Chapter I: Part 1

Transcriber's Note:

This book was published in two volumes, of which this is the second. The first volume was released as Project Gutenberg ebook #53111, available at https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/53111.

HALF-HOURS WITH
THE HIGHWAYMEN

WORKS BY CHARLES G. HARPER

=The Portsmouth Road=, and its Tributaries: To-day and in Days of
Old.

=The Dover Road=: Annals of an Ancient Turnpike.

=The Bath Road=: History, Fashion, and Frivolity on an Old
Highway.

=The Exeter Road=: The Story of the West of England Highway.

=The Great North Road=: The Old Mail Road to Scotland. Two Vols.

=The Norwich Road=: An East Anglian Highway.

=The Holyhead Road=: The Mail-Coach Road to Dublin. Two Vols.

=The Cambridge, Ely, and King's Lynn Road=: The Great Fenland
Highway.

=The Newmarket, Bury, Thetford, and Cromer Road=: Sport and
History on an East Anglian Turnpike.

=The Oxford, Gloucester, and Milford Haven Road=: The Ready Way
to South Wales. Two Vols.

=The Brighton Road=: Speed, Sport, and History on the Classic
Highway.

=The Hastings Road= and the "Happy Springs of Tunbridge."

=Cycle Rides Round London.=

=A Practical Handbook of Drawing for Modern Methods of
Reproduction.=

=Stage-Coach and Mail in Days of Yore.= Two Vols.

=The Ingoldsby Country=: Literary Landmarks of "The Ingoldsby
Legends."

=The Hardy Country=: Literary Landmarks of the Wessex Novels.

=The Dorset Coast.=

=The South Devon Coast.=

=The North Devon Coast.=

=The Old Inns of Old England.= Two Vols.

=Love in the Harbour=: a Longshore Comedy.

=Rural Nooks Round London= (Middlesex and Surrey).

=The Manchester and Glasgow Road=; This way to Gretna Green. Two
Vols.

=Haunted Houses=: Tales of the Supernatural.

=The Somerset Coast.= [_In the Press._]

HALF-HOURS WITH
THE HIGHWAYMEN

_PICTURESQUE BIOGRAPHIES AND
TRADITIONS OF THE "KNIGHTS
OF THE ROAD"_

BY CHARLES G. HARPER

VOL. II

Man and woman talking.]

_Illustrated by Paul Hardy and by the Author, and
from Old Prints_

LONDON

CHAPMAN & HALL, LIMITED
1908

_All rights reserved_

PRINTED AND BOUND BY
HAZELL, WATSON AND VINEY, LD.,
LONDON AND AYLESBURY.

