heath,
with five or six in retinue; nevertheless Zachary rode boldly up to
the coach door, commanded the driver to stand, and my lord to
deliver, adding, that if he did not comply with his demand without
words, neither he nor any of his servants should have any quarter.
It was unaccountable how a general, who had been always used to
success, with so many attendants, should be terrified at the menaces
of a single highwayman. But so it was, that his Honour gave him
twelve hundred pounds which he had in the coach, and which had been
squeezed out of forfeited estates, church lands and sequestrations,
not being willing to venture his life for such a trifle at a time
when the party had such a plentiful harvest to reap. Zachary was so
well contented with his booty that he let the rebellious nobleman
pass without punishing him any further for his disloyalty, only
desiring him to get such another sum together against meeting him
again in some other convenient place. Another time he overtook, on
Newmarket Heath, the factious Earl of P -- ---, so famous for his
comical speeches in the House of Commons. Only one footman attended
his Honour, and Zachary, going in company with them, held his
lordship in discourse for about half-a-mile, when, coming to a place
proper for his design, he pulled out a pistol, and spoke the
terrifying precept, with the addition of a whole volley of oaths,
what he would do to him if he did not surrender that minute. "You
seem," says the earl, "by your swearing, to be a ranting Cavalier.
Have you taken a lease of your life, sir, that you dare venture it
thus against two men?" Howard answered: "I would venture it against
two more, with your idol Cromwell at the head of you,
notwithstanding the great noise he has made." "Oh," says P -- ---,
"he's a precious man, and has fought the Lord's battles with
success." Zachary replied with calling Oliver and all his crew a
company of dastardly cowards; and putting his lordship in mind that
talking bred delays, and delays are dangerous. "Therefore," says he,
"out with your purse this moment, or I shall out with your soul, if
you have any."  The earl still delaying, Howard dismounted him, by
shooting his horse, and then took from him a purse full of broad-
pieces of gold, and a rich diamond ring; then making him mount
behind his man, he tied them back to back, and in that condition
left them. My lord rode swearing, cursing and damning to the next
town, with his face towards the horse's tail, when a great multitude
of people gathered about him; some laughing, others wondering at his
riding in that preposterous manner, till he declared the occasion,
and the people very civilly released him.  One time Fairfax, who was
also general of the Parliament army after Essex, being with some
forces in the county of Northumberland, took up his own quarters at
Newcastle-upon-Tyne at the same time that Howard chanced to be in
the same town. It came to the captain's ear that Fairfax was about
to send a man to his lady with some plate which had been presented
to him by the mayor and aldermen of that corporation, so that when
the day came that the fellow set out with the prize, our highwayman
also took leave of Newcastle, and rode after the Roundhead servant.
He overtook him on the road, and fell into deep discourse with him
about the present times, which Howard seemed as well pleased with as
the other, who took him really for an honest fellow, as he seemed,
and offered still to bear him Company. They baited, dined, supped
and lay together, and so continued

in this friendly manner till the messenger came within a day's
journey of the seat where his lady resided. Next morning being the
last day they were to be together, Howard thought it was now high
time to execute his design, which he did with a great deal of
difficulty. Being come to a place proper to act his part in, Zachary
pulled out his commission, and commanded the fellow to deliver the
portmanteau, in which was the plate, to the value of two hundred and
fifty pounds. The other, being as resolute to preserve as Howard was
to take it from him, refused to comply; whereupon a sharp combat
ensued between them, in which the captain had his horse shot under
him, after a discharge of two or three pistols on either side. The
encounter still listed, for our highwayman continued to fire on
foot, till he shot his adversary through the head, which occasioned
him to fall, and breathe his last in a moment.  When Howard saw the
man dead, he thought it his best way to get off the ground as fast
as he could; so nimbly mounting the remaining horse, which carried
the treasure, he rode about five miles from the place where the fact
was committed, and then deposited the portmanteau in a hollow tree,
and went to dinner at the next town. From thence he made the best of
his way to Faringdon in Berkshire, where Madam Fairfax was, and
whither the fellow he had killed was bound. He reached thither that
evening, and delivered the following letter to the lady, which he
had found in the pockets of the deceased. NEWCASTLE UPON TYNE, Aug.
12, 1650.

MY DEAR, Hoping that you and my daughter Elizabeth, are in good
health, this comes to acquaint you that my presence is so agreeable
to the inhabitants of this place, that the mayor and aldermen have
presented me with a large quantity of plate, which I have sent to
you by my man Thomas, a new servant; whom I would have you treat
very kindly, he being recommended to me by several gentlemen as a
very honest, worthy man. The Lord be praised, I am very well, and
earnestly long for the happiness of enjoying your company, which I
hope to do within this month or five weeks at farthest. In the
meantime, I subscribe myself, your loving husband, till death,
FAIRFAX.  The lady, learning by the contents that a parcel of plate
was sent by the bearer, inquired of him where it was. Her supposed
man readily told her that he was in danger of being robbed of it on
such a heath by some suspicious persons, and that therefore, lest he
should meet with the same men again, or others like them, he had
lodged his charge in the hands of a substantial innkeeper at such a
town; from whence he could fetch it in two days. This pretence of
his carefulness pleased his new mistress very much, and confirmed
the character which her husband had sent; so that she made very much
of him, and desired him to go to bed betimes, that he might rest
from the fatigues of his journey.  The whole family at this time
consisted only of the lady, her daughter, two maids, and two men-
servants. No sooner were all these gone to their repose than Howard
arose, dressed himself, and with sword and pistol in hand went into
the servants' apartments, whom he threatened with present death if
they made the least noise. All four of these he tied with the bed-
cords, and gagged them. Having secured these, whom he most feared,
he went into Mrs Fairfax's chamber, and served her and her daughter
as he had done the servants: then he ravished them both, beginning
with the daughter, and next proceeded to make a strict scrutiny into
the trunks, boxes and chests of drawers finding in all two thousand
broad-pieces of gold and some silver, with which he departed to his
portmanteau in the tree, which he also carried off.  After he had
committed this robbery and murder there was a proclamation issued
out by the Commonwealth, promising five hundred pounds to anyone who
should apprehend him; whereupon, to avoid being taken, he fled into
Ireland, where he continued his former courses till, being grown as
notorious there as in England, he thought it advisable to return. He
landed at Highlake, and came to the city of Chester at the same time
that Oliver Cromwell lay there with a party of horse, putting up in
the same inn where that arch-traitor had taken up his quarters. Here
he passed for a gentleman who was going to travel into foreign
countries for his improvement, and behaved himself agreeably to such
a character, spending his money with a great deal of profuseness. 
He moreover counterfeited himself a Roundhead, and frequently spoke
against the Royal family, applauding the murder of King Charles I.
up to the skies. By this means he got familiar with Cromwell, who
was so taken with his conversation that he would seldom dine or sup
without him, or hardly suffer him to be ever out of his company.
About a fortnight after this acquaintance between them was
confirmed, Howard went one morning very early to pay old Nol a visit
in his bedchamber, which was on the same floor with his own. He
found an easy admittance, and the hypocritical villain desired, that
as he had come before he had been at prayers, would he please to
join with him in that exercise. Zachary consented; but no sooner was
Cromwell down upon his marrow-bones than he knocked him down with
the butt-end of a pistol, presenting it afterwards to his breast,
and swearing that if he did but attempt to make the least noise he
would shoot him through the heart, though he were sure to be hanged
for it the next minute on the sign-post before the door. These
terrifying words struck the republican hero with such a panic fear
that he permitted the assaulter to do what he pleased, who thereupon
gagged him, and bound him hand and foot. After this he rifled a
couple of trunks, out of which he took about eleven hundred
jacobuses, and then taking the pan out of a close-stool that stood
in the room, which happened to be pretty well filled, he clapped it
on the head of the rebel, crowning him in such a manner as he
deserved. Having finished what he designed, he went hastily
downstairs and mounted his horse, which he had before ordered to be
ready, under pretence of some urgent business a few miles out of
town.  By this means he got clear off before Oliver, who fell to
knocking as soon as he thought the enemy safe, could make anybody
hear him.  At last several of the family went upstairs, and were
guided by their noses to where the poor general sat, in the
miserable pickle we have described, unable to move out of the place.
Some of them, at first sight, thought he had put his headpiece on,
till the nauseous filth, which ran down his face and shoulders
convinced them of their mistake, and made them speedily unbind him. 
As soon as he was loose, and pretty well wiped, he fell upon his
knees to give thanks for so signal a deliverance from the fury of a
wicked Cavalier, for such he now believed Howard to be.  Within a
week after this, Howard sent Oliver a letter, wherein he signified
that he was in good health, and that what he had done was only to
make him reflect that, notwithstanding his great successes, his life
was still in the power of any single man who would be bold enough to
execute justice. Then he made very merry with the old villain about
the condition he had left him in, adding that he would have him for
the future be more cautious how he entered into friendship with a
man before he knew him. "For," says he, "the cruelties of you and
your party have made us like yourselves; so that the bravest
gentlemen in the kingdom are glad to turn hypocrites, either to
secure themselves, or be nobly revenged, as I have been."  Our
captain enjoyed his liberty but a very little time after this
exploit, for venturing one day to attack half-a- dozen republican
officers together, as they were riding over Blackheath, he was
overpowered by their number; and though he vigorously defended
himself, so as to kill one and wound two more of them, he was at
last taken by the remaining three. These were soon assisted by
several passengers who came by, and joined in carrying this bold
robber before a magistrate, who forthwith committed him to Maidstone
jail. Thither Oliver went to see him, and insulted him with a great
many reproaches. To all which Howard replied with his usual bravery
and wit, to the utter confusion of poor Nol.  When he came on his
trial at the ensuing assizes he had evidences enough appear against
him to have convicted him if he had had twenty lives to have lost.
Not only the officers who took him, but even Cromwell himself, and
General Fairfax's wife and daughter gave in their depositions,
besides a vast number of others whom he had robbed at several times.
So that he was sentenced for two rapes, two murders, and as many
robberies, to be hanged till he was dead.  When he came to the place
of execution, apparelled all in white, he confessed himself guilty
of everything he stood charged with; but declared he was sorry for
nothing but the murders he had committed. Yet even these, he said,
appeared to him the less criminal when he considered the persons on
whom they were acted. He professed further, that if he were
pardoned, and at liberty again, he would never leave off robbing the
Roundheads, so long as there were any of them left in England.  What
was most remarkable at Howard's death was his smiling on Oliver, who
came into the country on purpose to see the last of him, with an air
of scorn and contempt, telling him that if he had had his reward he
had been in the same circumstances as he himself was now in several
years ago.  He ended his life in 1652, being thirty-two years of
age.



CAPTAIN JAMES HIND

A Famous Highwayman who robbed Roundheads and even made an Attempt
on Cromwell. Executed 24th of September, 1652

 THE father of Captain Hind was a saddler, an inhabitant of
Chipping-Norton in Oxfordshire, where the captain was born. The old
man lived there many years in very good reputation among his
neighbours, was an honest companion, and a constant churchman. As
James was his only son, he was willing to give him the best
education he was able, and to that purpose sent him to school till
he was fifteen years of age, in which time he learned to read and
write very well, and knew arithmetic enough to make him capable of
any common business.  After this he was put apprentice to a butcher
in his native town, where he served about two years of his time, and
then ran away from his master, who was a very morose man, and
continually finding something or another to quarrel with him about. 
When he made this elopement he applied immediately to his mother for
money to carry him up to London, telling her a lamentable story of
the hardships he had suffered from his master's severity. Mothers
are generally easily wrought upon with stories of that kind; she
therefore very tenderly supplied him with three pounds for his
expenses, and sent him away with tears in her eyes.  He had not been
long in London before he got a relish of the pleasures of the place
(pleasures I call them in compliance with the opinion of gentlemen
of the captain's taste) -- I mean the enjoyment of his bottle and
his mistress; both which, as far as his circumstances would allow,
he pursued very earnestly. One night he was taken in company with a
woman of the town, who had just before picked a gentleman's pocket
of five guineas, and sent with her to the Poultry Compter till
morning, when he was released for want of any evidence against him,
he having in reality no hand in the affair. The woman was committed
to Newgate. The captain by this accident fell into company with one
Thomas Allen, a noted highwayman, who had been put into the Compter
upon suspicion of some robbery, and was released at the same time
with Hind, and for the same reason. These two men going to drink
together after their confinement, they contracted a friendship which
was the ruin of them both.  Their first adventure was at Shooters
Hill, where they met with a gentleman and his servant. Hind being
perfectly raw and inexperienced, his companion was willing to have a
proof of his courage, and therefore stayed at some distance while
the captain rode up and, singly, took from them fifteen pounds; but
returned the gentleman twenty shillings, to bear his expenses on the
road, with such a pleasant air that the gentleman protested he would
never hurt a hair of his head if it should at any time be in his
power. Allen was prodigiously pleased both with the bravery and
generosity of his new comrade, and they mutually swore to stand by
one another to the utmost of their power.  It was about the time
that the inhuman and unnatural murder of King Charles I. was
perpetrated at his own palace gate, by the fanatics of that time,
when our two adventurers began their progress on the road. One part
of their engagement together was like Captain Stafford's resolution,
never to spare any of the regicides that came in their way. It was
not long before they met the grand usurper, Cromwell, as he was
coming from Huntingdon, the place of his nativity, to London. Oliver
had no less than seven men in his train, who all came immediately
upon their stopping the coach and overpowered our two heroes; so
that poor Tom Allen was taken on the spot, and soon after executed,
and it was with a great deal of difficulty that Hind made his
escape, who resolved from this time to act with a little more
caution. He could not, however, think of quitting a course of life
which he had just begun to taste, and which he found so profitable. 
The captain rode so hard to get out of danger after this adventure
with Cromwell that he killed his horse, and he had not at that time
money enough to buy another. He resolved, therefore, to procure one
as soon as possible, and to this purpose tramped it along the road
on foot. It was not long before he saw a horse hung to a hedge with
a brace of pistols before him; and looking round him, he observed on
the other side of the hedge a gentleman untrussing a point. "This is
my horse," says the captain, and immediately vaults into the saddle.
The gentleman calling to him, and telling him that the horse was his
-- "Sir," says Hind, "you may think yourself well off that I have
left you all the money in your pockets to buy another, which you had
best lay out before I meet you again, lest you should be worse
used." So he rode away in search of new adventures.  There is
another story of the captain's getting himself remounted, which I
have seen in a printed account of his life. Being reduced to the
humble capacity of a footpad, he hired a common hack from a man who
made it his business to let out horses, and took the road on his
back. He was overtaken (for he was not able to overtake anybody) by
a gentleman well mounted, with a portmanteau behind him. They fell
into discourse upon such topics as are common to travellers, and
Hind was very particular in praising the gentleman's horse, till the
gentleman repeated everything his horse could do. There was upon the
side of the road a wall, over which was another way, and the
gentleman told Hind that his horse could leap that wall. Hind
offered to lay a bottle of it; upon which the gentleman attempted
and accomplished what he proposed. The captain confessed he had lost
his wager, but desired the gentleman to let him try if he would do
the same with him upon his back, which the gentleman consenting to,
the captain rode away with his portmanteau, and left him to return
his horse to the owner.  Another time Captain Hind met the
celebrated regicide, Hugh Peters, in Enfield Chase, and commanded
him to deliver his money. Hugh, who had his share of confidence,
began to lay about him with texts of Scripture, and to cudgel our
bold robber with the eighth commandment. "It is written in the Law,"
says he, "that thou shalt not steal. And furthermore, Solomon, who
was surely a very wise man, speaketh in this manner: 'Rob not the
poor, because he is poor.'" Hind was willing to answer the finished
old cant in his own strain; and for that end began to rub up his
memory for some of the scraps of the Bible which he had learned by
heart in his minority. "Verily," said Hind, "if thou hadst regarded
the divine precepts as thou oughtest to have done, thou wouldst not
have wrested them to such an abominable and wicked sense as thou
didst the words of the prophet, when he saith, 'Bind their kings
with chains, and their nobles with fetters of iron.' Didst thou not,
thou detestable hypocrite, endeavour from these words to aggravate
the misfortunes of thy Royal master, whom thy accursed republican
party unjustly murdered before the door of his own palace?" Here
Hugh Peters began to extenuate that horrid crime, and to allege
other parts of Scripture in his defence, and in order to preserve
his money. "Pray, sir," replied Hind, "make no reflections on my
profession; for Solomon plainly says, 'Do not despise a thief'; but
it is to little purpose for us to dispute. The substance of what I
have to say is this: deliver thy money presently, or else I shall
send thee out of the world to thy master in an instant."  These
terrible words of the captain frightened the old Presbyterian in
such a manner that he gave him thirty broad-pieces of gold, and then
they parted. But Hind was not thoroughly satisfied with letting such
a notorious enemy to the Royal cause depart in so easy a manner. He
therefore rode after him, full speed, and overtaking him, spoke as
follows: -- "Sir, now I think of it, I am convinced that this
misfortune has happened to you because you did not obey the words of
the Scripture, which say expressly, 'Provide neither gold, nor
silver, nor brass in your purses for your journey '; whereas it is
evident that you had provided a pretty deal of gold. However, as it
is now in my power to make you fulfil another command, I would by no
means slip the opportunity. Therefore pray give me your cloak."
Peters was so surprised that he stood neither to dispute nor to
examine what was the drift of Hind's demand; but Hind soon let him
understand his meaning when he added: "You know, sir, our Saviour
has commanded, that if any man take away thy cloak, thou must not
refuse thy coat also; therefore I cannot suppose you will act in
direct contradiction to such an express direction, especially now
you, can't pretend you have forgot it, because I have reminded you
of your duty." The old Puritan shrugged his shoulders for some time
before he proceeded to uncase them; but Hind told him his delay
would do him no service, for he would be punctually obeyed, because
he was sure what he requested was consonant to the Scripture.
Accordingly Hugh Peters delivered his coat, and Hind carried all
off.  Next Sunday when Hugh came to preach he chose an invective
against theft for the subject of his sermon, and took his text in
the Canticles, chap. v, 3: "I have put off my coat, how shall I put
it on." An honest Cavalier who was present, and knew the occasion of
his choosing these words, cried out aloud: "Upon my word, sir, I
believe there is nobody here can tell you, unless Captain Hind was
here!" Which ready answer to Hugh Peter's scriptural question put
the congregation into such an excessive fit of laughter that the
fanatic parson was ashamed of himself, and descended from his
prattling box without proceeding any further in his harangue.  It
has been observed before that Hind was a professed enemy to all the
regicides; and, indeed, fortune was so favourable to his desires as
to put one or other of those celebrated villains often into his
power.  He met one day with that arch-traitor, Sergeant Bradshaw,
who had some time before the insolence to sit as judge of his lawful
Sovereign, and to pass sentence of death upon his Majesty. The place
where this rencounter happened was upon the road between Sherborne
and Shaftesbury, in Dorsetshire. Hind rode up to the coach side and
demanded the sergeant's money; who, supposing his name would carry
terror with it, told him who he was. Quoth Hind: "I fear neither you
nor any king-killing son of a whore alive. I have now as much power
over you as you lately had over the King, and I should do God and my
country good service if I made the same use of it; but live,
villain, to suffer the pangs of thine own conscience; till Justice
shall lay her iron hand upon thee, and require an answer for thy
crimes in a way more proper for such a monster, who art unworthy to
die by any hands but those of the common hangman, and at any other
place than Tyburn. Nevertheless, though I spare thy life as a
regicide, be assured that, unless thou deliverest thy money
immediately, thou shalt die for thy obstinacy."

 Bradshaw began to be sensible that the case was not now with him,
as it had been when he sat at Westminster Hall, attended with the
whole strength of the rebellion. A horror, naturally arising from a
mind conscious of the blackest villainies, took possession of his
soul, upon the apprehensions of death, which the pistol gave him,
and discovered itself in his countenance. He put his trembling hand
into his pocket and pulled out about forty shillings in silver,
which he presented to the captain, who swore he would that minute
shoot him through the heart if he did not find coin of another
species. The sergeant at last, to save a miserable life, pulled out
that which he valued next to it, as of two evils all men choose the
least, and gave the captain a purse full of jacobuses.  Hind, having
thus got possession of the cash, made Bradshaw yet wait a
considerable time longer, while he made the following eulogium on
money; which, though in the nature of it, it be something different
from the harangues which the sergeant generally heard on a Sunday,
contains, nevertheless, as much truth, and might have been
altogether as pleasing had it come from another mouth: -- "This,
sir, is the metal that wins my heart for ever! O precious gold, I
admire and adore thee as much as either Bradshaw, Pryn, or any other
villain of the same stamp, who, for the sake of thee, would sell
their Redeemer again, were He now upon earth. This is that
incomparable medicament which the republican physicians call 'The
Wonder- working Plaster.' It is truly Catholic in operation, and
somewhat of a kin to the Jesuits' powder, but more effectual. The
virtues of it are strange and various: it makes justice deaf as well
as blind, and takes out spots of the deepest treason as easily as
Castile soap does common stains; it alters a man's constitution in
two or three days, more than the Virtuoso's transfusion of blood can
do in seven years. It is a great alexipharmic, and helps poisonous
principles of rebellion, and those that use them. It miraculously
exalts and purifies the eyesight, and makes traitors behold nothing
but innocence in the blackest malefactors. It is a mighty cordial
for a declining cause; it stifles faction and schism as certainly as
the itch is destroyed by butter and brimstone. In a word, it makes
fools wise men, and wise men fools; and both of them knaves. The
very colour of this precious balm is bright and dazzling. If it be
properly applied to the fist -- that is, in a decent manner and a
competent dose -- it infallibly performs all the abovesaid cures,
and many others too numerous to be here mentioned."  The captain,
having finished his panegyric, pulled out his pistol and said
further:  "You and your infernal crew have a long while run on, like
Jehu, in a career of blood and impiety, pretending that zeal for the
Lord of Hosts has been your only motive. How long you may be
suffered to continue in the same course, God only knows. I will
however, for this time, stop your race in a literal sense of the
words." With that he shot all the six horses which were in the
sergeant's coach and then rode off in pursuit of another booty. 
Some time after, Hind met a coach on the road between Petersfield
and Portsmouth, filled with gentlewomen. He went up to them in a
genteel manner, told them that he was a patron of the fair sex, and
that it was purely to win the favour of a hard-hearted mistress that
he travelled the country. "But, ladies," added he, "I am at this
time reduced to the necessity of asking relief, having nothing to
carry me on in my intended prosecution of adventures." The young
ladies, who had most of them read a pretty many romances, could not
help conceiting they had met with some Quixote or Amadis de Gaul,
who was saluting them in the strain of knight-errantry. "Sir
Knight," said one of the pleasantest among them, "we heartily
commiserate your condition, and are very much troubled that we
cannot contribute towards your support; but we have nothing about us
but a sacred depositum, which the laws of your order will not suffer
you to violate." Hind was pleased to think he had met with such
agreeable gentlewomen, and for the sake of the jest could freely
have let them pass unmolested if his necessities at this time had
not been very pressing. "May I, bright ladies, be favoured with the
knowledge of what this sacred depositum, which you speak of, is,
that so I may employ my utmost abilities in its defence, as the laws
of

knight-errantry require?" The lady who spoke before, and who
suspected the least of any one in the company, told him that the
depositum she had spoken of was three thousand pounds, the portion
of one of the company, who was going to bestow it upon the knight
who had won her good will by his many past services. "My humble duty
be presented to the knight," said he, "and be pleased to tell him
that my name is Captain Hind; that out of mere necessity I have made
bold to borrow part of what, for his sake, I wish were twice as
much; and that I promise to expend the sum in defence of injured
lovers and the support of gentlemen who profess knight-errantry." At
the name of Captain Hind they were sufficiently startled, there
being nobody then living in England who had not heard of him. Hind,
however, bid them not be affrighted, for he would not do them the
least hurt, and desired no more than one thousand pounds out of the
three. This the ladies very thankfully gave in an instant (for the
money was tied up in separate bags), and the captain wished them all
a good journey, and much joy to the bride.  We must leave the
captain a little, to display the corruption of human nature in an
instance which the captain has often protested was a great trouble
to him. The young lady, when she met her intended husband, told him
all that had passed upon the road, and the mercenary wretch, as soon
as he heard of the money that was lost, adjourned the marriage till
he had sent to her father to ask whether or no he would make up the
original sum agreed upon, which he refusing (partly because he had
sufficiently exhausted his substance before, and partly because he
resented the sordid proposal), our fervent lover entirely broke
through all his vows, and the unfortunate young lady died of grief
and indignation.  Another time Hind was obliged to abscond for a
considerable time in the country, there being great inquiries made
after him; during this interval his money began to run short, and he
was a great while before he could think of a way to replenish his
purse. He would have taken another turn or two on the highway, but
he had lived so long here that he had spent his very horse. While he
was in this extremity, a noted doctor in his neighbourhood went to
receive a large sum of money for a cure which he had performed, and
our captain had got information of the time. It was in the doctor's
way home to ride directly by Hind's door, who had hired a little
house on the side of a common. Our adventurer took care to be ready
at the hour the doctor was to return, and when he was riding by the
house he addressed himself to him in the most sub missive style he
was master of, telling him that he had a wife within who was violent
bad with a flux, so that she could not live without present help;
entreating him to come in but two or three minutes, and he would
show his gratitude as soon as he was able. The doctor was moved with
com passion at the poor man's request and immediately alighted, and
accompanied him in, assuring him that he should be very glad if it
was in his power to do him any service. Hind conducted him upstairs,
and, as soon as they were got into the chamber, shut the door and
pulled out a loaded pistol and an empty purse, while the doctor was
looking round for his patient. "This," quoth Hind, holding up the
purse, "is my wife; she has had a flux so long, that there is now
nothing at all within her. I know, sir, you have a sovereign remedy
in your pocket for her distemper, and if you do not apply it without
a word, this pistol shall make the day shine into your body." The
doctor would have been glad to have lost a considerable fee,
provided he might have had nothing to do with the patient; but when
he saw there was no getting off, he took forty guineas out of his
pocket, and emptied them out of his own purse into the captain's,
which now seemed to be in pretty good health. Hind then told the
doctor that he would leave him in full possession of his house, to
make amends for the money he had taken from him. Upon which he went
out and locked the door upon poor Galen, mounting his horse, and
riding away as fast as he was able, to find another country to live
in, well knowing that this would now be too hot to hold him.  Hind
has often been celebrated for his generosity to all sorts of people,
more especially for his kindness to the poor, which it is reported
was so extraordinary, that he never injured the property of any
person who had not a complete share of riches. We shall give one
instance, in stead of a great many which we could produce, which
will sufficiently confirm this general opinion of his tenderness for
those who were needy.  At a time when he was out of cash (as he
frequently was, by reason of his extravagance), and had been upon
the watch a pretty while, without seeing any worth his notice, he at
last espied an old man jogging along the road upon an ass. He rode
up to meet him, and asked,, him very courteously where he was going.
"To the market," said the old man, "at Wantage, to buy me a cow,
that I may have some milk for my children." "How many children,"
quoth Hind, "may you have?" The old man answered ten. "And how much
do you think to give for a cow?"

said Hind. "I have but forty shillings, master, and that I have been
saving together these two years," says the poor wretch. Hind's heart
asked for the poor man's condition, at the same time that he could
not help admiring his simplicity; but being in so great a strait as
I have intimated, he thought of an expedient which would serve both
him and the old man too. "Father," said he, "the money you have got
about you I must have at this time; but I will not wrong your
children of their milk. My name is Hind, and if you will give me
your forty shillings quietly, and meet me again this day sevennight
at this place, I promise to make the sum double. Only be cautious
that you never mention a word of the matter to anybody between this
and that." At the day appointed the old man came, and Hind was as
good as his word, bidding him buy two cows, instead of one, and
adding twenty shillings to the sum promised, that he might purchase
the best in the market.  Never was highwayman more careful than Hind
to avoid bloodshed; yet we have one instance in his life that proves
how hard it is for a man to engage in such an occupation without
being exposed to a sort of wretched necessity some time or other to
take away the life of another man, in order to preserve his own. 
Hind had one morning committed several robberies in and about
Maidenhead Thicket, and, among others, had stopped Colonel Harrison,
a celebrated regicide, in his coach and six, and taken from him
seventy odd pounds. The colonel immediately procured a hue and cry
for taking him, which was come into that country before the captain
was aware of it. However, he heard at a house of intelligence, which
he always had upon every road he used, of the danger he was in, and
thereupon he instantly thought of making his escape, by riding as
fast as he could from the pursuers, until he could find some safer
way of concealing himself.  In this condition, as anyone would
imagine, the captain was apprehensive of every man he saw. He had
got no farther than a place called Knole Hill, which is but a little
way of the thicket, before he heard a man riding behind him full
speed. It was a gentleman's servant endeavouring to overtake his
master, who was gone before, with something he had forgotten. Hind
just now thought of nothing but his own preservation; and therefore
resolved either to ride off or fire at the man, who, he concluded,
was pursuing him. As the other horse was fresh, and Hind had pretty
well tired his, he soon perceived the man got ground of him; upon
which he pulls out a pistol, and just as the unfortunate countryman
was at his horse's heels, he turns about and shoots him through the
head, so that he fell down dead on the spot. The captain, after the
fact, got entirely off; but it was for this that he was afterwards
condemned at Reading.  After King Charles I. was beheaded, the Scots
received and acknowledged his son King Charles II., and resolved to
maintain his right against the reigning usurpation. To this end they
raised an army, and marched towards England, which they entered with
great precipitation. Abundance of gentry, and others, who were loyal
in their principles, flocked to the standard of their Sovereign, and
resolved to lose their lives in his service, or restore him to his
dignity. Among these Hind, who had as much natural bravery as almost
any man that ever lived, resolved to try his fortune. Cromwell was
sent by the Parliament into the north to intercept the Royal army,
but in spite of that vigilant traitor's expedition the King advanced
as far as Worcester, where he waited the enemy's coming.  Oliver
came to Worcester soon after, and the consequence of the two armies
meeting was a very fierce and bloody battle, in which the Royalists
were defeated. Hind had the good fortune to escape at that time, and
came to London, where he lodged with one Mr Denzle, a barber, over
against St Dunstan's Church in Fleet Street, and went by the name of
Brown. But Providence had now ordered that he should no longer
pursue his extravagances; for he was discovered by a very intimate
acquaintance. It must be granted that he had sufficiently deserved
the stroke of justice; but there yet appears something so shocking
in a breach of friendship that we cannot help wishing somebody else
had been the instrument.

 As soon as he was apprehended he was carried before the Speaker of
the House of Commons, who then lived in Chancery Lane, and after a
long examination was committed to Newgate, and loaded with irons. He
was conveyed to prison by one Captain Compton, under a strong guard;
and the warrant for his commitment commanded that he should be kept
in close confinement, and that nobody should be admitted to see him
without orders.  On Friday, the 12th of December, 1651, Captain
James Hind was brought to the bar of the sessions house in the Old
Bailey, and indicted for several crimes; but nothing being proved
against him that could reach his life, he was conveyed

in a coach from Newgate to Reading in Berkshire, where on the 1st of
March, 1651, he was arraigned before Judge Warberton for killing one
George Sympson at Knole, a small village in that county. The
evidence here was very plain against him, and he was found guilty of
wilful murder; but an Act of Oblivion being issued out the next day,
to for give all former offences but those against the State, he was
in great hopes of saving his life, until by an Order of Council he
was removed by habeas corpus to Worcester jail.  At the beginning of
September, 1652, he was condemned for high treason, and on the 24th
of the same month he was drawn, hanged and quartered, in pursuance
of the same sentence, being thirty-four years of age. At the place
of execution he declared that most of the robberies which he had
ever committed were upon the republican party, of whose principles
he professed he always had an utter abhorrence. He added that
nothing troubled him so much as to die before he saw his Royal
master established on his throne, from which he was most unjustly
and illegally excluded by a rebellious and disloyal crew, who
deserved hanging more than him.  After he was executed his head was
set upon the Bridge Gate, over the River Severn, from whence it was
privately taken down and buried within a week afterwards. His
quarters were put upon the other gates of the city, where they
remained till they were destroyed by wind and weather.

