Chapter VIII: Part 8

Many members of the gang, he said, lived to all appearances respectably. Their general meeting-place was Bath. He added that it was on every account desirable that the messenger to the police at Bath, entrusted with these disclosures, should keep all these things secret, except to the Mayor; but some one had gossiped, for within one hour of his arrival those revelations were the talk of the town, and the names of those implicated in them were freely mentioned. The next day they were even printed, in accounts of the disclosures hastily struck off and sold in the streets. The very natural result was that most of the persons named escaped before justice could lay hands upon them. A list of nineteen not taken, and twelve in various gaols all over the country, is printed in the _Discoveries_.

Dr. Hancock's property was found and returned to him. His conduct was one of the most astonishing features in this amazing case, and reflected considerable discredit upon him; for although he visited Poulter in Ilchester gaol, before the trial, and assured the prisoner that although he was obliged to be a prosecutor, he would bear lightly upon the facts, and would in the event of a conviction use his best efforts to obtain the Royal pardon, he treacherously used every effort to secure his being hanged. There seems to have been no motive for this double-dealing, except his own natural duplicity. His treachery was thorough, for he even used his influence with the judge to obtain a shortening of the period between sentence and execution.

The trial and the revelations made by Poulter excited keen and widespread public interest, and the lengthy pamphlet account of them, entitled "The Discoveries of John Poulter, otherwise Baxter, apprehended for robbing Dr. Hancock on Clarken Down, near Bath," had a large and long-continued sale. A copy of the fourteenth edition, issued in 1769, fourteen years later, is in the British Museum library.

He was respited for six weeks, in consideration of the further disclosures he was to make, or of any evidence he might be required to give, and in this time, so moving was his tale, and so useful was the information he had given, that the corporations of Bath, Bristol, Exeter, and Taunton, together with numerous private gentlemen of considerable influence, petitioned that he might be reprieved. It is probable that these efforts would have been successful; but Poulter was an unlucky man, and at this particular crisis in his affairs happened in some way to rouse the ill-will of the gaoler, who was never tired, in all those days of suspense, of assuring him that he would certainly be hanged, and serve him right!

It is not surprising that, under these circumstances, the unhappy Poulter endeavoured to escape. With, the aid of a fellow-prisoner, committed to gaol for debt, he forced an iron bar out of a window, and the two, squeezing through the opening, broke prison at nightfall of Sunday, February 17th, 1755. They intended to make for Wales. All that night they walked along the country roads, Poulter with irons on his legs as far as Glastonbury, where he succeeded in getting them removed. When day came, they hid in haystacks, resuming their flight when darkness was come again. They next found themselves at Wookey, near Wells, much to their dismay, having intended to bear more towards the north-west. Poulter was by this time in a terribly exhausted condition, and his legs and ankles were so sore and swollen from the effects of being chafed with the irons he had walked with for ten miles, that it was absolutely necessary he should rest. He did so at an alehouse until two o'clock in the afternoon, and was about to leave when a mason at work about the place entered, and recognised him. Calling his workmen to help, he secured Poulter, who was then taken back to Ilchester. Nine days of his respite were left, but a strong and murderous animus was displayed against this most unfortunate of men, and it was decided to hang him out of hand. The execution could not, however, take place earlier without a warrant from London, and the trouble and expense of sending an express messenger to the local Member of Parliament, then in town, demanding his instant execution, were incurred, in order to cut shorter his already numbered days. The messenger must have been phenomenally speedy, for he is said to have returned with the warrant within twenty-four hours; and Poulter was at once taken out of his cell and hanged, February 25th, 1755.

PAUL LEWIS

Paul Lewis, who was, like Nicholas Horner, the son of a clergyman, was born at Hurst-monceaux, in Sussex, and was originally put to the profession of arms, and became an officer of artillery. The usual career of gambling and debauchery, so productive of highwaymen, led him first into difficulties with his creditors, and then caused him to desert from the army. He left one service only to enter another, for he joined the navy, and rose from the rank of midshipman to that of lieutenant.

None doubted his courage, nor, on the other hand, was there any mistaking his depravity. He robbed his brother officers of the small sum of three guineas, and made off with that meagre amount to begin the life of the road in the neighbourhood of Newington Butts. He levied contributions from a gentleman travelling in a chaise on this spot, but this, his initial effort, resulted in his capture. The plea of an _alibi_ set up for him, however, secured his acquittal. Later he was seized at night by a police-officer while in the act of robbing a Mr. Brown, whose horse he had frightened by discharging a pistol. Mr. Brown was flung violently to the ground, and Lewis was in the act of going over his pockets when Pope, the police-officer, who had been on the look-out for him, secured him, after a struggle.

Lewis was duly sentenced to death at the ensuing Sessions.

The Newgate Calendar, recounting all these things, says: "Such was the baseness and unfeeling profligacy of this wretch that when his almost heart-broken father visited him for the last time in Newgate, and put twelve guineas into his hand to repay his expenses, he slipped one of the pieces of gold into the cuff of his sleeve by a dexterous sleight, and then, opening his hand, showed the venerable and reverend old man that there were but eleven; upon which his father took another from his pocket, and gave it him to make the number intended. Having then taken a last farewell of his parents, Lewis turned to his fellow-prisoners, and exultingly exclaimed: "I have flung the old fellow out of another guinea!"

