Chapter XIV: THE ROADS OUT OF LONDON (continued) (3)

The joy that expressed itself all over England at the return of Charles the Second degenerated into riotous excess. Dissipation and every species of profligacy abounded among upper and middle classes, and the servants of the wealthy were apt pupils of their masters in these excesses. Highwaymen, whose profession had languished miserably under the Commonwealth's later rule, reappeared on every road, and were drawn from all classes. Footmen and lackeys found a singular fascination in the occupation of the high-toby crack, and early among them was Du Vall, who in a short time became so dexterous in his new employment, that he had the honour of being the first named in a long list of highwaymen proclaimed in the _London Gazette_.

It has already been acknowledged that violence had no part in the methods of this artist, and he would have scorned, you may be sure, the ruffianly, and even murderous acts of a later generation of the craft, who not only despoiled travellers of their goods, but rendered the roads dangerous to life and limb. His chief exploit, upon Hampstead Heath, is classical, and is set forth so eloquently, and with such an engaging profusion of capital letters, in the _Memoires_ that one cannot do better than quote it. By this account it would appear that he was the captain of a gang:

"He, with his Squadron, overtakes a Coach, which they had set over Night, having Intelligence of a Booty of four hundred Pounds in it. In the Coach was a Knight, his Lady, and only one Serving-maid, who, perceiving five Horsemen making up to them, presently imagined that they were beset; and they were confirmed in this Apprehension by seeing them whisper to one another, and ride backwards and forwards. The Lady, to shew that she was not afraid, takes a Flageolet out of her pocket and plays. Du Vall takes the Hint, plays also, and excellently well, upon a Flageolet of his own, and in this Posture he rides up to the Coachside. 'Sir,' says he to the Person in the Coach, 'your Lady plays excellently, and I doubt not but that she dances as well. Will you please to walk out of the Coach and let me have the Honour to dance one Currant with her upon the Heath? 'Sir,' said the Person in the Coach, 'I dare not deny anything to one of your Quality and good Mind. You seem a Gentleman, and your Request is very reasonable.' Which said the Lacquey opens the Boot, out comes the knight, Du Vall leaps lightly off his horse and hands the Lady out of the Coach. They danced, and here it was that Du Vall performed Marvels; the best Masters in London, except those that are French, not being able to shew such footing as he did in his great French Riding Boots. The Dancing being over (there being no violins, Du Vall sung the Currant himself) he waits on the Lady to her Coach. As the knight was going in, says Du Vall to him, 'Sir, you have forgot to pay the Musick.' 'No, I have not,' replied the knight, and, putting his Hand under the Seat of the Coach, pulls out a hundred Pounds in a Bag, and delivers it to him, which Du Vall took with a very good grace, and courteously answered, 'Sir, you are liberal, and shall have no cause to repent your being so; this Liberality of yours shall excuse you the other Three Hundred Pounds,' and giving the Word, that if he met with any more of the Crew, he might pass undisturbed, he civilly takes his leave of him. He manifested his agility of body by lightly dismounting off his horse, and with Ease and Freedom getting up again when he took his Leave; his excellent Deportment by his incomparable Dancing and his graceful manner of taking the hundred pounds."

Our own times are more sordid, and it is to be feared that not the extremest display of grace in the robber would find any one ready to excuse the loss of a hundred sovereigns.

As the old priest had foretold, years before, Du Vall became the ladies' favourite. "Maids, widows, and wives," we learn, "the rich, the poor, the noble, the vulgar, all submitted to him," and he led the gayest of lives in London.

He knew Blackheath as well as Hounslow, and there, with his companions, met a coach full of ladies and a child with a feeding-bottle. Rudely, one of the gang rode up, violently robbed the ladies of their watches and rings, and did not scruple even to steal the child's silver bottle. The air resounded with the shrieks of the cheated infant and the cries of the ladies. Up rode our gallant hero, with threats to instantly shoot the man unless he returned the bottle. "Sirrah!" he exclaimed, "cannot you behave like a gentleman and raise a contribution without stripping people. But perhaps you yourself have some occasion for the sucking bottle, for by your actions one would imagine you were hardly weaned."

Soon after this Du Vall thought it politic to retire for a while to France. A humorous story was told of his fooling an eminent Jesuit confessor, known less for his piety than for his political meddling and his avariciousness. He was a very wealthy man, and Du Vall, hearing of his hoards, was anxious to have a share in them. He made the confessor's acquaintance in the guise of a scholar, and said he was one who had studied the sciences and only wanted a patron as eminent as himself, through whose introductions he desired to serve his country by applying the knowledge he had acquired.

"And of what special branch does your knowledge consist?" asked the Jesuit. "If you can and will communicate anything that may be beneficial to France, I assure you no proper encouragement shall be wanting on my side."

Du Vall, growing bolder, said: "Sir, I have spent most of my time in the study of alchemy, or the transmutation of base metals into gold, and have profited so greatly at Rome and Venice, from association with men learned in that science, that I can change several metals into gold by the help of a philosophical powder, which I can prepare very speedily."