CONTENTS

PAGE

NEVISON: "SWIFT NICKS" 1

JOHN COTTINGTON, _alias_ "MULLED SACK" 26

THOMAS RUMBOLD 35

"CAPTAIN" JAMES WHITNEY 41

TWM SHON CATTI 65

JOHN WITHERS AND WILLIAM EDWARDS 75

PATRICK O'BRIAN 81

JACK BIRD 86

WILL OGDEN, JACK BRADSHAW, AND TOM REYNOLDS 98

JACK OVET 105

JOHN HALL, RICHARD LOW, AND STEPHEN BUNCE 110

"MR." AVERY AND DICK ADAMS 121

JONATHAN WILD 126

NICHOLAS HORNER 148

WALTER TRACEY 158

NED WICKS 166

DICK TURPIN 173

WILLIAM PARSONS, THE BARONET'S SON 241

WILLIAM PAGE 249

ISAAC DARKIN, _alias_ DUMAS 264

JAMES MACLAINE, THE "GENTLEMAN" HIGHWAYMAN 271

JOHN POULTER, _alias_ BAXTER 301

PAUL LEWIS 316

THE WESTONS 320

JACK RANN: "SIXTEEN-STRING JACK" 340

ROBERT FERGUSON—"GALLOPING DICK" 353

JERRY ABERSHAW 361

JOHN AND WILLIAM BEATSON 370

ROBERT SNOOKS 376

HUFFUM WHITE 384

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

SEPARATE PLATES

PAGE

SIXTEEN-STRING JACK _Frontispiece_

NEVISON'S RIDE TO YORK 11

"SWIFT NICKS" BEFORE CHARLES THE SECOND 17

"MULLED SACK" ROBS THE ARMY PAY WAGGON 33

WHITNEY HUGGED BY THE BEAR 42

WHITNEY AND THE USURER 53

TWM SHON CATTI AND THE HIGHWAYMAN 73

JACK BIRD FIGHTS THE CHAPLAIN 95

THE ROBBERY AT THE HACKNEY BAKER'S 115

JONATHAN WILD ON THE WAY TO EXECUTION 147

HORNER MEETS HIS MATCH 154

TURPIN AND HIS GANG IN THEIR CAVE IN EPPING FOREST 177

TURPIN HOLDS THE LANDLADY OVER THE FIRE 189

TURPIN MEETS TOM KING 1201

TURPIN IN HIS CAVE 212

WILLIAM PARSONS 242

WILLIAM PAGE 252

MACLAINE, THE LADIES' HERO 275

JAMES MACLAINE 276

MACLAINE AND PLUNKETT ROBBING THE EARL OF EGLINTON ON
HOUNSLOW HEATH 289

MACLAINE IN THE DOCK 292

NEWGATE'S LAMENTATION; OR, THE LADIES' FAREWELL TO MACLAINE 299

PAUL LEWIS 316

THE WESTONS ESCAPING FROM NEWGATE 337

"SIXTEEN-STRING JACK" AND ELLEN ROCHE IN THE DOCK 348

"GALLOPING DICK" 354

JERRY ABERSHAW ON PUTNEY HEATH 365

SNOOKS ADDRESSING THE CROWD AT HIS EXECUTION 381

HUFFUM WHITE ESCAPING FROM THE HULKS 384

ILLUSTRATIONS IN TEXT

Nevison's Leg-irons, in York Museum 23

Jonathan Wild in the Condemned Cell 136

Satirical Invitation-card to Execution of Jonathan Wild 139

Turpin's Baptismal Register, Hempstead 174

Bold Dick Turpin 197

Tom King 206

Dick Turpin 207

Tom King 209

Tom King 211

Dick Turpin 215

Sir Ralph Rookwood and Simon Sharpscent 219

Turpin's Cell in York Castle 222

Ralph Ostler 225

Turpin's Waist-girdle, Wrist-shackles, and Leg-irons 226

Maid of the Inn 229

Highwaymen carousing 229

Innkeeper 231

Turpin's Stone 237

Portmanteau, formerly belonging to Turpin, discovered at
Clerkenwell 240

William Parsons 247

James Maclaine 272

Jack Rann 345

Snooks's Grave 383

NEVISON: "SWIFT NICKS"

When Harrison Ainsworth wrote _Rookwood_, that fantastic romance of highway robbery and the impossible exploits of the Rookwood family, he did a singular injustice to a most distinguished seventeenth-century highwayman, John Nevison by name, and transferred the glory of his wonderful ride to York to Dick Turpin, who never owned a "Black Bess," and who never did anything of the kind. Turpin, by virtue of Ainsworth's glowing pages, has become a popular hero and stands full in the limelight, while the real gallant figure is only dimly seen in the cold shade of neglect.

John or "William" Nevison, by some accounts, was born at Pontefract, in 1639, of "honest and reasonably-estated parents." Sometimes we find him styled Nevison, at other times he is "alias Clerk" in the proclamations issued, offering rewards for his arrest. Occasionally, in the chap-books, we find John Nevison and William Nevison treated as two separate and distinct persons, no doubt because the recorded adventures of this truly eminent man were so widely distributed over the country, that it was difficult to believe them the doings of one person. But there seems to be no reasonable doubt that one and the same man was the hero of all these doings, as also of the famous Ride to York. Of course it is now by far too late to snatch from Turpin the false glory bestowed upon him. A hundred romances, a century of popular plays, have for ever in the popular mind identified him with the Ride to York, and with all manner of achievements and graces that were never his. Lies are brazen and immortal; truth is modest; and the Great Turpin Myth is too fully established to be thoroughly scotched.

But let us to the career of Nevison, as told in the pages of what few authorities exist. He seems to have been a precocious boy: precocious in things evil. Indeed we must needs regard him as a _wunderkind_ in that sort, for between the ages of thirteen and fourteen, and when still at school, he is reported to have been the "ringleader in rudeness and debauchery." He stole a silver spoon from his father, who delegated the thrashing so richly deserved to the schoolmaster, who seems to have "laid on" in the thorough manner suggested to Macduff. A vivid picture presents itself to us, of William (or John) occupying a sleepless night, rubbing the parts and meditating revenge. As a result of his deliberations, he arose before peep of day and, cautiously taking his father's keys, stole to the domestic cashbox and helped himself to the ten pounds he found there. Then, taking a saddle and bridle from his father's stable, he hastened to the paddock where the schoolmaster had a horse out to graze. Saddling it, he made off for London, which he reached in four days. He dared not sell the horse, for by that means he might have been traced, so he killed the unfortunate animal when within one or two miles of London.

Buying a new suit of clothes and changing his name, he soon found employment with a brewer. In that situation he remained nearly three years, and then left suddenly for the Continent, incidentally with £200 belonging to the brewer. Holland was the country he honoured with his presence, and there he found a fellow-mind in the person of a young Dutch woman who, robbing her father of all the money and jewels she could lay hands upon, eloped with him. They were soon arrested, but Nevison broke prison, and with some difficulty, made his way into Flanders, and enlisted in the troops stationed there under command of the Duke of York. It is not to be supposed that such a restless temperament as his would allow him long to remain subject to restrictions and the word of command, and accordingly he deserted, made across to England, and, purchasing a horse and arms, and "resolving for the Road," blossomed out as a full-blown highwayman. As his original biographer prettily puts it, he embarked upon "a pleasant life at the hazard of his neck, rather than toil out a long remainder of unhappy days in want and poverty, which he was always averse to." Who, for that matter, is not? Let us sigh for the days that were, the days that are no more, when such adventures as the highwaymen sought were to be found on every highway. A short life, so long as it was a merry, was sufficient for these fine fellows, who desired nothing so little as a gnarled and crabbed age, and nothing so much as a life filled with excitement, wine, and the smiles of the fair. Those smiles were apt to be purchased, and generally purchased dear, but in that respect the highwaymen were never disposed to be critical.

Nevison's success, immediate and complete, proclaimed his fitness for the career himself had with due thought and deliberation chosen. At first he kept his own counsel and haunted the roads alone. Sometimes he went by the name of Johnson.

At this early stage he met one evening on the high road two farmers, who told him it was dangerous to go forward, themselves having only a few minutes before been robbed of forty pounds by three highwaymen, scarce more than half a mile off.

"Turn back with me," he said, "and show me the way they went, and, my life to a farthing if I do not make them return your money."

They accordingly rode back with him until they had come within sight of the three robbers, when Nevison, ordering the two farmers to stand behind, rode up and spoke to the foremost of the three.

"Sir," said he, "by your garb and the colour of your horse, you should be one of those I look after, and, if so, my business is to tell you that you borrowed of two friends of mine forty pounds, which they desired me to demand of you, and which, before we part, you must restore."

Two of the men then made haste to ride off.

"How?" quoth the remaining highwayman. "Forty pounds; d—n me, is the fellow mad?"