CAPTAIN PHILIP STAFFORD

Whose Patrimony being sequestered by the Roundheads took to the
Highway and was hanged at Reading

 CAPTAIN STAFFORD was born about the year 1622, at a small village
in Berkshire, about seven miles from New bury. His father was a sort
of gentleman farmer, having about fifty pounds a year of his own
estate; upon which, by the help of his industry, he lived in a very
comfortable manner. Our Philip was an only child, which made the
farmer very careful to bring him up as handsomely as he was able. He
sent him to school first in the country, afterwards to the free
school at Reading, at both of which places his improvements were as
considerable as could be expected from one of his age; and indeed
might have been much greater had his application been equal to the
sprightliness of his wit and the uncommon vivacity of his temper.
These qualifications, however, showed themselves more to advantage
in the other parts of his life than they did in a sedentary course
of study. His conversation, even almost in his childhood, was very
agreeable, as his resentment was generally fatal to those of his own
age and stature. Never a lad in all the parishes round but would
shudder at the name of Philip Stafford, and if he was not always the
best scholar, he was indisputably the head boy in every school he
went to.  His father designed him for the heir of his industry, as
well as of his estate, and therefore put him out to no trade; but
when the time generally allotted for the education of young men of a
moderate fortune was expired, he took him home to the plough, and,
as soon as he conceived him equal to the burden, gave him the whole
management of his affairs. Philip was a tolerable good farmer, but a
much better ringer, wrestler and back-sword player; in all which
exercises he was looked upon as the hero of the whole country.

 He had imbibed in his infancy such principles of religion and
loyalty as are common to men in his father's circumstances; these
were strengthened by the company he afterwards kept, and the manly
amusements he daily followed; so that when the Civil war broke out
between King Charles I. and his Parliament, Stafford was one of the
first of his country who voluntarily entered into the service of his
Sovereign. He continued in the army through the whole series of that
unnatural rebellion; and we have no reason to doubt but he behaved
with a great deal of bravery, though his actions are buried and lost
in the universal confusion of the times. We have not only all the
other particulars of his life which are recorded to support such a
presumption, but the military honours he received are an undeniable
proof that he distinguished himself on some extraordinary occasion;
for the title of Captain, which he afterwards bore, was really
conferred on him while he was in the service.

 Everyone is acquainted with the dismal catastrophe of those unhappy
troubles. As soon as the King was dead, and the rebels had got all
into their hands, the Royalists were obliged to shift from place to
place all over the nation, and to use all the cautionary means they
could invent to secure themselves. The small patrimony of Mr
Stafford was sequestered, among the many larger estates of gentlemen
who had continued in their duty to the last; and he soon found
himself in no capacity of getting a moderate subsistence. What was
to be done in such a situation as this? He looked every way and
could see no prospect of an honest livelihood. This at last
determined him in the course which he immediately fell into, and
which entitles him to a place in this collection. The resolution he
set out with was to raise contributions among the enemies of his
master only, whom he vowed never to spare in anything wherein he had
an opportunity of doing any damage either to their persons or
estates.

 He first cast his eyes upon an old republican who had drunk deep in
the troubled stream of the times, and had married a young lady in
order to obtain her fortune. In the character of a servant, and
assuming the dress and the language of the party, he succeeded in
hiring himself as a servant into that family. By his insinuating
address and engaging manners, he won the affections of his master,
and was soon admitted to enter into conversation with his master and
mistress, and in the most dexterous manner imitated the religious
phrases and sentiments of that party. But he soon employed language
of a different kind to his mistress; alienated her affections from
her lawful husband, and so grossly imposed upon him, that when he
would sometimes unexpectedly find them alone and in close
conversation, he would conclude that religion was the subject of
their earnest conversation. Under the disguise of religion, and
emboldened by the credulity of the old husband, Stafford remained
with increasing favour in that family, until an heir was born to
enjoy the fortune of the good old republican.

 Indifferent to all the ties of honour and of religion, Stafford and
the lady carried on their criminal correspondence; and often amused
themselves with the credulity of the husband, and his unabated
attachment to Stafford. In the moments of wanton levity, the lady
had made him a present of a ring, and also of some jewels, and had
not only informed him of a quantity of jewels which her husband had
collected, but actually showed him the place where they were
deposited. The violent passion of avarice now assumed the
superiority in his criminal mind, and he formed the resolution to
seize the cabinet of jewels, and even to abandon his favourite
mistress in quest of new adventures.

 But his plan could not be effected without the aid of some other
person, and he was long doubtful whom he could trust in so delicate
and important a matter. At last he fixed upon one of the name of Tom
Pretty, the son of a French refugee, whom he had formerly known at
school, and with whose temper and disposition he was thoroughly
acquainted. He accordingly provided a key to the door of the place
where the jewels were deposited, took care to have the window so
broke and injured that it appeared to have suffered violence from
without, and a ladder brought and laid at the foot of the window,
and such noise made as might be heard by some of the servants.
Stafford, always attentive to his duty and master's interest, was
the first to give the alarm in the morning. The rest of the servants
were called, they remembered to have heard the noise, they saw the
ladder, and suspicion could rest upon none of them, far less upon
the faithful Stafford.

 Tom Pretty was successful in disposing of the jewels at a good
price, received such a gratuity as was sufficient to retain him in
the service of his new employer, who remained for some time in his
station to prevent the shadow of guilt staining the fair character
which he had so dexterously maintained.

 Fully convinced that he could always render the ladies subservient
to the accomplishment of his plans, Stafford next directed his
attack upon the virtue of a very handsome lady who had been two
years married. To his no small mortification, however, he found that
she estimated its value at the sum of one hundred guineas. When all
his attempts to alter her first proposal were unsuccessful, his
inventive mind devised the following scheme to effectuate his
purpose. Being upon friendly terms with the husband, and frequently
visiting in the family, he one day took an opportunity to borrow an
hundred guineas, under the pretence that he stood in need of that
sum to complete a L.500 purchase, in the meantime showing him L.400
which he had in reserve from the late sale of the jewels. He readily
obtained his request, and having arranged matters with the lady, he
came, according to appointment, one day to her house, when several
persons were at dinner, and the husband absent. He immediately
pulled out his purse, and addressed her, saying, "I have borrowed
one hundred guineas from your husband, and as he is not here, I will
leave the money with you, and those here present will be witnesses
to the payment." The good lady, unacquainted with the fact, that he
had borrowed that sum from her husband, only supposed that this was
a dexterous manoeuvre to prevent suspicion, received the money with
all good humour. It is unnecessary to relate the sequel of the
adventure.

 In a few days after, Stafford took an opportunity, when the husband
was present, to inform him, that, in the presence of several guests
at his table, he had repaid the hundred guineas to his wife that he
had lately borrowed from him. The lady changed colour, but could not
deny the fact, and the husband was satisfied with the punctual
repayment of his money. Nor was Stafford contented with the success
of his adventure, but took care to have the same whispered all over
the neighbourhood.

 It happened that Stafford was riding along very solitary on the
Western Road one miserable cold day. His design was only to go and
see his relations, having at that time money enough; and it was not
customary with him to rob anybody while the stock was high. But
fortune threw a very considerable prize in his way in the following
manner.

 Just as he came to the entrance of Maidenhead Thicket he espied an
old formal gentleman trotting before him. As he looked upon him, by
his plain coat and broad-brimmed hat, to be one of the godly, as
they were then universally called, he immediately resolved, contrary
to his intention in travelling, to take hold of the opportunity, and
try the depth of the old man's pocket. He soon came up with Mr
Primitive, and began such conversation as is common to travellers,
more particularly the severity of the season occasioned pretty many
reflections, as they both felt it to a high degree. "I hope," says
Stafford, "after such a terrible journey as this, I shall meet with
a very good lodging at night, or else I shall think the stars are
against me indeed." The old man upon this assumes an air of piety,
and begins to reprehend the captain for his profaneness in
mentioning the stars as if they had any influence over a man's
circumstances. He told him it was a heathenish manner of expressing
himself, and very unwelcoming the mouth of a Christian. "For my
part," says he, "I ascribe everything that befalls me to a wise
Providence, and am always content with any lot, as being assured in
myself that all things are for the best, and work together for the
good of the elect." "And do you believe yourself to be one of those
elect? "says Stafford." It is the earnest desire of my soul,"
replied the old man, "to find the evidences of it in myself; it is
what I pray for earnestly day and night; and I truly hope that my
prayers ascend with a savour sweet-smelling and acceptable, and that
I shall receive an answer of joy and peace. of this I am the more
confident, as I have hitherto found that the pious ejaculations of
my heart have not been in vain upon particular occasions." Here the
captain endeavoured to reform his phiz, and to look as demurely as
his companion. "Verily, brother," said he, "whoever thou art, thy
reproof is just; but as I was upon a journey, and uncertain what the
company was that I was thus providentially fallen into, I was
willing to conform myself to it, for the security of the outward
man. If I had found thee speaking in such a manner as had discovered
the corruption of thy heart, and proved thee to be one of the
unregenerate, I should have endeavoured, as far as it would have
appeared consistent with my high character as a Christian, to have
given thee thine own way in conversation. But since, to my
unspeakable joy and consolation in this desert place, I have found
thee such as my heart would wish, I make no scruple to unbosom
myself unto thee, begging that thou wouldst extend thy bowels of
Christian compassion unto my weakness, which occasioned me to
conceal the real sentiments of my soul, through timidity of thy
person, to me unknown. I would furthermore entreat that thou wouldst
endeavour to make our journeying together profitable unto our mutual
edification, by a relation of some of those experiences which thou
hast hinted to, as the effect of thy being found in the way of thy
duty." The old hypocrite was transported to hear such a speech as
this, and made no question but he was luckily fallen into company
with a stone of the spiritual building, and a brother member of the
sacred body of the Church. "Forasmuch," replied he, "as it seemeth
to thee thy desire that I should communicate unto thee something of
what I have done in the course of my duty, and inwardly experienced
as the return of my humble petitions, know that I have always, since
I have been made sensible what hard work and the divine influence
mean, constantly called for a blessing upon what I have undertaken.
In an especial manner, when I have set out on a journey, as at
present, I have been more earnest in entreating that I might pass
the road in safety; and that at night in a good inn I might take up
my quarters, and repose upon a bed of down. Not so much that I
desire to indulge my tenement of clay in the course of this my
pilgrimage, as that I look upon it to be typical of that eternal
rest into which I hope to be received when I shall put off this
outward man, this earthly tabernacle of flesh. It is, my friend, a
help to my meditation on these things, when I lie extended at ease
in the night; and I never yet found but that every particular has
been answerable to my desires, and, indeed, proportioned to the
degree of warmth with which I have expressed them. It is for this
reason, that when I have been diligent in my duty, and taken such a
quantity of money in my pocket as will bear my expenses in a
comfortable manner, I am under no apprehensions of any danger that
may attend me." "I hope then," quoth Stafford," thou wert not at all
wanting this morning in thy exercises, both for thy sake and my own;
forasmuch as with thy good liking I am determined to accompany thee
this evening." Hereupon the old man assuring him that he was never
in all his life more fervent than that morning, the captain seemed
pretty contented, till they came to the middle of the thicket, when
he thought it very proper to take advantage of the place, and ease
the old hypocrite of his money, which was of more service to him in
his getting good lodging than all his boasted piety, the latter
being only superficial. To this end he addressed him in the
following manner: -- "Brother, I perceive by what you have related
that you are a man favoured by heaven in an extraordinary degree,
and that it is impossible to hinder you of anything that you have
once prayed for. To what purpose then should you carry money with
you? Now, for my part, I cannot pretend to any such particular token
of the divine regard, and therefore I have no room to expect
anything out of the common way; so that I think what money you have
about you will be much more serviceable to me than to your who are
certain of the best usage wherever you go." The old man began to
stare upon his new companion, and wondered what he was driving at;
but he did not remain long in suspense, for Stafford told him very
plainly that it would be to no purpose for him to make many words,
since he was now in earnest. "Therefore," says he, "without ceremony
deliver your money." At these words he clapped a pistol to his
breasts which terrified the venerable saint to such a degree that he
pulled out a purse with forty guineas in it and gave it with a
trembling hand. It was now plain that, how sure soever our good man
was of heaven, he was not willing to leave the world on a sudden,
which is no uncommon case. Stafford being willing to spoil the old
man's lodging entirely, shot his horse, after he had rifled him of
everything that he had which was valuable, and then forced him a
considerable way into the thicket, where he bound him fast, and left
him on the cold ground. In this condition he lay till next morning,
when he was taken up half dead.

 The captain, after this robbery was very sensible that, how bad
soever the lodging of his Roundhead companion might be, his own
would be as little to his satisfaction if he were taken; he 
therefore thought it most advisable to get out of the main road as
fast as he could. This he did by crossing the country into
Buckinghamshire and riding till he thought he was out of all danger
for that night.

 Having, upon a certain time, got together a considerable quantity
of money, and being under some apprehensions of a discovery, he made
off into the north of England, and took shelter in a country
village, so obscure that it was next to impossible he should ever be
detected. He was afraid in this place to make any great figure, or
to seem extravagant, because he well knew that country people are
apt to be very inquisitive into the circumstances of such men; and
as he was resolved to be as godly as he was able while he resided
here, it was not expedient for him to put the congregation to any
trouble; for he had now joined himself to a people who assembled in
the neighbourhood, and was customary in those days for a new member,
if he was in any respect suspicious, to give a very particular
account of himself. By this prudent management the captain not only
avoided their inquisition, but made his ready cash last a great deal
longer than it otherwise would have done.

 In this place Stafford soon got the reputation of a very good man;
he attended constantly at public service, and not only that, but
also at all their private meetings and conferences, when he would
frequently exercise his own gift, and pour out a tedious rhapsody of
unintelligible jargon, with a great deal of seeming warmth and
affection. As it was no difficult thing for a man of the captain's
good sense to be the greatest orator in such a congregation as this,
it was but a very little while before his talents were every where
talked of; he was sent for to all the meetings round about, and
public thanks were frequently returned to Providence, who had sent
such an eminent Christian among them. It was not above a year that
he had been in this place before their venerable pastor, who had 
formerly been an indifferent good tailor, departed this life. The
sorrow on this melancholy occasion was universal, and the cause of
religion a thousand times said to be in danger, by the loss of such
a substantial pillar of the Church (for so they called themselves)
as their dear glorified minister. When the general lamentation was a
little over, the flock began to look round for one to feed them in
the room of the deceased. All their eyes were immediately fixed on
Stafford, who was esteemed the most able brother for the important
charge. The captain had by this time wasted his capital stock pretty
considerably, and he must very soon have been under an absolute
necessity of recruiting by some means or other; he durst not as yet
appear on the road again, for he had made himself so notorious just
before his retirement that a large reward had been offered for
taking him, and his person had been so particularly described that
it was in vain to think of disguising himself. An offer of forty
pounds a year, besides a prospect of other acquisitions, was not it
may be imagined, at this time very unacceptable; so when the elders
of the congregation waited on him in a body with their resolution he
consented, after due form, to accept of the proposal. The ceremony
of his ordination is foreign to our purpose, and therefore we omit
it. Behold Captain Philip Stafford, our hero, in a stiff band, a
black coat and skull cap, mounted behind a velvet cushion, holding
forth, with all the eloquence he was master of against all sin, and
even the very appearance of sin; advising them to crush the first
motions of it in their hearts, and never suffer it to break forth
into practice. Hear him describe the pleasures of a good conscience,
void of difference towards God and man! What a load of accusations
he lays upon his friend Satan the grand enemy of souls -- enough to
break the back of any poor devil in Christendom! Never was preaching
more effectual, or more weeping and repentance than among the old
women of Stafford's congregation. Everyone exerted herself to the
utmost that the circumstances of their minister might be as easy as
possible, and that such a faithful labourer in the vineyard of the
church might not go without his reward. Presents were sent him
continually, he was invited to dinner every day by one or another of
the members; and he has often protested since that, bating the
hypocrisy he was obliged to use, the time he was a teacher was the
pleasantest part of his life.

 At last, as the revenue did not now answer his purpose, he took an
opportunity to leave his little flock, without giving them any
warning, carrying on with him all the sacramental plate and linen,
to a pretty large value.

 The last adventure which we shall relate of the captain is that for
which he suffered. A farmer of considerable note in Berkshire had
been at Reading to sell his corn at a time when that commodity was
very dear. The farmer had the reputation of being a very honest good
man; but as the price of corn was very advantageous to him he could
not help being elated by the success he had met with at market, and
he was now riding home in a very pleasant temper, meditating (as he
himself confessed) on the riches he was about to get for his family.
The captain overtook him about forty miles from Reading, and
accosted him in a very friendly manner with "Pray farmer, what is it
o-clock?" The farmer being, as I said before, pretty full of his
good fortune. immediately thought Mr Stafford had known him, and
when he asked him what corn was a load he therefore very readily
answered: "Sixteen pound ten the best wheat." Stafford guessed the
honest countryman's mistake; but at that time thought their 
conversation was likely to turn upon a subject that would be to his
advantage." And have you, farmer," said he, "sold any wheat for that
price today?" "Yes," says the countryman, "I have sold two loads,
and I thank God I have got the money for it in my pocket." This was
spoken very innocently, for the farmer thought all the while he was
with somebody who asked him these questions out of kindness; he soon
found to the contrary, for the captain pulled a pistol out of his
pocket, and clapping it to the farmer's breast, he made him refund
the thirty three pounds he had received a little before.

 The captain's good fortune this day began to leave him, for he was
scarce got three hundred yards from the ground where he committed
the robbery before two gentlemen came up to the farmer, who told
them how he had been used. The gentlemen being well mounted rode
after him with all the speed they could, and in less than a quarter
of an hour overtook and dismounted him. The money was all found upon
him, and several of the pieces were very remarkable; so that he was
carried to the next Justice of the Peace, and by him committed to
the county jail, where he lay till the ensuing assizes, which were
not for a great while afterwards.

 At the assizes the farmer, who was a very conscientious man,
refused to appear against the prisoner, because he was not certain
whether or no it was the same man who had robbed him. The evidence,
nevertheless, of the two gentle-men, and the money, which answered
exactly to the account which the farmer had given of what he had
lost, together with the bad character of the captain himself in his
own country, where he now was, were thought sufficient to condemn
him; and the sentence passed accordingly, and a day was fixed for
his execution.

 While Stafford was in prison, before his condemnation, he lived in
a very grand manner. He had a wicket made before the jail porch to
hide his fetters, where he used to sit frequently with one of the
keepers, and converse with gentlemen of the best fashion in the
whole town. He had, moreover, settled a correspondence with several
of his own profession, who came to see him in prison. These, then,
undertook to rescue him from the gallows, and afterwards to
constitute him their head. The report of this compact, by some means
or other, took wind before the time, and the post-boy was ordered
what to say if any man should ask him any questions on the road.
This charge to the post-boy was thought to be the only reason why
they did not come as they had promised; for two or three men well
mounted one day demanded of him when Stafford was to be executed,
and the boy told them the usual day, which was now changed to
another purely upon the account of this report.

 The captain had a new light-coloured suit of clothes made to go to
the gallows (for he did not expect to be hanged), in which he
appeared as though he had been going to a wedding. He had a nosegay
in his bosom, and his countenance was without the least appearance
of concern all the way. As he passed by a tavern he ordered the cart
to stop, and called for a pint of wine, which he drank all off, and
told the vintner he would pay him when he came back. At the gallows
he stood up and looked round him very wistfully some minutes, still
desiring more time. At last, when the sheriff bid him prepare, and
he saw no remedy, his colour was observed to change, and he trembled
very much, but said nothing. Just at the instant that the cart was
ordered to be drawn away he delivered a paper to the sheriff, and
then was turned off in a great deal of confusion. The contents of
the paper were as follows: --

 "It is not merely in compliance with the common custom of
malefactors that I write anything to leave behind me in the world;
if there had not seemed a more than ordinary necessity for this
declaration from me, upon the account of my having been so
universally talked of, I should have been contented to have suffered 
in silence what the justice of the law has required.

 "I confess not only the fact for which I die, but also almost all
those that are laid to my charge by common fame, besides innumerable
others of the same nature; yet I hope that what I am about to offer
will plead a little in my favour, and in some measure abate the
horror which many sober people are apt to conceive at the bare
recital of my crimes.

 "I was brought up in principles of honour and virtue by my parents,
and I continued to act agreeably to those principles for many years,
as several worthy gentlemen now living can testify. I can moreover
call upon a greater witness than any mortal to attest that I have
always thought in my soul nothing so mean and so unworthy of human
nature as fraud, of what kind soever it might be. It was only the
iniquity of the times in which it has been my unhappiness to have
lived that occasioned my abandoning in practice what my judgment
always approved of, notwithstanding the pains I have taken to work
myself into a belief that virtue is nothing but a vain chimera.

 "The cruelty with which all the loyal party was prosecuted during
the late Civil War gave me a very despicable opinion of those who
executed it. This opinion was afterwards strengthened when I beheld
the same people dividing among themselves, and using an equal
severity towards each other, as any one party got uppermost. I soon
found that their religion was but a pretence, and their appearance
of sanctity nothing more than hypocrisy; that interest was the only
point they pursued, and their hyperbolical cant concerning another
world a mere engine to draw to themselves larger possessions in
this, which they had the confidence to affirm they had learned
entirely to despise. These things made me determine, when my estate
was quartered, and my principles prevented my getting an honourable
subsistence, to take openly from some of those hypocrites what they
unjustly, though more craftily, had taken from better people.

 "What lies most heavily upon my conscience is my having ever
condescended to deal with these men in their own way, by imposing
upon them under a show of piety. May God forgive me in this
particular! I must, however, take the freedom to say that I was
never able to match several that I have met with, to whom I have not
thought myself inferior as to my genius in this their darling vice,
hypocrisy; and that when I most succeeded in my impostures, it was
more owing to a fluency of words, which I always had, than to my art
in counterfeiting their formality in my common behaviour.

 " I shall not trouble the world with any more of these things,
which only relate to my Maker, and my own conscience. Give me leave
to say that as I have not been a common offender, I would hope my
remains will be treated with a little more decency than the bodies
of the unhappy wretches who suffer at this place commonly are.

 "As I die justly, I have no occasion to say anything concerning the
instruments of my death, who only exercise what the law demands. If
there are any other persons who are conscious that they have given
me just cause of offence, let them know that I forgive them from my
very heart; and that I die in peace with all the world to which I
can very calmly bid farewell."

 In compliance with Mr Stafford's request concerning his body, the
sheriff ordered him to be buried under the tower of St Mary's Church
at Reading. Several persons of fashion honoured his funeral with
their attendance, and the women in particular were observed to shed
abundance of tears.

MAJOR GEORGE STRANGWAYES

Executed 28th of February, 1658, for the Murder of the Man who
married his Sister

 MR GEORGE STRANGWAYES was the second son of Mr James Strangwayes,
of Mussen in Dorsetshire, a gentleman of an ancient and unblemished
family. He was a person that had a brave and generous soul in a
stout and active body, being tall of stature, and framed to the most
masculine proportion of man. The virtues of his father he rather
seemed to improve than degenerate from, till he was hurried on by an
ungovernable passion to commit the horrid fact which we are going to
relate. As his constitution in his youth made him fitter to follow
Mars than the Muses, he attained to the degree of a major in the
service of King Charles I., which military office he executed with a
great deal of bravery and gallantry during the whole course of the
Civil War. Yet was he not a stranger to those arts that finish a
gentleman; for (as Mr Dryden says of my Lord Roscommon) he had made
both Miner's his own. In the most important consultations he had
always a head as dextrous to advise, as a heart daring to act. Only
in love he appeared either unskilful or unsuccessful, for he was
never married. The father of Mr Strangwayes died about ten years
before the unhappy accident happened which brought destruction upon
his son. At his death the major was left in possession of Mussen
Farm, and his eldest sister, Mrs Mabellah Strangwayes, was
constituted executrix by will. This sister, being then an ancient
maid, rented her brother's farm, and stocked it at her own cost;
engaging herself to him in a bond of three hundred and fifty pounds, 
which she borrowed towards the procuring of the said stock. The
major, presuming upon her continuance of a single life, and
expecting that the greatest part, if not all, of her personal estate
would in time revert to him as her heir, entrusted her not only with
the bond, but also with that part of the stock, and such utensils of
the house, as, by his father's will, properly belonged to him. His
reason for doing this was, that they would be more secure by passing
for hers, forasmuch as his whole estate was liable to sequestration;
by which, at that time of day, a great many thousand gentlemen were
ruined. Sad times, indeed, when honesty, which, by those who have
just notions of Providence, is esteemed a common preservative
against calamity, was the principal means that made people obnoxious
to it! But this was not the only age in which that noble principle
has been out of fashion. His estate being thus in a fair probability
of being preserved from those vultures of the Commonwealth who had
then the administration of public affairs, he lived for some time
very happily with his sister, of whose prudence and discretion he
had a very high opinion, at his farm of Mussen. But all of a sudden
the scene altered, and she, whom he thought sufficiently proof
against all inclinations to matrimony began to express some
affection for Mr Fussel, a gentleman well esteemed at Blandford, the
place of his residence, and of much repute for his eminent abilities
in matters of law. Mrs Mabellah Strangwayes had now contracted an
intimacy with Mr Fussel, and she made it the least part of her care
to disguise her sentiments concerning him; so that it was not long
before her brother came to a perfect knowledge of their mutual
resolutions. Whether it was that he had any former dislike to the
man, or that he imagined one of that profession might injure him in
his property; or whether it was only the being disappointed in the
hopes he had conceived of enjoying after his sister the whole
substance of the family, is not easy to determine; but certain it
is, that he no sooner heard of a proposal of marriage between this
gentleman and his sister than he showed himself absolutely against
it, and took an opportunity of telling his sister privately how much
he disapproved her design. Mrs Mabellah as freely told him how
steadfast she was in her purpose; upon which he broke out into the
most violent expressions of passion, affirming with bitter
imprecations that if ever she married Mr Fussel he would certainly
be the death of him soon afterwards. These family quarrels soon
occasioned a separation between our unhappy brother and sister; and
the rupture was still increased by mutual complaints between them.
She pretends that he unjustly detains from her much of the stock of
the farm, which, either by her father's will, or her own purchase,
was lawfully hers; at the same time she denies that ever she sealed
the aforementioned bond, insinuating that it was only a forgery of
her brother's. The major, on the other hand cried out as loudly
against his sister, accusing her with nothing less than a design to
defraud him of part of his estate, besides the money due by the
bond. These were the differences which first fomented a rage that
was not to be quenched but by blood. Soon after their parting Mrs
Mabellah and Mr Fussel were married, and the grievances between the
brother and sister commenced a lawsuit; for the prosecuting of
which, as well as for the carrying on of several other causes which
lie was employed in, he being a man of great business, Mr Fussel was
come up to London, it being Hilary Term, at the unhappy time when he
lost his life, in the following manner. Mr Fussel lodged up one pair
of stairs, at the sign of the George and Half Moon, three doors from
the Palsgrave's Head Tavern, without Temple Bar, opposite to a
pewterer's shop. He came in one evening between nine and ten, and
retired to his study, which fronted the street, sitting behind a
desk, with his face towards the window, the curtains being so near
drawn that there was but just room enough left to discern him. In
this manner he had not sat above a quarter of an hour before two
bullets shot from a carbine struck him, the one through the forehead
and the other in about his mouth; a third bullet, or slug, stuck in
the lower part of the timber of the window, and the passage by which
the two former entered was so narrow that little less than an inch
over or under had obstructed their passage. He dropped down upon his
desk without so much as a groan, so that his clerk, who was in the
room at the same time, did not at first apprehend anything of what
was done; till at last, perceiving him lean his head, and knowing
him not to fall asleep as he wrote, he imagined something more than
ordinary was the matter. Upon this he drew near to be satisfied,
when he was suddenly struck with such horror and amazement at the
unexpected sight of blood that for the present, he was utterly
incapable of action. As soon as he had recollected himself, he
called up some of the family, by whose assistance he discovered what
an unhappy accident had bereaved him of his master. Instantly they
all ran down into the street, but could see nothing that might give
them the least information, everything appearing, as they conceived,
more silent and still than is usual at that time of night in the
public parts of the city. Officers were sent for and Mr Fussel's son
(for he had been married before) was acquainted with the melancholy
news; who immediately made use of all the means he could think of to
discover the authors of this horrid fact. Several places were
searched in vain, and a barber, who lodged in the same house with Mr
Fussel, was apprehended on suspicion, he having been absent at the
time when the deed was perpetrated. While they were considering what
could induce anybody to such an action, young Fussel called to mind
those irreconcilable quarrels which had for some time subsisted
between his father and his Uncle Strangwayes; and thereupon proposed
the apprehending of him to the officers, which motion they, in
general, approved of. They now proceed to put it in execution, and
between two and three in the morning the major is apprehended in his
bed, at his lodging, over against Ivy Bridge in the Strand, at the
house of one Mr Pym, a tailor, next door to the Black Bull Inn which
is now Bull Inn Court. Being in the custody of the officers, he was
had before Justice Blake, before whom he denied the fact with an
undaunted confidence. However, as there was so much room for
suspicion, the justice committed him to Newgate, where remaining
till next morning, he was then conveyed to the place where Mr
Fussel's body was. When he came there, he was commanded to take his
dead brother-in-law by the hand, and touch his wounds before the
coroner's inquest -- a method mightily relied on by the defenders of
sympathy. But there having been nothing discovered by this
experiment, he was remanded back to prison, and the jury proceeded
in their inquiry, though with little hopes of satisfaction. Several
ways were propounded by the foreman for the detection of the
murderer; one of which was, that all the gunsmiths in London, and
the adjacent places, should be examined what guns they had either
lent or sold that day. This, in the opinion of most of the jurymen,
was an unpracticable task; and one Mr Holloway, a gunsmith in the
Strand, who was one of the number, told them all that the men of his
profession were so numerous that he thought it next to impossible
for them to make such an inquiry without missing many; that, for his
own part, he had that day lent a carbine, and did not question but
several of the trade did the same every day that passed. This saying
of Mr Holloway's was presently taken hold of by the foreman, who
desired him, for the satisfaction of them all, to declare to whom he
had lent the said piece. Mr Holloway, after some small recollection,
answered: "To one Mr Thompson in Long Acre, who had formerly been a
major in the King's army, and was now married to a daughter of Sir
James Aston." Upon this a speedy search was made after Major
Thompson, who being abroad, his wife was taken into custody, and
detained a prisoner till her husband should be produced, though she
cleared herself very handsomely from having any knowledge of
borrowing or even seeing any such thing as a gun. Mr Thompson had
that morning gone into the country on some urgent occasions; but on
the first news of his wife's confinement he returned hastily to
London, where being examined before a justice of the peace, he
confessed that he had borrowed a carbine from Mr Holloway at the 
time mentioned, for the use of Major Strangwayes, who told him that
all he intended to do with it was to kill a deer; and that having
loaded it with a brace of bullets and a slug, he delivered it to the
said Major Strangwayes, in St Clement's churchyard, between the
hours of seven and eight at night. This was all the certain
intelligence they could get of what passed before the firing of the
gun. Who did the desperate deed was never known; for Mr Strangwayes
carried that great secret with him to the grave, refusing to confess
anything before man, and reserving this discovery for the general
assize hereafter, when the inmost recesses of men's hearts shall be
laid open. Thus much further they learned of Major Thompson, that
between the hours of ten and eleven Major Strangwayes brought back
the gun to his house, left it, and retired to his lodging. These
circumstances were enough to increase the suspicion of the
inquisitive jury, and when they were told to Mr Strangwayes he
seemed to be struck with terror, so that he continued some moments
in a profound silence; afterwards he acknowledged in a very pathetic
manner that the immediate hand of God was in the affair, for nothing
less could have brought about such a wonderful detection. He further
owned that, the night the murder was committed, he left one at his
quarters to personate him, whom he took care to introduce about
seven in the evening, while the people of the house were employed in
their necessary affairs, and not at leisure to take any notice of
his actions. This friend, he said, walked about the chamber, so as
to be heard by all the family, which occasioned them to give a wrong
deposition concerning Major Strangwayes being at home when he was
examined before the magistrate. He added, that when the fact was
committed (by whom, as we have observed already, he would never
confess) he returned to his lodging, found means to discharge his
friend, then hastened to bed, and lay there till he was apprehended
at three in the morning. On the 24th of February, 1658, Major George
Strangwayes was brought to his trial at the sessions house in the
Old Bailey; where, his indictment being read, and he commanded to
plead, he absolutely refused to comply with the method of the Court
unless, he said, he might be permitted, when he was condemned, to
die in the same manner as his brother-in-law had done. If they
refused this, he told them, he would continue in his contempt of the
Court, that he might preserve his estate, which would be forfeited
on his conviction, in order to bestow it on such friends as he had
most affection for, as well as to free himself from the ignominious
death of a public gibbet. Many arguments were urged by the Lord
Chief Justice Glyn, and the rest of the bench, to induce him to
plead; particularly the great sin he committed in refusing to submit
to the ordinary course of the law, and the terror of the death which
his obstinate silence would oblige them to inflict upon him. But
these, and all the other motives they made use of, were ineffectual;
he still remained immovable, refusing either to plead or to discover
who it was that fired the gun; only affirming, both then and always
afterwards till his death, that, whoever did it, it was done by his
direction. When the Court perceived they could work nothing on him,
the Lord Chief justice read the following dreadful sentence: --
"That the prisoner be sent back to the place from whence he came,
and there put into a mean room, where no light can enter; that he be
laid upon his back, with his body bare, save something to cover his
privy parts; that his arms be stretched forth with a cord, one to
one side of the prison, and the other to the other side of the
prison, and in like manner his legs shall be used; that upon his
body be laid as much iron and stone as he can bear, and more; that
the first day he shall have three morsels of barley bread, and the
next day he shall drink thrice of the water in the next channel to
the prison door, but no spring or fountain water; and this shall be
his punishment till he dies." Sentence being passed upon him, he was
remanded back to Newgate, where he was attended by several eminent
and pious divines till the day of his death -- namely, Dr Wild, Dr
Warmstrey, Mr Jenkins, Mr Watson and Mr Norton. Monday, the last day
of February, was the fatal day appointed for executing the judgment
passed on him, when, about eleven o'clock in the forenoon, the
Sheriffs of London and Middlesex, accompanied with several of their
officers, came to the press-yard in Newgate. After a short stay,
Major Strangwayes was guarded down, clothed all in white, waistcoat,
stockings, drawers and cap, over which was cast a long mourning
cloak. From whence he was conducted to the dungeon, the dismal place
of execution, being still attended with a few of his friends, among
whom was the Reverend Dr Warmstrey, turning to whom he said: "Sir,
will you be pleased to assist me with your prayers?" The doctor
answered: "Yes, Major, I came on purpose to officiate in that
Christian work. The Lord strengthen your faith, and give you
confidence and assurance in Jesus Christ." After they had spent some
time in prayers, the major addressed himself to the company in
general, and with a voice something more elevated than ordinary
spoke as follows: -- "I thank my God I never had a thought in my
heart to doubt the truth of the religion I profess. I die a
Christian, and am assured of my interest in Christ Jesus, through
whose merits I question not but ere long my soul shall triumph over
her present afflictions in an eternity of glory, being reconciled to
God by the blood of my Saviour. The Lord bless you all in this
world, and bring you at last to a world of blessedness, which is the
reward of the elect. The Lord bless me in this last and dreadful
trial. So let us all pray, Jesus, Jesus, have mercy on me!" Having
said this, he took his solemn last leave of all his lamenting
friends, and prepared himself for the dreadful assault of Death,
with whom he was speedily to encounter. He desired his friends, when
he gave the signal, to lay on the weights, and they placed
themselves at the corners of the press for that purpose. His arms
and legs were extended, according to the sentence, in which action
he cried out: "Thus were the sacred limbs of my ever blessed Saviour
stretched forth on the Cross, when He suffered to free the sin-
polluted world from an eternal curse." Then crying with a sprightly
voice, "Lord Jesus receive my soul," which were the words he had
told them, his mournful attendants performed their dreadful task.
They soon perceived that the weight they laid on was not sufficient
to put him suddenly out of pain, so several of them added their own
weight, that they might the sooner release his soul. While he was
dying, it was horrible to all who stood by, as well as dreadful to
himself, to see the agonies he was put into, and hear his loud and
doleful groans. But this dismal scene was over in about eight or ten
minutes, when his spirit departed, and left her tortured mansion,
till the great day that shall unite them again. His body having lain
some time in the press, was brought forth and exposed to public
view, so that a great many beheld the bruises made by the press, one
angle of which being purposely placed over his heart, he was the
sooner deprived of life, though he was denied what is usual in these
cases, to have a sharp piece of timber under his back to hasten the
execution. The body appeared void of scars, and not deformed with
blood, save where the extremities of the press came on the breasts
and upper part of the belly. The face was bloody, not from any
external injury, but the violent forcing of the blood from the
larger vessels into the veins of the face and eyes. After the dead
corpse had been thus examined it was put into a coffin, and in a
cart that attended at the prison door conveyed to Christ Church,
where it was interred. While he was under sentence he wrote the
following letter to Major Dewey, a Member of Parliament, who had
married one of his sisters: --  DEAR BROTHER, -- I hope for
forgiveness from you and the rest of my friends; for my conscience
bears me witness that I was grievously provoked by my brother-in-
law's wrongs. It was after he had abused me by prosecutions, and
refused to fight me in single combat, that I suffered myself to be
tempted to do what I did, though I intended only to have terrified
and not killed him. In a word, each hath his desert; he fell to my
revenge, and I to the law. I suffer willingly, being satisfied that
my crime is cancelled before the Almighty. From your dying brother,
G. STRANGWAYES.