Lewis said he would die like a man of honour; no hangman should put a halter round his neck. He would rather take his own life. But this he had not, after all, sufficient courage to do. A knife he had secreted in his pillow fell out one day, either by accident or design, and was taken away from him. He was executed at Tyburn on May 4th, 1763, aged twenty-three.

THE WESTONS

The careers of George and Joseph Weston read like the imaginings of a romantic novelist, and, indeed, Thackeray adopted some of the stirring incidents of their lives in his unfinished novel, _Denis Duval_.

George Weston was born in 1753, and his brother Joseph in 1759; sons of George Weston, a farmer, of Stoke, in Staffordshire. Early in 1772, George was sent to London, where a place in a merchant's office had been secured for him, and there he was fortunate enough to be promoted to the first position, over the heads of all the others, upon the death of the chief clerk, eighteen months later. He was then in receipt of £200 a year, and on that amount contrived to take part pretty freely in the gaieties and dissipations of Vauxhall and similar resorts. At this period he introduced his brother Joseph to town, and also began a series of peculations in the office, in order to support the extravagances into which a passion for gambling and "seeing life" had led him. When he could no longer conceal his defalcations, he fled to Holland, and Joseph, suspected of complicity, was obliged to leave London.

Within three months George had returned to England in disguise. He made his way to Durham and there entered the service of a devout elderly lady of the Methodist persuasion. Pretending to have adopted the religious convictions of George Whitefield's followers, he affected the religious life, with the object of marrying the lady and securing her ample fortune. But he was recognised on the very eve of the wedding, and exposed. He then fled southward, with as much of the old lady's money and valuables as he could manage to secure at the moment.

But he speedily lost nearly all his plunder in backing outsiders at York and Doncaster races, and entered Nottingham with only one guinea. There he fell in with a company of strolling players, managed by one James Whiteley, who offered him the post of leading gentleman. He accepted it, and under the name of Wilford, remained with them a little while.

It was not a distinguished troupe, which perhaps accounts for his having been so promptly given a leading part in it. It consisted of two runagate apprentices, a drunken farrier, a stage-struck milliner, two ladies whose characters it were well not to study too closely, the manager's wife, a journeyman cobbler, a little girl seven years of age, and a stage-keeper, who alternated his stage-keeping with acting and barbering.

The theatre was a decrepit and almost roofless barn, and the stage consisted of loose boards propped up on empty barrels; while the scenery and the curtains were chiefly dilapidated blankets. Barn-storming in such pitiful circumstances did not suit our high-minded hero, who soon made his way to Manchester, where he became a schoolmaster, and a leading member of a local club, where he read the papers and conducted himself with such a show of authority that the parson, the lawyer, and the apothecary, who had before his coming disputed for pre-eminence over their fellow-members, yielded before his masterful ways. He shortly became High Constable, and soon began to abuse the position by blackmailing innkeepers and forging small drafts upon them. The more timid and easy-going submitted for a while to this, but others resented it in the very practical way of taking steps to secure his arrest. George then obeyed the instinct of caution and disappeared.

About the year 1774 the brothers met at a fair in Warwickshire, where Joseph had been playing the game of "hiding the horse," and had hidden three so effectively from their owners that he was presently able to sell them, unsuspected, for over £70. They then had thoughts of purchasing a farm, and travelled to King's Lynn, where, in the name of Stone, they lodged some time with a farmer. Pretending to be riders (_i.e._ travellers) to a London distiller, they wormed themselves into the confidence of the farmer and appointed him local agent for the non-existent firm, showing him tricks by which he would be able to water down the spirits he was to receive, and so cheat the retailers. On the strength of these confidences, they borrowed over a hundred pounds, and then decamped, leaving only their "sample bottles" of brandies and rums behind.

They thought it wise to travel far, and so made their way into Scotland, and in the name of Gilbert took a small farm, where they remained for only a few months, leaving secretly and at night with all the movables, and with two geldings belonging to a neighbour.

Cumberland had next the honour of affording them shelter. In October 1776 they were apprehended on a charge of forgery at Bishop's Castle, Shropshire, and must have received an altogether inadequate sentence, or perhaps escaped, for they are next found in Ireland, in the following summer, at Baltinglass, county Wicklow. They were shortly afterwards at Dublin, frequenting the clubs under the name of Jones. There they met a noted plunger of that time, one "Buck" English, and fooled him in the highest degree; cheating at hazard, and obtaining money from him in exchange for forged bills and drafts. At length, after a fierce quarrel with English, who fought with George in the Dublin streets and wounded him in the right hand, the Westons left for Holyhead. Landing there with plenty of ready money, they toured Wales at leisure; Joseph as "Mr. Watson," and George as his valet.