The prospect of immense riches that might be his, if only he cultivated the acquaintance of this man of science, dazzled the confessor. "Friend," he said, "such a thing as this will indeed be a service to the State, and particularly grateful to His Majesty the King, who, as his affairs stand at present, is in great need of such a curious invention. But," he added, with some remains of cunning criticism, "before I credit what you say, so far as to communicate it to His Majesty, I must see some proof of your skill."

Du Vall agreed; but said, as only a poor student of these things, he had not the appliances necessary. These the confessor agreed to provide, and fitted up a laboratory for him in his own house. Everything being complete, Du Vall gave a demonstration of his alchemic science. He took several metals of the baser sort, and put them into a crucible, the confessor watching him the while. Du Vall had prepared a hollow stick, into which he had introduced several inlays of real gold; and with this stick he stirred the white-hot crucible, until the base metals were in a flux, and the stick itself was almost entirely consumed. On the crucible being cooled, and its contents examined, it was duly found that a considerable amount of gold was mixed with what had been base metals.

The Jesuit was delighted with the success of the experiment, and a series of equally satisfactory tests was entered upon. Du Vall at last fully acquired his confidence, and a complete knowledge of where his treasure was deposited, and, finding him one evening in a heavy sleep (to which he had perhaps contributed by drugging his wine), gently stole his reverence's keys, earned off as much of his hoarded wealth as he conveniently could, and hastened to England.

It was, for several reasons, high time he returned to our shores. There was, his biographer tells us, no room in France for a highwayman. "In truth, the air of France is not good for persons of his constitution, it being the custom there to travel in great companies, well armed, and with little money. The danger of being resisted, and the danger of being taken, are much greater there; and the quarry much lesser than in England. And if, by chance, a dapper fellow, with fine black eyes, and a white peruke be taken there, and found guilty of robbing, all the women in the town don't presently take the alarm, and run to the King to beg his life."

So we see that the narrator of Du Vall's life, certainly did not approve of the hero-worship accorded him.

But Du Vall's career was now fast drawing to a close. His exploits as a highway chevalier had grown too notorious for him to be allowed to range any longer at will on the roads around London. At times, perhaps fully informed of his exceeding danger, he would employ himself in another art, in which he was an expert—the art of cheating at cards, in which an exceptional sleight-of-hand served him in good stead. Apart from these qualities, a handsome personal appearance, and a skill in dancing and playing the flageolet, he seems to have been as ignorant as any other ex-stable-boy, or page-boy of his era; for in a curious notice of him in the _London Gazette_ of January 1670, he is described as a man "of singular parts and learning, though he could neither read nor write." The different clauses of this eulogy seem at first sight quite irreconcileable; but the "learning," no doubt, refers rather to social graces, than to ordinary education.

He was captured when the worse for drink, at a tavern called the "Hole in the Wall," in Chandos Street, Covent Garden. He had three pistols in his pocket at the time, one of them "which would shoot twice," and had a sword at his side. "If he'd been sober, it was impossible he could have killed less than ten," says the author of the _Memoires_; adding, "He would have been cut as small as herbs for the pot, before he would have yielded to the bailey of Westminster," only the drink he had taken did not permit him the use of his legs.

He was executed at Tyburn, on January 21st, 1670, in spite of the many efforts made to secure a reprieve. After the hanging, he was given a lying-in-state at the "Tangier" tavern, St. Giles's, the room being draped in black, relieved with escutcheons. Eight candles burnt around him, and eight tall gentlemen in long cloaks kept watch. Many ladies of fashion and beauty went, masked, with tear-stained faces, to see him; a thing which seems incredible to ourselves, and was in fact considered extraordinary at the time. The author of the _Memoires_ himself realised this, for we find him declaring the truth of it; although he says he expected to be accounted by his readers "A Notorious Lyer."

The Judge who had tried Du Vall regarded the exhibition as scandalous, and caused the room to be cleared; but the highwayman was given a splendid funeral in St. Paul's church, Covent Garden. He was but twenty-seven years of age at his death. A handsome stone, decorated with heraldic achievements (not his own, for he boasted none), was placed over his grave, and on it this epitaph:

Here lies Du Vall: Reader, if Male thou art,
Look to thy purse; if Female, to thy heart.
Much havoc has he made of both; for all
Men he made stand, and woman he made fall.
The second Conqueror of the Norman race,
Knights to his arms did yield, and Ladies to his face.
Old Tyburn's Glory; England's illustrious thief,
Du Vall, the Ladies' Joy; Du Vall, the Ladies' grief.

This was destroyed when the original church was burnt in 1759.

FRANCIS JACKSON, AND HIS "RECANTATION"

We know little of this highwayman, however notorious he may have been at the time of his execution, April 14th, 1674. The exceedingly rare tract entitled _Jackson's Recantation_, gives no trace of his Christian name; nor does it, although professing to be a "Life," tell us when or where he was born, or the position his parents occupied. The tract is by way of an autobiography, but it is couched in such general terms that very few facts are to be extracted from it. It is in this, and in some other particulars, not unlike John Clavel's "Recantation" of forty-seven years earlier; only Jackson writes in ambiguous prose, while the other exercises himself in verse.