It is said the major had often fallen into most impetuous storms of
rage at the sight of Mr Fussel, and had offered him odds in length
of weapon, to fight with him. Once in particular he met him in
Westminster Hall, when they had a cause there depending, and told
him that Calico Sands was a much fitter place for them, who were
both Cavaliers, to dispute in, than that court, where most of the
judges were their enemies. But Mr Fussel not only refused that way
of deciding their quarrel, but indicted him as a challenger, which
added fuel to his former rage, and put him upon the dreadful manner
of satisfying his passion for which he suffered.



GILDER-ROY

A most barbarous Murderer of his Mother and Sister, who led a
bloodthirsty Gang of Outlaws in Scotland and hanged a Judge.
Executed in April, 1658  THIS offender was descended of a very good
family in the Highlands of Scotland. His father died just when he
had seen his son reach that age at which the law supposes a man
capable to manage his own affairs, and left him an estate in
Perthshire of about eighty marks per annum. But though Gilder-roy
was twenty-one years old, he was a worse economist than the old
gentleman expected; so that in about a year and a half all his
substance was destroyed, his estate sold, and himself reduced to the
most extreme necessity, notwithstanding the frequent admonitions of
his friends against his profuseness, and their honest entreaties
that he would reflect upon his condition before it would be too
late.  His mother had a small jointure, with the income of which she
supplied him, till she saw it was to no purpose, he still consuming
all she could raise in a little time. At last she withheld her hand,
and let him for the future shift for himself. This so irritated the
villain that nothing but the death of the good old woman could
pacify him; in order to accomplish which, he arose one night and
burst into his mother's bed-chamber violently while she was asleep,
who had still been so unhappily tender as to let him lodge in her
house. The rest of this action is shocking to relate. He cut the
throat of his indulgent parent from ear to ear, ravished his own
sister and a maidservant, left them both bound, took everything
valuable out of the house, then set fire to it, burning that and the
two deflowered maidens all together.  This almost unparalleled piece
of barbarity filled the whole country round with horror; the author
of it was suspected, and a considerable reward was offered in a
proclamation issued out for apprehending him. The money, with the
abhorrence everybody had of his crime, made it unsafe for him to
stay any longer in his native country; so he fled into France, where
he lived upon the spoil of his murdered mother until it was all
spent, and he was obliged to make use of his wits for a livelihood. 
Being once at St Denis, he went to the cathedral, a mausoleum for
the kings of France, situated not far from the city of Paris, where
during the solemnisation of High Mass several of the best quality
were present. Here he applied himself to one who was seated most
suitably for his design, and immediately with an air of assurance,
as though he had known the gentleman, pointed to several of the
fairest ladies, and endeavoured to make himself pass for a gallant
to the ladies; which he might well enough do, he being as well
dressed as anybody there. The French gentleman had by this time
directed his attention more to his new acquaintance than to the
devotion of the day; which Gilder-roy perceiving, he made signs that
he intended to take a fine gold watch of great value from a lady's
side just by, whom he perceived to be acquainted with monsieur.
There being no mistrust of anything more than a joke (the Frenchman
little thinking a thief had made him his companion), they whispered
together where they should meet after service was over, and carry
their prize to the fair owner, when she had been sufficiently
grieved for her loss.  Satisfied with this fallacy, the French
gentleman made the best of his way out of the church when High Mass
was over, and left Gilder-roy to take care of himself, not doubting
in the least but his new acquaintance would punctually meet him at
the place appointed. But Gilder-roy was far enough in two hours'
time, and the French gentleman did not suspect any treachery before,
but imagined his delay might be occasioned by meeting a friend, or
the like. However, being impatient, he went at last in confusion
enough to inform the lady of what had passed. It was agreed the
sharper had outwitted him, and that by his connivance he had stolen
the watch in earnest; so he humbly asked her ladyship's pardon, and
entreated her to accept of another watch of equal value from him,
which he owned was but a just penance for the folly he had been
guilty of in so credulously placing too much confidence in a
stranger. In short, the lady, though full of resentment, accepted of
the present, but discarded him from his former capacity of being her
suitor, telling him she would never have a man so tame as to sit by
and see her robbed, without taking her part.  From France he took a
tour over the Pyrenean mountains into Spain, committing several
notorious robberies in divers parts of that kingdom, particularly in
Madrid. In this capital he found means to get a large quantity of
plate from the Duke of Medina Celi, when all his servants were
busied in an entertainment for foreign ambassadors. This trick was
performed by a previous acquaintance with the steward, who
introduced him at his pleasure.  Gilder-roy, after he had been about
three years abroad, had the confidence to venture home again,
supposing that though the horrible crime he had there committed
would never be forgotten, yet the heat of inquiry after him was
pretty well over. He now got together a great company of men, and
made his name almost as terrible in some of the remote parts of
Scotland as that of Robin Hood was formerly about the forest of
Sherwood in England. Particularly in the counties of Athol,
Lockable, Angus, Mar, Baquahan, Moray and Sutherland, he was dreaded
as much as a common enemy in time of war. The confusion of affairs
in these kingdoms, we may conclude, contributed a great deal towards
the establishing him in this manner, and his evading the stroke of
justice so long as he did. All the common people he laid under
contribution, and obliged them to allow him so many head of cattle
quarterly for his protection, which he was so impudent as to grant
them in form, by the means of which they might travel without
molestation from him or any of his gang. It was in vain to think of
not coming into his articles; for those who were not willing to
allow him part of their substance were sure to lose it all without
any ceremony.  Among the persons said to be robbed by Gilder-roy we
find the Earl of Linlithgow, from whom he took a gold watch, a
diamond ring, and eighty broad-pieces. Oliver Cromwell is another
mentioned on this occasion; but the writers of that time, who
endeavoured to throw all the indignities they could on the
republican party, have probably made this usurper and his friends to
be served in this manner much oftener than they really were. One
gentle man, however, who fell in Gilder-roy's way, made a stout
opposition with two of his servants, till one of the men was killed,
and the master himself wounded; Gilder-roy shot all their horses,
mounted the gentleman upon an ass, and sent him to seek his fortune. 
Three of this company were at last apprehended and sent to the
Tolbooth in Edinburgh, out of which prison they broke, but were soon
retaken, condemned, and executed at a distance without the city,
where their bodies were left hanging as a terror to others, till
they should drop down of themselves.  These three men were part of
Gilder-roy's particular favourites; whereupon he vowed revenge, and
communicated his design to the rest of the gang, who all agreed to
join with him in the execution of it. Their business was to waylay
the judge -- or Lord of Session, as they are there called -- who had
passed the sentence, and who was soon after so unhappy as to fall
into their hands. His coachman and two footmen they stripped stark
naked, tied them hand and foot, and threw them into a great pond,
where they were immediately drowned. Then they killed the four coach
horses, cut the coach all to pieces, and rifled his lordship of
everything about him that was valuable. This was not, however, half
the punishment they designed him, for they kept him confined in a
wood till dead of night, and then they put him on horseback and
brought him to the gallows where their comrades were hanging. The
form of a gallows or gibbet in Scotland is something like our
turnstiles, and consists of two beams that cross one another upon
the top of a high post, so that they point four several ways. It was
upon such a machine as this that those fellows were hung, and there
was one of the points vacant. When they arrived at the place,
Gilder-roy told the judge that, forasmuch as the structure was not
uniform without a fourth person, his lordship must fill the vacancy,
and take a swing upon the empty beam. As soon as he had delivered
his jest he let the poor judge see that he intended to act in
earnest, for a rope was instantly put round his lordship's neck, and
he was fairly tucked up to keep the malefactors company.  We have
not been informed of the name of this judge; but the action, we are
assured, was the occasion of a law that was soon after passed in
Scotland for the hanging of a highwayman as soon as ever he was
taken. This statute was afterwards often put in force against
gentlemen of the pad, whom they convicted and condemned after their
death, to keep up the form of justice.  A long series of success
made Gilder-roy so insolent that he thought nothing of killing those
who disputed the delivery of their money. He ravished almost all the
women that he could get into his power, set fire to houses and barns
upon the least affront, and spread an inexpressible fear in every
part where he haunted. The great complaints that were raised were
the occasion of a second proclamation for the taking of him either
dead or alive, in which the reward offered was no less than one
thousand marks. This obliged him again to take a little more care of
his conduct, and live privately as often and as much as his money
would permit.  One Peg Cunningham, whom he kept for a mistress,
hearing of the proclamation, and perceiving that it hindered him
from bringing her so much money as usual, thought it her best way to
lay hold of this opportunity, play the downright whore, and betray
him. This she accomplished in her own house, which she caused to be
surrounded with a body of men one night when he was with her.
Gilder-roy heard a noise, and perceived that he was trepanned; nor
was he at a loss to think by whom. Seeing therefore that he could no
way escape, he resolved to be revenged on his betrayer; which he was
before the guards could seize him. He took a knife and ripped up her
belly as she lay in bed, where she kept, to prevent his suspecting
her. After this he made as desperate a defence as ever was heard of,
killing several of his adversaries as they attempted to come to him.
But all this served only to aggravate his crimes; for he was taken
and put into prison, where his hands, feet and waist were all loaded
with irons for the greater security. Having been kept three days in
this condition, he was conveyed to Edinburgh by a strong guard, and
there executed, according to the law just now mentioned, on a gibbet
thirty feet high, in April, 1658. He was thirty-four years of age,
and died in a sullen temper, without any confession. His body was
hung in chains on another gibbet erected for that purpose between
Edinburgh and Leith.

THOMAS GRAY Nephew to the Exeter Hangman, who turned Thief and
Highwayman, and ended by marrying an Heiress. His Autobiography
written about 1660

 WE here present our readers with the remarkable life of a very
great thief and cheat, as written by himself above fourscore years
ago. This witty rogue is much talked of at this time in the west of
England, where he was born, and where he wrote his life and actions
-- a life famous in those parts, and which we believe will prove
diverting and agreeable to our readers here. The account which he
gives of himself is as follows:  I was born in Exeter, a city in the
county of Devon. My father's name was Thomas Gray, a native of the
same city, and by trade a barber. His wife (who I believe was my
mother) was a good-natured woman, and one who never denied a
handsome spark any favour. My father was accused of keeping a
younger brother of mine always at hand to pick his customers'
pockets whilst they were shaving; but the little diver was caught,
and died in prison under the penance of a discipline applied to him
with a little too much rigour. My father was much afflicted at it,
for he drove a pretty trade with him, and he never had been a
prisoner before, but always came off with honour. As to my own part,
after many disputes between my parents about placing me out in the
world, and they not agreeing to what trade, I was furnished with the
first rudiments of Art, vulgarly called the Horn Book, and sent to
school. I had not been there above eight days, before my mistress,
who was a likely lass, perceived I was a lad of mettle, and might be
proper to go her errands, and for that reason was kinder to me than
the rest of the scholars, which made them envy me. From that time I
began to keep company with those who were bigger than myself, and
became intimate with a gentleman's son of the city, whose name was
Mr Robert Langdon. Every holiday we went to play together; hens'
nests and orchards we robbed together. In short, I was never out of
his company, which made my fellow-scholars either angry that I
slighted them, or, thinking me presumptuous, they twitted me with my
father's trade. One would call me Lord of the Razor, another Little
Trimmer, and a third Young Soapsuds; but these I did not regard,
until one of my comrades, with whom I was playing, called me son of
a whore. Upon which I threw a stone hard at him and broke his head,
then took to my heels, ran to my mother, and told her the case, who
commended my valour and rejoiced to see how great an empire honour
had already obtained over me. Away goes my father to seek out the
boy, that he might wipe off this reproach, who asking his pardon,
and peace being made, I was returned to school again.  Whilst I
remained here I was always in company with the scholar before-
mentioned, with whom I had contracted a great friendship, I used to
exchange my tops and marbles with him, though mine were better. I
gave him pictures, and complied so with his humours, that at last
his father and mother, who knew nothing of the ill-repute of mine,
finding their child took such delight in my company, were very well
pleased when I dined, supped, or lay with their son, who in a short
time was removed to a grammar school at Cullumpton, with myself to
accompany him, to wean him from his parents' fondness, which
commonly makes children dunces.  At this school we remained about
five years, during which time nothing extraordinary intervened, but
such tricks as are usually played at school. I and my young master
made pretty good progress in our learning, and he being now arrived
to the age of eighteen, his father took him from the school, and
after he had kept him at home about three months, desirous of making
his son a scholar, resolved to send him to Oxford, and I was asked
if I thought fit to wait on him. My consent was easily obtained. Our
clothes were packed up, and we mounted on horseback, accompanied by
an old servant to carry our portmanteaus, defray the expenses of our
journey, and bring back the horses. Nothing remarkable happened on
the road; we arrived safe at Oxford. My young master was entered of
B -- -- College, and I had lodgings at a private house (with several
other gentlemen's servants), and waited on him only by day. My
landlady was a mighty woman for what she called country affairs; so
that the yard was well stocked with fowls of all sorts, sucking-
pigs, etc.  On an evening, being at play in my room with some of the
other servants, we heard a grunting without the door, which we
opened, and presently in came a

brace of young pigs, which we punished severely for their
presumption in coming so near us; and that night carried them to an
ale-house, and made a brave feast of them. My master heard of it,
and was very angry, but most of the gentlemen of the college laughed
at it, and interposed in my behalf. It was not long before my young
master came into the like opinion with me of now and then borrowing
some of our neighbours' goods; for he, with three more of his
fellow-collegians, being apprised of a very fat calf which belonged
to a farmer a little way from their college, made bold to take it
away, but could not for a long time contrive how to get it into the
college; for it being late, and the gates shut, the porter would
inevitably see them. But one more cunning than the rest bids two of
them lift the calf upon the hind feet, then put his gown and cap on
it, and thus supported the calf was led in. The porter, inquiring
what was the reason they supported the gentleman so, was told it was
a scholar a little in liquor, and by that stratagem they made many
good meals on veal.  These and many other pranks we played there,
when my master received a letter from his father, wherein was
enclosed one for myself from an uncle of mine, the most noted man in
Exeter; for he was a finisher of the law, alias the hangman. This
was the person who sent me the letter, a copy of which I have here
transcribed, that you may see what a great affection he bore me. TO
MY DEAR NEPHEW, Mr THOMAS GRAY

 The great employment which I have under his Majesty has hitherto
hindered me from writing to you. I am much afflicted to be the
conveyancer of such news unto you as cannot be very welcome. Your
father died eight days since, but the most generously I ever saw
man. I will say this of him everywhere; for I myself trussed him up.
He mounted the ladder with a good grace; but spying one of the
rounds broken, and being a lover of order, he turned about to the
sheriff and desired it might be mended for the next comer, who
perhaps might be less active than himself. I cannot describe to you
how handsomely he appeared in the eyes of all spectators. He sat
himself down in a most becoming posture, took the cord himself and
fastened the knot to it, and seeing the parson who attended him
beginning to exhort him to repentance -- "Sir," says he, "I have
long since prepared myself for this action. Let us only sing a
penitential psalm, and make an end, for I would not be troublesome
to the company." Which done, he threw himself off the ladder,
without making any ugly faces, and so continued near an hour with a
most incomparable gravity. As for your mother, she was tried for a
bawd, and convicted; was condemned to follow a cart through the
city; but never received her punishment, dying of the jail
distemper. I am extremely afflicted she should so dishonour our
family, in which I have no small interest, being an officer of the
King's; for the relation I had unto her is no mean discredit to me
amongst persons of quality. I have your father's effects in my
hands, which he bequeathed to you. I believe they will be worth
about fourscore pounds. I am your uncle, and have no children, and
design to resign my office to you. You may therefore on sight hereof
provide yourself to come hither; for I persuade myself you will make
a very worthy successor to me. I desire your speedy answer, and am,
your affectionate uncle, ROGER GRAY.

 I must confess I was out of countenance at the shame and discredit
of my parents, and the only comfort I had left was that I should
shortly receive the money. I went to my young master, whom I still
found reading his lettcrs, in which his father commanded him to turn
me off. He told me of it with some concern, and that he did not dare
to disobey him; but offered to recommend me to a gentleman of his
acquaintance. "Sir," says I to him, "my thoughts are higher than
serving anybody; I renounce the meanness of all those conditions. I
intend to scale honour, and if hitherto I have had one foot upon the
ladder, as everyone knows, be pleased to understand that my father
has mounted to the very top of it." I expounded my meaning to him by
showing my uncle's letter; for he knowing who I was I might the more
freely, and with less shame, discover the whole affair unto him. He
was sorry at it, and asked me what I intended to do. I acquainted
him with my designs. He paid me my wages, and made me a handsome
present besides. I took my leave of him with a great deal of
reluctance, went to my lodgings, dissembling my grief the best I
could. I burnt my letter, fearing somebody might find it and
discover my shame. Then I resolved to go to Exeter and take
possession of my legacy, and also to know my relations, that I might
the better avoid them, and shun the place of their habitation.  At
length the day came when I was to abandon the most pleasant life I
had yet known. God knows with what regret I bade adieu to so many
friends and companions. I sold what things I could, and by that and
some other means had got above twenty pounds in my pocket. I bought
a horse for about three pounds, and mounting him, left Oxford. Now
being at large, I was willing to take a little pleasure, and for
that reason visited Bath on my way home. There it was I met with a
very ignorant self-conceited fellow, who called himself a poet. Our
acquaintance began at supper, by his asking me (according to the 
custom of travellers) from whence I came. I told him from Oxford. "A
curse light upon that place," replied he; "there's hardly a man of
understanding there." "I wonder," says I, "you should so undervalue
them; for I assure you there are many ingenious men at that
university." "Ingenious men, say you!" replied he, all in a fury.
"Who are they? I am sure I have been a country schoolmaster above
these ten years, and am the author of several Christmas carols, yet
none of your famous university ever took any notice of me. To
convince you further, I will read one of them," Which he accordingly
did. The subject was, The Shepherds Meeting at Bethlehem; but not
one good line in it. However I flattered him, and commended what he
called verses to the skies, and told him I entirely agreed with him
that there was no comparison between the Oxonians and him, and asked
him if he had ever read the Ordinances made lately against poets. He
answered in the negative, and desired me to let him see them. The
company joining with him in his request, I condescended; and taking
them out of my pocket began to read them as follows: -- ORDINANCES
AGAINST A SET OF CRACK-BRAINED FELLOWS, COMMONLY CALLED OR KNOWN BY
THE NAME OF POETS

 I. Although we are credibly informed that there is a certain kind
of vermin, called poets, who are much given to idolatry, worshipping
ribbons, fans, gloves, shoe-strings, and the like; as also who daily
commit infinite other sins much more heinous, as if they were 
barbarians, or Pagans; yet in regard they are Christians, and our
neighbours, we are charitably inclined to work their reformation,
and do therefore ordain that, in Easter Week, they be assembled
together in some public space, then and there to be admonished of
their errors. And in case any are touched with a sense of their
errors, and willing to renounce their superstition, we shall
discharge such with a proper certificate, and the rest we shall send
with an order to the keeper of some eminent madhouse.

 II. Forasmuch as divers have forsaken their idolatrous life (though
they yet retain some relics of it) and delight in groves and woods,
we ordain they leave off such foolish notions, or that such as
affect to be solitary shall go and build cottages in the deserts of
Arabia; and as for those who will not submit hereunto, we give them
liberty to hire themselves out to old nurses, to sing and rock their
children asleep in their cradles.  Here the pedant could no longer
hold, but up he rose in a fury, and protested against the
Ordinances, and appealed to Apollo in his Court of Parnassus. I had
much ado to forbear laughing; but that I might be kept up no longer,
for it was pretty late, I told him the Ordinances were only made in
jest, and that he might choose whether he would obey them; which
quieted him for the present, and then I proceeded:  III. We do
adjudge that all women who shall fall in love with these kind of
poets shall be comprised within the number of wilful murderers. And
we further command that they be not buried in holy ground, but in
the highway.  IV. Considering the great numbers of plays, songs, and
miscellanies -- of which collections have been made of late years --
we ordain that all such bundles of copies as the pastrycooks' and
chandlers' shops have saved shall be forthwith carried to the houses
of office, there to be used as occasion shall require, any
prohibition or injunction to the contrary notwithstanding.  V.
Considering that there are three sorts of people in the kingdom who
are so extremely miserable that they cannot live without poets, as
lovers, ballad-singers, and stage-players, we, being charitably
inclined to supply their wants, do permit that there be a certain
number of poets tolerated for their use, provided they subscribe
their works, and give notice of their dwellings, that they be
brought to give an account of their misdemeanours and detractions,
which for the most part they commit against persons of honour in
their lampoons.

 VI. Lastly, we command all poets in general to correct and amend
their style; and that for the future they cease profaning of
heavenly things, or adopting the names of angels, stars, suns and
divinities unto such women as are ready for all comers; and this
under pain of being sentenced to transportation for fourteen years. 
They who heard those Ordinances read, desired copies of them, except
our exasperated poet, who cried out in a pet that he need not make
any defence, but appealed to all men of sense. At this passage all
the company laughed very heartily, which made the jingler ten times
worse. He called for the reckoning, paid his share, and left us; and
for my own part, seeing it was late, I made an end of our liquor,
and went to bed.  Day came. I rose and took leave of the company --
I mean such as were out of their beds -- and proceeded on my
journey. But nothing extraordinary happened till I got to Exeter,
where I inquired of several people for my uncle, but could get
nothing from them but a command to go and look for him, until I
accosted a beggar in St Peter's churchyard, who informed me where he
lived, and that he was for the present employed in brushing the
shoulders of a brace of females who would not leave other people's
shirts upon their hedges. I went to a neighbouring ale-house and
gave a boy twopence to go and tell my worshipful relation I waited
for him; for I did not much care for his expressions of joy at my
arrival in the open streets. In about two hours he came, and seemed
extraordinary glad to see me, conducting me to his house, which was
near a very large slaughter-house, the most noisome place in the
whole city. "This is not a palace," said he, as he went into his
house; "but I can assure you, my dear nephew, it is very commodious
for my office." We went in together to a place he called his
parlour, which was hung round with the utensils of his trade, as
whips, cords, branding-irons, etc. Never was galley-slave more
astonished than myself. He asked me to sit down, which I did without
much ceremony. "You are very lucky," says he, "in coming to-day. You
will meet with a good supper, there being some friends of mine to
sup with me." In the midst of his discourse in came a certain man in
a tattered coat, and by what I could find by his discourse he was
one of the jail solicitors. He laid down a bag he brought with him
in a corner, which, instead of being filled with papers, was stuffed
with goose, roast beef, etc. "Is not old Twister come yet?" said he.
"No," quoth my uncle; but the word was hardly out of his mouth
before a great scoundrel fellow entered the room. His face was all
chequer-work, flat-nosed, with a hat the crown of which would have
almost cased a steeple, and the brims were so large it might have
served for a pent-house for three or four in rainy weather. "I must
needs confess, dear godfather," said he to my uncle, "you have
served your penitents to-day like good children indeed." With that
the twig of the law took up the discourse. "They were poor sneaky
rascals, who had not anything to buy a favour. I gave six shillings
to the beadle of Launceston to befriend me as he did when I was
forced to dance a couranto there." "For my part," said the other, "I
did not grudge the money I gave at Salisbury, and yet the old thief
made me sensible that one of more credit than myself had recommended
me to him." "These officers," said my uncle, interposing, "are not
men of honour as I am; for when I treat with anyone, I know how to
acquit myself as becomes my quality." I listened to their discourse
with abundance of regret, which one of them perceiving -- "Is that
one of the young men who passed through your hands last?" said he.
"No, no," said my uncle, "it is a nephew of mine, a Master of Arts
at Oxford, and a very ingenious young man." He begged my pardon, and
proffered me his service; for which I thanked him very kindly, he
being my uncle's assistant, who helped him at a pinch. In the
meantime I was almost mad to get my money out of my uncle's hands,
that I might be gone from him. To be short, the cloth was laid, and
a boy they had got to attend them was sent for a lusty jug of ale.
This boy was an ingenious lad, who knew how to get sixpence clear
when they sent him for a groat's worth of ale. The case was, he
would sell the pitcher for twopence, and pretend he had broken it
and spilt the liquor.  They sat themselves down at the table, and I,
being a stranger, was placed at the upper end. In a word, they
stuffed their bellies so full that, what with the meat, and what
with the wine, the vapours crept up into their pericraniums. They
began to see double, and some to see such things as were not near
them; for the ragamuffin lawyer took a plate of fried tripe, which
swam in butter as black as ink, and thinking it to be broth, clapped
it to his mouth to sup it up, saying, "It is good to have something
of one's own "; and thinking to put it to his mouth, spilt one half
in his bosom and the other on his clothes. Perceiving himself in
that pickle, he rose from the table to clean himself, but his head
was too heavy for his body, so that at the first step his nose
kissed the ground; with that he took hold of the leg of the table
and, endeavouring to rise, upset it upon the other two. My uncle
tried to get up, but being as far gone as the others, fell upon his
colleague, who, finding himself down before he expected it, asked my
uncle why he pushed him, and whether he was used to entertain his
guests so; and with that he took up a bone, intending to slay my
uncle, who lay at full length dead drunk.  About a fortnight passed
much after the above manner, during which time I was daily talking
to my uncle about the money left by my father; but he, being a man
who understood little of good behaviour, put me to a great deal of
trouble before I could bring him to my own bow. But at length he
yielded, though with some reluctance; for I could only make him
bleed three of the four score pounds left me by my father, which he
got by his industry, and entrusted to a person of honour, who was
the depository of all the thefts committed within ten miles of
Exeter. To her we went, who received us with many welcomes, and
wishes I might prove as honest and as able a man as my deceased
father.  The money was tolled out, and my uncle seeing me take
possession of my fortune -- "My dear nephew," said he, "you will do
very ill should you squander away this money. Did I not know you to
be a person of understanding, and withal

mindful of the family from whence you are descended, I should be
very cautious of delivering it into your hands; but you have it, and
God give you grace to make good use of it, and then, perhaps, you
may enjoy part of my labours." I returned him thanks for his kind
offers, and having drunk sufficiently, took leave of the good woman,
and with my uncle returned home, where we found his two companions,
to whom we gave an account of what he had done. I perceived by their
countenances and their discourse they expected a treat. I
accordingly sent for a large jug of ale but not contented with that,
my uncle was for a walk to Topsham the next day to see the ships,
and I was to bear the expense of the day.  The morning being come,
my uncle, his two pot-companions and myself took a walk to Topsham,
and got into company with some sailors, who would have us go on
board their ship and drink some flip; and my uncle, who was never
backward in drinking, agreed to it, though in the sequel it proved
but bad for him, for here he died a watery death, though he never
delighted in that element. But the fault was in his tongue, and
thinking himself as great as a lord (especially when drunk), he gave
the captain of the ship some very scurrilous language, who, in
return, tipped him over the side of the ship, and the water, which
he had so naturally abhorred whilst living, took revenge on him at
his death.  At first we made a great noise, and swore to hang the
captain; but he soon quieted us, by getting us into his cabin. He
plied us well with punch; and applying some gold to me and my
companions, we signed a paper wherein we acknowledged that nobody
had hurt my uncle, or touched a hair of his head (which was true,
because he was bald), but that he, being very much in liquor, had
tumbled overboard by accident. The coroner summoned a jury the next
morning, who, after they had separately examined me and the two
ragamuffins, found that my uncle's death was by accident. All that
now remained was to lay him underground, desiring the earth, as it
conceals so many gross faults committed by doctors, apothecaries,
surgeons, etc., to hide one small fault of a captain and a little
salt water. I shall give no further account of my relations or

ancestors; but I suppose the latter descended from some great Norman
who came over with William the Conqueror. Those who desire to know
more of them may search the Heralds' Office, where, perhaps, they
may satisfy their curiosity.  After the funeral was over (at which I
did not shed one tear, because I saw nobody else do it), I took
possession of my uncle's house and effects, the latter of which I
sold off for about three and twenty pounds; and not caring to stay
any longer in my native place, I was resolved to make the best of my
way to London; and accordingly, hearing that the carrier had a spare
horse, I hired him, and on we jogged the next morning.  Nothing
remarkable happened till I got to Hounslow Heath, where it was my
ill-fortune to meet as great a rogue as myself. I could not be
contented to follow the wagon, but being in a hurry to view the
metropolis of the kingdom, I rode on before, and about the middle of
the heath met one of your highway collectors, who dismounted me, and
robbed me of all my money; and though I told him I was as great a
rogue as himself, it would not save my money, for he demanded my
credentials -- that is, my pistols -- but I had none. However, after
much entreaty, he returned me about fifteen shillings, and in lieu
of it took away the horse with him. The devil had a long time owed
me a spite, and took this opportunity to pay it. I was left in a
sweet condition. I did not dare to stay for the carrier, fearing he
might stop me for the horse, and money I had none to pay him for it,
except what the highwayman so charitably returned me. I even
resolved to foot it the rest of the way, and got to London that
evening, very weary and heavy-hearted. All I had to depend on was my
industry, which is the only philosopher's stone, and converts all
things to gold. "A man by art, and by deceit,

Half a year may live complete.