In May 1778 they were at Tenby. On leaving the inn, where they had stayed and run up a bill of £30, they paid the landlord with a forged cheque and departed grandly with the change, in a post-chaise and four. They then visited Brecon and Bideford; George now posing as master, in the name of Clark, and Joseph acting as Smith, his valet. Next they are found at Sutton Coldfield, then on the Sussex and Kentish coasts, where they purchased a vessel and became known to the fishermen of Folkestone, Deal, and Dover as the "Gentlemen Smugglers," trading between those parts and Dunkirk. They did very well, too, until an interfering Revenue cutter chased them and forced them to run their craft ashore.

After this exciting episode, they made their way to London, and led a fashionable life, strongly flavoured with gambling and forgery. George took a house in Queen Anne Street, and the two "commenced gentlemen," as we are told; George passing for a wealthy squire of sporting tastes. Hounds and whippers-in were almost daily at the door in the morning, and at night the rooms were filled with callow young men about town, attracted by the brilliant card-parties given—at which, it is scarcely necessary to add, they were thoroughly rooked.

The brothers lived here in great style, on the proceeds of forgery and cheating at cards. They induced a lady next door to lend a sideboard full of valuable silver plate, on the pretence that their own had not arrived from the country, and sold it; and, advertising largely that they were prepared to purchase plate, jewellery, and annuities, did, in fact, make several such purchases, paying for them in worthless bills. A good deal of the property thus obtained was stored at a residence they had hired at Beckenham, in the name of Green.

At length warrants were issued against them, and they fled to Scotland. At Edinburgh they posed as merchants trading with Holland, and acted the part with such complete success that they secured a considerable amount of credit. After forging and cashing numerous acceptances, they left for Liverpool, where, in the guise of "linen merchants," they repeated their Edinburgh frauds; and then, transferring themselves to Bristol, they became "African merchants." There they did a little privateering with one Dawson, but that, being legalised piracy, did not appeal to these instinctive criminals, to whom crime was a sport, as well as a livelihood.

London called them irresistibly, and they responded.

Riding up to town from Bristol to Bath, and then along the Bath Road, they overtook the postboy in the early hours of January 29th, 1781, driving the mail-cart with the Bristol mails, between Slough and Cranford Bridge, and bidding him "good night," passed him. Arriving at the "Berkeley Arms," Cranford Bridge, they halted for refreshment, and then turned back, with the object of robbing the mail.

George took a piece of black crape from his pocket and covered his face with it; and then they awaited the postboy.

Halting him, George ordered him to alight, and when he meekly did so, seized and bound him, and then flung him into a field. The two then drove and rode off to Windmill Lane, Sion Corner, and thence on to the Uxbridge road, through Ealing, and up Hanger Hill to Causeway Lane. There, in "Farmer Lott's meadow," they rifled the contents of the cart and took the bags bodily away.

Having disposed the mails carefully about their persons, they hurried off on horseback for London, to a house in Orange Street, near Piccadilly, where they were well known. The bags proved to contain between ten and fifteen thousand pounds, in notes and bills.

A clever plan for immediately putting a great part of the notes in circulation was at once agreed upon; and in the space of an hour or two, George left the house fully clothed in a midshipman's uniform, with Joseph following him dressed like a servant. They went to the "White Bear," in Piccadilly, and, hiring a post-chaise, set out upon what was nothing less than a hurried tour of the length and breadth of England; tendering notes at every stage, and taking gold in exchange. By way of Edgeware, they went to Watford, Northampton, Nottingham, Mansfield, Chesterfield, Sheffield, York, Durham, Newcastle, and Carlisle. Thence they returned, on horseback, by way of Penrith, Appleby, Doncaster, Bawtry, and Retford, to Tuxford, where they arrived February 1st. Putting up for a much-needed rest there, with an innkeeper well known to them, they were informed that the Bow Street runners had only that day passed through, in search of them, and had gone towards Lincoln.

Early in the morning, the Westons resumed their express journey, making for Newark, where they were favoured by some exclusive information from an innkeeper friend, which enabled them narrowly to escape the runners, who had doubled back from Lincoln.

Thence, post-haste, they went to Grantham, Stamford, and Huntingdon, to Royston, halting two hours on the way at the lonely old inn known as "Kisby's Hut."

At Ware they took a post-chaise and four, and hurried the remaining twenty miles to London; arriving at the "Red Lion," Bishopsgate, at eleven o'clock on the night of February 2nd. The officers of the law were not remiss in the chase, and were at the "Red Lion" only one hour afterwards.

Once in London, the brothers separated; Joseph taking another post-chaise, and George a hackney-coach. They were traced to London Bridge, but there all track of them vanished.

Meanwhile, the Post Office had issued a long and detailed notice of the robbery, and had offered a reward of two hundred pounds for the apprehension of the guilty person, or persons:

Post Office logo.]

"General Post Office, Jan. 29th, 1781.