"So mad," replied Nevison, "that your life shall answer me, if you do not give me better satisfaction."

With that Nevison drew his pistol and suddenly clapped it to the man's chest; at the same time seizing his horse's reins, in such a manner that he could not draw either sword or pistols.

"My life is at your mercy," he confessed.

"No," said Nevison, "'tis not that I seek, but the money you have robbed those two men of. You must refund it."

With the best grace he could, the highwayman parted with what he had, saying his companions had the rest.

Nevison then, making him dismount, and taking his pistols, desired the countrymen to secure him, while he pursued the others. In the gathering twilight, as he galloped up, they, thinking it was their friend, drew rein.

"Jack," said one to him, "why did you stop to argue with that fellow?"

"No, gentlemen," said Nevison, "you are mistaken in your man; though, by token of his horse that I ride and his arms I carry, he hath sent me to you, to ransom his life. The ransom, sirs, is nothing less than your shares of the prize of the day, which if you presently surrender, you may go about your business. If not, I must have a little dispute with you, at sword and pistol."

One of them then let fly at him, but his aim missing, Nevison's bullet in reply took him in the right shoulder. He then called for quarter and came to a parley, which ended in the two surrendering not only their share of the two travellers' money, but a total amount of a hundred and fifty guineas. Nevison thereupon returned to the farmers and, handing them their money, went his way with the balance of one hundred and ten guineas.

This, it will at once be conceded, was by no means professional conduct; and was indeed, we may say, a serious breach of the highway law, by which thieves should at any rate stand by one another, shoulder to shoulder against the world.

Nevison, however, like a true philosopher and a false comrade, improved any occasion to his own advantage, without scruple. You figure him thus, rather of a saturnine humour, with an ugly grin on his face, instead of a frank smile; but probably you would be quite wrong in so doing. At any rate, the ladies appear to have loved him, for we learn that, "in all his pranks, he was very favourable to the female sex, who generally gave him the character of a civil, obliging robber." He was also charitable to the poor, and, being a true Royalist, he never attempted anything against those of that party.

After many adventures, our William, or John, as the case may be, one day secured no less a sum than £450 by a fortunate meeting on the road with a rich grazier who had just sold, and been paid for, some cattle. He resolved to let the road lie fallow, as it were, for a while, and to seek, in a temporary retirement in his native place, that repose which comes doubly welcome after a period of strenuous professional endeavour.

He was joyfully received by his father, who still was living in the old town of Pontefract, although some seven or eight years had passed since his son had levanted and disappeared utterly from the parental ken. He had long given up all hopes of seeing his boy again; and now he was returned, a young man of twenty-one years of age, and with a respectable sum of money; the savings of a frugal and industrious life in London, according to his own account.

Here is an idyllic picture: the highwayman returned home, soothing the declining days of his father, and living as quietly and soberly as though he had never emptied a pocket on the King's highway!

After the death of his father, he left the quiet existence at Pontefract, and opened the second part of his career upon the road. He now so far departed from his former practice as to become the moving spirit in a numerous band whose headquarters were long situated at Newark. They particularly affected Yorkshire, and inspired the drovers and graziers who used the Great North Road with dread.

At times, however, he would range southward again, by himself, and one of these expeditions resulted in the marvellous feat that made him famous at the time, and should have kept him so for all time. His well-earned laurels, unhappily, have been snatched by a heedless hand from his brow, and placed on the unworthy head of Turpin. Such are the strange vagaries of fame!

Nevison's all-eclipsing exploit originated in a four-o'clock-in-the-morning robbery upon Gad's Hill, near Rochester.

For some reason, Nevison appears to have been particularly afraid of being recognised by the traveller whom he stopped and relieved of his purse on that May morning, and he immediately, for the establishment of an _alibi_, conceived the idea of riding such a distance that day as to make it appear humanly impossible he could have been near Rochester at that hour. He proposed to ride to no less distant a place than the city of York, two hundred and thirty miles away from that "high old robbing hill." To the modern commentator, writing with even pulse, it would seem that, unless that traveller's purse had been very well lined, the proceeds of the robbery would not be nearly worth this tremendous effort, after the taking of it.

It would seem that in being so rash as to rob a traveller in the dawning of that May day, he had indeed been so unfortunate as to happen upon some one who knew him; and there was nothing else but to put as many miles as he could between the dawn and the setting of the sun. So behold him, mounted upon his "blood bay" mare, galloping away for Gravesend. He crossed the Thames to Tilbury, and so went, by way of Horndon and Billericay, to Chelmsford, where he halted an hour and gave his gallant steed some balls. Thence through Braintree, Bocking, Wethersfield, Fenny Stanton, Godmanchester, and Huntingdon, where he halted another half-hour; and so, straight down the Great North Road (but avoiding the towns) to York. Of course he must needs have had several remounts on the way. It is unthinkable that one horse could have performed such a journey. But Nevison was no lone unfriended knight of the road, and, in his extensive operations, had excellent friends in different parts of the country, who could help him on occasion to a good horse.

Arrived at York, he halted only to put up his horse, and to remove the travel-stains and signs of haste from his person, and then made his way to the nearest bowling-green, where it chanced that so important a personage as the Lord Mayor was playing bowls with some friends.

Nevison took an early opportunity of asking the time, and was told it was just a quarter to eight. Having done this, and thus fixed the time and the incident in the Lord Mayor's mind, he was satisfied, and after-events proved the wisdom of his flight; for he was shortly afterwards arrested on another charge of highway robbery, and, among those who were present, in an effort to identify him with other charges, was none other than the early morning traveller upon Gad's Hill.

The _alibi_ on that count was triumphantly established. Nevison called his York acquaintances, and the Lord Mayor was appealed to. That civic dignitary readily deposed to the fact that this falsely-accused gentleman was on the York bowling-green on the evening of that day: and in the end, Nevison was acquitted on all charges.