By the same deceit and art,

He may live the other part."

 It was my fortune to take up my quarters in a street pretty famous
for furnishing young apprentices with women's flesh, and for being
the common receptacle of bullies. Here in less than four days I got
acquainted with as great a rogue as ever was hanged, and he was my
master of the ceremonies to introduce me to a gang of fellows like
himself. I found them in a cellar, drinking and carousing, and was
welcomed by three loud huzzas, and a stool ordered for me. Scarce
was I sat down but in came one of the fraternity with a good cloak
on his back, which he had exchanged for his own at a billiard-table,
where he made as if he would play, but having the industry not to
make one, he got to the place where the cloaks lay, and very
dexterously borrowed the best of them, leaving his own in its stead.
This was nothing in comparison with the next that came, who was
always attended by a number of children all troubled with one
disease or another.  That which drew such a rout after him was his
pretending to cure and charm all diseases, either by saying some
magical words, or giving them scrolls of paper to carry about them;
by which means he got a pretty income.  After him came another, a
grave demure man, who looked like a saint. His business was to go
about the streets and sell little books of prayers and hymns. He had
always some text of Scripture ready to vindicate what he said. He
was thought to be a very holy man by the vulgar, and by this device
got good store of money. If in his walk he chanced to find any door
open, he went in with a great deal of confidence; if he found no one
within, or if they were asleep, he never came away empty-handed. In
case he found anyone, or if they happened to awake, he told them he
came in, finding the door open, to advise of it, and that they had
need be careful of night-walkers; and always concluded with some
hypocritical advice.  I passed one month in observing the many ways
of stealing practised by the society, but never went out upon the
shark by myself, having always for my companion the person who first
brought me acquainted with their ways. We two made a pretty good
hand of it, and brought as much to the common stock as any. We had
an old woman who sold everything we stole. She used to go from house
to house, saying she was a poor woman forced to sell her goods by
piecemeal to buy bread for herself and family. She would weep at
every word, and sob and cry like a child, with which, and her other
industry, she cheated charitable people, and sometimes to good
purposes. This right venerable and no less reverend old woman was
grand protectress of our society, and chief treasuress. But upon a
certain day, as the devil (who is never idle in such things as
concern his good subjects) would have it, our good woman, going to
sell a suit of clothes, and some other things, fell upon one who
knew, among the rest, something that once belonged to himself.
Presently he got a constable, who took her into custody. She soon
squeaked, confessed all, and impeached our whole order; upon which
we were soon secured, and guarded to Newgate.  At length the
sessions came; we were arraigned at the bar, and after a pretty long
trial our poor old woman was condemned to follow a cart's tail from
Newgate to Tyburn, with a fellow to brush her shoulders. My comrades
were condemned to live seven years in another country. My innocency
appeared, God-a-mercy horse-gold I mean and so I got clear for that
bout.  I resolved to leave London and go to Bristol. The first stage
I went was to Reading, where it was my fortune to meet with a
company of players, and amongst the rest one who had been an
acquaintance of mine at Oxford. He embraced me very kindly, and so
far prevailed upon his friends that they admitted me into the
company, and gave me several parts to get by heart. I had got such a
trick, that I could not forbear walking up and down the chamber with
the same earnestness as if I had been upon the stage.  It happened
that the maid of the house was coming up with dinner just as I was
upon a description of the hunting of wild beasts, and of a man being
pulled down by a bear, as if it had been my own self; I began to cry
out in a pitiful tone: "Save thyself, and fly this grisly bear,

Or else thy body he will surely tear:

Fast in my flesh are fix'd his direful claws;

I fall a prey to his rapacious jaws.

O fly away; for this I plainly see,

As soon as I am dead, he'll murder thee."

The poor wench was so terrified with my cry, and action, that she
verily believed I had really advised her to save herself from being
devoured. The great haste in which she was in to be gone made her
make but one step from the top to the bottom of the stairs: down she
went, and the dishes with her. Away she got into the street, crying
there was a bear in the house, killing and eating a man. I heard a
noise, and, apprehending whence it came, went out to disabuse the
girl; but notwithstanding all my haste, I found about a dozen men at
the door, some with spits, some with halters, and others with
swords, swearing and staring, and inquiring for the bear. I told
them the whole story, and repeated the lines. They were mad and
vexed at being made such fools of, and cursed the verses, and the
poet too, to the pit of hell. But that little troubled me; that
which concerned me most was, I was forced to lose my dinner.  My
companions hearing of this adventure made the town ring with it, and
I had the honour of being the subject of several ballads. Not long
after, another accident happened which confounded us all. The master
of our company had run into debt with a tailor for a very
considerable sum for clothes and other necessaries for our use, and
he, perceiving there was no likelihood of getting his money,
arrested him, and his other creditors coming in, he lay under so
many locks and keys that there was no likelihood of his getting out.
By this means our company dwindled, and everyone shifted for
himself. The truth is, I might have got into another company, but I
was quite tired with that way of life.  My friend (who, I told you
before, first introduced me into the above set of strollers, and
with whom I had contracted a very intimate friendship) was resolved
to accompany me to whatever part of the world I went. His name was
Richard Brown. By his advice I took a resolution to revisit London,
and on comparing our stock, found we could muster up two hundred
pounds, by which we hoped to improve our fortune. Brown was a
genteel, well-made fellow, had a tongue as smooth as oil, and a good
address, and could cog a die or slip a card with anyone. We were
both desperate as to our fortunes, and therefore resolved to make a
bold push, either to gain more or be stripped; and if the latter
happened, we thought of nothing but the last resort of gamesters,
which was, either to hang ourselves, or get the county to furnish us
with a proper officer.

 We had not been in London above a week before we lost all our
money, and almost all our senses; but recalling some of the latter,
we (by pawning part of our clothes) got each of us a brace of
pistols, and took an airing towards Barnet. On the road we met a
chariot and four horses, furnished with an elderly gentleman and his
daughter, from whom we took about forty pounds in money, a brace of
watches and a silver snuff-box, the last of which the young lady
begged very hard for; but we were inexorable, and lucky for us that
we were so, for when we got to our lodgings we found a diamond ring
in the box, which we sold for ninety-three pounds. This being my
first setting out as a highwayman, I was unwilling to be caught, so
that to prevent being pursued I shot one of the wheel-horses, which
vexed the old gentleman more than his money; for he lost all
patience, calling us rogues, villains, highwaymen and murderers.
"What harm," says old crusty, "has the horse done you? Can you get
anything by killing him, or do ye think he has got any money hid
about him?" My companion did not like the old chap's expressions; so
with a great oath commanded him to come out of the chariot, that he
might search him. "For," said he, "you old fox, I'll rummage you all
over." We found nothing about him but a tobacco-box, a silver dram-
bottle and a pocket-book; the last of which we returned, on his
promising not to give such scurrilous language any more to gentlemen
of our profession; and the same night we got safe to London. 
Flushed with our success, we often ventured out in the evening; but
the worst was, whatever we got on the road, the dice swallowed. Our
last exploit was near Richmond, where we attacked a gentleman and
his man, well armed. We had no sooner bid them stand than the
gentleman fired at us, but luckily missed us. The servant rode off
as fast as his horse could go, whilst my comrade lodged a ball in
the gentleman's arm, which made him yield. We robbed him of near
three hundred pounds, wished him good-night, and rode off. Not far
had we got before we found ourselves pursued, for the gentleman's
servant had raised the county; but, however, after a pretty deal of
difficulty, we again got safe home.  This last adventure frightened
both of us so much we did not venture at that sport any more; for by
a kind turn of fortune my friend got, in one night, above nine
hundred pounds. It was then my advice that we should buy each of us
a good horse, and go into the country for some time. My companion
agreed to it, and pitched upon Bath and Bristol to pay a visit to;
and because we would set out with a good grace, we hired a servant
to attend us, who proved an excellent one, for he was one of the
most arch dogs I ever knew. He was by trade a saddler; he sung
tolerably, and played upon the violin. In short, we could put him
upon nothing but he would undertake it; so that we did not keep long
upon the reserve of our servant, but let him into our designs, which
were, to go a-fortune-hunting.  At last we arrived at Bath, where we
pushed into all company, and had not been there a fortnight before
our dexterous servant had got acquainted with a young girl who
waited on two sisters, who were guarded by their mother and watchful
uncle; but, however, I made my addresses to one of them, wrote
letters, and received answers, by help of my man, and found they
were ten thousand pounds fortunes. My friend Brown cried me up in
all places for a person of a great estate; but the mother and uncle
were inexorable. However the young lady was not; for by means of a
strolling clergyman, well daubed in the fist, we were married and
fairly bedded in my own lodgings, nobody being privy to it but my
spouse's sister, my landlady, my friend Brown, and my servant. My
spouse's sister was a brisk lass, and, as I thought, wanted
something. I persuaded Brown to address her, which he did, and the
same parson joined them. However, this might have happened but
poorly at last, had not the young ladies' father died, who was a
Bristol merchant. He went over some time before to Jamaica to settle
some affairs, but on his return was unfortunately (but fortunately
for me and my brother adventurer) drowned; the news of which I
received about a month after marriage. Hitherto all this had been
secret, but on this news our marriages were publicly owned, and we
demanded our spouses' fortunes. At first we were roughly treated;
but the mother and uncle, both considering the indissoluble knot
could not be untied, were reconciled, and in a little time we had
their fortunes, and now both of us live happily.  It was but reason
we should make some amends to our man for his services, so we
proposed a match between him and his sweetheart, the latter of whom
was very glad; for he had been pretty busy with her, she being then
with child, which she confessed to her mistresses. When we asked our
faithful servant the question, and told him of her confession, says
he: "I fancy the sin is worth the owning, the creature is a sound
piece of mortality. 'Tis but supposing the first night we lie
together that we have been married four or five months, and all is
well; so that, gentlemen, I am ready to obey your commands." In
short, they were married, and we and our spouses gave them nigh on a
thousand pounds. They have lately set up an inn within fifteen miles
of Bristol, have good business, and live comfortably.  Thus far the
wheel of fortune has gone round with me; what may hereafter happen I
cannot foresee, but at present I'm resolved to live easy, and repent
my former follies. Perhaps, gentle reader, you might have expected a
tragical end had been my fate, but as yet I have got no further than
matrimony and hanging; and that, you know, goes by destiny.

JOHN, RICHARD AND JOAN PERRY Mother and Sons, executed in 1661 on
the false Statement of the First for the alleged Murder of Mr
William Harrison, who appeared alive two Years later after strange
Adventures ON the 16th of August, 1660, Mr William Harrison, aged
seventy, steward to Lady Campden of Campden, in Gloucestershire,
walked from Campden to Charringworth to receive her ladyship's
rents. As he did not return at the usual time, his wife, about nine
o'clock in the evening, sent her servant, John Perry, to meet him;
but neither Harrison nor the servant returned that night. On the
following morning Edward Harrison, son of the aforesaid William
Harrison, went towards Charringworth, and meeting the servant Perry
on the road, he learned that his father was not to be found there.
They next went together to Ebrington, a village between
Charringworth and Campden, where they were told by one Daniel that a
Mr Harrison called at his house the previous evening, but stayed
there only a few minutes. They then went to Paxford, about half-a-
mile distant, where, hearing nothing of Mr Harrison, they returned
to Campden. On their road thither they accidentally heard that a
hat, band and comb had been recently picked up by a poor woman on
the highway between Ebrington and Campden. They therefore sought for
the woman, in whose possession these articles were said to be, and
having found her, and identified the hat, band and comb to be the
property of Harrison, they were conducted to the precise spot where
they were picked up. Adjoining the road was a large furze field,
which they searched, supposing that Mr Harrison might have been
murdered there, as the hat, band and comb were much hacked, and the
latter stained with blood. Their search was, however, in vain; and
the news soon reaching Campden, so alarmed the inhabitants, that
men, women and children commenced a general search for Mr Harrison,
but with no success. Mrs Harrison's fear for her husband's safety
now increased, and as her servant Perry, whom she had sent on the
previous evening, had not duly returned, suspicion fell upon him as
the murderer. On the next day Perry was apprehended, and examined
before a Justice of the Peace concerning his master's absence, and
his reason for staying from home all night -- when he gave this
account: that in consequence of his mistress sending him to meet his
master between eight and nine o'clock in the evening, he went down
Campden field towards Charringworth, where meeting one William Reed,
of Campden, he apprised him of the object of his journey; and
further told him that, as it was growing dark, he durst not venture
on his journey on foot, but would return and saddle his young
master's horse. He accordingly returned with Reed to Mr Harrison's
gate, where they parted. He (Perry) remained there till, on one
Pierce passing by, he joined him, walked a short distance into the
fields, and returned with him also to Mr Harrison's gate, where they
also parted. That he, John Perry, then went into his master's hen-
roost, where he lay about an hour, but slept not. That when the
clock struck twelve he rose and went towards Charringworth, till a
great mist rising he lost his way, and so lay the rest of the night
under a hedge. That at the break of day on Friday morning he went to
Charringworth, where he inquired for his master of one Edward
Plaisterer, who told him that he had paid him twenty-three pounds on
the previous afternoon, but that he remained with him only for a
short time. He then went to one William Curtis of the same town, who
likewise told him that he had heard of Mr Harrison having been there
the day previous, but being from home he did not see him. He then
returned home, it being about five o'clock in the morning, when on
the road he met his master's son, with whom he went to Ebrington and
Paxford, as before stated.  Reed, Pierce, Plaisterer and Curtis, in
their examination, corroborated the whole of Perry's statement.  On
Perry being asked by the justice why he was afraid to go to
Charringworth at nine o'clock, and so willing to go at twelve, he
replied that at nine o'clock it was dark, but at twelve the moon
shone. And on being further asked why, on returning home twice,
after his mistress had sent him to meet Mr Harrison, and staying
till twelve o'clock, he did not inquire at home whether his master
had returned before he went a third time to seek him, he answered
that he knew his master was not come home, because he saw a light in
his chamber window, which was usual during Mr Harrison's absence
from home. Notwithstanding this explanation, it was not thought
prudent to discharge Perry till further inquiry was made after his
master; and accordingly he remained in custody six days, during
which time he was again examined at Campden, but nothing further was
elicited.  Various reports now obtained circulation, one of which
was that Perry, on being again pressed to confess what he knew of
the matter, said that a tinker had killed his master. He told others
that a gentleman's servant of the neighbourhood had robbed and
murdered him; and to others he said that he was murdered and hid in
a certain bean-rick, where search was made for the body but in vain.
At length he promised to disclose the whole affair if he were
examined by the justice before whom he had deposed his former
statement. On Friday the 24th of August, he was again examined,
when, in reply to the question whether he would confess what had
become of his master, he said that he was murdered, but not by him.
On the justice telling him that if he knew him to be murdered it was
most probable that he knew the murderer, he confessed that he did;
and further, that his mother and brother had murdered Mr Harrison.
The justice warned him of the serious nature of the charge, but he
persisted in his assertion, which he justified by the following
circumstances.  The prisoner now deposed that his mother and brother
had depended on him ever since he entered into his master's service,
telling him that it was in his power to relieve them, by apprising
them of the day on which Mr Harrison went to collect his rents, when
they proposed to waylay him and rob him. That accordingly he
acquainted his brother of the day, and walked with him a short
distance on his leaving home to search for Mr Harrison in the
evening. That they then parted; but meeting again near Campden
church, he proposed that his brother should pursue his master
through some adjoining gardens, while he walked in the fields. That
he soon afterwards found his master on the ground in the middle of
the garden, his brother leaning over the body, and his mother
standing beside him. That on being asked whether his master was dead
he answered No; and that after he came up to them Mr Harrison cried:
"Ah, rogues! will you kill me?" He now told his brother he hoped he
would kill his master, when he replied: "Peace! peace! you're a
fool," and then strangled him. Which being done, he took a bag of
money out of Mr Harrison's pocket and threw it into his mother's
lap. Then he and his brother agreed to throw the body into a great
sink by Wallington's Mill, behind the garden; but his mother and
brother requesting him to watch at a distance, and listen if all
were they undertook to dispose of the body accordingly.  On being
asked whether it was thrown there, he replied that he knew not; but
that his mother and brother having promised to dispose of it, he
left them, and went into the village of Campden. Here he met John
Pierce, with whom he went into the fields, and returned to his
master's gate; after which he went into the hen-roost, as before
stated. Having brought with him his master's hat, band and comb,
after cutting them in pieces, he threw them into the highroad, that
it might be believed that his master was murdered there.  Upon this
confession and accusation, warrants were issued against Joan and
Richard Perry, the mother and brother of the aforesaid John Perry;
but all attempts to find the body proved ineffectual. On Saturday,
25th of August, the three prisoners were examined, when Joan and
Richard, on being confronted with John, denied the charge in the
most positive terms; as also an accusation made by John of their
having broken open Mr Harrison's house, and robbed him of a hundred
and forty pounds in the previous year. At the next assizes two
indictments were accordingly found against the three. As the body
had not been found, the judge refused to try them for the murder.
They were, however, induced to plead guilty to the indictment for
the burglary. John still persisted in the story that his mother and
brother had murdered Harrison, and further, that they had attempted
to poison him while in prison.  At the following spring assizes they
were again indicted for the murder, and severally pleaded not
guilty, when John's confession being produced in evidence, he said
that he was mad at the time when such confession was made. They
were, however, found guilty, and were executed shortly afterwards on
a hill near Campden, John Perry being hung in chains.  About two
years after the execution of these unfortunate persons Mr Harrison
returned to Campden, in good health. As the case excited
considerable interest, Mr Harrison explained the whole of the
circumstances which had thus detained him, in the following letter
to Sir Thomas Overbury, a magistrate of the county of Gloucester: --
FOR Sir THOMAS OVERBURY, Kt.  HONOURED SIR, -- In obedience to your
commands, I give you this true account of my being carried away
beyond the seas, my continuance there, and return home. One
Thursday, in the afternoon, in the time of harvest, I went to
Charringworth, to demand rents due to Lady Campden, at which time
the tenants were busy in the field, and late before they came home,
which occasioned my stay there till the close of the evening. I
expected a considerable sum, but received only three and twenty
pounds. In my return home, in the narrow passage amongst Ebrington
furzes, there met me one horseman, and said, "Art thou there?" and
I, fearing he would have rode over me, struck his horse on the nose.
Whereupon he struck at me with his sword several blows, and ran it
into my side, while I, with my little cane, made my defence as well
as I could. At last another came behind me, ran me into the thigh,
laid hold on the collar of my doublet, and drew me to a hedge near
to the place, when another came up. They did not take my money, but
mounted me behind one of them, drew my arms about his middle, and
fastened my wrists together with something that had a spring lock to
it, as I conceived; they then threw a great cloak over me, and
carried me away. In the night they alighted at a hay-rick, which
stood near a stone-pit, by a wall side, where they took away my
money. About two hours before daybreak, as I heard one of them tell
the other he thought it to be then, they tumbled me into the stone-
pit. They stayed, as I thought, about an hour at the hay-rick; when
they took horse again, one of them

bid me come out of the pit. I answered, they had my money already,
and asked what they would do with me. Whereupon he struck me again,
drew me out, put a great quantity of money into my pockets, and
mounted me again after the same manner; and on the Friday, about
sunset, they brought me to a lone house upon a heath, by a thicket
of bushes, where they took me down almost dead. When the woman of
the house saw that I could neither stand nor speak, she asked them
whether they had brought a dead man. They answered No; but a friend
that was hurt, and they were carrying him to a surgeon. She
answered, if they did not make haste, their friend would be dead
before they could reach one. There they laid me on cushions, and
suffered none to come into the room but a little girl. We stayed
there all night, they giving me some broth. In the morning, very
early, they mounted me, as before, and on Saturday night they
brought me to a place where were two or three houses, in one of
which I lay all night on cushions by their bedside. On Saturday
morning they carried me from thence, and about three or four o'clock
they brought me to a place by the seaside, called Deal, where they
laid me down on the ground; and one of them staying by me, the other
two walked a little off to meet a man, with whom they tackled, and
in their discourse I heard them mention seven pounds; after which
they went away together, and after half-an-hour returned. The man,
whose name, as I afterwards heard, was Wrenshaw, said he feared I
should die before he could get me on board. They then put me into a
boat, and carried me on shipboard, where my wounds were dressed. I
remained in the ship, as near as I can reckon, about six weeks; in
which time I was indifferently recovered of my wounds and weakness.
Then came the master of the ship and told me, and the rest who were
in the same condition, that he discovered three Turkish ships. We
all offered to fight in defence of the ship, and ourselves, but he
commanded us to keep close, and said he would deal with them well
enough. A little while after we were called up, and when we came on
the deck we saw two Turkish ships close by us; into one of them we
were put, and placed in a dark hole, where how long we continued
before we were landed I know not. When we were landed they led us
two days' journey, and put us into prison where we remained four
days and a half. Eight men next came to view us, who seemed to be
officers; they called us, and examined us of our

trades, which everyone answered: one said that he was a surgeon,
another that he was a weaver, and I said I had some skill in physic.
We three were set by, and taken by three of those eight men who came
to view us. It was my chance to be chosen by a grave physician of
eighty-seven years of age, who lived near to Smyrna, had formerly
been in England, and knew Crowland in Lincolnshire, which he
preferred before all other places in England. I was there about a
year and three-quarters, and then my master fell sick on a Thursday,
and sent for me; and calling me as he used, by the name of Bell,
told me he should die, and bid me shift for myself. He died on
Saturday following, and I presently hastened to a port, almost a
day's journey distant, when I addressed myself to two men who came
out of a ship belonging to Hamburgh, which, as they said, was bound
for Portugal within two or three days.  I inquired of them for an
English ship; they answered there was none. I entreated them to take
me into their ship; but they durst not, for fear of being discovered
by the searchers, which might occasion the forfeiture not only of
their goods but also of their lives. At length they took me on
board, and placed me below in the vessel, and hid me with boards and
other things, so that I lay undiscovered, notwithstanding the strict
search that was made in the vessel. On arriving at Lisbon in
Portugal, as soon as the master had left the ship, and was gone into
the city, they set me on shore moneyless, to shift for myself. I now
met four gentlemen discoursing together; after a while one of them
came to me and spoke to me in a foreign language. I told him I was
an Englishman. He then spoke to me in English, and told me that he
was an Englishman himself, and born near Wisbeach, in Lincolnshire.
I then related to him how I had been carried away, and my present
condition; upon which he took me along with him, and by his interest
with the master of a ship bound for England, procured my passage,
and commended me to the master of the ship, who landed me safe at
Dover, from whence I proceeded to London, where being furnished with
necessaries, I came into the country. Having arrived at Crowland, I
was told of the unhappy fate of my servant Perry, and his mother and
brother. What caused John so falsely to accuse them and himself, I
know not. He has not only brought his blood upon his own head, but
that also of his innocent mother and brother. For I never saw either
of them that evening; nor do I know who they were that carried me
away after that rude and barbarous manner.  Thus, honoured sir, I
have given you a true account of my great sufferings and happy
deliverance. Your Worship's, in all dutiful respects, William
Harrison



COLONEL JAMES TURNER

A Spendthrift London Merchant, against whom three Robberies from
other Merchants were proved. Executed 21st of January, 1663

 THIS gentleman was born in the city of Worcester, in the year 1609,
of very wealthy parents, who placed him with a goldsmith of
reputation in London as soon as of years for a trade. With this man
he served his apprentice- ship very faithfully, and had the
character of being a young man well qualified for business. When his
father thought proper to put him into trade for himself he gave him
a stock of no less than three thousand pounds, to which he soon
added two thousand pounds more by marriage. He had great success in
business for some years, and was esteemed the wealthiest man in his
neighbourhood, so that his word would have passed for almost any
sum.  Mr Turner had always a considerable inclination for pleasure
and company, taking peculiar delight in associating himself with the
gentlemen who were officers of the city Militia. Among these he was
complimented with a captain's commission, then a major's, then a
lieutenant-colonel's, and at last with the command of one of the
regiments, in which he continued till the unhappy action that
brought him to his end was discovered, to the surprise of all the
world.  The colonel's temper was very generous and noble, which, it
is thought, in some measure brought on him that decay of his fortune
which he afterwards laboured under. In his post, particularly,
whenever he marched out with his regiment, he was very liberal in
his entertainments, and commonly ran himself to four times the
expense that was necessary. It was the same on every other occasion;
no man was more free with his money, or more ambitious of living in
splendour and reputation, than Colonel Turner.  This disposition had
with him the same effect as it commonly has with others who ruin
themselves by their generosity. He had no notion of retrenching his
expenses when he perceived his substance waste, but was resolved to
support himself with the same pomp as usual, however he came by the
money. It was easy for such a man to commit a great many little
secret actions that were in themselves dishonourable, before he lost
his character, on account of his great business. Several of these
things discovered themselves after he was convicted, which even the
persons who were wronged did not suspect before. One instance in
particular will be well worth relating, and was as follows.  He
applied himself one day to a merchant, and bought of him as much
train oil and rice as came to three hundred and sixty pounds, which
he promised to pay for as soon as the goods were delivered.
Accordingly the day after he went to the merchant's house, and gave
him the full sum in money and notes; for which the merchant wrote a
receipt while it all lay on the desk. Two of Turner's accomplices
(for he made use of assistants) came just at this time, and
pretended some urgent business with the merchant, and, in short,
played their part so well that one of them got off with the greatest
part of Turner's payment while the other kept the innocent man in
discourse. Neither of them took any more notice of the colonel than
if they had not known him, nor did the merchant imagine he had any
concern in the matter till he was found guilty of another crime, of
which take this short account.  There was one Mr Francis Tryon, a
great merchant, who lived in Lime Street, whom Colonel Turner knew
to be very rich. In order to rob this man, one of the above-
mentioned fellows conveyed himself into his cellar in the dusk of
the evening, and as soon as Mr Tryon was abed and, as he thought,
asleep, he let the colonel in at the door. They went up together to
his bedchamber, bound him, gagged him, and used him in a very
barbarous manner; and then, going into his warehouse, they took from
thence a large quantity of diamonds, sapphires, rubies, etc., which
Turner knew where to find. Then they took all the money in the
house, which amounted to a very large sum; so that the whole booty
was reputed to be of the value of five thousand nine hundred and
forty-six pounds four shillings and threepence. They made off with
all this quietly. Mr Tryon had a man and a maidservant, but they
both lay abroad this night by permission, of which the colonel had
before received information.  Strict inquiry was made after the
thieves, and all such jewels as were remarkable were particularly
described. Turner thought himself secure in his character, which had
so long screened him, but some of the things described were seen in
his house, and the discoverers were resolved to examine further.
Whereupon the colonel, his wife and three sons, John, William and
Ely, were apprehended, and upon search almost all the jewels were
found, There was now no room for evasion; the whole family were
carried before Sir Thomas Allen, Knight and alderman, and all
committed to Newgate.  At the next sessions they were all indicted
for the said robbery; but after a full examination of what evidence
they had, and considering what the colonel himself said in his
defence, it was thought proper by the Court to acquit the wife and
sons, and to bring the colonel in guilty. Where upon the usual
sentence of death was passed on him, and he was executed on the 21st
of January, 1663, when he was drawn in a cart from Newgate to the
end of Lime Street in Leadenhall Street, and there hanged on a
gibbet erected for that purpose, being fifty-three years old.

 The colonel left a paper behind him full of expressions of piety
and contrition, too long to be inserted here. We would only observe
that though all who knew him wondered at the fact, yet everyone
believed him guilty, because the proofs were so clear.  There was a
robbery in his lifetime which nobody could then find out, but after
his death it was generally thought he was the manager. A letter was
sent to a wealthy dealer at Chichester, signed with the name of a
merchant his acquaintance in London, informing him of a profitable
purchase in his way, and inviting him to town. The Chichester man
had before received advices of this kind from the same friend, and
found them of service, therefore scrupled not, but set out the next
day with what money and notes he had in the house; but before he got
half-way to London he was robbed of all by two men in disguise. He
soon found his correspondent had not sent to him, and was
astonished. Colonel Turner's death cleared all, he knowing both
their circumstances.

MOSES DRAYNE

Ostler, hanged at Brentwood in 1667 for the Murder (by a Chelmsford
Innkeeper and his Family some Years before) of Thomas Kidderminster,
a Guest.

 THOMAS KIDDERMINSTER was the only son of Walter Kidderminster of
Tupsley, in the county of Hereford; but being wronged out of his
paternal estate by the intrigues of his stepmother, he was compelled
very early in life to enter into the service of the Bishop of Ely,
who at length employed him as his steward till the commencement of
the Civil War and the commitment of that prelate to the Tower for
his unshaken loyalty.  Mr Kidderminster was employed in the
management of other gentlemen's estates in Cambridgeshire till,
thinking it prudent to convert his property into money, and
endeavour to settle upon or sell his estate which he claimed in
Hereford shire, after sending his wife to London, who was then
pregnant, and telling her he would return in about ten days, he
departed from Cambridgeshire, through Essex, with a number of
writings, taking with him about five or six hundred pounds in gold. 
Travelling in a by road for safety, Mr Kidderminster took a guide
with him; but on reaching Chelmsford at night he was discharged. Mr
Kidderminster then put up at the White Horse Inn, where it appears
he had lain at other times, and was very well known; but there he
was murdered on the same night, in April, 1654. The last place his
wife heard of him was Cambridge. Then a report was spread that he
was gone to Amsterdam, where she sent to inquire for him, but was
assured he was not there. After some time she heard he was at Cork,
in Ireland; thither she also sent, and made a most diligent and
exact search for him, both in Cork and Munster. Again there was a
report that he was in Barbadoes, and they sent to Barbadoes to make
inquiries after him. She continued constantly inquiring after her
husband, till her sister, one day, in 1662 or 1663, reading the
newspaper of the day, suddenly cried out: "Sister, here's news of
your husband!" upon which she read in the news to this effect --
viz. "That the bones of an unknown person, supposed to be robbed and
murdered, were found buried in a backyard in Chelmsford. Whosoever
can give notice of any person missing, let them give notice to Mr
Talcott, coroner, in Feering, or to the constable of Chelmsford, or
to Mr Roper, bookseller, over against St Dunstan's Church in Fleet
Street"; and upon comparing the time of her husband's being missing
with

the time in the newspaper of the supposed murdered body's lying
concealed, it appeared to be extremely probable; upon which she
immediately went to Mr Roper's, and by his advice set off for
Chelmsford, and for want of conveyance went on foot with a friend. 
They proceeded on their journey as far as Stratford, where, a little
beyond the town, they lost their way, turning to the left hand of
the road. At last they came to Romford; and by that time being very
weary, went, into a house at the farther end of the town, the sign
of the Black Bull, where they accidentally found one Mary Mattocks,
who lived at Hornchurch.  Mrs Kidderminster being now very weary,
and not able to go on foot any farther, inquired whether any horse
could be hired in that town. Mrs Mattocks being present, interposed
and answered that there was no horse to be hired, nor any
convenience of coach or wagon to be had upon that day. They asked
Mrs Mattocks how far it was to Chelmsford; she answered, fifteen
miles. Mrs Kidderminster asked her again whether she knew
Chelmsford. She replied that she did very well, for she was born and
bred there. Did she know the White Horse? She answered very well,
and that one Turner, a very honest man, kept it; but that he who
kept it formerly was one Sewell, who, if he had had his deserts, had
been hanged long ago, for there was certainly a gentleman murdered
in the house.