The title-page of Jackson's repudiation of his wicked ways may with advantage be given here, as a specimen of the type of chapbook then in vogue.

But although Jackson's own autobiography affords no satisfaction to the enquirer, hungry for facts, and although the Old Bailey Sessions Papers of the period are not preserved, a clue is found to

Jackson's Recantation

OR, THE

LIFE & DEATH

OF THE

NOTORIOUS HIGHWAYMAN

NOW

HANGING in CHAINS

AT

HAMPSTEAD

DELIVERED

To a Friend, a little before Execution; Wherein
is truly discovered the whole Mystery of
that Wicked and Fatal Profession
Of PADDING on the ROAD

Printer's Mark.]

_LONDON_,

Printed for I. B. in the Year 1674

the last adventure of himself and his associates in another tract entitled as under:

The
CONFESSION
Of the Four
HIGH-WAY-MEN

As it was Written by One of them, and
Allowed by the Rest the 14th of this
Instant _April_ (being the Day before
their Appointed Execution).

{ John Williams, alias Tho Matchet
{ Francis Jackson, alias Dixie
Viz:—{ John White, alias Fowler
{ Walter Parkhurst.

* * * * *

This being desired to be made Publick by the Persons themselves,
to prevent false reports of them when they are Dead.

* * * * *

With Allowance

* * * * *

London. Printed for D. M. 1674.

By this it appears that Jackson's Christian name was Francis, and that the robbery, in which he and his associates (so anxious that their reputations should not be fouled by false reports) were finally surprised and taken, was committed on the Exeter Road, between Hounslow and Staines, early in the morning of March 18th. The gang had already, on March 16th, impudently robbed the Windsor coach in broad daylight, between Cranford and Hounslow, and actually in sight of about a dozen gentlemen, well armed and mounted, who pursued them for five or six miles before they were lost sight of.

The country was thoroughly aroused, and the hue-and-cry out for them; and it therefore argues great rashness, or impudence, that they should, two days later, and in the same neighbourhood, rob other coaches.

The gang engaged that day comprised James Slader, Walter Parkhurst, John Williams, John White, and Francis Jackson. After robbing two coaches in Bedfont Lane, supposing themselves observed by a gentleman's servant out hunting in a green livery, they struck off across country for Acton; the liveried servant hurrying after them. They then made in the direction of Harrow-on-the-Hill, suspecting themselves pursued all the way, but seeing no one until they reached that little town, where they found forty or fifty men, ready to receive them with guns, pitchforks, and all sorts of weapons.

The inference at this point is that the gang had made much slower progress across country than the hue-and-cry had done.

Turning from this embattled front, they made their way down the hill and at the bottom found "a great number" of horse and foot ready to receive them. Although these horse and foot were so numerous, the highwaymen, in their "Confession," claim to have compelled them to fly into the houses for shelter; and so rode on to Paddington, and thence to Kilburn and Hendon, and from Hendon to Hampstead Heath, hotly engaged all the way. It was between ten and eleven o'clock in the morning when they had reached Harrow, and six o'clock by the time they were come upon Hampstead Heath, and the daylight was then fading out of the March evening. Their powder and shot had nearly all been expended about two o'clock, and some of their swords lost or broken, and most of them sorely wounded or bruised. Prominent among the combatants in this extraordinary running fight was a Lifeguardsman, "who fought with a great deal of courage most part of that day."

On Hampstead Heath there were two hundred men arrayed against these five exhausted highwaymen, who stood at bay in the grim hollow road at North End as night fell, and fought the contest out to the inevitable end. They fought an hour there, some with swords, and others with pistols. Slader, with a last shot, killed one Edward Kemp, and was then himself mortally wounded; and Jackson ran one Henry Miller through the left side with his rapier, so that he died immediately.

At last, overpowered, four of the defeated highwaymen were conveyed to Newgate. Slader soon afterwards died of his many wounds, and the others were found guilty on various counts at their trial at the Old Bailey on April 10th and 11th, and hanged with remarkable despatch on the 15th; Jackson being gibbeted on the scene of that last stand, opposite the spot now occupied by the house called "Wildwoods."

His body long swung and gyrated in the wind, suspended there from a beam stretched between two elms: the "Gibbet Elms," as they were long known. One was blown down in 1850, and the other survived until so recently as March 1907, when it, too, was uprooted in a storm. The trunk, at this time of writing, still lies on the ground.

This, then, is the short story of Jackson's life. Let us now see of what his "Recantation" consists. It affords curious reading, but cannot be more than paraphrased here. It is, however, in spite of its breadth and freedom of language, extremely moral in its teaching.

How vain, he moralises, are the thoughts of those who, while they enjoy youth and strength, never consider they are mere statues of dust, kneaded with tears and moved by the hidden engines of restless passions; clods of earth, which the shortest fever can burn to ashes, or a complication of miseries dissolve into nothingness!

He had once thought himself one of Heaven's favourites, and had persuaded himself that the machinations of his brain were able to unhinge the poles. (Any reader conversant with twentieth-century slang phrases will at this point consider the youthful seventeenth-century Jackson himself at that time "up the pole.")