But the highwaymen of that age had a good deal of the braggart in their composition. They could not do a clever thing without taking the world into their confidence; and so, heedless of the danger to his career, Nevison told the story of the ride to delighted ears. Instead of being arrested on what was practically a confession, he became the hero of the hour. The tale even reached the ears of Charles the Second, who had him presented, and, loving a clever rogue as he did (and possibly with some fellow-feeling, in the recollection of how himself had been a harassed fugitive), pardoned him, and christened him "Swift Nicks."

Elsewhere, we read that the robbery took place at Barnet, and that it was thence Nevison rode to York. The traveller, it seems in this version, had set out from the "Blossoms" inn, Lawrence Lane, in the city of London, and lost five hundred and sixty guineas on this monumental occasion.

According to one account, this was "in or about" May 1676; but it is difficult to fix the dates of many of the seventeenth-century highwaymen's doings within a few years, and this would certainly appear to be an error, for it can be proved that he bore the nickname "Swift Nicks" years before. For example, we find in December 1668 a proclamation offering £20 reward for the arrest of several specified highwaymen, including Swift Nicks; and another in the _London Gazette_ of November 18th, 1669, in which "Swift Nix" is again mentioned. This proclamation is in itself an interesting and valuable sidelight upon the social conditions of that age:

WHITEHALL, _Nov. 17th._

His Majesty having been informed that divers lewd and disorderly
persons have committed great and heinous Robberies, Murders,
and Burglaries, imboldened thereto either out of hope to escape
the hand of Justice, or by the carelessness and negligence in
keeping due Watches and Wards, and the pursuit of them by Hue and
cry, or the concealment of them and their Horses by Inn-keepers,
Ostlers, and others, and that some which have been indicted for
these offences, and others not indicted but guilty of the same,
continue their wicked practices in spoiling his good subjects, of
which number are said to be Lewis, alias Lodowick, alias Claude
de Val, alias Brown, Swift Nix, alias Clerk, Humble Ashenhurst,
Martin Bringhurst, John Spencer, William Stavely, William
Stanesby, Thomas Stanley, Nicholas Greenbury, William Talbot,
Richard Wild, William Connel, Nicholas James, and Herman Atkins,
are notoriously known to be such, and of one party and knot,
etc. His Majesty minding to preserve all His loving Subjects in
their Lives and Estates from all Rapine and Violence, was thus
pleased to order His Proclamation to be issued out, Commanding
all His Subjects and Officers of Justice to use their endeavours
for the apprehension of the said persons, and all others who have
been, or shall be guilty of the offences aforesaid, that they may
be proceeded against according to Law and Justice, declaring His
Will and Pleasure,

That all Justices take Order, that due Watches and Wards be
kept by Horse and Foot for the apprehension of such offenders;
Commanding all Vintners, keepers of Common Ordinaries, Gaming
Houses, Inn-keepers, Horse-keepers, and other persons where
such persons shall be or resort, to apprehend or cause them to
be apprehended, etc., or otherwise themselves to be proceeded
against as far as by due course of Law they may, declaring that
whosoever shall before the 20th of _June_ next, apprehend or
cause to be apprehended any of the said persons above-named, and
brought into custody, and prosecute them to a Conviction, shall
have a reward of Twenty pounds for every such offender, and for
every other notorious Robber, Burglar, or Murderer, the sum of
Ten pounds within 15 days after their Conviction, to be paid by
the respective Sheriff of the County where such conviction shall
be had, upon the Certificate of the Judge, or under the hands of
two or more Justices of the Peace before whom they were convicted.

And so forth. This official proclamation clashes discordantly with the kindly, forgiving character of the King's interview with Nevison. Of course, there would naturally be all the difference between a proclamation and a private act of clemency; and not even in those days, when a King might do strange things, was it possible, or thinkable, to give a highwayman liberty to rob as he pleased. We may, perhaps, not without justification, surmise that this highwayman's continued and notorious activity wore out the easy-going monarch's patience.

Nevison was arrested on one occasion and lodged in Wakefield prison, but he broke out, and was again holding up the lieges. At another time he was released on giving a promise that he would volunteer to serve in our newly acquired colony, Tangier; but he promptly deserted. Once he was thrown into Leicester gaol, heavily ironed, and strictly guarded; so well-advised were the authorities of his slippery character. Among those who visited him in his cell was a friend in the disguise of a doctor. This person, affecting to be struck with horror at the sight of him, declared he was infected with the plague; and added that, so far as the prisoner himself was concerned, he might die and be d——d for a rogue, and welcome; but a more serious thing was that, unless he were removed to a larger room, not only would he die, but he would also spread the infection over the entire prison.

Nevison was very speedily removed to another room, and the gaoler, implored by his wife, went no further than the door. The physician, meanwhile, came twice or thrice a day to see the patient, and at last declared his case to be hopeless. The highwayman's body was then artfully painted over with blue spots, and he was given a powerful sleeping draught. The physician was shocked, the next time he called, to find him dead. An inquest was hurriedly held: the jury keeping a considerable distance away, with vinegar-saturated handkerchiefs to noses. "Dead of the plague," they declared; and hurried home to make their wills.

The friends of the dead highwayman proved to the local world the strength and fearlessness of their friendship by claiming the body, and were allowed to coffin it and remove it. The coffin was duly interred, but not Nevison, for he stepped out at the first opportunity, and that very night, in the character of his own ghost, was robbing wayfarers, doubly terrified at this "supernatural" reappearance.