 Mrs Kidderminster was now induced to make further inquiry, and told
Mattocks that her husband was missed much about that time. Mattocks
informed her that the ostler who lived in Sewell's time at the White
Horse now lived at Romford. With an intention to gather from him
what circumstances she could, she sent for him, but he refused to
come; for the messenger having heard part of the discourse
communicated it to him, which made him unwilling to come.

 Mrs Kidderminster went directly to the White Horse Inn, Chelmsford,
where, after some conversation with Mr Turner, then master of the
house, he advised them to go to Mrs Sewell's house, at the Shears,
in Colchester Lane. When her friend went out to Mrs Sewell, and
inquired for the White Horse Inn, Mrs Sewell asked what business he
had there; to which he answered that he was come to inquire about a
gentleman who had been murdered there some years ago. To this Mrs
Sewell replied: "Aye, this is Turner's doings; he has put us to
great trouble about it already, but I will be avenged on him." They
now returned to the White Horse, where Mr Turner gave his account
concerning the discovery and disinterment of the corpse -- viz. that
he, Mr Turner, had pales between his neighbour's meadow and his
orchard; a great wind having blown them down, he had resolved to
make a mud wall; in digging which, they had found a skull with all
the teeth in it but one, and a hole on the left side of the skull
about the size of a crown. Upon digging on they had perceived that
the corpse had been crammed in double. The coroner had sat upon the
bones, and the jury had found a verdict of murder committed. A blow
upon the side of the head was the cause of the person's death.

 Mr Turner, to vindicate the reputation of the house, had applied to
the Justices of the Peace of the county. These had issued out
warrants against Sewell, who formerly kept the inn, and his wife,
who were taken before the justices; but upon their examination they
had denied all knowledge of the matter. The magistrates, however,
had bound them to appear at the next assizes. Sewell had died about
a fortnight before the assizes, but it was suspected that he had
been poisoned by his wife. He had shown visible signs of a troubled
mind. He had often desired his wife to allow him to speak to some of
the chief men of the town, for otherwise he could not die; which his
wife would not permit.  At the assizes Mrs Sewell had appeared , and
nothing being positively proved against her, she had been continued
under bail till the next assizes, at which time the Lord Chief
Justice, Sir Orlando Bridgman, had gone the circuit, and finding
that no clear account of the person murdered could be ascertained,
nor who were the murderers, he had ordered that notice should be
inserted in the newspapers, at Lent Assizes, by which means Mrs
Kidderminster had the first intimation of it.  Mrs Kidderminster,
returning from Chelmsford, made inquiry at Romford for the ostler,
Moses Drayne.  She asked him to describe a man who left his horse
behind him when he was ostler at the White Horse, in Chelmsford what
clothes he wore for she had some suspicion it might be her husband.
He answered that the gentleman was a tall, big, portly man, with his
own hair, dark brown, not very long, curled up at the ends; that he
wore a black satin cap, and that his clothes were of a dark grey;
which she found agreed with her husband's figure. She then asked him
what hat he wore. He replied, "A black one." "Nay," said she, "my
husband's was a grey one." At which words he changed colour several
times, and never looked up in her face afterwards, but told her that
one Mary Kendall, who had been a servant at Chelmsford at the time
of the gentleman's stay there, could inform her much better.  The
justice (Mildmay) now issued out a warrant for the apprehension of
Moses Drayne, the ostler, who was immediately committed. After which
Mary Kendall was traced to London, and was committed to Newgate.
Here she was told by the prisoners that her running away was an
argument of guilt, and that therefore she would be hanged; upon
which she confessed all to Mrs Kidderminster, and told her she would
not have continued so long in an obstinate denial, but that Sewell's
daughters had threatened her that if she confessed, they would swear
against her, and have her hanged first.  Sewell's wife in the
meantime died of the plague; but Mrs Kidderminster, with the special
consent of the Lord Chief Justice Bridgman, caused Mary Kendall to
be removed from Newgate to Brentwood the day before the assizes.

 On the arraignment of Drayne, Mary Kendall gave in evidence that
she was a servant maid in the inn where the gentleman was murdered,
and that she, having dressed herself in her best clothes, had leave
of her master to go to Kilden, where her father lived; and upon her
return home that night her mistress bid her fetch a pair of sheets,
and lay them upon the bed in the room called the King's Arms. When
she came into the room she found the gentleman standing with his
back towards the fire, and with his hands behind him. He drank to
her, and made her drink up her glass of beer, and bid her go and
fetch him a napkin, to make him a cap. He asked her whether she was
the man of the house's daughter, or his maid. She answered she was
his servant. The master and mistress being in the room all this
while, and having supped together with the gentleman, he, in the
presence of the maid and the mistress, delivered his cloak bag to
the master of the house, and told him there was in it near six
hundred pounds and writings of considerable value. Then her mistress
bade her go to bed, and lie with the younger children in the farther
end of the house, that being not her usual lodging, where she was
locked in that night, and her mistress unlocked the door in the
morning. She said that between one and two of the clock in the
morning she heard a great fall of something, and that it shook part
of the house. When she came down in the morning she found her master
and mistress, and the ostler, sitting very merrily at the fire, with
a flagon of drink before them, none of them having been in bed that
night, nor the two daughters, Betty and Priss, who were appointed to
lie in the same room where the maid used to lie. She not seeing the
gentleman stirring in the morning, after some time asked her
mistress if the gentleman had gone. "Yes," answered she, "though you
were so good a housewife that you could not get up;" and blamed her
for lying in bed so long. She asked her mistress whether the
gentleman left her anything. "Yes," said her mistress, "he left you
a groat," and put her hand in her purse and gave it her. Then," said
the maid, "I will go and make clean the chamber." "No," said the
mistress, "my daughters and I have set that to rights already; do
you what you are about, and then go to your flax wheel." The chamber
door was kept locked for eight or nine weeks afterwards, and no
person admitted to enter it but themselves. Once she asked her
mistress why that room was locked, and not kept clean for guests as
usual: the mistress answered they had no guests fit for that room,
for it was kept for gentlemen.  Some time afterwards, on a Sunday,
her master gave her the key to fetch his cloak out of his chest in
his chamber; there she saw the gentleman's suit of clothes, and his
cloak bag, which she saw him deliver to them. About nine weeks
afterwards her mistress sent her up into the room where the
gentleman had been murdered to fetch something, it being the first
time she had been in that room since it had been locked. She
searched over the room, and looked upon the tester of the bed, and
there she saw the gentleman's hat, his hanger, boots, and the satin
cap which she took off the gentleman's head and hung upon his hat
and laid it upon the table, when she made a cap of the napkin, and
put it on the gentleman's head. She took the gentleman's hat, his
hanger, boots and cap, and carried them down to her mistress and the
ostler. She said to her mistress: "You said the gentleman was gone
to London in a coach; did he go without clothes, or did you lend him
some? For I saw his clothes in my master's chest, and these thing
are his too." The ostler said: "You lie like a w -- --; those things
are mine." The maid answered: "You are a rogue; I am sure they were
the gentleman's; I know not whose they are now." Her mistress
hearing the maid and the ostler quarrelling, she fell upon the maid,
and there arose violent words betwixt them, when her mistress broke
her head in three several places, so that the blood ran about her
ears. The maid talked the louder, and asked her mistress whether she
intended to murder her, as she did the gentleman. Then her master
hearing this disturbance came to them, and persuaded her to hold her
tongue and be quiet. She further deposed that the ostler had from
his master sixty pounds of the gentleman's money, for that some
short time after the murder he lent sixty pounds to a woman who kept
the Greyhound Inn in the same town; and that that must be the money,
for the ostler was worth nothing of his own at the time of the
murder; and that the ostler had the gentle man's clothes, which she
had seen in her master's chest; and that the ostler sent them to one
Clarke, a dyer in Modsam, to have them dyed into a liver colour. The
dyer asked him why he would have the colour altered, since they were
of a better colour before: the ostler answered that he would have
them dyed because he did not like the colour; and that about a
twelvemonth after he dyed the grey hat black. Then she deposed
further, that her master raised himself to a good condition on a
sudden; for before, he was so poor that his landlord would not trust
him for a quarter's rent, but would make him pay every six weeks;
and that he could not be trusted for malt, but was forced to pay for
one barrel under another. That shortly after, they bought a ruined
malt house and new built it, and usually laid out forty pound in a
day to buy barley. There was seen, upon a sudden, a great change in
the daughters' condition, both as to their clothes and otherwise;
and if she bought but a hood for one of the daughters, there was a
piece of gold changed; and they were observed to have gold in great
plenty.  There were two women, one of them a washerwoman of that
town, and the other a Quaker, that lived next house to Mr Sewell,
who both gave evidence at the trial. The washerwoman was going by
the house very early, between one and two in the morning, to wash in
the town, and the Quaker was sitting up for her husband, who was not
then come home. They both of them made oath that about those hours
they heard a noise in Mr Sewell's house, and a man's voice crying:
"What! will you rob me of my money, and murder me too? If you take
my money, spare my life." Then they heard something that fell very
heavy, and a noise as it were of chairs and stools thrown about the
room, and all the lights put out, and after that no further noise
was heard.  The next morning these women inquired at the inn what
might be the occasion of the noise the night before, for they
thought they heard somebody cry out "Murder!" But they were answered
they must be mistaken, for there was no noise there, nor was any
person in the house but their own family.  William Denton, Mr
Kidderminster's servant in the Isle of Ely, was produced as evidence
to prove the horse and the gentleman's clothes and hat, which he
did.  Upon this evidence the jury found Moses Drayne, the ostler,
guilty; and after sentence he was remanded to prison, where he was
about to make a sincere confession, but his wife, coming in in the
meantime, took hold of him, and bade him hold his tongue and confess
no more, for if he died for it he should hang nobody else.  Moses
Drayne having confessed that Betty, the eldest daughter, had a share
in the murder, and Mary Kendall having sworn at the trial that the
two sisters were not in bed that night the murder was committed,
moved the coroner to procure a warrant from a Justice of the Peace
to apprehend the two sisters; which being done, they were bound over
to appear at the next assizes. When the assizes came, both the
daughters appeared, and a bill of indictment was preferred against
them to the grand jury; against whom Mary Kendall gave the same
evidence that she had done before at the trial of Moses Drayne, and
also what he had confessed in the prison. But the grand jury,
thinking the evidence not sufficient to find the bill, returned an
ignoramus, and the two sisters were discharged by proclamation.

MARY FRITH OTHERWISE MOLL CUTPURSE

A famous Master-Thief and an Ugly, who dressed like a Man, and died
in 1663

 MARY FRITH, otherwise called Moll Cutpurse, from her original
profession of cutting purses, was born in Barbican in Aldersgate
Street, in the year 1589. Her father was a shoemaker; and though no
remarkable thing happened at her nativity, such as the flattering
soothsayers pretend in eclipses, and other the like motions above,
or tides, and whales, and great fires, adjusted and timed to the
genitures of crowned heads, yet, for a she-politician, she was not
much inferior to Pope Joan; for in her time she was superior in the
mystery of diving in purses and pockets, and was very well read and
skilled too in the affairs of the placket among the great ones. 
Both the parents (as having no other child living) were very tender
of this daughter, but especially the mother, according to the
tenderness of that sex, which is naturally more indulgent than the
male; most affectionate she was to her in her infancy, most careful
of her in her youth, manifested especially in her education, which
was the most strictly and diligently attended, by reason of her
boisterous and masculine spirit, which then showed itself, and soon
after became predominant. She was above all breeding and
instruction. She was a very tomrig or hoyden, and delighted only in
boys' play and pastime, not minding or companying with the girls.
Many a bang and blow this hoyting procured her, but she was not so
to be tamed, or taken off from her rude inclinations. She could not
endure that sedentary life of sewing or stitching; a sampler was as
grievous to her as a winding sheet; and on her needle, bodkin and
thimble she could not think quietly, wishing them changed into sword
and dagger for a bout at cudgels. Her headgear and handkerchief (or
what the fashion of those times was for girls to be dressed in) were
alike tedious to her, she wearing them as handsomely as a dog would
a doublet; and so cleanly, that the sooty pot hooks were above the
comparison. This perplexed her friends, who had only this proverb
favourable to their hope, that "An unlucky girl may make a good
woman"; but they lived not to the length of that expectation, dying
in her minority, and leaving her to the swing and sway of her own
unruly temper and disposition.  She would fight with boys, and
courageously beat them; run, jump, leap or hop with any of her
contrary sex, or recreate herself with any other play whatsoever.
She had an uncle, brother to her father, who was a minister, and of
him she stood in some awe, but not so much as to restrain her in
these courses; so that seeing he could not effectually remedy that
inveterating evil in her manners, he trepanned her on board a
merchant ship lying at Gravesend, and bound for New England, whither
he designed to have sent her. But having learned to swim, she one
night jumped overboard and swam to shore, and after that escape
would never go near her uncle again. Furthermore, it is to be
observed that Mercury was in conjunction with, or rather in the
house of, Venus at the time of her nativity, the former of which
planets is of a thievish, cheating, deceitful influence; and the
other hath dominion over all whores, bawds and pimps, and, joined
with Mercury, over all trepanners and hectors. She hath a more
general influence than all the other six planets put together; for
no place nor person is exempted from her, invading alike both sacred
and profane -- nunneries and monasteries, as well as the common
places of prostitution -- Cheapside and Cornhill, as well as
Bloomsbury or Covent Garden. Under these benevolent and kind stars
she grew up to some maturity. She was now a lusty and sturdy wench,
and fit to put out to service, having not a competency of her own
left her by her friends to maintain her without working; but as she
was a great libertine, she lived too much in common to be enclosed
in the limits of a private domestic life. A quarter staff was fitter
for her than a distaff. She would go to the ale house when she had
made shift to get a little stock, spend her penny, come into
anyone's company, and club till she had none left; and then she was
fit for any enterprise. Moreover, she had a natural abhorrence to
tending of children, to whom she ever had an averseness in her mind,
equal to the sterility and barrenness in her womb, never (to our
best information) being made a mother.  She generally went dressed
in man's apparel. No doubt but Moll's converse with herself informed
her of her defects, and that she was not made for the pleasure or
delight of man; and therefore, since she could not be honoured with
him, she would be honoured by him, in that garb and manner of
raiment which he wore. This she took to from her first entrance into
a competency of age, and to her dying day she would not leave it
off.  Though she was so ugly in any dress as never to be wooed nor
solicited by any man, yet she never had the green sickness, that
epidemical disease of maidens after they have once passed their
puberty; she never ate lime, coals, oatmeal, tobacco pipes, cinders,
or such like trash; no sighs, dejected looks, or melancholy clouded
her vigorous spirits, or repressed her joviality; she was troubled
with none of those longings which poor maidens are subject to. She
had the power and strength to command her own pleasure of any person
who had reasonable ability of body; and therefore she needed not to
whine for it, as she was able to beat a fellow to compliance, 
without the unnecessary trouble of entreaties.  Now Moll thinking
what course of life she should betake herself to, she got acquainted
with some fortune tellers of the town, from whom, learning some
smatch and relish of that cheat, by their insignificant schemes, and
calculating of figures, she got a tolerably good livelihood. But her
income being not equivalent to her expenses, she entered herself
into the Society of Divers, otherwise called file clyers, cutpurses
or pickpockets; which people are a kind of land pirates, trading
altogether in other men's bottoms for no other merchandise than
bullion and ready coin, and they keep most of the great fairs and
marts in the world. In this unlawful way she got a vast deal of
money; but having been very often in Old Bridewell, the Compters and
Newgate for her irregular practices, and burnt in the hand four
times, she left off this petty sort of theft, and went on the
highway, committing many great robberies, but all of them on the
Roundheads, or rebels, that fomented the Civil War against King
Charles I.; against which villains she had as great an antipathy as
an unhappy man that, for counterfeiting a half crown in those
rebellious times, was executed at Tyburn, where he said that he was
adjudged to die but for counterfeiting a half crown; but those that
usurped the whole Crown, and stole away its revenue, and had
counterfeited its seal, were above justice, and escaped unpunished. 
A long time had Moll Cutpurse robbed on the road; but at last,
robbing General Fairfax of two hundred and fifty jacobuses on
Hounslow Heath, shooting him through the arm for opposing her, and
killing two horses on which a couple of his servants rode, a close
pursuit was made after her by some Parliamentarian officers
quartering in the town of Hounslow, to whom Fairfax had told his
misfortune. Her horse failed her at Turnham Green, where they
apprehended her, and carried her to Newgate. After this she was
condemned, but procured her pardon by giving her adversary two
thousand pounds. Now Moll being frightened by this disaster, she
left off going on the highway any more, and took a house, within two
doors of the Globe tavern in Fleet Street, over against the Conduit,
almost facing Shoe Lane and Salisbury Court, where she dispensed
justice among the wrangling tankard bearers, by often exchanging
their burden of water for a burden of beer, as far the lighter
carriage, though not so portable.  In her time tobacco being grown a
great mode, she was mightily taken with the pastime of smoking,
because of its singularity, and that no woman ever smoked before
her, though a great many of her sex since have followed her example. 
Moll being quite scared from thieving herself, she turned fence that
is to say, a buyer of stolen goods; by which occupation she got a
great deal of money. In her house she set up a kind of brokery, or a
distinct factory for jewels, rings and watches which had been
pinched or stolen any manner of way, at never so great distance,
from any person. It might properly enough be called the Insurance
Office for such merchandise, for the losers were sure, upon
composition, to recover their goods again, and the pirates were sure
to have a good ransom, and she so much in the gross for brokage,
without any more danger, the hue and cry being always directed to
her for the discovery of the goods, not the takers.  Once a
gentleman who had lost his watch by the busy fingers of a pickpocket
came very anxiously to Moll, inquiring if she could help him to it
again. She demanded of him the marks and signs thereof, with the
time when, and where, he had lost it, or by what crowd or other
accident. He replied that, coming through Shoe Lane, there was a
quarrel betwixt two men; one of which, as he afterwards heard, was a
grazier, whom they had set in Smithfield, having seen him receive
the sum of two hundred pounds or thereabouts in gold. There was one
Bat Rud, as he was since informed, who, observing the man hold his
hand in his pocket where his gold was, just in the middle of a lane
whitherto they dogged him, overthrew a barrel trimming at an ale
house door, while one behind the grazier pushed him over, who,
withal, threw down Bat, who was ready for the fall. Betwixt these
two presently arose a quarrel, the pickpocket demanding
satisfaction, while his comrades interposing, after two or three
blows in favour of the countryman, who had drawn his hand out of his
pocket to defend himself, soon drew out his treasure; and while he
was looking on at the scuffle, some of them had lent him a hand too,
and fingered out his watch. Moll smiled at the adventure, and told
him he should hear further of it within a day or two at the
furthest. When the gentleman came again, she understood by his
discourse that he would not lose it for twice its value, because it
was given him by a particular friend; so she squeezed twenty guineas
out of him before he could obtain his watch.  Moll was always
accounted by her neighbours to be an hermaphrodite, but at her death
was found otherwise. She had not lived long in Fleet Street before
she

became acquainted with a new sort of thieves, called heavers, whose
employment was stealing shop books from drapers and mercers, or
other rich traders; which bringing to her, she, for some
considerable profit for herself, got them a quantum meruit for
restoring them again to the losers. While she thus reigned free from
the danger of the common law, an apparitor, set on by an adversary
of hers, cited her to appear in the Court of Arches, where was an
accusation exhibited against her for wearing indecent and manly
apparel. She was advised by her proctor to demur the jurisdiction of
the Court, as for a crime, if such, not cognisable there. But he did
it to spin out the cause and get her money; for, in the end, she was
there sentenced to stand and do penance in a white sheet at St
Paul's Cross during morning sermon on a Sunday. They might as soon
have shamed a black dog as Moll with any kind of such punishment;
for a halfpenny she would have travelled through all the market
towns in England with her penitential habit, and been as proud of it
as that citizen who rode to his friends in the country in his livery
gown and hood. Besides, many of the spectators had little cause to
sport themselves then at the sight; for some of her emissaries,
without any regard to the sacredness of the place, spoiled a good
many clothes, by cutting part of their cloaks and gowns, and sending
them home as naked behind as Aesop's crow, when every bird took its
own feather from her.  However, this penance did not reclaim her,
for she still went in men's apparel, very decently dressed; nor were
the ornaments of her house less curious and pleasing in pictures
than in the delight of looking glasses; so that she could see her
sweet self all over in any part of her rooms. This gave occasion for
folks to say that she used magical glasses, wherein she could show
the querists, who resorted to her for information, those who, stole
their goods; as likewise to others, curious to know the shapes and
features of their husbands that should be, the very true and perfect
idea of them; as is very credibly reported of your African
sorcerers. We have a tradition of it in the story of Jane Shore's
husband, who, by one of the like glasses, saw the unchaste embraces
of his wife and Edward IV.  One night late, Moll going home almost
drunk from the Devil Tavern, she tumbled over a great black sow that
was roosting in a dunghill near the kennel; but getting up again, in
a sad dirty pickle, she drove her to her house, where, finding her
full of pigs, she made her a drench to hasten her farrowing, and the
next morning she brought her eleven curious pigs, which Moll and her
companions made fat and ate; and then she turned the sow out of
doors, which presently repaired to her old master, a bumpkin at
Islington, who with wonder received her again. Having given her some
grain, he turned her out of his gates, watching what course she
would take, and intending to have satisfaction for his pigs
wheresoever he should find her to have laid them. The sow, naturally
mindful of her squeaking brood, went directly to Moll's door, and
there kept a lamentable noise to be admitted. This was evidence
enough for the fellow that there his sow had laid her belly; when
knocking, and having entrance, he tells Moll a tale of a sow and her
litter. She replied he was mad. He swore he knew his sow's meaning
by her grunting, and that he would give her sauce to her pigs.
"Goodman Coxcomb," quoth Moll, "come in, and see if this house looks
like a hog sty"; when, going into all her rooms, and seeing how neat
and clean they were kept, he was convinced that the litter was not
laid there, and went home cursing his sow for misinforming him.  To
get money, Moll would not stick out to bawd for either men or women;
insomuch that her house became a double temple for Priapus and
Venus, frequented by votaries of both sorts. Those who were generous
to her labour, their desires were favourably accommodated with
expedition; whilst she lingered with others, laying before them the
difficult but certain attainment of their wishes, which served as a
spur to the dullness of their purses. For the Lady Pecunia and she
kept the same pace, but still in the end she did the feat. Moll
having a great antipathy against the Rump Parliament, she lit on a
fellow very dexterous at imitating people's hands; with him she
communicated her thoughts, and they concurred to forge and
counterfeit their commissioners' and treasurers' hands to the
respective receivers and collectors, to pay the sums of money they
had in their hands, without delay, to such as he in his
counterfeited orders appointed. So that, wheresoever he had
intelligence of any great sum in the country, they were sure to
forestall the market. This cheat lasted for half a year, till it was
found out at Guildhall, and such a politic course taken to avoid
cozenage that no warrants would pass among themselves. But when the
government was seized and usurped by that arch traitor, Oliver
Cromwell, they began this trade afresh, it being very easy to
imitate his single sign manual, as that ambitious usurper would have
it styled; by which means her man also drew good sums of money out
of the Customs and Excise nay, out of the Exchequer itself, till
Oliver was forced to use a private mark, to make his credit
authentic among his own villains.  After seventy four years of age,
Moll being grown crazy in her body, and discontented in mind, she
yielded to the next distemper that approached her, which was the
dropsy; a disease which had such strange and terrible symptoms that
she thought she was possessed, and that the devil had got within her
doublet. Her belly, from a withered, dried, wrinkled piece of skin,
was grown to the tightest, roundest globe of flesh that ever any
beauteous young lady strutted with. However, there was no blood that
was generative in her womb, but only that destructive of the grape,
which by her excesses was now turned into water; so that the
tympanied skin thereof sounded like a conduit door. If we anatomise
her any further, we must say her legs represented a couple of mill
posts, and her head was so wrapped with cloths that she looked like
Mother Shipton.  It may well be expected that, considering what a
deal of money she got by her wicked practices, she might make a
will; but yet, of five thousand pounds which she had once by her in
gold, she had not above one hundred pounds left her latterly which
she thought too little to give to the charitable uses of building
hospitals and almshouses. The money that might have been designed
that way, as it came from the devil, so it returned to the devil
again, in the Rump's Exchequer and Treasury at Haberdashers and
Goldsmiths Hall. Yet, to preserve something of her memory, and not
leave it to the courtesy of an executor, she anticipated her funeral
expenses; for it being the fashion of those times to give rings, to
the undoing of the confectioners, who lived altogether by the dead
and new born, she distributed some that she had by her among her
chief companions and friends.  These rings (like princes' jewels)
were notable ones, and had their particular names likewise; as the
Bartholomew, the Ludgate, the Exchange, and so forth; deriving their
appellations from the places whence they were stolen. They needed no
admonition of a death's head, nor the motto Memento mori, for they
were the wages and monuments of their thieving masters and
mistresses, who were interred at Tyburn; and she hoped her friends
would wear them, both for her sake and theirs. In short, she made no
will at all, because she had had it so long before to no better
purpose; and that if she had had her desert, she should have had an
executioner instead of an executor.  Out of the one hundred pounds
which she had by her, she disposed of thirty pounds to her three
maids which she kept, and charged them to occupy it the best way
they could; for that, and some of her arts in which they had had
time to be expert, would be beyond the advantage of their spinning
and reeling, and would be able to keep them in repair, and promote
them to weavers, shoemakers and tailors. The rest of her personal
estate, in money, movables and household goods, she bequeathed to
her kinsman Frith, a master of a ship, dwelling at Reddriff, whom
she advised not to make any ventures therewith, but stay at home and
be drunk, rather than go to sea and be drowned with them.  And now
the time of her dissolution drawing near, she desired to be buried
with her breech upwards, that she might be as preposterous in her
death as she had been all along in her infamous life. When she was
dead she was interred in St Bridget's churchyard, having a fair
marble stone put over her grave; on which was cut the following
epitaph, composed by the ingenious Mr Milton, but destroyed in the
great conflagration of London: "Here lies, under this same marble,

Dust, for Time's last sieve to garble;

Dust, to perplex a Sadducee,

Whether it rise a He or She,

Or two in one, a single pair,

Nature's sport, and now her care.

For how she'll clothe it at last day,

Unless she sighs it all away;

Or where she'll place it, none can tell:

Some middle place 'twixt Heaven and Hell

And well 'tis Purgatory's found,

Else she must hide her under ground.

These reliques do deserve the doom,

Of that cheat Mahomet's fine tomb

For no communion she had,

Nor sorted with the good or bad;

That when the world shall be calcin'd,

And the mix'd mass of human kind

Shall sep'rate by that melting fire,

She'll stand alone, and none come nigh her.

Reader, here she lies till then,

When, truly, you'll see her again."



SAWNY DOUGLAS A Scottish Highwayman who laid England under toll, and
took a Copy of "Chevy Chase" to Tyburn when he was hanged on 10th of
September, 1664  SAWNY DOUGLAS, a Scotsman, was the son of a tanner,
and born at Portpatrick in the shire of Galloway, where he lived
till the unnatural Civil War broke out in 1641. Sawny at this time
being very zealous on the side of the Kirk, and consequently against
the King, entered himself into the service of the Parliament, was at
the siege of Dundee, and boasted after that bloody action was over
that he killed with his own hands no less than twenty-nine persons.
Those who have read the histories of that time will remember that
Dundee was taken by storm, and that the garrison was put to the
sword; which gave Sawny an opportunity to discover his cruelty. 
After the restoration of King Charles II., when the Scots were
reduced to obedience, Sawny found himself obliged to seek some other
subsistence than the army. He had now been a soldier about twenty
years, and though he had never been advanced higher than to carry a
halberd, yet he was something loth to lay down his commission.
However, there was no opposing necessity, and he was obliged to
submit, as well as many of his betters, who were glad they could
come off thus, after having been so deeply concerned in the
rebellion.  Coming into England, and being destitute of both money
and bread, he was not long in resolving what course to take in order
to supply himself. The highway, he thought, was as free for him as
for anybody else, and he was both strong and desperate. But the
question was, where should he get a horse and accoutrements? "What,"
said he again, "should hinder my taking the first that comes in my
way, and seems fit for my purpose?" Pursuant to this last resolution
he kept on the main road, with a good crab-tree stick in his hand,
till he saw a gentleman's servant alone, well mounted, with pistols
before him. He had some question ready to ask, and after that
another, till the poor footman was engaged in a discourse

with him, and rode along gently by his side. At last Sawny observes
an opportunity, and gives him an effectual knock on the pate, which,
followed with four or five more, left him insensible on the ground,
while our young adventurer rode off with the horse till he thought
himself out of the way of any inquiry.  The first robbery he
committed was in Maidenhead Thicket, in Berkshire, in those times a
very noted haunt for highwaymen. The person he stopped was one Mr
Thurston, at that time Mayor of Thornbury, in Gloucestershire. He
got about eighteen pounds, and was so uncivil as to refuse the poor
gentleman ten shillings to bear his charges home; which was all he
required, and for which he begged very hard.  Another time he robbed
the Duchess of Albemarle of diamond rings to the value of two
hundred pounds, besides a pearl necklace, rich bracelets and ear-
rings. After this he came and took lodgings at the house of one Mr
Knowles, an apothecary in Tuthil Street, Westminster, where he set
up for a gentleman, appeared very fine, and made love to his
landlord's daughter, who was reputed to be a two thousand pounds
fortune. For some time he was very well received both by the young
lady and her father; but when his money was gone, and they found him
full of shifts, arts and evasions, they not only discarded him as a
husband and son-in-law, but turned him fairly out of doors.  Sawny
now took to the road again, and committed more robberies than
before, ranging all over the north of England, and being often so
fortunate as to escape justice when it pursued him. He moreover
contracted a familiarity with Du Vall, the most generous-spirited
highwayman that ever lived, which friendship continued till Death
parted them by his deputy Jack Ketch. Sawny's last attempt was on
the Earl of Sandwich, who was afterwards admiral in the Dutch war,
and unfortunately lost his life, together with his ship. This noble
commander, having arms in the coach, resolved not to be insulted by
a highwayman, and discharged a pistol into Sawny's horse, which
immediately dropping down under him, the servants came up and
secured our bonny North Briton, who was thereupon committed to
Newgate, and in less than a month after ordered for Tyburn.  While
he was under sentence he behaved in a very profane and indecent
manner, cursing the bellman for his bad English when he repeated the
usual Memento the night before his execution. At St Sepulchre's the
next day, when the appointed ceremony was performed, instead of
composing his countenance, and looking as a man in his condition
ought to do, he only told the spectators that it was hard a man
could not be suffered to go to the gallows in peace; and that he had
rather be hanged twice over without ceremony, than once after this
superstitious manner. He read no Prayer Book, but carried the ballad
of Chevy Chase in his hand all the way to Tyburn. When he came
thither he took no notice of the ordinary, but bid the hangman be
speedy, and not make a great deal of work about nothing, or at most
about a mere trifle. He died 10th of September, 1664, aged fifty-
three, and was buried in Tyburn Road.