But Heaven, continued Jackson, thought fit to deliver him into the terrestrial hell of the condemned cell at Newgate, where, in imagination surrounded by the howls and hollow groans of damned souls, conscience started out of her dead sleep, and he was thrown into the greatest agony imaginable. At this time a charitable physician for his sin-sick soul came to visit him, and to that pious man he laid open the whole course of his life, much to his amazement and wonder. This wonder was soon changed to pity and commiseration that one so young should be thus weeded out of the world just as he had entered into the blooming springtime of his age. He then acquainted him with the benefit of true repentance, so that the obduracy of his heart was able to hold out no longer, and, melting into tears, he was willing to have its flintiness broken by the hammer of sacred Scripture.

Then, to give the holy man some real testimony of his unfeigned repentance, he produced an abstract of his life, which, he tells us, he had prepared before his apprehension, intending to have published it and then to have abandoned his evil courses. But a reformed highwayman was so very rare a thing, if even not altogether so unheard-of a curiosity, that we may take leave to doubt that detail. He probably wrote his life in prison, and there occasionally peep out such tell-tale passages of real enjoyment in the telling of his misdeeds, that the flowery moral passages wear a strong suspicion of insincerity.

The "holy man" of the foregoing remarks was apparently none other than the Ordinary of Newgate, the Reverend Samuel Smith, for the "Recantation" is followed by a postscript, signed "S. S.," which says: "Reader, let me assure thee this is no fiction, but a true relation of Mr. Jackson's life and conversation. Penned by his own hand, and delivered unto mine to be made public for his countrymen's good, in compensation of the many injuries he hath done them. The introduction he made in Newgate, after sentence of condemnation, and desired me to apologise for it, fearing he had neither wrote large enough for his true penitence, nor had laid down sufficient exhortations from the commission of the like offences; the disorder he was in, lying under the horror of a speedy and more than common execution, may plead his excuse: the plainness of his style may admit of this plea, that he aimed at (as he confessed to me) nothing but the good of his countrymen, and that as he had picked their pockets, he thought it needless to tickle their ears with the gilded straws of rhetorical expressions. God, I hope, hath forgiven him his sins, and may we all amend by his errors, for which he now hangs in chains at Hamstead, a sad and dreadful spectacle to all beholders, and hoping you will pass by the faults of his writing and the press, I subscribe myself a well-willer to all."

"S. S."

Jackson's own method of telling his story is of the parabolic moral kind, in which the facts lie hidden amid a mass of verbiage. He said little of his parents, except that they were too indulgent to him, supplying his youthful extravagances with so much money that he was often puzzled to find ways to spend it. As a result, these prodigal parents impoverished themselves, and then died, and their hopeful son had already so distinguished himself by his wild and extravagant courses, that none of his relatives would help, and refused even to see him. He at once sank from plenty into poverty and rags, his backside hung in tatters, and his coat had as many holes as a colander.

Although so miserable an object, no one would help him. He thought himself unfit for one of the plantations, and such a scarecrow that not even a kidnapper would take any notice of him.

At last, walking the streets of London in this miserable condition, he found a purse lying in the street. Trembling with excitement at his good fortune, he hastily slipped it into his pocket, forgetting that all his pockets were so full of holes, that they would contain nothing. It fell to the ground again, but he snatched it up, and hurried with beating heart into the fields, and there found the purse contained ten pounds in silver, and fifty guineas. He cautiously buried all this money but fifty shillings in the hedgeside, and then went and bought an ordinary ready-made suit of clothes, being afraid to at once purchase better, in case awkward questions might be asked, as to how so shabby a wretch became possessed of such means.

Thus decently attired, he thought he might venture to remove from the squalid lodging he occupied, and, taking rooms at a cautious distance, he gave out that he was the son of a country gentleman, come to London on law business. For a time he lived quietly, but growing discontented with the dulness of his quiet life, went and bespoke a fine suit of clothes and all necessary appurtenances befitting a person of quality, such as a silver-hilted sword, etc., saying he had received a considerable sum of money on account of the affairs that had brought him to town.

Being thus gallantly equipped, he soon made acquaintances, who were intimately versed in the ways of town, but more especially in cards and dice, at which they laboured with greater pains than a seven-years' student with the classics. With one of these he established a close friendship; and this new-found friend, undertaking to be his tutor in gambling and sharping, he was soon on the direct way to becoming a rogue, fully equipped in all the arts and subterfuges of those who live on their wits. At playhouses, ordinaries, cockpits, and bowling-greens, he was soon on the track of dupes whose pockets were to be dipped into, and he tells us how his tackling was so good and his hooks so well barbed that, after he had struck a gudgeon, he was sure to hold him, though he suffered him to play a little in the stream.

When at any time they fell into the company of any young country gentleman, sent up by his father to learn something of the polished ways of London, they fastened themselves upon him, introduced him into the fast life of town, and in the end plundered him and used his credit to obtain goods from confiding tradespeople. These two associates shared their fortunes in this manner for a year, varying their evil practices by now and then robbing a coach. They were unlucky enough to be several times flung into gaol and Jackson came near to losing his life for robbing a coach near Barnet; but he was fortunate in being able to get in touch with the person whom he had robbed, and to appease him by restoring the greater part of what he had taken, on condition that he should bring no evidence against him. He was accordingly acquitted. So easy was it, he says, to buy acquittals that it had become a proverbial saying that no man, unless he had committed treason or murder, need be hanged while he had five hundred pounds at command.