"The Postboy bringing the Bristol Mail this morning from
Maidenhead was stop't between two and three o'clock by a single
Highwayman with a crape over his face between the 11th and 12th
milestones, near to Cranford Bridge, who presented a pistol to
him, and after making him alight, drove away the Horse and Cart,
which were found about 7 o'clock this morning in a meadow field
near Farmer Lott's at Twyford, when it appears that the greatest
part of the letters were taken out of the Bath and Bristol Bags,
and that the following bags were entirely taken away:—

Pewsy.
Ramsbury.
Bradford.
Henley.
Cirencester.
Gloucester.
Ross.
Presteign.
Fairford.
Aberystwith.
Carmarthen.
Pembroke.
Calne.
Trowbridge.
Wallingford.
Reading.
Stroud.
Ledbury.
Hereford.
Northleach.
Lechlade.
Lampeter.
Tenby.
Abergavenny.
Newbury.
Melksham.
Maidenhead.
Wantage.
Wotton-under-Edge.
Tewkesbury.
Leominster.
Cheltenham.
Hay.
Cardigan.
Haverfordwest.

"The person who committed this robbery is supposed to have had an
accomplice, as two persons passed the Postboy on Cranford Bridge
on Horseback prior to the Robbery, one of whom he thinks was the
robber; but it being so extremely dark, he is not able to give
any description of their persons.

"Whoever shall apprehend and convict, or cause to be apprehended
and convicted, the person who committed this Robbery will be
entitled to a reward of TWO HUNDRED POUNDS, over and above the
Reward given by Act of Parliament for apprehending Highwaymen;
or if any person, whether an Accomplice in the Robbery or
knoweth thereof, shall make Discovery whereby the Person who
committed the same may be apprehended and brought to Justice,
such discoverer will upon conviction of the party be entitled to
the Same Reward of TWO HUNDRED POUNDS and will also receive His
Majesty's most gracious Pardon.

"By Command of the Postmaster-General,

"ANTH. TODD, Sec."

It was soon ascertained that the Westons were the robbers, and careful descriptions of them were at once circulated:

"George Weston is about twenty-nine years of age, five feet seven
inches high, square-set, round-faced, fresh-coloured, pitted
with small-pox, has a rather thick nose, his upper lip rather
thick, his hair of lightest brown colour, which is sometimes
tied behind, and at other times loose and curled; has much the
appearance of a country dealer, or farmer. One of his thumb-nails
appears, from an accident, of the shape of a parrot's bill, and
he is supposed to have a scar on his right hand, from a stroke
with a cutlass."

The younger brother was just as closely described:

"Joseph Weston is about twenty-three years of age, five feet
nine inches high, slender made, of a fair and smooth complexion,
genteel person, has grey eyes and large nose with a scar upon it;
his hair is of a light brown colour, sometimes tied behind, at
other times loose and curled; his voice is strong and he speaks
a little through his nose; has a remarkable small hand and long
fingers."

While these descriptions were staring from every blank wall, George and Joseph were hiding, in disguise, in the Borough. They had a large amount of money, realised by their tremendous exertions over that long journey, and they added judiciously to their store by carrying on their business of lending money on plate and jewellery, and paying for the articles in the remaining notes stolen from the Bristol mail. The famous "Perdita" Robinson was one of those victimised in this way; and, as a contemporary account says, "lost her diamond shoebuckles which a certain Heir Apparent presented her with."

It was in October 1781, when paying for some lottery tickets in Holborn, with stolen notes, that George and Joseph became acquainted with two pretty girls, cousins, employed as milliners near Red Lion Square. George gallantly bought some shares for them, and in the evening took them to Vauxhall Gardens. The delighted girls were told the two gentlemen were Nabobs just returned from India; and, dazzled with the wealth they flung about, readily consented to go and live with them. They were soon, accordingly, all four in residence in a fine house near Brompton; George adopting the name of "Samuel Watson," and Joseph passing as "William Johnson."

They left Brompton for a while and migrated to Winchelsea, where they took the "Friars," a fine house with beautifully wooded grounds. The foremost furnishers in London, Messrs. Elliot & Co., of 97, New Bond Street, were given orders for furniture, cutlery, and a generous supply of plate, and from other firms they procured horses and carriages, finally establishing themselves at the mansion in December 1781. While in residence there the ladies conducted themselves with such propriety, and the gentlemen appeared so distinguished and so wealthy, that they soon moved in the best society of the neighbourhood. It did not, apparently, take long in those times, or in the neighbourhood of Winchelsea, for strangers to obtain a footing in local society, for all this short-lived social splendour began in December, and ended in the middle of the following April. The last, sealing touch of respectability and recognition was when George was elected churchwarden of the parish church in Easter 1782. From that pinnacle of parochial ambition, however, he and his were presently cast down, for Messrs. Elliot & Co., growing anxious about their unpaid bills for goods delivered, sent two sheriff's officers down to Winchelsea to interview the brothers. The officers met them at Rye on horseback, and endeavoured to arrest Joseph. When he refused to surrender, they tried to dismount him, but the two brothers overawed them by presenting pistols, and escaped; making their way back to Winchelsea, and thence travelling at express speed to London, in their own handsome chariot. Their identity with the Westons and the robbers of the mail was revealed in that encounter with the sheriff's officers, one of whom had observed George's peculiarly distorted thumb-nail. Information was thereupon given, and a redoubled search begun.