It was not long before the whole story leaked out. Then ensued perhaps the busiest period of his career. The drovers and farmers of Yorkshire were put under regular contribution by him and his gang: the carriers paid a recognised toll, in the form of a quarterly allowance, which at one and the same time cleared the road for them, and offered protection against any other highway marauders. Indeed, Nevison was in this respect almost a counterpart of those old German barons of the Rhine who levied dues on travellers, or in default hanged or imprisoned them. The parallel goes no greater distance than that, for those picturesque nobles were anything but the idols of the people; while Nevison was sufficiently popular to have become the hero of a rural ballad, still occasionally to be heard in the neighbourhood of his haunts at Knaresborough, Ferrybridge, York, or Newark. Here are two verses of it, not perhaps distinguished by wealth of fancy or resourcefulness of rhyme:

Did you ever hear tell of that hero,
Bold Nevison, that was his name?
He rode about like a bold hero,
And with that he gained great fame.

He maintained himself like a gentleman,
Besides, he was good to the poor;
He rode about like a great hero,
And he gained himself favour therefor.

A curious pamphlet survives, entitled _Bloody News from Yorkshire_, dated 1674, and telling how Nevison and twenty of his men attacked fifteen butchers, who were riding to Northallerton Fair, and engaged in a furious battle with them.

As an interlude to these more serious affairs, there is the story of how Nevison alone, going on a southerly expedition, met a company of canting beggars, mumpers, and idle vagrants, and proposed to join their "merry" life. Their leader welcomed his proposal, and indicated their course of life. "Do we not come into the world arrant beggars, without a rag upon us? And do we not all go out of the world like beggars, saving only an old sheet over us? Very well, then: shall we be ashamed to walk up and down the world like beggars, with old blankets pinned about us? No, no: that would be a shame to us indeed. Have we not the whole kingdom to walk in, at our pleasure? Are we afraid of the approach of quarter-day? Do we walk in fear of sheriffs, sergeants, and catchpoles? Who ever knew an arrant beggar arrested for debt? Is not our meat dressed in every man's kitchen? Does not every man's cellar afford us beer? And the best men's purses keep a penny for us to spend."

As a preliminary to electing him of their band, they asked him if he had any _loure_ in his _bung_. Seeing his ignorance of their cant phrases, they said the question was, "Had he any money in his purse?"

"Eighteenpence," said he, "and you're welcome to it."

This modest sum was, by unanimous vote, allocated for the purpose of a general booze, in celebration of his admission. The ceremony, the "gage of booze," as the historian of these things terms it, consisted in pouring a quart of beer over the head of the initiate, and the captain saying, "I do, by virtue of this sovereign liquor, install thee in the Roage, and make thee a free denizen of our ragged regiment, so that henceforth it shall be lawful for thee to cant, and to carry a doxy, or mort, along with thee, only observing these rules: first, that thou art not to wander up and down all countries, but to keep to that quarter which is allotted to thee; and, secondly, thou art to give way to any of us that have borne all the offices of the wallet before; and, upon holding up a finger, to avoid any town or country village where thou seest we are foraging for victuals for our army that march along with us. Observing these two rules, we take thee into our protection, and adopt thee a brother of our numerous society."

Having ended his oration, the captain bade Nevison rise, when he was congratulated by all the company hanging about him, like so many dogs about a bear, and making a hideous noise. The chief, silencing them, continued: "Now that thou art entered into our fraternity, thou must not scruple to act any villainies, whether it be to cut a purse, steal a cloak-bag or portmanteau, convey all manner of things, whether a chicken, sucking-pig, duck, goose, hen, or steal a shirt from the hedge; for he that will be a _quier cove_ (a professed rogue) must observe these rules. And because thou art but a novice in begging, and understandest not the mysteries of the canting language, thou shalt have a doxy to be thy companion, by whom thou mayest receive instructions."

Thereupon, he singled out a girl of about fourteen years of age, which tickled his fancy very much; but he must presently be married to her, after the fashion of their _patrico_, the priest of the beggars. The ceremony consisted of taking a hen, and having cut off the head, laying the dead body on the ground; placing him on one side and his doxy on the other. This being done, the "priest," standing by, with a loud voice bade them live together till death did them part. Then, shaking hands and kissing each other, the ceremony of the wedding was over, and the whole group appeared intoxicated with joy. They could hardly, at any rate, be intoxicated with booze, if eighteenpence had been all they had to spend on liquor, and a quart of that wasted.

Night approaching, they all resorted to a neighbouring barn, where they slept: Nevison slipping out secretly before morning, and continuing his journey.

Butchers and Nevison were antipathetic, and he and his gang had levied much tribute in Yorkshire upon their kind. In 1684, two butchers, brothers, Fletcher by name, tried to capture him near Howley Hall, Morley.

He shot one dead, and escaped. The spot is still marked by a stone near Howley Farm. Not long after this he was arrested at the "Three Houses" inn, at Sandal, near Wakefield.

He was at the time, and for long after, a popular hero. The butchers, the graziers, the farmers, the carriers might owe him a grudge, but the peasantry dwelt upon his real or his fancied generosity to the poor, and ballads about him always commanded a ready sale. According to a very popular example, entitled _Nevison's Garland_, he pleaded "Not Guilty":

And when then he came to the Bench,
"Guilty or not Guilty," they to him did cry,
"Not Guilty," then Nevison said,
"I'm clear e'er since the same Day,
That the King did my Pardon Grant,
I ne'er did rob anyone, nor kill
But that Fletcher in all my life,
'Twas in my Defence, I say still."

To commit murder in endeavouring to escape arrest was ever regarded by the highwaymen as a venial sin: a view not shared by the law, and he was found guilty, sentenced to death, and hanged within a week from his trial. He suffered at Knavesmire, York, May 4th, 1685, in the forty-fifth year of his age.

"He was something stupid at the gallows," says the old chronicler ("probably drunk," adds a later commentator), "yet he confess'd everything."