Soon after he was so triumphantly enlarged from prison his companion died, leaving behind him little but his wench, whom he bequeathed, enjoining him to have a special care of her whom he had so highly prized. It was a pity, continues Jackson, she was a whore, for he might impartially declare her beauty to be scarcely paralleled.

To supply her extravagances was a difficult matter, and he grew so busy at rooking people in the coffee-houses that his face became too well known, and folk fought shy of him. He accordingly bethought him of a way of noting those who had won heavily, and then following them in the dark and robbing them. Although this was for some time a highly remunerative plan, it also was worn threadbare, all too soon, and he was now such a marked man that he was obliged, like a bat, never to stir abroad until dusk; except with the greatest caution imaginable. His woman, seeing what straits he was put to, deserted him.

He then met with three or four old acquaintances, knights of the road, with whom he adjourned to a tavern. They asked him how he had spent his time since his first gaol-delivery, and when he told them, declared no bold, generous soul would stoop to such petty pilfering. They condemned him further, not for keeping his woman, but for not keeping her more under. "It is laudable," said one, "to have a Miss, even though he had a very handsome wife of his own, and it is agreeable to the custom and honour of the times, and if we were to throw any opprobrium upon it, it would reflect upon ourselves."

"Come," said another, "we trifle away time. Let us fall to business. It is a good while since we shared a booty: let us no longer lie idle, and if our brother will accompany us, instead of picking up here and there crowns and angels—a thing beneath us—let us resolve to 'Have at all.' A five hours' adventure may make us possessors of five hundred pounds."

He told them he was not provided with a horse and other things necessary, but they promised to supply him, and soon did so, and he was then as well-equipped as any.

Four of them then set out for Maidenhead, reconnoitring for plunder. At Maidenhead they dined, and then, in the summer afternoon, went on towards Reading, halting an hour or so at Maidenhead Thicket, expecting some prize; but to no purpose. They then planned to distribute themselves and to ride into Reading singly: two to lie at one inn, and two at another.

Jackson's other two comrades lay at an inn where they were well known, and their occupation winked at by host and servants; who gave them to understand that there was a gentleman in the house, who, with his man, would next morning set out for Marlborough. It was thought, they added, by the weight of his small portmanteau, that it must be filled with money.

Jackson and one other found an attorney at the inn of their choice, who said he was on his way to London, for the opening of term. He asked the landlord if he could serve him in any way in London.

"I am sorry I have not the happiness to have your company to-morrow," said Jackson; "I have to go a contrary way, to Bristol."

"You seem a civil gentleman," returned the attorney, "and I am sorry too. Have a care as you go by Marlborough Downs: a parcel of whipper-snappers have been very busy there of late."

Jackson affected to be very much concerned at this news, and the attorney, noticing his apparent alarm, told him if he carried any considerable sum he must conceal it, or he would certainly lose all.

Jackson then pretended to thank him coldly, as if suspecting him of being some subtle insinuating spy; whereupon, the lawyer, to prove his own good faith, put his hand in his pocket and drew out a bag containing a hundred and fifty guineas. "These," said he, "I will so conceal in the saddle I ride upon that I will defy all the damned highwaymen in England to find them out. I have passed them several times in this manner, with good sums about me, and, for your further belief, I will show you in what way."

He then exhibited his hiding-place in the saddle, for which Jackson thanked him more genuinely than he suspected.

At that moment there came a note from his confederates at the other inn, to meet them at a certain place, and so, pretending he had business in the town, he left, and, meeting them, arranged that he and his fellow should change places with the other couple: that he should go forward and rob the traveller bound for Marlborough, while the others should turn about and relieve the attorney journeying to London.

The cunning scheme was neatly performed; but Jackson and his associate did not come off quite so well, the Marlborough traveller and his man making a stout resistance. Jackson was shot in the arm, and had the gentleman's horse not then been shot dead, they had very likely been taken prisoners. As it was, they captured a hundred and twenty guineas.

The next adventure entailed a great deal of work, and they were shamefully robbed of all their spoils, at the end of it, to the tune of over £180.

Hearing that a ship was to be paid off at Chatham on such a day, and well aware that the sailors would then be coming, post-haste, to London, to spend their money, they went to Shooter's Hill and hovered about there until evening, with very poor results. Next day they picked up a great many stragglers, and robbed them of their all; but always avoiding groups of travellers. A parson with very shabby clothes, and riding a sorry horse, then came on the hill. He looked so poor that they judged him to be worth hardly an attorney's retaining-fee; but, with time hanging heavy on their hands, they thought to have some sport with him, and stopped him and began to search his pockets for fun. But when he roared out, like a town bull, that he was undone, they suspected he carried more than they had thought, and searched more thoroughly; with the result that his pockets yielded fifteen pounds.