They went at once to their old hiding-place in the Borough, and might again have escaped detection had they been sufficiently careful. But, gambling for high stakes at the "Dun Horse," they quarrelled violently, and in the hearing of the ostler used some remarks that led him to suspect them. He communicated his suspicions to the police at Bow Street, and although they appear to have become uneasy and to have then left the Borough, they were traced on April 17th to Clements' Hotel, in Wardour Street. Mr. Clark, the officer sent to arrest them, met Mrs. Clements at the entrance and asked if two gentlemen of the description he gave were in the house. She said she would see, and went and warned them. Down they came, and, with pistols cocked and presented at him, walked past as he was standing in the passage, and, without a word, into the street. Once out of the house, they ran swiftly up Wardour Street, into Oxford Street, and then doubled into Dean Street and into Richmond Buildings. Unfortunately for them, this proved to be a blind alley, and an unpremeditated trap. They hurried out again, but already the mob was coming down the street after them, and they had only reached Broad Street when they were overtaken. Both fired recklessly upon the crowd; no one but a butcher-boy being hit, and he only slightly grazed under the left ear.

George was then knocked down by a carpenter, with a piece of wood. The carpenter, we learn, "afterwards jumping upon him, kept him down till his pistols were taken away."

Meanwhile Joseph had been vanquished in an equally unsportsmanlike way by a carrier, "who had a large stick, with which he beat him about the legs."

George was then pitched neck and crop, and still struggling, into a hackney coach; but Joseph, being more tractable, was permitted to walk to Bow Street, where, on being searched, he was found to have £240 in his pockets, all in bank-notes that had been stolen from the mail.

On the day of their arrest they gave a bill of sale to one Lucius Hughes, who disposed of plate to the amount of £2,500, at the price of old silver; and jewels to the value of £4,000 were said to have been sold to a Jew in St. Mary Axe.

After a preliminary examination, the brothers were committed to separate prisons: Joseph to Tothill Fields Bridewell, and George to the New Prison. They behaved with great insolence to the Bench, and seemed to build much upon the postboy having died since the robbery. In court they actually told Clark, who had arrested them, he was fortunate in still having his brains in his skull that morning. Their coachman and footman, attending upon them in the court, in livery, made an imposing show. They were then remanded, and their wenches were in the meanwhile arrested at Brompton, and appeared in court on the next hearing. No evidence being forthcoming against them, they were discharged; but the Westons were duly committed for trial, which began on May 15th, 1782.

They made a brave appearance in the dock, George being dressed quietly but fashionably, in black, with his hair finely curled in the latest style; while Joseph, whose taste was not so subdued, was radiant in a scarlet coat with gold buttons, and hair "queued à l'Artois."

The trial was unexpectedly postponed, on the application of counsel for the prosecution, owing to the death of Samuel Walker, and the difficulty of collecting sufficient evidence; and so they were taken back to Newgate. There they led a life typical of prison-life all over England in those days. They entertained their fellow-prisoners, gambled, and drank, and received their friends. They had plenty of money, and as Newgate was then no ill place for those whose pockets were well furnished, they were provided with every luxury that money could buy. Unfortunately, however, they were heavily ironed: the one circumstance that seared the souls of those gallant fellows. But, in spite of these encumbering circumstances, they dreamt of liberty, and a well-planned attempt to escape was made on July 2nd, the day before the opening of the new sessions.

Their faithful young women took breakfast with them that morning, and then left, whereupon one of the brothers called Wright, the warder on duty at the time, and asked him to get a bottle of port and make a bowl of negus for some expected company. He then handed him a guinea.

Wright had no sooner gone about this business than they slipped off their fetters, which they had secretly and with much labour, filed through. Then they calmly awaited the return of Wright, with the bowl. It was too large to go through the hatch of their locked and bolted door, as they had foreseen, and Wright was persuaded to unlock and open the door and bring it in. When he had done so, the jovial highwaymen hospitably invited him to take the first drink, and while he was engaged in thus pleasing himself and themselves at the same time, they made suddenly at him and pushed him violently over; then slamming the door and fastening it securely upon him.

An old woman who sold porter and such-like plebeian drinks to the meaner prisoners, was at the head of the stone stairs up which they then rushed, and stood still with amazement at sight of them, whereupon they overset her and her cans, and then, by a short passage-way, came to the outer door. They were each armed with a pistol, which their thoughtful girls had smuggled into their cell. Escaping with them were also one Lepierre, a suspected spy, and a certain Francis Storey.

The warder whose post was at this doorway was at that moment washing down the steps. At once the fugitives flung themselves upon him, and downed him as he shouted "Stop thief!" The cry was heard, and by the time the Westons had emerged upon the street, they were followed by a "runner," John Owens by name. The brothers very cleverly separated; Owens following George, who ran into Newgate Street, doubled into Warwick Lane, and made for Newgate Market. Here, however, he was felled by the fist of a market-porter, but struggled again to his feet, and desperately resisted until Owens and a crowd of excited spectators arrived and dragged him back to Newgate.

Joseph was not more fortunate, and had only reached Cock Lane when his flight also was stopped by a market-porter, one John Davis, who flung down a sack of peas in his path. This Joseph easily avoided, but Davis then laid hold of him by the collar.

"Let go!" said the highwayman, "or I will shoot you."

The porter did not let go, and Joseph fired and hit him in the neck. But Davis held on until the crowd closed in, and Joseph also was soon in his cell again.