The older Nevison ballads, which had some little literary merit, as well as quaintness, to recommend them, have given place to vilely re-written verses that have not the merit of truth or of rhyme. This is how a typical example goes:

Oh! the Twenty-first day of last month,
Proved an unfortunate day;
Captain Milton was riding to London,
And by mischance he rode out of his way.

He call'd at a house by the roadside,
It was the sign of the Magpie,
Where Nevison had been drinking,
And the captain soon did he espy.

Then a constable very soon was sent for,
And a constable very soon came;
With three or four more in attendance,
With pistols charged in the King's name.

They demanded the name of this hero,
"My name it is Johnson," said he,
When the captain laid hold of his shoulder,
Saying "Nevison, thou goeth with me."

Oh! then in this very same speech,
They hastened him fast away,
To a place called Swinnington Bridge,
A place where he used for to stay.

They call'd for a quart of good liquor,
It was the sign of the Black Horse,
Where there was all sorts of attendance,
But for Nevison it was the worst.

He called for a pen, ink, and paper,
And these were the words that he said,
"I will write for some boots, shoes, and stockings,
For of them I have very great need."

'Tis now before my lord judge,
Oh! guilty or not do you plead;
He smiled into the judge and jury,
And these were the words that he said:

"I've now robbed a gentleman of two pence,
I've neither done murder nor kill'd,
But guilty I've been all my life time,
So, gentlemen, do as you will.

"It's when that I rode on the highway,
I've always had money in great store;
And whatever I took from the rich
I freely gave it to the poor.

"But my peace I have made with my Maker,
And with you I'm quite ready to go;
So here's adieu! to this world and its vanities,
For I'm ready to suffer the law."

JOHN COTTINGTON, _alias_ "MULLED SACK"

John Cottington, commonly known as "Mulled Sack," was the son of a drunken haberdasher in Cheapside, who wasted his substance to such an extent in drinking with fellow-tradesmen of like tastes, that he died in poverty and was buried by the parish. He seems to have been in every way an improvident person, for it is recorded that he left fifteen daughters and four sons. John, our present hero, was the youngest of these. At eight years of age he was bound apprentice by the overseers of the poor of the parish of St. Mary-le-Bow to a chimney-sweep, and served his master in the chimney-sweeping for five years. He then ran away, for he was by this time thirteen years of age, and considered himself grown up, and as fully informed in the art and mystery of chimney-sweeping as his instructor.

He soon acquired the nickname by which he is best known, from his fondness for mulled sack, morning, noon, and night. His earlier activities were exercised in that inferior branch of robbery known as pocket-picking, which does not, however, demand less skill and nerve (perhaps, indeed, it requires more) than was necessary in the nobler art of collecting upon the roads. He was one of the most expert cly-fakers and bung-snatchers in London, frequenting Cheapside and Ludgate Hill by preference; and is said to have been so successful that he stole "almost enough to have built St. Paul's Cathedral." This is, of course, an amiable, but extravagant exaggeration; but the exploits of all heroes, in all ages, have been similarly magnified, and why not those of "Mulled Sack"?

Among the most robust and uncompromising of the Royalists, he remained in England to war with the usurpers in his own way, while the Cavaliers had fled across the Channel. His warfare was happy, inasmuch as it emptied the pockets of the Commonwealth leaders, while it filled those of himself and his confederates. If he could not meet the enemies of the monarchy on the field, he could, and did, slip a sly hand into their pockets, and lighten them by many a gold watch and a guinea. One of his greatest achievements was the robbing of Lady Fairfax as she—wife of the famous general—was stepping from her carriage into the church of St. Martin, Ludgate, come to hear a famous preacher of that age.

"Mulled Sack" was that day dressed as a gentleman. He did not often affect the part, being a homespun fellow, and subdued from essaying fine flights by those easy experiences of swarming up the chimney-flues. But on this day he was unrecognisable for himself, in quiet, but rich dress. His associates were working with him, and had removed the pin out of the axle of her ladyship's coach, so that the heavy vehicle fell as it neared the church door. "Mulled Sack" pressed forward politely, to help her alight, and at the moment of her setting foot to pavement cut her watch-chain with a sharp pair of scissors, and gently removing the watch itself—a handsome gold one, set with diamonds—escorted her to the church door, raised his hat as gracefully as he could, and then disappeared in the crowd.

It was not until, wearied with an inordinately long sermon, she sought to discover the time, that she missed the watch.

"Mulled Sack" was less fortunate in an attempt he made to pick the august pocket of the Lord Protector, His Highness, Oliver, by the Grace of God—Oliver Cromwell, none other—as he was leaving the House of Parliament. He was caught in the attempt, and came near to being hanged for it. This put him so sadly out of conceit with the art to which he had given his best time, that he determined to forsake it for the sister craft of highway robbery, where a man was under no craven necessity to sneak, and crawl, and cringe, but boldly confronted his quarry, and with an oath, or with a jest—entirely according to temperament—rode up and demanded or "requested," or even, as was the fashion among the most flamboyantly politeful, "begged the favour of," the traveller's purse.

He at first worked the roads in company with one Tom Cheney, with whom, robbing upon Hounslow Heath, he encountered Colonel Hewson, a warrior of those times who had by his military genius raised himself from the humble station of a cobbler. The Colonel was upon the Heath with his regiment, riding some considerable distance away, but still within sight of his men, when the two highwaymen robbed him. A troop instantly gave chase; Cheney desperately defended himself, against eighteen, and was then overpowered and captured, but "Mulled Sack," flying like the wind upon his trusty horse, escaped. Cheney was severely wounded in the affray, and begged that his trial might be postponed on that account, but, as it was feared he might die of his wounds, and so escape hanging after all, he was hurriedly—and no doubt also illegally—condemned on the spot, and hanged there that same evening.