They were good enough to return him twenty shillings, on his swearing he would not set the hue-and-cry upon them, or inform any person he might meet upon the road, and then let him proceed; but it so chanced that he fell in with a sailor and advised him, if he had any money about him, to turn back, for there was a parcel of rogues up yonder on the hill who had but now robbed him and would do the like to any one else.

The sailor, however, would not believe the parson, or thought himself a match for any highwaymen he was likely to meet, and so continued on his way. Presently he was bidden "Stand!"

"What do you want?" he asked.

"What do we want?" we in imagination hear those highwaymen repeating, in tones of contempt: "what do you think we want, you——, * * *, you: to ask after your health, or to know the time o' day? No, we want your money."

"Alas! gentlemen," said the sailor, "it is true I have some, which I received for my pay in His Majesty's service. It is a pity to take that from me which I am carrying home for the maintenance of my wife and children."

But if he had engaged an angel to plead for him it would have been useless, for they would have had his money, anyway; and so, seeing there was no remedy, he delivered all he had, which was sixty-five pounds.

"Now, gentlemen," said he, "let me beg one favour of you, and that is, as I dare not go home to my wife with empty pockets, and at present know not what course to steer, pray admit me into your company. You see I am strong-limbed, and I have courage enough to qualify me for your occupation."

They asked if he were in earnest, and he swore a hundred sailor oaths that he was, and ready to be put to the proof that instant: declaring himself to be greatly in love with a trade that could in six minutes get as much money as he could in three years.

Jackson was at that time treasurer, and was given charge of the day's takings; and then, finding they had done sufficient for the day, they agreed to separate, and to meet at a given rendezvous the next day. Jackson was also detailed to take charge of the new recruit, who was wretchedly mounted. As they rode along, he bound the sailor, over and over again, by many oaths, to stand to his new resolution. At length, in a solitary lane, while Jackson was innocently discoursing upon the new life that lay before him, the sailor pulled his miserable horse suddenly against the other, and, as suddenly drawing a pistol and seizing his companion's bridle, clapped the ugly brass-barrelled weapon against his breast, and swore as bloodily as if he had been one of the trade for more than twenty years that he would send a bullet into his heart if he did not instantly dismount.

Jackson saw by his companion's frightful countenance that there was no dallying possible, so he dismounted and was obliged to give up his horse in exchange for the sorry nag that was hardly able to carry him, and, in addition, to hand over all the day's takings of the fraternity.

"Should I enumerate all the rogueries and robberies I committed," continues our autobiographer, "either singly, or with others, relating in what manner they were done, I should waste too much time, and miss that design which I purposed to myself, which is the general good of my countrymen; wherefore I shall pass them all by, not so much as mentioning the last robbery I was guilty of, near Colnbrook, when pursued by the country, opposed and apprehended by them, to the loss of our own, and the blood of some of them, the manner whereof is too generally known to be again repeated."

That is exceedingly disappointing: for what was then "generally known" is now almost forgotten, and only to be recovered with much trouble.

He then, omitting all reference to the killing for which he was hanged and gibbeted, proceeds to enlarge upon the ways, manners, and customs of the highwaymen, "those devouring caterpillars of a corrupt and polluted nation," as he styles them.

"I shall insist upon what is more profitable," he declares, "and discover, first, what a highwayman is; how bound by oath; what order is prescribed; in what manner they assault; and how they behave themselves, in and after the action. In the next place my best endeavour shall be to dissuade these desperadoes to desist robbing on the highway, by showing them the certainty of their apprehension one time or other; and though they may a long time prosper in that vile course of life, spending high and faring deliciously, yet every bit is attended with fear; neither is their sleep less unquiet, starting ever and anon by some horrid dream; so that I cannot say when they go to bed they go to take their rest, but only to slumber out the tedious minutes of the gloomy night in horror and affrightment. I shall insist on other dissuasions, by showing them the misery of a prison; by putting them in mind of their wretched and cursed ends, which they vainly jest at, by presuming on some examples of grace; and the reward of their wickedness in the world to come. Lastly, instructions, not only for the honest traveller that he may pass in safety, but for the innkeeper to distinguish highwaymen from guests that are honest; all these I shall with sincerity run over particularly."

"Highwaymen for the most part are such that were never acquainted with an honest trade, whom either want of money or employment prompted them to undertake these dangerous designs; and to make their persons appear more formidable, and to gain respect, they dub one another 'colonel,' 'major,' or at least a captain, who never arrived to a greater height than a trooper disbanded, or at the utmost a lifeguards-man cashiered for misdemeanour.

"Having made up a party, ere they proceed to act their villainies, they make a solemn vow to each other, that, if by misfortune any one should be apprehended, he shall not discover his complices: and that if he be pressed hard to particularise his companions, he must then devise names for men that never were, describing their persons, features, and discovering their habitations, but so remote one from another, that the danger of the trial may be over ere sufficient inquiry can be made.

"And further, to procure mercy from the bench, there must be a plausible account given, how you fell into this course of life: fetching a deep sigh, saying that you were well born, but by reason of your family falling to decay you were exposed to great want, and rather than shamefully beg (for you knew not how to labour), you were constrained to take this course as a subsistence; that it is your first fault, which you are heartily sorry for, and will never attempt the like again.