So, too, was Lepierre, who was taken in Newgate Street. Storey was more successful, and escaped altogether, although he had fetters on his legs. The crowd, seeing him calmly walking along, thought he was being re-conducted to gaol, and so did not interfere with him.

The brothers were brought to trial on July 6th, 1782, charged with robbing the Bristol mail near Cranford Bridge, on January 29th, 1781. Over a hundred witnesses appeared for the prosecution, among them, people who had been given stolen notes by them. But the postboy, Samuel Walker, having died, the prosecution failed.

They were then charged with forgery in respect of the notes and bills stolen: George being convicted and sentenced to death. Joseph was acquitted, but was then charged in the third instance with maliciously wounding John Davis, for which he was found guilty and condemned. They were executed at Tyburn on September 3rd, 1782.

Clothed quietly but fashionably in black, they went to the place of execution in two carts, in company with several other condemned criminals, but held themselves haughtily apart, as "gentlemen" should. They refused the ministrations of the Ordinary, declaring themselves to be Roman Catholics; and died firmly, and without any appearance of contrition.

JACK RANN: "SIXTEEN-STRING JACK"

John Rann, better known as "Sixteen-string Jack," was born in the neighbourhood of Bath, midway in the eighteenth century. As a boy he earned a meagre but honest living by peddling articles of everyday household consumption in the villages round about. He and his donkey were well remembered in after years, and aroused the envious anticipations of other small boys who, reckless of the appointed end of highwaymen, looked forward to some happy day when they too might perhaps blossom out from such obscure beginnings into such fame as his. He was but twelve years of age when his handsome face attracted the attention of a lady prominent in the neighbourhood. She offered him a situation, and he gratefully accepted. A little later we find him in London, occupied as a stable-helper in Brooke's Mews. From that he became a postilion, and then an officer's servant. About the year 1770 he was coachman to a gentleman living in the neighbourhood of Portman Square, and was at one time in the service of the Earl of Sandwich. In this situation he obtained the nickname of "Sixteen-string Jack," from the bunches of eight parti-coloured ribbons he gaily wore at the knees of his breeches; but by some intimates it was supposed that these "sixteen strings" were a covert allusion to his having been sixteen times arrested and charged, but on as many occasions acquitted. Such were the legends that enwrapped the career of him whom Dr. Johnson described as "above the common mark" in his line.

It was this love of finery that led to the undoing of Jack Rann, but before it sent him down into the company of those who lived by their wits, employed in unlawful enterprises, it raised him to better situations. For Rann was a tall, smart fellow, and good clothes well became him.

But flowered-satin waistcoats, and full-skirted damasked coats of silk, elaborately embroidered, are not paid for out of a coachman's wages, and Rann soon found himself deeply in debt. And, moreover, of what possible use are brave costumes, but to flaunt and flourish about in? And when you do so flourish, you must needs go the pace altogether. There were excellent companions in those places to which Rann most resorted, as a gentleman of fashion, at Vauxhall, and elsewhere; and there were the card-tables, where he had a passing run of luck; and there were the women. In spite of being pitted somewhat with the small-pox, he was still a handsome fellow, and he played the very Cupid with the girls.

All these items totted up to a very costly sum-total, and the gaming-tables did not long stand him in good stead. At the moment when he was in the sorest straits, he became acquainted with three men: Jones, Clayton, and Colledge (this last known as "Eight-string Jack"), in whose company he very speedily grew more and more reckless, and at last was dismissed from his situation with a long-suffering nobleman, and refused a character. Thus turned adrift upon the world, he began, with those three companions, a career of pocket-picking, and thence drifted by easy stages into the society of highwaymen and of receivers of stolen goods.

In these circles there moved at that time a certain Eleanor Roche, originally a milliner's apprentice, but who, from a somewhat unfortunate friendship with an officer of the Guards, had declined upon the condition of "fence," and generally, the fair friend and ally of the nimble-fingered, and the speakers with travellers on the highways. Jack Rann was a free-lover. Pretty faces, rosy lips, infallibly attracted him, and although he loved his Nelly best, he scarce knew the meaning of faithfulness.

But to Ellen Roche, "Sixteen-string Jack" was her own Jack, her hero; and when once she had met him, she had eyes for none other.

Rann was first in custody in April 1774, at the Old Bailey, in company with two others, named Clayton and Shepherd, on a charge of robbing William Somers and Mr. Langford on the highway. All three were acquitted, but on May 30th Rann was at Bow Street, charged with robbing Mr. John Devall of his watch and money, near the ninth milestone on the Hounslow Road. It was the watch brought him there. The gallant Rann had brought it back with him from the road—just as the hunter, home from the hill, returns with the day's spoil to his domestic circle. He handed it to Ellen, who in turn sent out a certain Catherine Smith to offer it in pledge with the nearest pawnbroker. The pawnbroker, distrustful man, sent for the police, who, seeing at once that Catherine Smith was merely an intermediary, apprehended Rann and Ellen.