A certain Captain Horne was the next partner "Mulled Sack" took, and he too was similarly unfortunate in a like affair with that already described. An early and ignominious fate seemed to be the inevitable lot of those who worked with our heroic pickpocket turned highwayman, and either because the survivors grew shy of him in consequence, or because he thought it best to play a lone hand, he ever afterwards pursued a solitary career.

It was a successful career, so long as it was continued, and affords an example to the young of the substantial advantages to be derived from an industrious disposition, enthusiasm in the profession of one's adoption, and that thoroughness in leaving no stone unturned which should bring even only a moderately-equipped young man to the front rank of his profession. "Mulled Sack" left no unturned stone, no pocket (that was likely to contain anything worth having) unpicked, and no promising wayfarer unchallenged within the marches of the districts he affected. And what was the result of this early and late application to to business? Why, nothing less than the proud admission made by his admiring biographer, that "he constantly wore a watchmaker's and jeweller's shop in his pocket, and could at any time command a thousand pounds." How few are those who, in our own slack times, could say as much!

He wore the watches and jewellery he had taken on his rides just as old soldiers display the medals won in their arduous campaigns, and they implied not only the energy of the business man, but the pluck of the soldier on the battlefield. As the soldier fights for his medals, so "Mulled Sack" warred for his—or, rather, other people's—watches.

His greatest deed as a highwayman is that told by Johnson, of his waylaying the Army pay-waggon on Shotover Hill. Fully advised of the approach of this treasure-laden wain, he lurked on the scrubby side of that ill-omened hill over-looking Oxford—it was ever a place for robbers—and, just as the waggon started to toil painfully up, rose from his ambuscade with pistols presented to the head of the waggoner and to those of the three soldiers acting as escort.

It seems that there were also two or three passengers in the waggon, but "Mulled Sack" was as generous as the liquor whence he obtained his name, for he "told them he had no design upon them."

"'This,' says he, 'that I have taken, is as much mine as theirs who own it, being all extorted from the Publick by the rapacious Members of our Commonwealth to enrich themselves, maintain their Janizaries, and keep honest people in subjection.'"

The escort, never for a moment thinking it possible that one highwayman would have the daring to act thus, and dreading the onset of others, bolted like rabbits.

The Republican treasure thus secured by the enterprising "Mulled Sack" totalled £4000, and by so much the expectant garrison of Gloucester, for whom it was intended, for a while went short. Cottington was at this time but twenty years of age. Youth will be served!

It is sad to record a vulgar declension in the practice of "Mulled Sack." He stooped to shed blood, and murdered, as well as robbed a gentleman. With the guilt of Cain heavy on him, he fled to the Continent, and, by some specious pretence gaining access to the Court held by the fugitive Charles the Second, stole a quantity of valuable plate. Returning to England, a little later, he fell into the hands of the sheriff's officers who were keenly awaiting his reappearance, and he was executed at Smithfield Rounds in 1656, for the crime of murder, aged forty-five.

MAN BEING HANGED.]

THOMAS RUMBOLD

Thomas Rumbold, born about 1643, at Ipswich, was the son of the usual "poor but honest" parents, and was early apprenticed to a bricklayer in that town. But highly coloured stories of the wonders of London fired his imagination and set him to run away from home before little more than a quarter of his time had been served. He entered upon another kind of apprenticeship in London: nothing less than a voluntary pupilage with a thieves' fraternity; but very shortly left that also and set up for himself as a highwayman. He would seem to have had a career of about twenty-six years in this craft, before the gallows claimed him; so it is quite evident he had found his true vocation. A complete account of his transactions would doubtless make a goodly volume, but they are not recorded at proper length. The earlier years of his highway career seem to be completely lost, and the painstaking Smith, instead of showing us how he advanced from small and timid successes to larger and bolder issues, is obliged to plunge into the midst of his life and begin with an adventure which, if it is not indeed entirely apocryphal, can only have been the extravagant and stupid whim of a very impudent and ingenious fellow, long used to wayside escapades.

Rumbold travelled, says Smith, from London towards Canterbury, along the Dover Road, with the intention of waylaying no less a personage than Dr. Sancroft, the Archbishop, who was coming to London, as Rumbold had been advised, in his travelling chariot. Between Rochester and Sittingbourne he espied the carriage and its attendant servants in the distance, and, tying his horse to a tree, and spreading a tablecloth on the grass of a field open to the road, he sat himself down and began playing hazard with dice-box and dice, all by himself, for some heaps of gold and silver he placed conspicuously on the cloth. Presently the Archbishop's carriage creaked and rumbled ponderously by, in the manner of the clumsy vehicles of that time; and His Grace, curiously observing a man acting so strangely as to play hazard by himself, sent a servant to see what could be the meaning of it.

The servant, coming near, could hear Rumbold swearing at every cast of the dice, about his losses, and asked him what was the meaning of it. To this Rumbold made no reply, and the servant returned to the Right Reverend and informed him the man must surely be out of his wits.

Then the Archbishop himself alighted, and, looking curiously around, and seeing none but Rumbold, asked him whom he played with.

"D——n it, sir!" exclaimed the player, "there's five hundred pounds gone." Then, as His Grace was about to speak again, casting the dice once more, "There goes a hundred more."

"Pr'ythee," exclaimed the Archbishop, "do tell me whom you play with?"

"With the devil," replied Rumbold.

"And how will you send the money to him?"

"By his ambassadors, and considering your Grace as one of them extraordinary, I shall beg the favour of you to carry it to him." He rose, and walking to the carriage, placed six hundred guineas in it, mounted his horse, and rode off along the way he knew the Archbishop had to travel; and, both he and His Grace having refreshed at Sittingbourne, in different houses of entertainment, Rumbold afterwards took the road to London a little in advance of the carriage.

