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.