"Sixteen-string Jack" made a proud, defiant figure in the dock before Sir John Fielding. He was dressed not only in, but in advance of the fashion. He was in irons, but the grimness of those fetters was disguised in the blue satin bows in which they were tricked out, and in his fine coat he carried a nosegay as big as a birch-broom. Beside him, but not so collected as he, stood Ellen, charged with receiving.

Ellen Roche had, indeed, lost her nerve altogether when Catherine Smith deposed to having been told by her how Rann was expected home that evening with some money; that he returned about ten o'clock, when Roche told her he had brought ten guineas and a watch, and that she was sent out to pawn the watch. Crying, and hardly aware of what she was doing, Ellen at the first hearing owned that Rann had given her the watch, and the two were thereupon committed.

At the trial, after having had plenty of time for reflection, she stoutly declared that she never before had set eyes upon him, and that her former evidence was a mistake!

Jack himself carried it off bravely, and, indeed, insolently. "I know no more of the matter than you do," he replied to Sir John Fielding, and added impudently, "nor half so much, neither."

The prosecution, on some technicality, broke down, and the pair were released. They celebrated the happy occasion by dining extravagantly and then spending the evening at Vauxhall, where Rann was the gayest of the gay, and returned home with two watches and three purses.

An absurd burglary charge brought him into the dock again, that July. The watch discovered him half-way through the window of a house in which lodged one Doll Frampton, and not only hauled him out, but marched him off to prison; but it appeared that he was only keeping an appointment to supper with the weary Doll, who, tired of waiting for him, had gone to bed. The Bench, assured of as much by the shameless minx herself, dismissed the charge, and, in addition to some pertinent remarks about this unconventional method of entry, gave him some excellent advice on conduct. Although Rann had escaped so far, Sir John Fielding said, his profession was perfectly well known, and he urged the prisoner to leave his evil courses while yet there was time.

So far from paying attention to this well-meant discourse, Rann put in an appearance the next Sunday, not with Doll, but with Ellen, at Bagnigge Wells, then a famous place for dining and drinking. They drove thither in a carriage and dressed—in the slang phrase—"up to the nines." Jack was splendid in a scarlet coat, tambour waistcoat, white silk stockings, and a laced hat. Of course there flew at his knees the already famous sixteen strings.

He was by nature boastful, and when the drink was in him bragged without restraint or ordinary prudence. On this occasion he drank freely, and, with an oath, declared himself a highwayman. Rather more of a pickpocket, perhaps. The company trembled: some sought the way out. "No fear, my friends," quoth he, "this is a holiday." Then he fell to quarrelling, and presently lost a ring from his finger, and declared those present had stolen it. Then again his mood changed. "'Tis no matter," he exclaimed; "'tis but a hundred guineas gone, and one evening's work will replace it." Then, growing more drunken and incapable, they threw him out, and he was not in a fit condition to resist. So, Ellen—the gentle Ellen—scratching the faces of the foremost, as they were put out, they drove back to their lodgings near Covent Garden.

"Fine treatment for a gentleman!" he hiccupped; and indeed a gentleman he considered himself. But his highwayman's takings, large though they occasionally were, did not keep pace with his gentlemanly expenses. Debts accumulated, and sheriff's officers dogged his footsteps. He was arrested for a debt of £50, and thrown into the Marshalsea prison; but so much of a hero had he already become among those of his calling that they clubbed together and liquidated the debt; and handsome Jack was again free.

The sheriff's officers he affected to regard as low, churlish fellows, but they would not be denied. His creditors were soon after him again, and he was arrested when drinking in an alehouse in the then suburban Tottenham Court Road. He shrank with horror from the touch of the two "vulgar" bailiffs, but there was little help for it. He must pay up, or be taken up. His drinking-companions found between them three guineas, and he gave up his watch. Together, these involuntary contributions made up more than the amount due. The bailiffs, on their part, agreed to refund the balance when Rann was sufficiently in funds to redeem the ticker; and cordiality then reigned. "Lend me five shillings," said Rann to the bailiffs, "and I will treat you to a bowl of punch." They fell in with the proposal, and a merry carouse ensued. Such were the manners and customs of about a hundred and forty years ago.

Still, in the course of this merry evening, the subject of the manner peculiar to bailiffs recurred to our Jack and rankled. "You have not," he grumbled, "treated me like a gentleman. When Sir John Fielding's people come after me, they only hold up a finger, beckon, and I follow like a lamb. There's your proper civility!"

It was soon after this that he visited Barnet races, fashionably dressed; with waistcoat of blue satin trimmed with silver, and other finery to match. Crowds followed him, eager to set eyes upon so famous a person. Shortly afterwards, with perhaps some melancholic foreshadowing of approaching doom, he attended a public execution at Tyburn. In spite of opposition, he thrust through the ring formed by the constables round the gallows. "For," said he, "perhaps it is very proper I should be a spectator on this occasion." Why, he did not say, but the inference was understood by some of the crowd.

In September 1774 he was arrested, together with one William Collier, for a robbery on the Uxbridge road, and brought the next Wednesday before Sir John Fielding, when Dr. Bell, chaplain to the Princess Amelia, gave evidence that, between three and four o'clock in the afternoon of Monday, when taking horse-exercise near Ealing, he observed two men of mean (!) appearance and suspicious looks, who rode past him. Presently, one of them—he thought it was Rann—turned his horse's head and demanded his money. "Give it me," he said, "and take no notice, or I'll blow your brains out!"