"Having taken a solemn oath to be true one to another, their next business is to acquaint themselves, by means of the tapsters, ostlers, chamberlains, or others, what booties are stirring, how contained, and whither bound. But before they attempt the seizure, if there be any novices in the company, then they are instructed by the more experienced, as I was at first, after this manner.

"In the first place, you must have a variety of periwigs in your lodgings, and the like you must carry with you, if occasion require the necessity of changing the colour of the hair: neither must you be without your false beards of several colours. For want of them, you may cross your locks athwart your mouth, which is a good disguise: patches also contribute much thereto. And lest your voice should be known another time by him that is robbed, put into your mouth a pebble, or any suchlike thing, which will alter your tone advantageously to your purpose.

"Being thus provided, a watchword must be framed, wrapped up in some common question, as 'What's o'clock?' or 'Jack, what shall we have for supper?' As soon as these words are used, you must instantly fall to work, seizing with your left hand the traveller's bridle, and with your right presenting a pistol. This so terrifies that he delivers instantly, for who will trust a pistol at his breast loaded with a brace of bullets, and a mouth discharging at the same time volleys of oaths, that if he deliver not instantly he is a dead man? But here you may please yourself whether you believe him, for a highwayman will be very cautious of murder, for fear of provoking the law to an implacability, unless it be when he is beset, when, rather than run the risk of being seized, he will endeavour to escape by killing one or more of his assailants.

"Having o'ermastered them you set upon, do you carry them into some covert, where you search so severely that nothing can be hidden from you. If in this strict enquiry, gold be found privily quilted in a doublet, or in the waistband of his breeches, I can hardly forbear smiling when I think in what manner the rogues will rate the poor man with 'villain,' or 'cheating rascal,' for endeavouring to preserve his own, whilst he has nothing else to say but that he is 'undone,' which they regard as little as the hangman will them at the place of execution. Having then changed your horse for theirs, if better than your own, the next thing to do is to make them swear neither to follow you, nor to raise the country with a hue-and-cry upon you. Thus, leaving the poor traveller forlorn, you ride to some strange place, or else where you are known and winked at, and there you share that which you unlawfully have got, not without cheating one another.

"Now here, by the way, give me leave to descant on their prodigality, after a successful attempt. London, the more is the pity, is their best sanctuary, and therefore, after any robbery, they commonly repair thither; having as many names as lodgings. Their next care is to buy a variety of splendid apparel, and, having bought their wenches new gowns, and furnished their pockets with guineas, they then prosecute all manner of debaucheries. Their hosts must also participate in their gains, else all the fat's in the fire; for the vintners, innkeepers, etc., knowing very well what they are, and how easily they get their money, will be sure to enlarge their reckoning and make it swell prodigiously; neither must this be complained of, lest they refuse to keep their own counsel any longer.

"All the time they can spare from robbing and undoing poor men is spent in wine and women; so that the sunshine of their prosperity lasts but a moment, not so long as to warm their hands by the blazing fire of their prodigality, before cold death comes and seizeth them. And how can it be otherwise expected? the pitcher goes not so often to the well but it comes broken home at last.

"But before death takes them from this, to carry them before a higher tribunal, there to answer for all they have enacted here on earth, there is a punishment preceding this: it is a prison wherein are contained so many tortures, woes, and pains that I do think were enough to punish, without death, the greatest of offences.

"Having thus endeavoured to fright highwaymen, by showing them the intolerable torments of a prison, besides the certainty and shamefulness of hanging, and hazard of eternal death hereafter, I shall here take another course to scare them, if possible, and therefore in the first place I shall lay down directions how to know them as they ride on the road, with rules how to shun them, or, if robbed, how to pursue and apprehend them when they think themselves most secure.

"In the first place, when at any time you intend to travel, and cannot avoid carrying a sum of money with you, let no person know what charge you have, or when you will set forward. It is the custom, I confess (but let me assure you, it is dangerous), for men the day before they begin their journey, to take leave of their relations and friends, drinking healths round to the happy return of the traveller, who suspects not the least harm in all this; whereas, it hath been known that a father hath this way been betrayed by his own son; a brother by a brother; nay, one pretendedly dear friend by another, by discovering to highwaymen when and which way he rides; and so for the plot he goes his share.

"Another way they have. The gang shall ride in advance, out of sight, leaving one lusty fellow of their company behind, who shall ride very slowly, expecting some one or other will overtake him. If overtaken by three or four, he will single out the one he thinks hath most money; and, pretending much friendliness, will whisper, he likes not those other men, and ask if he knows them. If not, he adviseth him to slacken his pace, for certainly they are dangerous fellows. The timorous and credulous traveller will thank him for his advice; and not long afterwards, by parting company with honest men, he will be brought alone to the place where the confederates lie in ambuscade. The decoy will then draw his weapon, bidding the traveller do the like, and now begins a dangerous fight, as the traveller imagines. Fearing bloodshed, he delivers his money, and persuades his champion to do the like, who, with much ado, at length condescends thereunto. The gang, having given him a private indication of the way they intend to ride, then set spurs to their horses, and are out of sight in an instant.