JAMES BATSON

A Rogue who became a pretty Soldier and saw much of Europe, finally
dying by the Rope at home in 1666

 THE following is the life and adventures of an arch-villain born in
the first year of the reign of King James I:  I suppose, according
to custom, the reader will expect some account of my genealogy, and
as I was always a mighty admirer of fashions, I will follow the
mode, and give some account of my parents and relations, beginning
with my grandfather, who had the great fortune to marry a woman
excellently skilled in vaulting and rope-dancing, and would play her
part with any man. She, though above fifty years of age, and
troubled with the phthisis, died in the air. Her husband would not
marry again -- to avoid seeing other women fly as she had done --
but kept a puppet-show in Moorfields, and it was reckoned the most
curious that ever had been seen in the city. Besides, my grandfather
was so little that the only difference between him and his puppets
was, that they spoke through a trunk and he without one. He made
such speeches before his shows that the audience would wish he had
never done, for he had a tongue like a parrot. All the apple-women,
hawkers and fish-women were so charmed with his wit among his
puppets that they would run to hear him without leaving any guard
upon their goods but their straw hats. Unfortunate man! being so
like a cock-sparrow, he took to so many hens that, when they had
devoured his money, clothes and puppets, they consumed his health,
and left him like a naked baby in. a hospital.  When he thought to
have died soberly, he fell into a frenzy, to such a degree that one
day he fancied he was a bull in a puppet-show, and was to encounter
a stone cross that stood near the hospital gate; and after several
essays he made at the same cross, crying: "Now I have you!" This
said, he ran his head so furiously against the cross that he dropped
down and said no more. A good hospital nurse, who was one of the
family of the Innocents, seeing him die in that manner, cried: "O
the precious soul! he died at the foot of the Cross, and directing
his discourse to it."  My father had two trades, or two strings to
his bow, for he was a painter and a gamester, and a master much
alike at both; for his paintings would hardly rise so high as a
signpost, and his sleight-of-hand at play was of such an ancient
date that it would hardly pass upon the mob. He had one misfortune,
which he entailed on all his children, like original sin; and that
was his being born a gentleman, which is as bad as a poet, few of
whom escape eternal poverty, or are above perpetual want.  My mother
died, unluckily, of a longing for mushrooms when they were not to be
had, being then with child by my father, as she said, and departed
as quiet as a bird. She left two daughters, great devotees of Venus,
though they were Christians, just at the age the doctors prescribe
they are fit to eat; both very handsome and very young; and I was
left very little, but much better skilled in sharping than my age
seemed to promise. When the funeral ceremonies were over, and the
tears dried up, which were not very many, my father fell again to
his daubing, my sisters to stitching, and I returned to my little-
frequented school, where my posteriors paid for the slowness of my
feet and the lightness of my

hands.  I had such an excellent memory, that though my wicked idle
temper was the same it has ever since continued, yet I soon learned
to read, write and cast accounts well enough to have taken a better
course than I have done. I put so many unlucky tricks upon my
master, and so often set the boys together by the ears, that
everybody called me the little Judas. It was hard for any book to
escape me; and if once I cast my eye on a picture, it was surely my
own, which cost me many a boxing bout every day, or else the
complaints were carried home to my father and sisters. The eldest of
them had it in charge to reprove and convert me; she would sometimes
give me a soft cuff with her delicate white hand, at other times she
would tell me I should be a disgrace to the family.  All this
nonsense, and her reproof, signified no more to me than the barking
of a dog; it went in at one ear and out at the other; so that, in
short, I played so many unlucky pranks, and was so full of roguery,
that I was expelled the school in as solemn a manner as if it had
been by beat of drum. My father, after currying my hide very well,
carried me to a friend of his, who was barber to Count Gondemar, the
Spanish Ambassador, then residing here, with whom he left me upon
trial, in order to be bound apprentice. Having delivered his hopeful
son he returned home, and my master ordered me into the kitchen to
my mistress, who presently found me employment, giving me a basket
full of children's blankets, clouts, slabberring-bibs, barrows,
etc., and opening the yard door, furnished me with about an ounce of
soap; then showing me the cistern, with a great trough under it --
"Jemmy," says she, "mind your wits, there's a good boy; for this
work belongs to the apprentices." I hung down my head, and tumbled
all the filthy clouts from the basket into the trough and washed
them as well as I could, and hung the linen to dry. I managed it
very well for myself, since I was soon discarded from my office,
which, had it continued longer, there had been an end of Jemmy in
less than a fortnight.  The next day I went over my task again, and
what I wanted in washing of clouts was made up in running errands. 
The third day, my master having just given me a small note to
receive, there came into the shop a bully ruffian with a pair of
whiskers that covered his face, and would have been worth money to
have made brushes on. He told my master he would have his whiskers
turned up. It being then so early that the journeyman he kept was
not come, he was going to turn them up himself, and bid me light a
fire and heat the irons. I did as I was ordered; and just as my
master had turned up one whisker there happened to be a quarrel in
the street, and my master, being always a busy man, must needs step
out to see what was the matter, leaving the stern bravo with one
whisker hanging quite down, and the other turned up. The scuffle
lasting long, and my master staying to see the end of it, the
furious kill-crow never ceased swearing and cursing. He asked me in
a harsh tone whether I understood my trade; and I, thinking it an
undervaluing to myself to say I did not, boldly answered I did. "Why
then, you son of a whore," says he, "turn up this whisker for me, or
I shall go into the street as I am and kick your master." I was
unwilling to be found in a lie, and, thinking it no hard matter to
turn up a whisker, never showed the least concern, but took up one
of the irons that was at the fire, which had been heating ever since
the first alarm of the fray, and having nothing to try it on, but
desiring to be thought expeditious, I took a comb, stuck it into his
bristly bush, and clapped the iron to it. No sooner did they meet
but there arose a smoke as if it had been out of a chimney, with a
whizzing noise, and all the hair vanished. He cried out furiously:
"Thou son of a thousand dogs and ten thousand whores, dost thou take
me for Saint Laurence, that thou burnest me alive?" With that he let
fly such a bang at me that, the comb dropping out of my hand, I
could not avoid in the fright laying the hot iron close along his
cheek, and cauterising him on one side of his face. This made him
give such a shriek as shook the very house, and at the same time he
drew his sword to send me to the other world; but I, remembering the
proverb that "One pair of heels is worth two pairs of hands," got so
nimbly into the street, and so swiftly scoured out of that part of
the town, that, though I was a good runner, I was amazed when I
found myself above a mile from home, with the iron in my hand and
the spark's whisker sticking to it. As good luck would have it, I
was near the person who was to pay the note my master gave me to
receive for him. I carried it, and received the money; but thought
fit to apply it to my own use, not daring to return home again.  My
money lasted me for about a month, when I began to think of
returning to my father, but I understood he was gone into the
country to receive some money owing to him. I rejoiced at the news,
and went very boldly into the house as sole lord and master of it.
My sisters received me very coldly, giving me many a sour look, and
upbraiding me with the money my father was forced to pay for my
pranks. We had a thousand squabbles every day, particularly about
their giving me small instead of strong beer.  These animosities ran
so high that, perceiving they did not mend, I resolved to make them
know me. Accordingly one day, they having brought me sour beer, and
the meat being on the table, I threw the dish at my elder sister and
the pot with the beer at the younger, overthrew the table, and
marched out of doors on a ramble; but accidentally met a messenger
from the country, who informed me of my father's death by a fever.
At this news I quickly went back to my sisters, who were more
compliable, finding by my father's will I was left executor without
restraint of age. I sold the goods, got in what debts I could, and
led a merry life whilst the money lasted, keeping all the rakes
about the town company, who at last drained me of every farthing. 
They obliged me one night to go abroad with them; though much
against my will, and one of them having the keys, like St Peter,
opened the door of a house, whence they took several trunks, to ease
the owner of lumber. A cur dog, who was upon guard, gave the alarm,
and the people of the house came running into the street, which
compelled my companions to lay down their burdens and act upon the
defensive with their swords. For my part, I stood quaking for fear
before the robbery, at the time of the robbery, and after the
robbery; and always kept at a distance, repenting that I had not
been acquainted with their way of living before I came out of my
lodging, that I might have avoided that danger. So that, seeing my
companions fly, and the wounded men return to their houses, I kept
my post all in a cold sweat, lest I should be taken up as a party
concerned; and when I should have gone away had not the power to
stir one foot. At the noise the watch came in, who, finding three
trunks in the street, besides two men dangerously wounded, and me
not far off, came up to see who I was. By the disorder they found me
in they concluded I was one of those who had done the mischief. They
took care of me that night, and the next day I was ordered to a
place where I had occasion to try all my friends and acquaintance,
who all proved as I deserved. In about ten days I was called to my
trial, and my excuses being very frivolous, and my answers
contradictory, I was condemned to be hoisted up by the neck, and go
to heaven in a string. However, just as I was singing the last
stave, a reprieve came, and in about two months after I got a full
pardon.  Frightened at this last disaster, I was resolved to
associate myself no more with anyone, but went about the streets
selling wash balls, toothpicks and tooth powder. I played the merry-
Andrew myself, cried up my rubbish, extolled the virtues of it, and
sold very dear. For whoever has a mind to put off his trumpery, and
make a good hand of it, must pretend his trash comes from Japan,
Peru or Tartary, because all nations undervalue their own product
and workmanship, though never so excellent, and set a great rate on
foreign trifles.

 All my ware tending to make fine teeth and white hands, the ladies
were my best customers, but especially the actresses. There was at
that time one of the best companies of players that ever diverted
England, and a man at the head of them famed for his excellency that
way. By virtue of my scurvy ware I became acquainted with his
imaginary queens and pretended princesses, one of whom, about
eighteen years of age, and married to one of the actors, told me one
day that she had taken a liking to me, because I was a confident,
sharp, forward youth, and therefore if I would serve her, she would
entertain me with all her heart; and that when the company went
strolling I might beat the drum and stick up the bills. I fancied
that was an easier sort of a life, so consented at first word,
desiring only two days to sell my wares off, which she courteously
granted; and to encourage me gave me a crown.  Having sold off my
trumpery, I waited on my mistress, who appointed me four several
employments: the first was tiresome, the second uneasy, the third
sluggish and the fourth dangerous. At home I was her valet de
chambre, folding and laying up all her clothes. Abroad I was her
porter, fetching and carrying her clothes to the playhouse. I was
her gentleman usher in her attiring room, and her trusty secretary
and ambassador in all places. My master quarrelled with her every
night about me, because he supposed I was no eunuch, saw I had a
tolerably good face, and thought me not so young but that I knew
what was what; for which reason he was looking out for another
servant, that he might turn me off. Such a multitude of young beaux
resorted daily to my mistress's house that it looked like a fair.
They all told me their secrets, and acquainted me with their
sufferings. Some made me presents, others promised mountains, and
others delivered me copies of verses, which being gathered in the
morning on Parnassus, were buried at night in the necessary house. I
played the part of a Prime Minister, and Secretary of State and War,
receiving those memorials and the fees, promising every one my
favour and interest. Some of them I dispatched with my mistress, and
many more, considering she was so dilatory, I answered of my own
head, after this manner: If the petitioner was poor or niggardly,
rejected. If he was a young spark near coming to his estate, he
shall be heard another time. If rich and generous, granted. Thus I
kept them all in hand, absolutely dismissing none, but rather
feeding them with hopes.  When I happened to lose at play -- for it
is impossible a scoundrel should ever be wise -- as I took out or
laid up her clothes I filled my pocket with ribbons and garters, and
giving them, in her name, as favours to the gallants, they requited
me so plentifully that I could make what I had filched, and enough
left to game all the week after.  The devil, who they say never
sleeps, so ordered it that, my master and mistress being gone a
visiting, and I left at home, two of the servants belonging to the
playhouse and the wardrobe keeper came to call me out to take a
walk, it being a leisure day. I went away with them. We dropped in
to a tavern, drank six bottles of the best, played at cards for the
reckoning, and that falling upon me, I was so nettled that I
challenged the wardrobe keeper to play with me at putt; and he,
being no fool at that sport, soon stripped me of all I had. This
provoked me so highly that I told him, if he would but stay, I would
go fetch more money. He consented. I ran home with all speed, took
out a rich laced petticoat my mistress had, and carried it to a
pastrycook I was acquainted with, desiring him to lend me three
jacobuses upon it, pretending they were for my mistress, who wanted
so much to make up a sum to pay for a ring she had bought, assuring
him of his money when my master returned home, with something for
the favour. The pastry cook, finding the pawn sufficient, delivered
me the money, with which I hurried back to play, and lost as I had
done before. I got one jacobus back again off the winner, by way of
wrangling with him as if he had not played fair, with which I turned
out into the street, full of vexation that I had lost so beneficial
a place. I went to an inn, where I supped and lay that night, but
with little rest or satisfaction. As soon as ever I discovered the
first dawn of day I got up, full of sorrow to think what a base
return I had made my mistress for all her kindness; and, considering
the danger I should be in when she missed her petticoat, I left
London, directing my course towards Colchester.  Travelling somewhat
hastily, for fear of being followed, I overtook two of those sort of
soldiers called decoy ducks, who serve to draw in others when there
are levies. After some discourse, they told me they were going my
way, being informed that at Colchester there was a captain raising
men, and that none who listed under him would ever want. I travelled
on with them very fairly, every one paying his club by the way. The
next day we got to that town, and being kindly received by the
captain, and listed, we lived in clover for a fortnight, making our
landlords furnish us with dainties, and demanding impossibilities.
At last we received orders to march, and having left the town, our
captain moved like a snail, still leaving the quarters appointed us
on one side, and taking the contrary way, because the towns paid him
to be exempted. He continued this cheat three days; but on the
fourth, as we were passing by a wood, all his men, about thirty in
number, left him with only the colours, drum, sergeant and ensign,
and five wenches, who went with the baggage; for he is not likely to
keep up a company who contrives only how to make his advantage of
them, without considering that it is very easy to find a captain,
and no less difficult to get thirty soldiers.  However, I liked my
captain well enough, for he was civil to me. I stuck by him, and
came to London with him, where he was so laughed at that he resolved
to quit the kingdom, and, having a good estate, intended to go 
abroad a volunteer, and desired my company. He embarked for
Barcelona, and in a little time got a company, which was ordered,
with several others, to sail for Alicant. I being a good accountant,
and writing a fair hand, stuck close all the while we were at sea to
the steward of the ship, to help him deliver out the allowances to
the sailors and land men. He, to keep up a good old custom, and
avoid being blamed by others of his trade, gave the soldiers all the
broken biscuits, and kept that which was whole; and so for the fish,
they had what was rotten. As for the bacon, he stuck a knife into
it, and if it stunk, the soldiers had it; if otherwise, he put it up
carefully. However he took care to make much of the officers, which
made them all keep council and see nothing; and whilst the poor
soldiers fared hard, we lived well. At length we arrived at Alicant,
where we were quartered, and had a mixture of good and bad; for as
soon as they had shown us any favour they were over us with a Cap de
Dieu! - which is that country's oath and out came two or three cases
of pistols. My captain and I were at variance, because he had
cheated me of my pay, and I had made my complaint to recover it. For
this reason he bore me ill will, there being nothing so certain as
that if a soldier does not put up with any wrong in point of
interest, but pretends to complain, or to stand upon terms with his
officers, all that he says, though never so true, will pass for a
lie. He will never be advanced, but rather slighted and hated. My
quarters were in a tavern, where I was one day drinking with a
soldier, and happened to fall out about a lie given, and my sword
unluckily running into his throat, he kicked up his heels, through
his own fault, for he ran upon my point; so that he may thank his
own hastiness. To prevent my captain's taking revenge, or giving him
an opportunity of satisfying his malice, by taking upon himself to
make an example of me, I went away to Barcelona, and took refuge in
a monastery. My captain, as if I had murdered his father, stolen his
goods, or taken away his mistress, sent after me to have me secured,
and a little whippersnapper of his, who was the tale carrier of the
company, followed his business so close that, in despite of the
fathers, and in contempt of the Church, he had me taken out of the
sanctuary and cast into the prison of the arsenal. They put me into
irons, bolted my hands and feet, and so left me. I was prosecuted as
a murderer, deserter and raiser of mutinies; and without any regard
to the pain my mother endured when she brought me into the world,
they put me into a fright with these terrible words: "You shall
return to the place from whence you came, and from thence to the
place of execution," etc.

 In short, as if it had been a thing of nothing, or but a matter of
pastime, they gave sentence that I should be led in state along the
streets, then mount upon a ladder, kick up my heels before all the
people, and take a swing in the open air, as if I had another life
in my snapsack. I was made acquainted with it by a public notary,
who was so nice a Christian that he never asked any gratuity for the
good news, nor any fees for the trial. It was impossible to avoid
making some wry faces when I heard it; some sighs broke loose in
spite of my manhood, and the salt tears trickled down my cheeks. The
jailer bid me make peace with God, without the least supply from
Bacchus to raise my spirits; and I, considering what I had to go
through, gently squeezed my throat with my hand; and though it was
done very tenderly, I did not like the test, but said to myself, "If
the hand, which is soft flesh, hurts so much, what will it be when a
hard hempen rope is there." I kneeled down, and cried to Heaven for
mercy, solemnly protesting, if I regained my liberty, that I would
do penance for my sins, and begin a new life; but these were like
vows made in storms. The news was quickly spread, and several
friends came to see me, others to condemn me. Some said it was a
pity I should lose my life in the prime of my age; others that I
looked like a rank knave; and some, that I was not come to that for
my goodness. At last, in came a Franciscan friar, all in a sweat,
and full of zeal, asking, "Where is the condemned person?" I
answered: "Father, I am the man, though you don't know me." He said:
"Dear child, it is now time for you to think of another world, since
sentence is passed; and therefore you must employ this short time
allowed you in confessing your sins, and asking forgiveness for your
offences." I answered: "Reverend Father, in obedience to the
commands of the Church, I confess but once a year, and that is in
Lent. But if, according to human laws, I must atone with my life for
the crime I've committed, your reverence being so learned must be
truly sensible that there is no divine precept which says, 'Thou
shalt not eat or drink '; and therefore, since it is not contrary to
the law of God, I desire that you will give order that I have meat
and drink, and then we will discourse of what is best for us both;
for I am in a Christian country, and plead the privilege of
sanctuary." The good father, much disturbed to hear me talk so 
wildly at a time when I should be serious, took a small crucifix out
of his bosom and began to make a sermon to me on the text of the
lost sheep and the repentance of the good thief; and this with such
an audible voice that he might be heard all over the arsenal. I
turned pale, my heart failed me, and my tongue was numbed when I
heard the charity bells, which ring when criminals are executed. I
cleared my apartment and, kneeling down before my ghostly father,
disgorged a wonderful budget of sins, and cleared my storehouse of
iniquity; and having received his blessing and absolution, found

myself so changed, that it only troubled me to die because I thought
myself so truly contrite that all the bells would ring out of
themselves, the whole city would be in an uproar, and the poor
people would lose their day's work to come and see me.  In the
height of this fright, which I would freely bestow on anyone that
could be fond of it, the Marquis D'Este, then commanding officer,
ordered me to be brought before him, I having got a petition
presented to him. He, like a merciful man, being informed that I
pleaded the privilege of sanctuary, ordered the execution to be
respited, the sentence of death reversed, and me sent to the galleys
for ten years. My master was so much my friend that he opposed it,
alleging my constitution was too dainty to make a water thresher,
and therefore it were better to send me out of this wicked world,
that I might serve as an example to all the army; and that it would
have been never the worse had it been done three or four years
sooner. Not withstanding all this, I took a little courage, finding
myself backed by some friends, and told the marquis it was malice,
spite and hatred made my master so much my enemy, that he had
detained my pay, upon which I threatened to com plain, and he vowed
revenge, and now would have it by my death. The general said it was
strange that two countrymen could not agree; that he would not
trouble himself with my complaints, but ordered me to be immediately
discharged without paying any fees. I threw myself at his feet for
the kindness he had done me, to the disappointment of the mob, and
the loss of the executioner. I presently departed the palace, and
went to be blooded to prevent any ill consequence of the fright I
had been in.  When the bodily fear I had been put into was over, the
danger I had escaped forgotten, and the blood I let out recruited in
a tavern, I went out one day to take a walk upon the Mole, and
understanding there was a new regiment to be raised, I inquired
after the officers, and by accident met one of them, who asked me to
list. I easily consented for the sake of a little ready money. My
new master seemed to take a fancy to me, and ordered me to his own
quarters, where it was not long before I got a new place; for the
cook going away, I was asked if I understood anything that way, and
I, always resolved to answer in the affirmative, declared I did
understand cookery to the greatest perfection; so that I was both
soldier and cook.  After several voyages by sea to Rosas, and other
places, we were ordered to succour Alsace, and for our winter
residence had the woods of Bavaria. My master took up his residence
in the house of one of the richest men in those parts, though he
pretended to be very poor, because he had driven away all his
cattle, and removed the best of his goods. This contrivance did not
serve his turn. I got information from the servants. With this, in a
very stately manner, I acquainted him that I was my master's
steward, quartermaster and cook, and as such must inform him that he
had a captain of horse in his house, who was a person of
considerable quality, and therefore must take care to make very much
of him and his servants; that my master was very much fatigued, and
it was dinner time, and he must order all things that were
necessary. He answered I need only tell him what provision I wanted
for the kitchen, and he would order his servants to fetch it
immediately. I told him we always kept three tables, the first for
the gentlemen and pages, the second for the butler and under
officers, and the third for the footmen, grooms, and other liveries;
for all which tables he must furnish one ox, two calves, four sheep,
twelve pullets, six capons, two dozen pigeons, six pounds of bacon
for larding, four pounds of sugar, two of all sorts of spice, a
hundred eggs, half a dozen dishes of fish, a pot of wine to every
plate, and six hogsheads to stand by. He blessed himself, as if he
had seen all the devils in hell, and answered: "If all that your
worship speaks of be only for the servants' tables, the whole
village will not be able to furnish the master's." I replied: "My
master is such a worthy person that he had rather see the servants
made much of than please himself; and therefore he and his friends
never put their landlords to any more charge than a dish of imperial
stuffed meat, with an egg in it." He asked me what that stuffed meat
was made of, and I bid him order me a new laid egg, a squab pigeon,
and two loads of coals, and to send for a cobbler with his nawl and
ends, and a gravedigger with his spade, and then he should know what
else was wanting, that he might provide it whilst we were at work.
The landlord went and fetched what I demanded except the two loads
of coals. I took the egg and the pigeon, which I gutted, and cutting
it open enough with my knife (for I had all my tools about me) I
clapped the egg into the belly of it; then said I to him: Sir, take
notice this egg is in the pigeon, the pigeon is to be put into a
partridge, the partridge into a pheasant, the pheasant into a
pullet, the pullet into a turkey, the turkey into a kid, the kid
into a sheep, the sheep into a calf, the calf into a cow; all these
creatures are to be pulled, flead and larded, except the cow, which
is to have her hide on; and as they are thrust one into another,
like a nest of boxes, the cobbler is to sew every one of them with
an end, that they may not slip out; and when they are all fast sewed
into the cow's belly, the gravedigger is to throw up a deep trench,
into which one load of coals is to be cast, and the cow laid on top
of it; the other load upon her, the fuel set on fire to burn about
four hours, more or less, when the meat being taken out, is
incorporated, and becomes such a delicious dish that formerly the
emperors used to dine upon it on their coronation day; for which
reason, and because an egg is the foundation of all that curious
mess, it was called the imperial egg stuffed meat."  The landlord,
who stood listening to me with his mouth open, and no more motion
than a statue, gave such entire credit to all I said, because I
spoke so seriously, and was very earnest to have the ingredients,
that, squeezing me by the hand, he said, "Sir, I am very poor "; and
I, under standing what he would be at, answered, "Fear nothing."
Then leading him into the kitchen, we agreed the matter very well
between us, and I told my master he was very poor indeed, and ruined
by our troops, having had all his cattle stolen. My master ordered
he should not be oppressed, and left the management of him to me. 
The other servants, observing that I had plenty of wine in the
kitchen, and was supplied with choice bits, suspected the fraud, and
informed my master, who upon inquiry found just the contrary to what
I had told him. He sent for my landlord and discovered all my
roguery. My master upon this paid me a visit in the kitchen and,
taking up one of the nearest cudgels he found about it, dusted my
jacket so furiously that he wanted a cook for a fortnight.  During
our stay here we were attacked by a parcel of French scoundrels. My
master ordered me out with the rest, but I kept back, fearing a
chance bullet might mistake me for somebody else. But when I heard
the French were beaten, I ventured into the field with my drawn
sword, hacking and hewing the dead carcasses in a furious manner. It
happened, as a special instance of my valour, that as I came up to
one of the enemies to give him half a dozen good gashes, thinking he
was as dead as the rest, at the first stroke I let fall he gave such 
a dreadful groan that I was quite terrified, and thinking he made a
motion to get up to be revenged on me, I had not the courage to stay
so long to draw my sword out again, but faced about, and ran as fast
as I could to the place our baggage was, looking back a thousand
times for fear he should overtake me. I bought a good sword of one
who had been in the pursuit, and some other booty, boasting all
about the army that I had gained it in the fight. I met my master,
who, being brought along desperately wounded, and past all hopes,
said to me: "You scoundrel! why did you not do as I ordered you?" I
answered: "Because, sir, I was afraid to be in your condition." He
was carried into the town, where he soon ended his days, for want of
being so discreet as I. He left me, rather out of his own innate
goodness and generosity than for any good service I had done him, a
horse and fifty ducats. God grant him fifty thousand ages of bliss
for his kindness, and double that term to anyone who shall hereafter
so far oblige me as to do the like.  By this time you may suppose I
was pretty remarkable, for I had got the name of the merry
Englishman, and being out of place spent my money like a lord. My
purse being exhausted, I got into the service of Count Picolomeni;
and a little afterwards we were ordered to march towards Hainault,
and in a few days encamped under the walls of Mons.  A comical
adventure befell me one day in this place. I happened to go abroad,
after dining in the town, with my head so full that I took children
for men and blue for black. Staggering along in this condition, I
came up to a chandler's shop, which was all hung about with rows of
tallow candles, and I, taking them for bunches of radishes, asked
the owner why he pulled the leaves off. He not understanding what I
meant, and perceiving the pickle I was in, made me no answer, but
fell a laughing very heartily; but I, who had doubtless a drunken
longing for radishes, put out my hand to one of the rows that hung
upon a long stick, and laying hold of two candles pulled so hard
that all the range came down. The shopkeeper, seeing his goods
broken, took up a cudgel and exercised it so, you would have thought
he had been beating off stock fish. Though drunk, I was so sensible
of the pain that, drawing my sword, I charged him as my mortal
enemy. He, seeing me void of fear and reason, fled into a room
behind the shop, and shut the door after him. Finding that, though I
made a hundred passes at the door, the smart of my bones did nothing
abate, I vented my spleen against the candles and, laying about me,
left the whole shop strewed with grease.  It happened a gang of
soldiers were passing by, and they, at the request of the
neighbours, carried me out into the street by force, I still crying:
"What! cudgel me for a radish or two which are not worth a
farthing." A complaint was carried to my master, who ordered me to
be sent to jail, and the next day, when I awoke, I found myself in 
irons.  There I suffered for the radish fray, there I fasted though
it was not Lent, and there was dieted, without any liberty of
getting drunk. At length my mistress took pity on me, and. begged my
master to forgive me, who, seeing me protected by such an angel,
ordered me to be set free, on my paying for the damage done to the
candles. I left the jail with a full resolution never more to
disoblige my master. I lived so sedate and modest for a little time
after this that it surprised my master, who continually heaped new
favours upon me, and I, leaving off drinking for the present, grew
amorous. To this purpose I made choice of a waiting maid, a country
lass in dress, but a courtier in keeping her word. She was young in
years, but old in cunning, carried all her fortune about her, and,
being fatherless, for the more decency and security of her person
served an aunt of hers, who kept a tavern, where I was acquainted. I
set my heart on this virgin pullet, and one day, putting my hand
upon her soft bubbies, she gave me such a kick that I defy the best
Flanders mare to have outdone her. She withdrew into her chamber,
and from that time fled from me as if I had been the devil. I was up
to the ears in love, and knew not what to do. However, at last, I
wrote a billet doux, and accompanied it with a present. The poor
harmless creature, who had been several times upon trial before, and
still pleaded, "Lord, I know not what you mean," bit at the bait,
received the present, heard the message, and gave me leave, under
the pretence of quenching my thirst, to pay her a visit, which I
did, and from that moment she began to fleece me, and her aunt to
pluck my feathers. Our love grew so hot that the customers who used
the tavern took notice of it; therefore, to save her reputation, for
she passed for a maid, I took lodgings for her, and by that means
got her from her aunt. My lady was so nice that she could not eat
snails, because they had horns; nor fish, because of the bones; nor
rabbits, because they had tails. She swooned away at the sight of a
mouse; but rejoiced to see a company of grenadiers. Before me she
fed by ounces and in my absence by pounds. She hated to be confined,
and loved liberty; and, under colour of melancholy, was never from
the window or door. At first she used to receive abundance of
visitors, pretending that all the men were her cousins; but I being
informed they were carnal kindred put her into an enclosure, taking
a room that had no window to the street, and when I went abroad left
a spy upon her actions.  Every now and then she would be lost, and
rise again the third day, as drowned bodies do. Though she shed
abundance of tears, and swore a thousand oaths to persuade me that
my ill nature made her withdraw herself to her aunt's, and that she
had never been out of her doors, nor seen by anybody, yet I did not
forbear thrashing her so severely that she did not for a good while
show any more of her tricks.  I was confoundedly jealous of this
creature, and not without a reason, for I had her not in keeping
above four months, before she very civilly tipped me a distemper
very common in Naples. Enraged at this, I beat her unmercifully,
took away all her clothes but a few rags, and kicked her out of
doors. I advised with a surgeon and a physician about my case, who
both condemned me to be anointed like a witch, and to slabber like a
natural. But I, hoping to find some way to avoid enduring the pains
of hell in this world, went to every doctor of note. I told them of
my distemper, and they all unanimously told me that if I designed to
live I must forbear drinking (and they had as good have bid me cut
my own throat), and that the wine I had so plentifully swallowed was
to be distilled out of my body in water. Perceiving they all agreed
in the same story, I resolved to get into the hospital, and take a
gentle salivation.  I was kindly received, those good people being
willing to entertain one madman more in their godly house, and,
treating me like a soul in purgatory, they scalded my entrails and
stifled me for want of breath, keeping me always, like Dives, with
my tongue hanging out of my mouth a quarter of a yard, still begging
a drop of wine off some poor Lazarus, and preaching up the works of
mercy; but they told me that patience was a virtue, and would carry
me to heaven, and that I must suffer for my former excesses. At the
end of two months I had been in the hospital I was dismissed
perfectly cured, but my legs looked like trap sticks, my body like a
shotten herring, and my voice like a eunuch. The first inquiry I
made was for the next tavern, and there I ate everything I could
come at, as if I had been a man in perfect health, making a jest of
the doctor, and laughing at the surgeon, bestowing a thousand
blessings on the good man that first found out the vine, and double
the number on those who plant and prune it. After I had got a good
refreshment, I inquired after my kind mistress and her aunt, both of
whom had left the place just after I had entered the hospital. I was
not at all sorry for it; but went to find out some of my old
comrades, whom I found merrily carousing. At last a dispute arose
among them, and swords were drawn. I was fool enough to concern
myself, and one of the party against me gave me such a blow with his
sword (but as it happened it was the flat part) that he made me void
a flood of claret at my mouth. All the skip-kennel troop took to
their heels, thinking I was killed, and I, believing myself not far
from it, bawled out for a surgeon, who was called, and he feeling my
pulse beat very unregular, and observing how I retched and sweated,
never inquired into the cause of my distemper, but bid the landlord
get a priest to prepare me for death. The good man, being unwilling
I should die like a heathen in a Christian country, ran in all haste
and brought one, who, being curious to see the wound, took off my
hat, and found my head clear from blood, and without any other hurt
but a bump raised by the stroke I had received. He asked those who
had seen the fray whether I had any other wounds besides that; and
being informed I had not says to the master of the house: "If this
man was to make his confession every time he is troubled with this
distemper he ought always to have a chaplain along with him. Sleep
is the only thing will cure this disorder; therefore carry him to
bed, and I will answer for his life." His orders were obeyed, and
the next morning I found myself out of danger, and went to wait on
my master, who received me with a frowning brow, and bid me be gone
about my business; that he discarded me his service, and left me at
liberty to go where I pleased. This was a terrible blow to me; but I
was comforted the next morning by my generous master sending me a
handsome present in gold, with a command from him to leave the
place, which I did the next morning, resolving to go to France, and
from thence to my native country. The carrier with whom I set out
was a great gamester, and the second night invited me to his room,
which was next the stable, and there by the light of a scurvy lamp I
won all his money. Enraged at his ill fortune, he threw the cards in
my face, and I in return wiped him across the face with my hat. He
ran to a corner to lay hold of a rusty sword, and I discharged the
lamp at him so furiously that he was oil all over, and I half dead
with fear, being in the dark, and the door shut. However, I was
fortunate to find the sally port, and fled to the watch, whither my
greasy carrier followed me with his rusty tilter. A corporal met and
disarmed him, after giving each of us half a dozen bangs, and then
inquired into the affair, and endeavoured to reconcile us, but in
vain, the carrier refusing to consent till I paid the damage done to
his coat. I gave him half his money again, and the other part I
spent on the corporal, watchmen, myself and the carrier, drowning
the quarrel, and forgetting all wrongs.  After travelling many a
tedious mile I at last got to Calais, and from thence to London.
Being come to the metropolis, I went directly to my father's house
that had been, which upon inquiry I found in the hands of a
stranger. I asked for my sisters, and was told they were removed
into another world. I found they had both been married, and had left
children; so that my hopes of getting anything by their deaths
proved abortive. Destitute of friends, I knew not what to do,
especially finding the gout come upon me. At last, by the advice of
an acquaintance, I took a public house and, understanding several
languages, have now very good custom from foreigners. I intend to
leave off my foolish pranks; and as I have spent my juvenile years
and money in keeping company, hope to find some fools as bad as
myself, who delight in throwing away their estates and impairing
their healths.  This is all the account he gives of himself and all
the information we can get further of him is that he kept an inn in
Smithfield, and got a considerable fortune. But being eager to be
rich at once, he, jointly with his ostler, committed a most
barbarous and cruel murder; for a gentleman who had purchased an
estate in the country was obliged to pay the money in London, and
accordingly came to town for that purpose, putting up at Batson's
inn. The ostler, in taking the gentleman's bags off, perceived they
were very heavy, and acquainted his master with it, and they two
soon agreed to murder the gentleman, and divide the booty, the first
of which was barbarously executed by the ostler, who cut the guest's
throat, and then they removed the body into a closet. But a dispute
arose in dividing the money, which made the ostler leave his master
with what he could get; and he getting drunk the same night
discovered the inhuman deed, producing several pieces of gold as a
confirmation. The neighbours at first thought it was all fiction,
until the fellow often calling God to witness of the truth, and
vowing revenge on his master (thinking by his discovery to save
himself), a stander-by more penetrating than the rest sent for a
constable and got him secured, who being carried, before a
magistrate persisted in it, and desired the house of his master
might be searched, which was accordingly done, and the body found.
In a small time after they were both arraigned and convicted. The
ostler died just after that but Batson was deservedly executed,
dying penitent, and in the communion of the Church of Rome, the
principles of which he had imbibed by going into foreign parts. And
thus ended the life of this detestable villain about a year before
the restoration of King Charles II.