Halting at a convenient place, and placing himself on the grass, in the same manner as before, he again awaited the carriage, this time with but little money spread on the cloth.

The Archbishop again observed him, and this time really believing him to be a mad gamester, was about to make some remark, when Rumbold suddenly cried out joyfully, throwing the dice, "Six hundred pounds!"

"What!" exclaimed the Archbishop, "losing again?"

"No, by G—d!" returned Rumbold, "won six hundred pounds this time. I'll play this hand out, and then leave off, while I'm well."

"And whom have you won of?"

"Of the same person that I left the six hundred pounds for with you, before dinner."

"And how will you get your winnings, my friend?"

"Of his ambassador, to be sure," said Rumbold, drawing his sword. Thereupon, he advanced to the carriage with pistols and drawn sword, and, searching under the carriage-seat, found his own six hundred guineas, and fourteen hundred besides; with which forty pounds weight avoirdupois of bullion, we are gravely told, he got clear off.

The incident is, without a doubt, one of Smith's own inventions—and not one of the best. It serves to show us how entirely lacking in criticism he thought his public, to set before them, without any criticism of his own, such a tale, in which a highwayman who certainly could in real life have been no fool, to have held his own so long on the road, is made to act like an idiot without any advantage likely to be gained by so doing. We see him, in this preposterous story, taking the trouble to carry six hundred guineas with him and playing the fool needlessly, when he might just as well have gone with empty pockets and searched and robbed the carriage with equal success.

More easily to be credited is his robbing of the Earl of Oxford at Maidenhead Thicket. Rumbold was no exquisite, having, as we have already learnt, been merely a bricklayer's apprentice before he assumed the crape mask, and, mounting a horse and sticking a pair of pistols in his belt, took to the road. He often assumed the appearance of a rough country farmer; but he was, at the same time, always a man of expedient. To say of him that he had ostlers and chambermaids in his pay, to give him information of likely travellers, is but to repeat the practice of every eminent hand in the high-toby craft. On the occasion which led to his great exploit here, he had been lurking for some well-laden travellers, who, luckily for them, took some other route, and he was just on the point of riding moodily off when two horsemen rode up the hill. As they drew near he perceived that they were the Earl of Oxford and a servant. That nobleman knew Rumbold (how the acquaintance had been made we are not told), and so it was necessary for the highwayman to assume some sort of disguise. Here we perceive Rumbold's readiness of resource. He threw his long hair over his face, and, holding it in his teeth, rode up in this extraordinary guise and demanded the Earl's purse, with threats to shoot both if it was not immediately forth-coming.

That nobleman was Aubrey De Vere, twentieth and last Earl, the descendant of the old "fighting Veres" and colonel of the Oxford Blues, a regiment named after him, and not after the city of Oxford. Despite all these things, which might have made for valiance, he surrendered like the veriest woman, and submitted to the indignity of being searched. Rumbold rifled him, and at first found only dice and cards, until, coming to his breeches pockets, he turned out a "nest of goldfinches"; that is to say, a heap of guineas. Saying he would take them home and cage them, Rumbold recommended the Earl to return to his regiment and attend to his duty, giving him eighteenpence as an encouragement.

From these examples, it will readily be seen that Maidenhead Thicket did not obtain its ill repute without due cause.

A number of incredible stories of Rumbold are told, both by Smith and Johnson, who seem to have made up for the little real information we have of his more than twenty years' career by writing absolutely unconvincing fiction around him. He was at last executed at Tyburn in 1689.

"CAPTAIN" JAMES WHITNEY

There is much uncertainty about the parentage and the career of James Whitney. The small quarto tract entitled _The Jacobite Robber_, which professes to give a life of Whitney by one who was acquainted with him, says he was born "in Hertfordshire, of mean, contemptible parentage, about two years after the Restauration of King Charles." Smith particularises Stevenage as the place in Hertfordshire, and Johnson, who copies almost everything in Smith, also adopts Stevenage. Waylen, on the other hand, who wrote a singularly good and well-informed book on the highwaymen of Wiltshire, believed Whitney to have been a son of the Reverend James Whitney, of Donhead St. Andrews, and says the highwayman practised largely on Salisbury Plain.

The majority, believing in the Hertfordshire origin of Whitney, fortify their statements by very full and particular accounts of how he was apprenticed to a butcher at Hitchin. We have here an interpolated story of how he and his master went to Romford to purchase calves (Essex calves were so famous that a native of Essex nowadays is still an "Essex calf"). The owner of one particularly fine calf they greatly desired to purchase required too much for it. He happened to be also the keeper of an alehouse, as well as a stock-raiser. While the butcher and Whitney were refreshing themselves in the house and the butcher was grumbling because he could not buy the calf at what he considered a fair price, Whitney thought of an easier way, and whispered to his master that it would be foolish to give good money for the calf when it could be had for nothing. The butcher and Whitney thereupon exchanged knowing winks, and agreed to steal the calf that very night.

Unhappily for them, a man with a performing bear had in the meanwhile arrived, and the landlord, removing the calf from the stable where it had been placed, installed the bear in its place.

At last, night having fallen, master-butcher and apprentice paid their reckoning and prepared to go. Leaving the house, they loitered about until all was quiet, and then, the two approaching the outhouse where the calf had been, Whitney went in to fetch it. The bear was resting its wearied limbs when Whitney's touch roused it. He was astonished in the dark to feel the calf's hair was so long, and was still more astonished when he felt the animal rear itself up on its hind legs and put its arms lovingly round him. Meanwhile the butcher, wondering what could keep Whitney so long, began softly through the doorway to bid him be quick.

Whitney cried out that he could not get away, and he believed the devil himself had hold of him.