"Hereupon, this pretender to honesty will straight persuade you to assist him in making a hue-and-cry, in the carrying on of which he will seemingly be foremost, but to no other end than to lead you quite another way, till his brethren be out of all danger. I knew one notorious rogue, who by his sly and crafty deportment was looked upon to be a very honest gentleman, who suffered himself to be robbed with three more, by his own confederates. The robbery being committed between sun and sun, he, with those three honest men, sued the county, and recovered the money they had lost.

"Whensoever the traveller designs a journey, let him consider that the Sabbath day is a time not only unlawful, but more dangerous for robbing than any other. I need not expatiate on the illegality of the act, since there is a special command forbidding the breach of that holy day of rest, the violation whereof hath been frequently punished by being robbed; for, to speak the truth, that day hath been, and still is, chosen by highwaymen for the best and fittest time to commit their robberies; first because they are sensible that few travel then, except those who ride on some important concern, and who they suppose carry a considerable sum about them.

"In the next place, on that day the roads are most quiet, being undisturbed with great quantities of people, and therefore they rob with more ease and greater security. Lastly, they know the county will not be so forward to pursue them with a hue-and-cry, and are quite convinced that a judge will hardly be induced to make the county pay the reparation of a loss sustained by him who ought to have stayed at home, to perform those duties required from him, proper to the day; and not wander abroad and leave his Creator's business undone, that he may do his own. If you must needs travel, you have days enough in the week to follow your urgent and important affairs, and with more security, the roads being then full of good company, if you will but make choice of a convenient time, and be cautious whom you entertain into your society.

"The first caution is this: be shy of those who are ever prone of pressing into your company. It is more safe to entertain such as are unwilling to associate themselves with you. Now, that you may distinguish an honest man from a thief, take these informations and directions: first, if you suspect your company, halt a little, and in your halting observe whether they still hold on their course, or slack their pace, or, it may be, alight and walk with their horses in their hands. If you observe any of these, you may conclude them the justly suspected marks of a highwayman."

Travellers were also warned of men dressed like countrymen, with hay-bands round their legs, and rough, russet clothes, who might perhaps even carry a goad instead of a whip, as they rode on horseback. These were often merely highwaymen in disguise, and although they might affect a country brogue and ask silly questions, they were to be suspected. In fact, it appears that every one was to be eyed askance; and it seems likely that, with this advice duly digested, over-cautious or nervous travellers occasionally turned upon quite innocent and inoffensive people and shot them in mere squittering terror.

"It is now high time," continues Jackson, "to inform the innkeeper how he shall distinguish highwaymen from honest travellers. In the first place, observe their curiosity about their horses, in dressing and feeding them: next you will find them asking questions; such as, "Who owns that horse?" and who the other; what their masters are; whither travelling; and when they will set out. These are infallible signs of a highwayman. Nor must I omit this remark: let the ostler lift their cloak-bags, and he will find them empty; for they carry them only for show, and not to burden their horses.

"Next, let the chamberlain take notice when he shows them to a room, that they will soon dismiss him, and after that, let him listen awhile and he shall hear the jingling of money; and if he can but get a peep-hole for his eyes, he shall see them sharing their booty.

"It will be very requisite to enquire severally each one's particular name, and let your servants do the like. By this means you will find them tripping, for they may easily forget a name they borrowed that very day.

"At supper-time let some one knock furiously and hastily at the gate; then mark them well, and you shall see them start, their countenances change, and nothing but fear and amazement appearing on each face; by which you may positively conclude them to be what you did before but imagine and suspect.

"If in the day-time they come into your inn, you may guess what they are by their trifling away their time, and staying somewhat longer than is necessary for baiting. You shall observe them sometimes looking out of the window, sometimes standing at the gate, for no other purpose but to mark what passengers ride by. If they see any person of quality ride that way, or the costume hints at the likelihood of a booty, you shall have them to horse and mount in all haste, as if some dear friend or near relation was just rid by, whom they must endeavour to overtake.

"At night they will come dropping into an inn severally, in divided companies, thereby to falsify the number given in the hue-and-cry; and will, when met, artfully take no notice of one another; nay, they will even, to allay suspicion, enquire of the host what 'country gentleman' their own companions are; whether he knows them or not, and if it be convenient to join in company with them. They will, like strangers, while they are under observation, compliment one another; but withdraw, and watch them well, and you shall find them fall into their usual familiarity.

"Much more might be written on this subject, but since it is impossible to discover the whole art and mystery of the highway trade, let this suffice; for, according to the proverb, new lords, new laws; so all new gangs have new orders, plots and designs, to rob and purloin from the honest traveller."

CAPTAIN RICHARD DUDLEY

Richard Dudley, born in 1635, was, says Alexander Smith, "a gentleman of old descent in Northamptonshire." His father, a man of considerable estate in that shire of squires, spires, pride, and poverty, was ruined in the war between King and Parliament, and his son Robert was glad to accept the help that Charles the Second gave him, in presenting him with a commission in a foot regiment that was presently ordered to Tangier. It was a poor return for the loyalty in which his father was brought so low.