THOMAS SAVAGE

A Profligate Apprentice who murdered a Fellow-Servant, was executed
twice, and finally buried 28th of October, 1668

 THIS unhappy wretch was born of very honest parents in the parish
of St Giles's in the Fields, and between fourteen and fifteen years
of age bound apprentice to one Mr Collins, a vintner, at the Ship
Tavern at Ratcliff Cross, with whom he led but a very loose and
profligate sort of life for about two years.  Breaking the Sabbath
(by his own confession, he having never once heard a whole sermon
during that time) was the first inlet to all his other vices,
especially whoredom, drunkenness and theft, for he used commonly to
pass away the Sabbaths at a bawdy-house in Ratcliff Highway with one
Hannah Blay, a vile common strumpet, who was the cause of his ruin,
and brought him to his shameful end.  He was carried at first to
drink there by an acquaintance, who afterwards went to sea; but
having once found the way, he went after that alone, without his
companion, and would often carry a bottle or two of wine to junket
with her. This, however, not satisfying her wicked desires, she told
him frequently that if he would enjoy her company he must bring good
store of money with him. To this he always replied that he could
bring none but his master's, and that he had never wronged him of
twopence in his life. Nevertheless she still continued urging him to
rob him privately, but he answered he could. not, because the maid
was always at home with him. "Hang her, a jade!" said this limb of
the devil; "knock her brains out, and I'll receive the money, and go
anywhere with you beyond sea, to avoid the stroke of justice."

 She was often giving him this bad advice and preaching this
infernal doctrine, and she repeated it in particular on the very day
when he unhappily took her counsel and perpetrated the murder; for
being at her house in the morning, she made him drunk with burnt
brandy, and he wanting a groat to pay his reckoning, she again
persuaded him to knock the maid's brains out, and bring her what
money he could find.  Hereupon he went home, between twelve and one
o'clock, and seeing his master standing at the street door did not
dare to go in that way, but climbed over a wall, and getting in at
the back door went into the room where his fellow- servants were at
dinner. "Oh, sirrah," said the maid to him, you have been now at the
bawdy-house; you will never leave it till you are utterly ruined
thereby."  These words provoked him highly, and he was so much
enraged at her that from that moment the devil took firm possession
of him, and he fully resolved, even while he was at dinner, to be
her butcher. Accordingly, when his master with the rest of the
family were gone to church, leaving only the maid and Tom Savage at
home, he went into the bar and fetched a hammer, with which he began
to make a great noise, as he sat by the fire, by knocking on the
bellows. Hereupon says the maid to him: "Sure the boy is mad!
Sirrah, what do you make this noise for?"

 To this he made no answer, but going to the kitchen- window began
to knock and make the same noise there, of which the maid then
taking no notice, he, to provoke her, got on the clean dresser, and
walked up and down thereon several times with his dirty shoes. This
piece of malice exasperating the maid, so that she scolded at him
pretty heartily, he threw the hammer at her suddenly with such
violence that, hitting her on the head, it felled her to the ground,
and she shrieked out. He then went and took up the hammer, intending
to repeat the blow, but laid it down again thrice, not being yet
hardened enough in cruelty to strike her any more; but at last,
taking it up the fourth time, the devil had then gained such an
absolute mastery over him that he gave her several strokes with all
the force he could, and quickly dispatched her out of the world. 
The inhuman wretch, having perpetrated this hellish piece of
barbarity, immediately broke open a cupboard in his master's
chamber, and taking out a bag, wherein was about sixty pounds, hid
it under his coat, and went out at a back door directly away to
Hannah Blay again. When he came there, and informed her what he had
done, the cunning slut, who was hardened in wickedness, would fain
have had the money from him; but he would part with no more than
half-a-crown, which having given her, he went away without the least
remorse for what he had done.

 But he had not gone very far, when, meeting with a stile, he sat
down thereon to rest himself, and then began to reflect on the
horrid deed he had perpetrated, and to cry out to himself, "Lord,
what have I done!" wishing that he could have recalled the fatal
blows, even at the price of ten thousand worlds, if so many had been
in his power. After this he was in so much horror and dread of mind
that he stirred not a step but he thought everyone he met came to
apprehend him.

 That night he reached Greenwich, where he took up his lodging,
telling the people of the house he was going to Gravesend; but being
got to bed he could not sleep, through the terror of a guilty
conscience, but got up again, and walked about the room for several
hours. Next morning the mistress of the house, perceiving he had a
large quantity of money in a bag not sealed up, began to examine him
about it, doubting he came not by it honestly. Hereupon, to avoid
her just suspicion, he told her he was carrying it down to Gravesend
to his master, who was a wine-cooper, and lived on London Bridge;
and that if she would not believe she might send to his mistress,
and in the meantime he would leave the money in her hands.

 This was agreed upon, and accordingly he wrote a note himself to
his pretended mistress, which was to be carried by some people who
were then going to London, whilst he went his way, wandering towards
Woolwich, where he was in the shipyard much about the time the hue
and cry came to Greenwich of a murder committed at Ratcliff Cross by
a youth upon a maid, who was his fellow-servant; and that he had
also robbed his master of a bag of money. Upon this news the
mistress of the house where he had lain presently concluded that it
was the same youth who had lodged there, and that the bag he had
left with her was that whereof he had robbed his master. Hereupon
she immediately dispatched several men in search of him, who found
him asleep in an ale-house, with his head upon a table and a pot of
beer by him. Upon this, one of the men, calling him by his name,
said: "Tom, did you not live at Ratcliff?" He answered Yes. "And did
not you murder your fellow-servant?" He answered likewise in the
affirmative. "And you took so much money from your master?" He
acknowledged all. "Then," continued he, "you must go along with us."
To which he replied: "Yes, with all my heart." Accordingly they went
forthwith to Greenwich, to the house where he had lain the night
before.  By the time he got thither his master and some friends had
arrived there likewise, who exaggerated to him the barbarity of the
fact, wherewith he was not much affected at first, though a little
after he burst out into tears. From thence he was carried back to
Ratcliff, and had before a Justice of Peace, who committed him to
Newgate.  Being now in safe custody, he was visited by one Mr Baker,
to whom, after some little acquaintance, he gave the foregoing
account; and he found him at first but little sensible of the
heinousness of the crime he had committed. But the next time, asking
him whether he was sorry for the fact, he answered with tears in his
eyes, wringing his hands, and striking his breast, "Yes, sir; for it
cuts me to the heart to think that I should take away the life of an
innocent creature; and that is not all, but for anything I know, I
have sent her soul to hell. Oh I how can I think of appearing before
God's tribunal, when she shall stand before me and say, 'Lord, this
wretch took away my life, and gave me not the least time to consider
of the state of my soul, that so I might have repented of my sins,
and have turned to Thee; he gave me no warning at all, Lord.' Oh,
then, what will become of me?"

 He was then visited by Mr Robert Franklyn, Mr Thomas Vincent, Mr
Thomas Doolittle and Mr James Janeway, who asked him if he was the
person that murdered the maid at Ratcliff. To which he answered Yes.
Hereupon they endeavoured to set the sin home upon his conscience,
telling him the danger he was in, not only of a temporal but of an
eternal death, without true repentance, and a sincere and strong
faith.  The day he went down to the sessions his fellow-prisoners
gave him something to drink, which very much disordered him; and
Hannah Blay, whom he had accused, and who was taken into custody
thereupon, was heard to say to him: "Others have made you drunk to-
day, but I will make thee drunk to-morrow." He lamented this
backsliding grievously, but said that it was not the quantity he had
drunk, which was much less than he was able to drink at other times
without being in the least disordered, but it was something they had
infused into his liquor to intoxicate his senses; which made him
ever afterwards very cautious and fearful of drinking in their
company.  After he had received sentence of death he was again
visited by Mr Baker; and the Saturday before his execution he was
again with him, when Savage said to him, taking him by the hand,
"Oh, my dear friend, come hither." Then opening his coffin, "Look
here," continued he, "this is the ship wherein I must launch out
into the ocean of eternity. Is it not a terrible thing to see one's
own coffin and burial clothes, when at the same time (as to my
bodily health) I am every whit as well as you?"

 On the Sunday, expecting to be executed next day, he desired to be
alone and spent it in prayer and other religious duties. Next
morning the sheriff's men and cart came for him, but the Sheriff of
Middlesex not having notice, it was deferred till Wednesday, when,
invoking upon his clothes that he had put on to die in, he said:
"What! have I got on my dying clothes? Dying clothes, did I say?
They are my living clothes, the clothes out of which I shall go into
eternal glory. They are the best clothes that ever I put on!"

 Being brought to the place of execution at Ratcliff Cross, he made
a short speech, wherein he exhorted people, both old and young, to
take warning by his untimely end how they offended against the laws
of God and man. After which, having said a very pathetic prayer, and
breathed forth such pious ejaculations as drew tears from the eyes
of the beholders, he was turned off the cart, and struggled for a
while, heaving up his body. Which a young man, his friend,
perceiving, he struck him several blows upon his breast with all his
strength, to put him out of his pain, till no motion could be
perceived in him. Wherefore after he had hung a considerable time,
and was to all appearance dead, the people moving away, the sheriff
ordered him to be cut down, when, being received into the arms of
some of his friends, he was conveyed into a house not far from the
place of execution. There being laid upon a table, he began, to the
astonishment of the beholders, to breathe, and rattle in the throat,
so that it was evident life was whole in him. Hereupon he was
carried from thence to a bed in the same house, where he breathed
more strongly, and opened his eyes and mouth, though his teeth were
set before, and he offered to speak, but could not recover the use
of his tongue.  However, his reviving being blazed abroad within an
hour, the sheriff's officers came to the house where he was, and
carrying him back to the place of execution, hung him up again till
he was really dead. After which his body was carried by his mourning
friends to Islington, and buried on 28th of October, 1668, being
seventeen years of age.

THE REV. ROBERT HAWKINS

The Subject of a foul Conspiracy on the Part of Henry Larrimore and
Sir John Croke that failed at Aylesbury Assizes, 11th of March, 1669 
A FOUL conspiracy against the life of a clerk in holy orders was
laid bare at the assizes at Aylesbury on 11th of March, 1669, when
Robert Hawkins, clerk of Chilton, was indicted with breaking into
the dwelling-house of Henry Larrimore and stealing his gold rings
and other articles.  Larrimore deposed that on Friday, 18th of
September, 1668, between twelve and one o'clock at noon, he locked
up his doors and went into a hemp-plat, about two furlongs from his
house, with all his family, to pull hemp. Coming home an hour and a
half before sunset he found his doors open, and ran upstairs to a
loft over the chamber where he lay, and, looking through the chinks
of the boards, there he saw the prisoner rifling a box, in which,
among other goods, was a white holland apron and a purse, in which
were two gold rings of the value of ten shillings each, two ten-
shilling pieces of gold, and nineteen shillings in silver. The
prisoner hearing some noise, the deponent saw him glance by the
stair-foot door, and so run out of his house, down the yard, with a
great bunch of keys; and the deponent saw the prisoner hide himself
in a close where there were some beans and weeds. The next day he
procured a warrant from Sir Richard Piggot to search for his rings
and money, and with the constable of the place, and some others, he
went to search the prisoner's house, who refusing to open his doors,
the constable broke them open, and in a basket filled with paper,
rags and other trumpery he found one of the rings, and a five-
shilling piece of silver, which he positively swore were the same
which he had seen the prisoner the day before take out of his purse. 
HAWKINS: Why did not Larrimore, when he saw his doors open, which he
expected to have found locked, call some of his neighbours to assist
in searching the house and securing me, or whoever the person it was
that he found robbing him?

 To this Larrimore answered he did not then well consider what he
did.  HAWKINS: If he saw me commit the robbery in his house, why
then did he search other houses for the goods he saw me steal? 
LARRIMORE: I had been robbed at several other times.

 HAWKINS: How came he not to charge me positively with the felony
before Sir Richard Piggot, of whom he had the warrant, if he had
been sure I robbed him?  To this Larrimore made no direct answer. 
Henry Larrimore, the son, and Joan Beamsley gave evidence as to
seeing Hawkins run from the house, where upon Lord Chief Baron Hales
said: "Here is evidence enough to hang twenty men."  HAWKINS: I
doubt not but to clear myself, notwithstanding this evidence. Pray,
Sir Richard Piggot, when Larrimore came for the warrant to search,
did he not say he suspected several persons of robbing him of them,
and that I was but one of the suspected persons?  Sir Richard
Piggot, being upon the bench, acknowledged this to be true.

 HAWKINS: And yet Larrimore swears he saw me steal them out of his
house on the 18th of September, an hour and a half before sunset,
which I desire the Court and the jury would take notice of.  John
Chilton was called, and said that Mr Hawkins brought him a pair of
boots to put new legs to them, and that he told the prisoner he
would lay them in his shop window, and he might take them as he came
by, for he should be abroad; which accordingly the prisoner did, and
paid him for doing them, at Sir John Croke's; but that when the
prisoner came to demand his tithes, and sued for them, then this
Larrimore, Mr Dodsworth Croke, Richard Maine the constable, and
others, came to the deponent and plagued him night and day to charge
the prisoner with felony for stealing the boots; and they would have
forced him to fetch a warrant to search for them, and threatened, in
case he would not, that Sir John Croke would indict him at the
assizes, as accessory to the stealing his own goods; and Larrimore
said he would make him swear that Mr Hawkins had stolen his boots,
and subpoenaed him to the assizes for that purpose.  LARRIMORE: My
Lord, this fellow is hired by Mr Hawkins to swear this.  CHILTON: I
am not hired to swear by Mr Hawkins; but Thomas Croxton told me last
Monday, if I would swear Mr Hawkins stole my boots, he would bear me
out against Mr Hawkins as far as one hundred pounds would go; and if
that would not do, as far as five hundred pounds would go; and if I
doubted it, he would give me a bond to make good his promise. 
HAWKINS: My Lord, this is an easy way for the fanatics to pay their
tithes. If they can but hang up the clergy, they may cease their
pleas for liberty of conscience. I desire the Court and the jury
will observe that this Chilton is one of Larrimore's witnesses, and
yet he swears that Croxton and others used their utmost endeavours
to persuade him to charge me with felony.  Mr Hawkins added that
Larrimore was a notorious Anabaptist, and an enemy to the Church of
England and ministry in general, but particularly to himself, he
having sued him for tithes, and indicted him for not coming to
church or baptizing his children; that Larrimore's malice had
sufficiently appeared before this, by dissuading those who owed him
money from paying him, and persuading others, whom he owed money to,
to arrest him; by dissuading those he had sued for tithes from
agreeing with him, and telling them Sir John Croke would force him
to run his country, etc. And if the jury doubted of any of these
particulars, he was ready to prove them.  Proceeding in his defence,
he said it was very unlikely he should commit a robbery in his own
parish in the daytime, where everybody that saw him must needs know
him; and that if he had been conscious of his guilt he had twenty-
four hours 'time to have made his escape; and it was strange he
could find no other place to conceal this ring and five-shilling
piece but in a little basket that hung up upon a pin; and that if
Larrimore had seen him rob him, it was strange he did not tell his
neighbours of it, or take any care to secure him till the next day;
nor did he declare it to Sir Richard Piggot, from whom, he fetched
the warrant to search, as might appear by the contents of it. 
Hereupon my Lord Chief Baron ordered the constable to produce the
warrant; and it being delivered to my Lord, he observed that it bore
date before the robbery was committed. Turning to Larrimore he said:
"Thou art very cunning, to be provided with a warrant a day before
you were robbed. It seems you knew upon the 17th day that you should
be robbed on the 18th, and that this person now at the bar should
rob you. But, Mr Hawkins, if you were innocent of this robbery, why
did you refuse to open your doors and let your house be searched?"
HAWKINS: Most of those persons present were my inveterate enemies.
As for Sir John Croke and Larrimore, they had often threatened to
pull down my house, and hired people to make a forcible entry upon
it; particularly they hired one Jaires to get down the chimney and
open my doors when we were all abroad; they had also contracted with
one Tyler for the same purpose. Besides, they had an execution
against me which Larrimore's son had a few days before executed in
part, and he was then present; and, my Lord, I offered at the same
time that Mr Sanders, the other constable, who lived but next door,
might search as narrowly as he pleased.  These statements having
been corroborated, the Lord Chief Baron said the business appeared
very foul; and looking towards Sir John Croke asked if that were the
Sir John Croke who was concerned in that business.  HAWKINS: I doubt
not to make appear to the world that Sir John is deeply concerned in
this conspiracy. Mr Brown was called, and said that Sir John Croke
and this Larrimore had threatened that if he came down to this
assizes to testify what he had heard of this conspiracy they would
ruin him and his family, and for that reason he dare not speak; but
the Court promising him protection, he gave this evidence:  Being
entrusted by Sir John Lentall as keeper to Sir John Croke, who is a
prisoner in the King's Bench, on Wednesday, the 16th of September
last, as I was in bed at Sir John Croke's house in Chilton, I heard
a great noise, and fearing they were contriving Sir John Croke's
escape, I started out of bed in my shirt and stood at the dining-
room door behind the hangings, and there I heard this Larrimore tell
Sir John Croke that he had undone him by causing him to contend with
the parson; for that he had entered him in most of the courts of
England, and summoned him into the Crown Office and Chancery, and he
could not maintain so many suits. Sir John replied: "Is that all?
Come, brother Larrimore, be contented; we will have one trick more
for Hawkins yet, which shall do his work." Larrimore answered: "You
have put me upon too many tricks already -- more than I can manage -
- and the parson is too hard for us still." Sir John replied: "If
thou wilt but act, I will hatch enough to hang Hawkins. Cannot thou
convey some gold or silver into his house, and have a warrant ready
to search his house? -- and then our work is done"; and, says he:
"Do you but go to Sir John Piggot and inform him you have lost your
money and goods, and desire his warrant to search for them; and take
Dick Maine the constable, who is one of us, and will do what we
desire him, and search the house, and when you find these things,
charge him with flat felony, and force him before me, and I will
send him to jail without bail, and we will hang him at the next
assizes."  On the Sunday morning I went to the ale-house, where they
had kept Mr Hawkins all night, and saw them carrying him to jail. I
said to Sir John, when I came home, "They have carried the poor
parson to jail," and he answered, "Let him go, and the devil go with
him, and more shall follow after. Have I not often told you," says
he, "if my brother Larrimore and I laid our heads together, nobody

could stand against us?" And I replied: "Yes, Sir John, I have often
heard you say so, but never believed it till now."  THE LORD CHIEF
BARON: Is all this true, which you have related?  BROWN: Yes, my
Lord; and there sits Sir John Croke (pointing to him), who knows
that every word I have said is true.  Soon after Sir John Croke
stole off the bench, without taking leave of the Chief Baron. 
LARRIMORE: My Lord, what I have sworn as to Mr Hawkins is true.  THE 
LORD CHIEF BARON: Larrimore, thou art a very villain; nay, I think
thou art a devil. Gentlemen, where is this Sir John Croke?

 It was answered he was gone.  THE LORD CHIEF BARON: Gentlemen, I
must acquaint you Sir John Croke sent me this morning two sugar
loaves, to excuse his absence yesterday, but I sent them back again
I did not then so well know what he meant by them as I do now.
Surely Sir John does not think the King's justices will take bribes.
Somebody may have used his name (here the Chief Baron showed Sir
John's letter). Is this his hand?

 Some of the justices on the bench said they believed it might be;
and it being compared with the mittimus, the hands appeared to be
the same.  His Lordship, summing up, said that it appeared upon the
evidence, and from all

the circumstances, to be a most foul and malicious conspiracy
against the life of Mr Hawkins. Then the jury, without stirring from
the bar, gave their verdict, that the prisoner was not guilty.  Mr
Hawkins moved that he might be discharged without paying his fees,
for that he was very poor -- this, and other troubles the
prosecutors had brought upon him, having cost him a great deal of
money. My Lord Chief Baron answered he could not help it; he could 
not give away other people's rights: if they would not remit their
fees, he must pay them.  As soon as the trial was over, Sir John
Croke, Larrimore the prosecutor, and their accomplices in the
conspiracy, fled privately out of town.

STEPHEN EATON, GEORGE ROADES AND SARAH SWIFT Executed 14th of July,
1669, for the Murder of the Rev. John Talbot; their Accomplice,
Henry Prichard, being reprieved

 THIS gentleman (Talbot) had been chaplain to a regiment in Portugal
in the reign of King Charles II., where he continued in the
discharge of his office till the recalling of the said regiment,
when, arriving in London, he preached three months at St Alphage in
the Wall. Afterwards he was curate at a town called Laindon, in
Essex, where a lawsuit commenced between him and some persons

of the said parish, upon the account of which he came up to London
at the unhappy time when a period was put to his life in the
following manner: --

 Several profligate abandoned wretches, to the number of six men and
one woman, took into their heads one day to waylay, rob and murder
this poor man. Whether, hearing his business, they might think he
had a pretty deal of money about him, or whether they acted at the
instigations of some of Mr Talbot's enemies, is not certain; however
it was, they dogged him from four o'clock in the afternoon
whithersoever he went. The names of some of these miscreants were
Stephen Eaton, a confectioner; George Roades, a broker; Henry
Prichard, a tailor; and Sarah Swift.

 Mr Talbot had received information that his adversaries designed to
arrest him, which made him a little circumspect while he was abroad;
for everyone who took any notice of him he imagined to be an
officer. This occasioned him the sooner to be alarmed when he saw
himself followed by five or six people from place to place; so that,
turn which way soever he would, he was certain of meeting one or
more of them.

 After he had shifted about a long time to no purpose in order to
avoid, as he thought, their clapping a writ on his back, he betook
himself to Gray's Inn, whither, being still pursued, he had there a
good opportunity to take particular and accurate notice of some or
all of these evil-disposed persons. Here he took shelter a little
while and wrote letters to some of his acquaintances and friends,
requesting them to come and lend him their assistance in order to
secure his person.

 The persons whom he sent to failing him, he got admittance into the
chambers of one of the gentlemen of the place, where he stayed till
he supposed all the danger was over; then, taking a little
refreshment, he took the back way, through Old Street, and so over
the fields to Shoreditch.

 Not long after he had got into the fields he perceived the same
persons at his heels who had dogged him before. He was now more
surprised than ever, it being eleven o'clock at night. The most
probable method of escaping that he could see was by breaking
through a reed hedge to a garden house; but before he could reach
the place one or more of the villains seized him, and began to pick
his pockets. They found about twenty shillings, and his knife, with
which they attempted to kill him, by cutting his throat.

 Whether it was by chance, or these wretches pretended to have an
extraordinary skill in butchering men, is uncertain; but they first
cut out a piece of his throat, about the breadth of a crown-piece,
without touching the windpipe, and then, in the dependent part of
the orifice, they stabbed him with the knife so deep that the point
almost reached his lungs. However, Providence so far overruled their
cruelty that they did not cut the recurrent nerves, which would have
stopped his speech, nor the jugular veins and arteries, which if
they had done he had instantly bled to death without remedy, and
then possibly no discovery had been made.

 There was a cut in the collar of his doublet, which seemed to show
that they attempted this piece of butchery before they stripped him;
but then the nature of the wound intimated, on the contrary, that
they pulled off his coat and doublet before they accomplished their
design.

 This bloody deed was perpetrated at Aniseed Clear on Friday night,
the 2nd of July, 1669. While the wretches were committing their
butchery the dogs barked and the beasts bellowed in an uncommon
manner; so that several gardeners rose out of their beds to prepare
for the market, supposing it had been daylight. Soon after it
thundered and rained in a terrible manner, which drew several brick
makers out of their lodgings to secure their bricks from the
weather, and was also the occasion that the murderers did not get
far from the place where their barbarity was acted before they were
apprehended; so that heaven and earth seemed to unite in crying out
against the inhuman deed, and detecting the wicked authors of it.

 Some of the brick makers who had been alarmed by the thunder and
rain discovered Mr Talbot lying in his shirt and drawers, all
bloody. These gave notice to their companions, who also came up.
They then raised him, and cherished him with a dram which one of
them had at hand; whereupon he immediately pointed which way the
murderers went. The watch near Shoreditch were soon informed of what
had happened, and some of them came, as well to take care of the
wounded gentleman as to apprehend the authors of his misfortune. One
of the number quickly discovered a man lying among the nettles, and
called up his companions, supposing he also had been murdered; but
when they came to a nearer examination they saw a bloody knife on
one side of him and the minister's doublet on the other. Upon these
circumstances, presuming he was guilty of the murder, they
apprehended him. At first he feigned himself asleep, and then,
suddenly starting up, he attempted to make his escape, but in vain.
A pewter pot, with the mark newly scraped out, was found near him,
and one of the watchmen broke his head with it, which made him a
little more tractable. In the meantime Mr Talbot, by the great care
of the officers of the night, was carried to the Star Inn, at
Shoreditch church, where he was put to bed, and whither a surgeon
was sent for to dress and take care of his wounds.

 This man who was apprehended was Eaton, the confectioner. He was
carried before Mr Talbot, who instantly knew him, and by writing
declared that he was the man who cut his throat; and that five more
men and a woman were his associates. A second time, upon Mr Talbot's
own request, Eaton was brought before him, when he continued his
former accusation against him; whereupon he was carried before
Justice Pitfield, and by him committed to Newgate. It was not long
after Eaton, before the woman was found, who also pretended to be
asleep. Mr Talbot swore as positively to her as he had done to the
other, and inquired of the constable whether her name was not Sarah,
for he had heard one of her comrades say to her, when in Holborn:
"Shall we have a coach, Sarah?" The constable demanded her name, and
she, not suspecting the reason, told him right, which confirmed the
evidence of the dying gentleman. Shortly after a third, and then a
fourth, was taken, who were also committed to Newgate, Mr Talbot
knowing one of these also.

 The care of Mr Talbot's wounds was committed to one Mr Litchfield,
an able surgeon, who diligently attended him; and that nothing be
omitted which might conduce to his recovery, Dr Hodges, one of the
physicians employed by the city during the dreadful visitation in
1665, was likewise called. To these, at the request of the minister
of the Charter-house, Dr Ridgely was added. By their joint direction
he was in a fair way to be cured, no ill symptoms appearing from
Monday morning to the Sabbath Day following, either upon account of
his wounds, or otherwise; for though he lay some time in the wet,
yet through the experience of these gentlemen he was kept from a
fever. Several other surgeons also freely offered their assistance.

 About noon on Sunday he was dressed. The wound looked well, and he
seemed more cheerful than ordinary; but within two or three hours
after, a violent fit of coughing seized him, which broke the jugular
vein, and caused such an effusion of blood that he fainted, and his
extreme parts were cold, before anyone could come to his assistance.
The flux was once stopped, but upon coughing he bled again, so that
his case was almost past hope.

 About one or two next morning he sent for Dr Atfield, minister of
Shoreditch church; and though he had before said little more than
Aye or No, and his physicians desired him not to strain those parts
where his danger lay, but rather write his minds notwithstanding all
this, he talked very familiarly to the doctor, telling him that he
hoped to be saved by the merits of Jesus Christ only. Then the
doctor pressed him to declare whether he were still fully satisfied
as to the persons he swore against. To which he readily answered
that he was certain he was not mistaken in what he had done. Being
asked whether or no he could freely forgive them, he replied that he
prayed for the welfare of their souls, but desired the law might be
executed on their bodies. In a word, this reverend gentleman seemed
very submissive under this severe dispensation, believing a
Providence in everything that happens. The doctor prayed by him, and
departed, and within two hours after he expired, having been very
devout and composed to the last moment.

 Several attestations were made before the justice and at the trial
of the prisoners concerning Mr Talbot's having been dogged and
murdered by those who had either seen him the day before, or came up
to him first, when he was left in the lamentable condition we have
been describing. Mr Went, in particular, who was constable of the
night when this murder was committed, gave a particular relation of
taking the prisoners, and of what Mr Talbot said and wrote when he
saw any one of them. The papers which the deceased wrote were
likewise produced in court, and it was observable that he
particularly exclaimed against the woman, whom he called bloody
every time he mentioned her, affirming that she said to her
companions several times, "Kill the dog, kill him."

 The facts and circumstances were so plain that the jury found all
the four that had been taken guilty of the murder, not one of them
being able to give a satisfactory account of themselves, or to prove
where they were after six o'clock on the night the bloody deed was
done. The names of these four were given at the beginning of this
relation.

 Mr Cowper the coroner, and Mr Litchfield the surgeon, gave in their
informations an exact account of Mr Talbot's wound, and both of them
deposed that they verily thought it to be the occasion of his death.
Mr Litchfield said the knife really penetrated his lungs.

 The night before Mr Talbot died he wrote to Mr Went, the constable,
desiring him to go to the ordinary and inquire with him of Eaton
whether any of Laindon's people employed or abetted him in the fact
he had committed; if they did, to get their names of him. But Eaton
persisted in denying not only that, but even the fact itself,
telling them in the most solemn manner that to his knowledge he
never in his life saw Mr Talbot till he was brought before him,
after he was taken. Sarah Swift likewise being questioned concerning
her guilt, and urged to confess what she knew, she answered that she
would burn in hell before she would own anything of the matter. To
such an uncommon degree had these wretches hardened themselves in
their crimes.

 Mr Talbot wrote also several letters to his friends, with an exact 
account of the manner how he had been followed for seven hours
together, and how he was at last set upon, and used in the barbarous
manner herein related; but the substance of these letters being
interspersed in the story itself it is needless to give them at
large.

 On Wednesday, the 14th of July, 1669, Stephen Eaton, Gorge Roades
and Sarah Swift were conveyed in a cart to Tyburn, where the two men
confessed the murder; but the woman continued obstinate to the last.
Henry Prichard was reprieved upon some favourable circumstances that
were produced.

CLAUDE DU VALL

A Frenchman who, coming to England, became by his Politeness and
Gallantry on the Road the Romantic Darling of the Ladies. Executed
21st of January, 1670

 SOME have affirmed that this very celebrated highway- man was born
in Smock Alley, without Bishopsgate; but this is without ground, for
he really received his first breath at a place called Damfront in
Normandy. His father was a miller, and his mother the daughter of a
tailor. By these parents he was brought up strictly in the Roman
Catholic religion, and his promising genius was cultivated with as
much learning as qualified him for a footman.  But though the father
was so careful as to see that his son had some religion, we have
good reason to think that he had none himself. He used to talk much
more of good cheer than of the Church, and of great feasts than
great faith; good wine was to him better than good works; and a
sound courtesan was far more agreeable than a sound Christian. Being
once so very sick there were great hopes of his dying a natural
death, a ghostly father came to him with his Corpus Domini, and told
him that, hearing of the extremity he was in, he had brought him his 
Saviour to comfort him before his departure. Old Du Vall, upon this,
drew aside the curtain and beheld a goodly fat friar with the Host
in his hand. "I know," said he, "that it is our Saviour, because He
came to me in the same manner as He went to Jerusalem: C'est un asne
que le porte" ("It is an ass that carries Him.")  Neither father nor
mother took any notice of young Claude after he was about thirteen
years of age. Perhaps their circumstances might then oblige them to
send him abroad to seek his fortune. His first stage was at Rouen,
the capital city of Normandy, where he fortunately met with post-
horses to be returned to Paris, upon one of which he got leave to
ride, by promising to help dress them at night. At the same time
falling in with some English gentlemen who were going to the same
place, he got his expenses discharged by those generous travellers.
They arrived at Paris in the usual time, and the gentle men took
lodgings in the Faubourg St Germain, where the English generally
quarter. Du Vall was willing to be as near as possible to his
benefactors, and by their intercession he was admitted to run
errands and do the meanest offices at the St Esprit in the Rue de
Bourchiere, a house of general entertainment, something between a
tavern and an ale-house, a cook's shop and a bawdy-house. In this
condition he continued till the restoration of King Charles II. in
1660 at which time, multitudes of all nations flocking into England,
among them came Du Vall, in the capacity of a footman to a person of
quality.  The universal joy upon the return of the Royal family made
the whole nation almost mad. Everyone ran into extravagances, and Du
Vall, whose inclinations were as vicious as any man's, soon became
an extraordinary proficient in gaming, whoring, drunkenness, and all
manner of debauchery. The natural effect of these courses is want of
money; this our adventurer experienced in a very little time; and as
he could not think of labouring he took to the highway to support
his irregularities. In this profession he was within a little while
so famous as to have the honour of being named first in a
proclamation for apprehending several notorious highwaymen. And here
we have reason to com plain that our informations are too short for
our assistance in writing the life of such a celebrated offender.
However, such stories as have been delivered down to us we shall
give our readers faithfully, and in the best manner we are able.  He
had one day received intelligence of a knight and his lady who were
travelling with four hundred pounds in their coach. Upon this he
takes four or five more along with him and overtakes them on the
road. The gentry soon perceived they were likely to be beset when
they beheld several horsemen riding backwards and forwards, and
whispering to one another; whereupon the lady, who was a young
sprightly creature, pulls out a flageolet, and begins to play very
briskly. Du Vall takes the hint and plays excellently well upon a
flageolet of his own, in answer to the lady, and in this posture
rides up to the coach door. "Sir," says he to the knight "your lady
plays excellently, and I make no doubt but she dances as well. Will
you please to step out of the coach and let me have the honour to
dance one courant with her on the heath?" "I dare not deny anything,
sir," the knight readily replied, "to a gentleman of your quality
and good behaviour. You seem a man of generosity, and your request
is perfectly reasonable. Immediately the footman opens the door and
the knight comes out; Du Vall leaps lightly off his horse and hands
the lady down. It was surprising to see how gracefully he moved upon
the grass; scarce a dancing-master in London but would have been
proud to have shown such agility in a pair of pumps as Du Vall
showed in a great pair of French riding-boots. As soon as the dance
was over he waits on the lady back to the coach, without offering
her the least affront; but just as the knight was stepping in --
"Sir," says he, "you have forgot to pay the music." His worship
replied that he never forgot such things; and instantly put his hand
under the seat of the coach and pulled out a hundred pounds in a
bag, which he delivered to Du Vall, who received it with a very good
grace, and courteously answered: "Sir, you are liberal, and shall
have no cause to repent your being so. This hundred given so
generously is better than ten times the sum taken by force. Your
noble behaviour has excused you the other three hundred which you
have in the coach with you." After this he gave him the word, that
he might pass undisturbed if he met any more of their crew, and then
very civilly wished them a good journey.  It happened another time,
as Du Vall was upon his vocation of robbing on Blackheath, he meets
with a coach richly fraught with ladies of quality, and with one
child who had a silver sucking-bottle; he robs them rudely, takes
away their money, watches, rings, and even the little child's
sucking-bottle; nor would he, upon the child's tears, nor the
ladies' earnest intercession, be wrought upon to restore it, until
at last one of his companions forced him to deliver it.  A little
after the above-mentioned action another lucky turn in Du Vall's
favour happened, as much as that to his advantage. In the course of
his rambles he came into the Crown Inn, in Beaconsfield where he
heard great singing, dancing, and playing upon the hautboy and
violin. He instantly inquired into the reason of it, and found that
there was a wake or fair kept there that day, at which were present
most of the young men and maids for several miles about. This, he
thought, was a promising place; and therefore he set up his horse
for that evening, went into the kitchen, and called for a pint of
wine. Here he met with an old rich farmer, who had just received a
hundred pounds, and had tied it up in a bag, putting it into his
coat pocket. Du Vall was very attentive to all that passed, and by
this means he heard the farmer tell an acquaintance what money he
had about him, which our sharper immediately put down for his own;
more especially did he depend upon it when the countryman asked
leave to go into the room where the music was, to see and hear the
diversions. It was his next business to ask the same favour, which
he as easily obtained, and very innocently to all appearance entered
to see the country dancing, making an apology to the company when he
came in, and telling them that he hoped it would be no offence, they
replying as courteously that he might stay there and welcome.  His
business now was more to watch the old farmer's bag of money than to
mind the diversions of the young people; and, after considering some
time for a way to execute his designs in the most dexterous manner,
he observed a chimney with a large funnel, which he thought would
favour his project. Having contrived the whole affair, he went out
and communicated it to the ostler, who, being a downright ostler,
consented for a reward of two guineas to assist him. He was to dress
up a great mastiff dog in a cowhide, which he had in the stable,
placing the horns directly on his forehead, and then by the help of
a ladder and a rope to let him down the chimney. All this he
performed while the company were merry in the chamber. Du Vall being
re turned from the yard, the dog howling as he descended the
chimney, and pushing among them in this frightful manner, they were
all put into a hurry and confusion. The music was silenced, the
table overthrown, and the drink spilt; the people all the while
screaming, and crowding downstairs as fast as they were able,
everyone crowding to be foremost, as they supposed the devil would 
unavoidably take the hindmost. Their heels flew up, the women's
coats flew over their heads, and the pipe and the fiddle were trod
to pieces. While they were in this condition the supposed devil made
his way over them all and got into the stable, where the ostler
instantly uncased him; so that when the company came to examine the
matter, as they could hear no more of him, they concluded he had
vanished into the air.

 Now was the time for Du Vall to take care of the farmer's hundred
pounds, which he very easily did by diving into his pocket. As soon
as he had got the money he took horse, and spared neither whip nor
spur until he came to London, where he thought himself safe. As soon
as things were a little in order again at the inn there was a dismal
outcry for the money. All the suspicious persons were searched, and
the house was examined from top to bottom, to no purpose. What could
they suppose after this but that the devil had taken it away? It
passed in this manner, and was looked upon as a judgment inflicted
by permission of Providence on the farmer for his covetousness; the
farmer being, in reality, a miserable wretch, who made it his
business to get money by all the methods he could, whether lawful or
otherwise.  One time Du Vall met with Esquire Roper, master of the
buck-hounds to King Charles II., as he was hunting in Windsor
Forest. As their rencounter happened in a thicket, Du Vall took
advantage of the place, and commanded him to stand and deliver his 
money, or else he would shoot him. Mr Roper, to save his life, gave
our adventurer a purse full of guineas, containing at least fifty,
and Du Vall afterwards bound him neck and heels, fastened his horse
by him, and rode away across the country.  The hunting, to be sure,
was over for that time, but it was a pretty while before the
huntsman could find his master. When the squire was unbound, he made
all the haste he could to Windsor, and as he entered the town was
met by Sir Stephen Fox, who asked him whether or no he had had any
sport. Mr Roper replied in a great passion: "Yes, Sir, I have had
sport enough from a son of a whore, who made me pay damned dear for
it. He bound me neck and heels, contrary to my desire, and then took
fifty guineas from me, to pay him for his labour, which I had much
rather he had omitted."  But the proclamation which we spoke of at
the beginning of this life, and the large reward that was promised
for taking him, made Du Vall think it unsafe to stay any longer in
England; whereupon he retired into France. At Paris he lived very
highly, boasting prodigiously of the success of his arms and amours,
and affirming proudly that he never encountered with any one person
of either sex whom he did not overcome. He had not been long here
before he relapsed into his old disease, want of money, which
obliged him to have recourse to his wits again. He had an uncommon
talent at contrivance, particularly at suiting his stratagems to the
temper of the person they were designed to ensnare, as the following
instance will prove.  A learned Jesuit, who was confessor to the
French King, was as much noted for his avarice as he was for his
politics, by which latter he had rendered himself very eminent. His
thirst for money was insatiable; and though he was exceeding rich,
his desires seemed to increase with his wealth. It came immediately
into Du Vall's head that the only way to squeeze a little money out
of him was to amuse him with hopes of getting a great deal, which he
did in the following manner.  He put himself into a scholar's garb,
to facilitate his admittance into the miser's company, and then
waited very diligently for a proper time to make his address, which
he met with in a few days. Seeing him alone in the piazza of the
Faubourg, he went up to him very confidently and said: "May it
please your reverence, I am a poor scholar who has been several
years travelling over strange countries, to learn experience in the
sciences, purely to serve my native country, to whose advantage I am
determined to apply my knowledge, if I may be favoured with the
patronage of a man so eminent as yourself." "And what may this
knowledge of yours be?" replied the father, very much pleased. "If 
you will communicate anything to me that may be beneficial to
France, I assure you no proper encouragement shall be wanting on my
side." Du Vall, upon this, growing yet bolder, proceeded: "Sir, I
have spent most of my time in the study of alchemy, or the
transmutation of metals, and have profited so much at Rome and
Venice, from great men learned in that science, that I can change
several base metals into gold, by the help of a philosophical
powder, which I can prepare very speedily."  The father confessor
appeared to brighten with joy at this relation. "Friend," says he,
"such a thing as this will be serviceable indeed to the whole state,
and peculiarly grateful to the King, who, as his affairs go at
present, stands in some need of such a curious invention. But you
must let me see some experiment of your skill before I credit what
you say so far as to communicate it to his Majesty, who will
sufficiently reward you if what you promise be demonstrated." Upon
this, he conducted Du Vall home to his house, and furnished him with
money to build a laboratory and purchase such other materials as he
told him were requisite in order to proceed in this invaluable
operation, charging him to keep the secret from every living soul
until he thought proper, which Du Vall promised to perform.  The
utensils being fixed, and everything in readiness, the Jesuit came
to behold the wonderful operation. Du Vall took several metals and
minerals of the basest sort and put them into a crucible, his
reverence viewing every one as he put them in. Our learned alchemist
had prepared a hollow stick, into which he had conveyed several
sprigs of pure gold, as blacklead is in a pencil. With this stick he
stirred the preparation as it melted, which with its heat melted the
gold in the stick at the same time; so that it sunk imperceptibly
into the vessel. When the excessive fire had consumed in a great
measure all the lead, tin, brass and powder which he had put in for
a show, the gold remained pure to the quantity of an ounce and a
half. This the Jesuit caused to be assayed, and finding it what it
really was -- all fine gold -- he was immediately so devoted to Du
Vall, and blinded with the prospect of future advantage, that he
believed everything our impostor could say, still furnishing him
with whatever he demanded, in hopes to be at last made master of
this extraordinary secret, the whole fame as well as profit of
which, he did not question, would redound to him, as Du Vall was but
an obscure person.  Thus were our alchemist and Jesuit, according to
the old saying, as great as two pickpockets; which proverbial
sentence, if we examine it a little closely, hits both their
characters. Du Vall was a professed robber, and what is any Court
favourite but a picker of the common people's pockets? So that it
was only two sharpers endeavouring to outsharp one another. The
confessor was as open as Du Vall could wish. He showed him all his
treasure, and among it several rich jewels which he had received as
presents from the King, hoping by these obligations to make him
discover his art the sooner. In a word, he grew by degrees so
importunate and urgent that Du Vall began to apprehend a too close
inquiry if he denied the request any longer; and therefore he
appointed a day when everything was to be communicated. In the
meantime he took an opportunity to steal into the chamber where all
the riches were deposited, and where his reverence generally slept
after dinner, and finding him at that time very fast, with his mouth
wide open, he gagged and bound him, then took his keys, and
unhoarded as much of his wealth as he could conveniently carry out
unsuspected; and so bade farewell to both him and France.  Du Vall
had several other ways of getting money besides these which I have
mentioned, particularly by gaming, at which he was so expert that
few men in his age were able to play with him. No man living could
slip a card more dexterously than he, nor better understood all the
advantages that could be taken of an adversary; yet, to appearance,
no man played fairer. He would frequently carry off ten, twenty,
thirty, or sometimes a hundred pounds at a sitting, and had the
pleasure commonly to hear it all attributed to his good fortune so
that few were dissuaded by their losses with him from playing with
him a second, third or fourth time.  He was moreover a mighty man
for laying wagers, and no less successful in this particular than
any of the former. He made it a great part of his study to learn all
the intricate questions, deceitful propositions and paradoxical
assertions that are made use of in conversation. Add to this the
smattering he had attained in all the sciences, particularly the
mathematics, by means of which he frequently won considerable sums
on the situation of a place, the length of a stick, and a hundred
such little things, which a man may practise without being liable to
any suspicion, or casting any blemish upon his character as an
honest man, or even a gentleman, which Du Vall affected to appear. 
But what he was most of all celebrated for, was his conquests among
the ladies, which were almost incredible to those who had not been
acquainted with intrigue. He was a handsome man, and had abundance
of that sort of wit which is most apt to take with the fair sex.
Every agreeable woman he saw he certainly died for, so that he was
ten thousand times a martyr to love. "Those eyes of yours, madam,
have undone me." "I am captivated with that pretty good-natured
smile." "Oh, that I could by any means in the world recommend myself
to your ladyship's notice!" "What a poor silly loving fool am I!"
These, and a million of such expressions, full of flames, darts,
racks, tortures, death, eyes, bubbies, waist, cheeks, etc., were
much more familiar to him than his prayers, and he had the same
fortune in the field of love as Marlborough had in that of war --
viz. never to lay siege but he took the place.  There is no certain
account how long Du Vall followed his vicious courses in England
before he was detected, after his coming from France, and fell into
the hands of justice. All we know is, that he was taken drunk at the
Hole-in-the-Wall in Chandois Street, committed to Newgate,
arraigned, convicted, condemned, and (on Friday the 21st day of
January, 1670) executed at Tyburn in the twenty-seventh year of his
age.  Abundance of ladies, and those not of the meanest degree,
visited him in prison, and interceded for his pardon. Not a few
accompanied him to the gallows, under their vizards, with swollen
eyes and blubbered cheeks. After he had hanged a convenient time he
was cut down, and, by persons well dressed, conveyed into a mourning
coach. In this he was carried to the Tangier tavern at St Giles's,
where he lay in state all night. The room was hung with black cloth,
the hearse covered with 'scutcheons, eight wax tapers were burning,
and as many tall gentlemen attended with long cloaks. All was in
profound silence, and the ceremony had lasted much longer had not
one of the judges sent to interrupt the pageantry.  As they were
undressing him, in order to his lying-in-state, one of his friends
put his hand into his pocket and found therein the following paper,
which, as appears by the contents, he intended as a legacy to the
ladies. It was written in a very fair hand: --  "I should be very
ungrateful to you, fair English ladies, should I not acknowledge the
obligations you have laid me under. I could not have hoped that a
person of my birth, nation, education and condition could have had
charms enough to captivate you all; though the contrary has
appeared, by your firm attachment to my interest, which you have not
abandoned even in my last distress. You have visited me in prison,
and even accompanied me to an ignominious death.  "From the
experience of your former loves, I am confident that many among you
would be glad to receive me to your arms, even from the gallows.  "
How mightily and how generously have you rewarded my former
services! Shall I ever forget the universal consternation that
appeared upon your faces when I was taken; your chargeable visits to
me in Newgate; your shrieks and swoonings when I was condemned, and
your zealous inter- cession and importunity for my pardon! You could
not have erected fairer pillars of honour and respect to me had I
been a Hercules, able to get fifty of you with child in one night. 
"It has been the misfortune of several English gentlemen to die at
this place, in the time of the late usurpation, upon the most
honourable occasion that ever presented itself; yet none of these,
as I could ever learn, received so many marks of your esteem as 
myself. How much the greater, therefore, is my obligation.  " It
does not, however, grieve me that your intercession for me proved
ineffectual; for now I shall die with a healthful body, and, I hope,
a prepared mind. My confessor has shown me the evil of my ways, and
wrought in me a true repentance. Whereas, had you prevailed for my
life, I must in gratitude have devoted it to your service, which
would certainly have made it very short; for had you been sound, I
should have died of a consumption; if otherwise, of a pox."  He was
buried with many flambeaux, amid a numerous train of mourners (most
of them ladies), in Covent Garden. A white marble stone was laid
over him, with his arms and the following epitaph engraven on it: --
"Here lies Du Vall, reader, if male thou art,

Look to thy purse; if female, to thy heart.

Much havoc hath he made of both; for all

Men he made stand, and women he made fall. The second conqueror of
the Norman race,

Knights to his arms did yield, and ladies to his face.

Old Tyburn's glory, England's bravest thief,

Du Vall the ladies' joy! Du Vall the ladies' grief."

THOMAS WILMOT

A Notorious Highwayman who hated and maltreated Women. Executed 30th
of April, 1670

THOMAS WILMOT, the unfortunate subject of the few following pages,
was the eldest son of John Wilmot, Esq., in the county of Suffolk.
He was born at Ipswich, a noted seaport, and the capital town of all
the county. When his father died he came immediately into the
possession of an estate of six hundred pounds a year, entirely free
from all encumbrances; which any reasonable person would think was
sufficient to support a gentleman very handsomely.  It was but a few
years, however, before the whole was mortgaged, and soon after sold,
to maintain him in his ex pensive way of living, which was only a
course of intrigues and debauchery. Not a beautiful woman in the
country round but he was in pursuit of, without any regard to her
degree or circumstances; yet was he almost always unsuccessful in
his amours, for he was very deficient in that fine manner of address
which recommends a man to the regards of the fair sex, who are
generally prevailed upon with splendid appearances.  When our
adventurer had very much reduced his estate by attempts upon the
honour of women of character, he spent the last remains of it upon
those who are always to be won with gold, and who also slighted him
when they perceived he had no more of that shining metal.  Tom had
an education suitable to his degree. He could write several hands
very finely, and speak the French, Dutch, Spanish and Italian
tongues tolerably well. Nevertheless, when he found himself ruined
by his extravagances, he could think

of no other way to support himself but the highway, supposing it
below a gentleman to follow any honest profession. In this vocation
he was so intrepid and desperate as frequently to attack two or
three passengers together, without any assistance, and his fortune, 
for a long time, was equal to his courage.  One time, meeting a
gentleman between Chelmsford and Colchester, and saluting him with
the unwelcome words, "Stand and deliver," the person assaulted
positively alleged that he had not any money about him. As it was
contrary to Tom's interest, as well as to reason, for him to think a
well-dressed man would travel on horseback without money, he
proceeded to search his pockets, when he found the gentleman's
asseveration true, or so nearly true that there was nothing worth
taking. However, as his own coat was but indifferent, and the
gentleman's very good, he made an exchange to keep his hands in
exercise, and so took his leave. But Tom had this time better luck
than he expected, for as he rode along he heard something jingle in
his pockets, which made him examine them. It was no disagreeable
surprise to find eighteen guineas and a crown-piece in an old steel
tobacco-box. Another time, as he lay perdu in a thicket between
Dorking in Surrey and Petworth in Sussex, he saw three gentlewomen
riding along the road. He immediately rushed out upon them in a
violent manner and demanded what they had. They gave him about eight
pounds, which was their whole stock of money; but one of them had a
large diamond ring on her finger, which Tom ordered her to deliver
instantly. The poor woman could not easily get it off; upon which
our inhuman villain pulled out a sharp knife and barbarously cut off
finger and all, swearing at the same time that as he was now
compelled to rob on the highway through his former extravagances,
which had been occasioned by his fondness for their sex, he was
resolved in all his actions to show a woman the least favour. 
Wilmot's principal places of haunt for a great many years were about
the western roads, where at last there was scarce a stage-coach or
wagon could travel in safety long together; but he became in time so
very noted, and so much sought after, that he was obliged to fly
into the north of England, where he fell into the same way of
living. Here he also continued some time to rob by himself, till he
fell in company with several others of the same profession. It was
agreed among these, for their mutual safety, to form themselves into
a society; and as Tom was a gentleman, besides his being the most
experienced among them, it was unanimously agreed that he should be
their captain. As soon as he was entered into his commission he
called for pen, ink and paper, and drew up the following articles to
be observed by their community; obliging them all to swear to them,
and subscribe their names at the bottom of the paper: -- WE WHOSE
NAMES ARE UNDERWRITTEN, HAVING BY MUTUAL AGREEMENT FORMED OURSELVES
INTO A SOCIETY FOR THE SUPPORT OF EACH OTHER, WE DO ALL SOLEMNLY
ENGAGE OURSELVES TO OBSERVE THESE PARTICULARS

I. To be obedient to our captain in all his commands, and faithful
to our companions in all their designs and attempts. II. To be
always present at such meetings as the captain by his sole authority
shall appoint, except we have his leave for the contrary.

III. To stand by one another in any danger to the last breath, and
never to fly from an equal number of opposers.

IV. To help one another when taken and imprisoned, in sickness, and
in any distress whatsoever.

V. Never to leave, if possibly we can help it, the body of any
companion behind us, whether dead or only wounded.

VI. To confess nothing, if taken, to the damage of our accomplices,
though punished even with death itself for our faithfulness.  This
our compact, when any one of us shall break, in any one article, may
the greatest plagues fall on him in this world, and eternal
damnation seize him hereafter. The oath at the time of subscribing
was in these words:  "I, A.B., do swear, by the head and soul of our
captain, to perform, to the utmost of my ability, everything agreed
to in this writing. So help me honour."  It is a pity that those who
have furnished us with the preceding articles have not also obliged
us with some of Wilmot's adventures in concert with his companions;
but .as we meet with nothing of this nature in any account which we
have seen, the reader must content himself with being told that the
gang held together till the captain's exit, which was some years
after the first institution. In such a series of time, there is no
doubt but their robberies were very numerous. There are, however,
two or three stories more of our hero himself, which are very well
worth rehearsing.  He one day met with the Lincoln stage-coach, in
which was only the wife of Mr Blood, who stole the Crown of England
out of the Tower in the reign of King Charles II. and conveyed it
away under a parson's gown. Wilmot knew her very well, and so made
bold to stop the horses and demand her money. Mrs Blood seemed to be
much frightened, and begged of him to use her civilly, as she was a
poor defenceless woman, and he appeared like a gentleman. "Madam,"
says Tom, "the falsehood of women has been the only cause of my
misfortunes, the only thing that has reduced me to the wretched
necessity of seeing a livelihood in this manner. The whole sex are
alike. You are all false, perfidious and perjured, at least all of
you that ever received any tenders of love. As you are a woman,
madam, you must expect no favour from my hands, who am a professed
enemy to the whole species. Therefore, dear Mrs Blood, be pleased to
deliver your money this moment, or I'm afraid blood will come of it
the next." The gentlewoman, finding he was in earnest, and that
there was no way of coming off but by satisfying his demands,
offered him half-a-crown, telling him she had no more about her.
"You saucy b --ch," quoth Wilmot, "do you think I will be put off
with half-a- crown, when nothing less than a whole one would satisfy
your husband when he robbed the King? No, no, pray let us see what
you have got." Upon this he searched her, and found about fifteen
guineas in her pockets, besides a silver thimble, and several things
of value.  A little while after this he met with another adventure
upon the road between Abingdon and Oxford. Mr Molloy, a famous
counsel for thieves and pickpockets, was riding from one of these
places to the other, it being the assize time. Wilmot knew him very
well, and consulted with himself some time before he could resolve
to meddle with a man so useful to his profession. At last he
considered that Mr Molloy was an advocate only for the sake of a
fee; and that, as he had got so much money by this means, it was
just that he should refund a little to supply the necessities of one
who might soon be a client. With this thought he rode up and
commanded him to contribute. Mr Molloy thought to have escaped by
telling him who he was, but Wilmot replied with, "Every man to his
trade, sir. Another time, it is very possible, you may be the
receiver, and then you must make the best market you can, as I
intend to do at present." The poor counsellor saw there was no
evading question, and he was very sensible how dangerous it would be
to oppose a brace of pistols, vi et armis; so without any more words
he surrendered three pounds odd money, and Tom, to prevent his doing
any mischief, shot his horse, and then rode off on his own, quite
across the country, until he thought himself pretty well out of
danger.  Another of his adventures was on Newmarket Heath, where he
stopped a gentleman in his coach-and-six, notwithstanding he had
several servants on horseback to attend him. The gentleman was
obliged to order all his men to let him alone, for fear of his own
life, which Tom threatened very hard, if one of them offered to
stir. The booty he now met with was very large, though we have no
certain account of the sum. It may be imagined that the gentleman
was sufficiently irritated at being robbed in this manner. He cursed
his servants that they could not see the highwayman coming, and
cursed himself that he did not suffer them to fire at him
afterwards; but all was now too late. The only method to be revenged
on him was to pursue him with a hue and cry, of which Wilmot being
aware, he got off by a byway to Chester.  Here he consumed a
considerable time, without doing anything worthy of notice, gaming
and living high, till he had wasted all his ready cash. After this
his clothes, his horse, and everything he had valuable were sold or
lost, till he was reduced to extreme necessity, and obliged to leave
the place and seek his fortune.  As he wandered about the country in
a miserable poor condition he saw, one evening, a house at a
distance, to which he made. It was the seat of an ancient family in
Shropshire. As he came near, his ears were saluted with music and
merry songs, which gave him great hopes of meeting with good
entertainment. In this confidence he went to the door and knocked,
demanding if the master of the house was within. He was answered Yes
by the master himself, who was within hearing, and desired to know
his business. Wilmot readily told him that, being a stranger in
those parts, and destitute of friends and money, he made bold to
entreat that he would favour him with a lodging for one night. The
gentleman answered him in a very civil manner, but said he feared he
could not grant his request; for it was the anniversary of his
birthday, and he had a great many friends within, most of whom must
be obliged to stay all night. Tom continued to press his suit in
very moving terms; upon which the good man told him that he had one
room in his house that he could spare. "But," continued he, "if you
venture to lie there, you may chance to repent it; for it is ten to
one but you fall into some misfortune much greater than being all
night in the fields. To tell you the truth, sir, it is haunted with
a spirit ever since my grandfather's barber cut his throat in it,
for the love of a coy chambermaid. The spirit appears at usual times
with a razor in one hand, and a basin and light in the other, crying
in a hoarse tone, 'Will you be shaved?' We have ventured to put
several to bed there who knew nothing of the matter, but they have
been all thrown violently out of their beds, and bruised in a
strange manner for refusing to let him shave them."

 Tom Wilmot heard the gentleman's relation very attentively; but as
he had more wit than to believe the reality of apparitions, which he
looked upon to be only delusions -- either the fancies of whimsical
brains, or the invention of crafty men for some sinister purposes --
he told the gentleman in very obliging language that, if he pleased,
he would accept of the proffer, notwithstanding the dreadful report
he had made. "For I know not," says he, "but by the learning I have
attained I may be able to give rest to this poor distressed ghost,
and confine him to the lower shades, from whence he shall never
return to wander about the world any more."  The gentleman, upon
Tom's discovering such a willingness to run all hazards rather than
want a lodging, invited him into the parlour, and desired him to sit
down and make merry with the rest of the company, telling all that
were present what the stranger had undertaken. They all wondered
that he should venture upon such a dreadful thing, and looked upon
him to be something more than a common man. Some dissuaded him from
engaging in an affair so full of danger, telling him that they could
not help thinking there was presumption in the very attempt. Others
laughed in their sleeves to think what sport they should have in the
morning when he related his night's adventure, not at all doubting
but they should find him half-dead, with all his hair standing on
end. Tom answered but little to either of them, yet what he did say
was with such a solemn air that they all began to think him either a
parson or a conjurer, who travelled in disguise.  Supper being
ended, the company adjourned into a large old-fashioned hall, and
fell to cards and dice. As soon as Tom saw them set, and the stakes
thrown down pretty briskly upon the table, a merry crotchet came
into his head, which he thus executed.  He retired into one side of
the hall, and desired a servant to show him up into his appointed
lodging, because he was very weary with hard travelling. The fellow
gave him a candle, and such directions as were necessary, bidding
him good-night at the stair-foot; for, though he was a lusty lubber,
he was so terrified with what our hero had undertaken that he could
not have ventured himself any farther for the world. Tom expected
the goblin in vain at least for two hours, and then resolved to
personate him, that such an ancient member of the family might not
be wanting at a time of general joy. Thus concluding, he rubbed over
his face with the white off the wall, and then tying a knot at one
end, to place directly upon his head, he covered himself with a
sheet. He had a razor in his pocket, and the pewter chamber-pot, he
concluded, would serve by the glimmering of the candles for a basin.
Thus accoutred he softly descended the stairs.  By the noise they
made, he perceived that the wine had pretty well got into the
noddles of all the company, which made him proceed in his ghostly
expedition with the more courage. They were so busy at gaming that
he was almost upon them before he was seen; at last a servant who
attended, looking up, started several yards backwards, and cried
out, "The ghost! The ghost!" running out of the room in an instant.
This alarmed the whole company, who turned round. Tom advanced with
his chamber-pot and razor (which he had made all bloody by cutting
his finger), and in a hoarse and dreadful tone repeated the words he
had been taught: "Will you be shaved?" Immediately they all rose
from their seats, without any regard to the money upon the table,
and endeavoured to make the best of their way off the ground. It was
now everyone for himself and God for us all, with a witness! They
tumbled over each other, and happy was he who could get before his
companion by treading on him. Tom pursued them, repeating the same
terrible words, till he had cleared the hall of every soul of them.
Some got into the cellars, others into the stables and outhouses;
everyone keeping his castle till morning, so strongly had their
fears enchanted them. When our ghost perceived all still, he went
and lined his visionary pockets with the material money, and then
departed to bed, and put out his candle.  The next morning, as soon
as he heard anybody stirring below, Tom came downstairs, and gave a
woeful relation of what he had suffered in the night. "The ghost,"
says he, "came to me exactly in the manner you told me he used to
appear, and upon my refusing to let him shave me he attempted to cut
my throat; but, as Providence would have it, I so defended myself
with my hands that he only cut one of my fingers." Then he showed
them the finger which he had cut on purpose to make the razor
bloody. "Afterwards," continued he, "he went downstairs, and in
about five minutes returned, rattling something in his hands." "Pox
on him!" says one of the company," then that was our money, which he
stole off the table, I suppose." Upon this they fell into a dispute
abou