Dr. Bell handed over one shilling and sixpence, all he had about him, and a common watch in a tortoiseshell case. So much tremendous bluster, so paltry a booty: so poor a thing for which to throw away a life. For that day's doings served to bring Rann to the gallows.

That evening, Ellen Roche and her servant took the watch to pawn with one "Mr. Cordy," in the Oxford Road, or, as we should now say, Oxford Street. Cordy was a suspicious man. He communicated with the watchmaker, Grigman by name, of Russell Street, Covent Garden, who had made it for Dr. Bell, who, when called upon, told how he had parted with it.

The next day, Jack Rann and his doxy were arrested, and with them Collier and Ellen Roche's servant, Christian Stewart. They all figured in Bow Street dock, and later appeared on trial at the Old Bailey.

Handsome Jack was no less a dandy on this occasion than he had been on others, and he took the centre of the stage in his drama with a fine air. To be sure, there were none who envied him the principal part. He was dressed in pea-green coat and waistcoat, with unblemished white buckskin breeches, and again his hat was silver-laced. He stood there with every assurance of acquittal, and had taken thought to order a splendid supper, wherewith to entertain his friends that evening, to celebrate his release. But, as the grey day wore on, he grew less confident. Dr. Bell's evidence was again taken, and a Mr. Clarke told how, going to Miss Roche's lodging on that Monday night of the robbery, he found two pairs of men's boots there, in a wet and dirty condition, having evidently been worn that day. A Mr. Haliburton also swore that he had waited at Miss Roche's lodgings that night until Rann and Collier arrived.

William Hills deposed that he was servant to the Princess Amelia. He had observed Rann, whom he knew well by sight, ascend the hill at Acton, about twenty minutes before the robbery was committed.

This spot would be about where the Police Station now stands, in the main road: less troubled nowadays with highwaymen than with electric tram-cars.

In the end, Rann was found guilty and sentenced to die. Collier was also found guilty, but recommended to mercy, and was afterwards respited. Ellen Roche was sentenced to fourteen years' transportation, and her servant was acquitted.

Thus the supper grew cold and was not eaten. The brave figure moved in pea-green glory to his prison cell, and hoped there for a rescue that never came. His last days were full-packed with the revelry the lax prison regulations of the age permitted, and on Sunday, October 23rd, he had seven girls to dine with him in gaol; and he the gayest of the party. "Let us eat, drink, and be merry, for to-morrow we die." Or, at any rate, in a month's time. So, with an air and a jest, behold him on the fatal day, November 30th, 1774, the most admired figure in the three-miles' journey from Newgate to Tyburn. Was it the cold November air made him shiver, or the shadow of death, as, ladies' man to the last, he raised his hat to the crowded windows lining Holborn and thought how he would never come back? Whatever it was, it was no more than involuntary: for, arrived at the fatal tree, he ended manfully in his finery and his famous sixteen strings.

ROBERT FERGUSON—"GALLOPING DICK"

Robert Ferguson, who in after life became famous as "Galloping Dick," was a native of Hertfordshire. His father, a gentleman's servant, proposed a like career for him, and had a mental picture of his son gradually rising from the position of stable-boy, in which he was placed, to that of coachman. In such respectable obscurity would Robert have lived and died, had his own wild nature not pioneered a career for him. He had proved a dull boy at school, but proud, and out of school-hours showed a strange original spirit of daring, so that he was generally to be found captaining his fellows in some wild exploit.

As a stable-boy, however, he proved efficient and obedient, and was found presentable enough to take the postilion's place when the regular man had fallen ill, on the eve of the family's journey to London in their chariot. He performed that task to the satisfaction of every one, but the other servant recovered, and the lad was obliged to return to his stables and work in shirt sleeves or rough stable-jacket, instead of titupping in beautifully white buckskin breeches, silk jacket, and tall beaver hat, on one of the leading horses that drew the carriage to town. The return to an inferior position through no fault of his own was a bitter disappointment, and he determined to seek another situation.

Oddly enough, at this juncture of affairs, a neighbouring lady who was in want of a postilion chanced to ask the family who employed young Robert what had become of their smart young man, and, when informed of the situation, engaged him.

At this time he was close upon twenty years of age. Described as being by no means handsome, he was of a cheerful and obliging temperament, and might have long retained the post, had his employer not discovered him in a discreditable love-affair with one of the maid-servants. He was dismissed, but soon found another situation: but he never afterwards kept a place for any length of time. Roystering companions unsettled him and made him undesirable as a postilion.

Coming up to London, he found employment in a livery-stable in Piccadilly, but presently his father died and he found himself the owner of his savings, amounting to £57. Alas! poor Robert. He had never before possessed at one time the half of what he had now, and he acted as though the sum of £57 was an endowment for life. He threw up the Piccadilly livery-stable, and came out upon the world as a "gentleman"; or in other words, ruffled it in fine clothes in fashionable places. He frequented theatres in this novel character, and seems to have impressed a number of perhaps not very critical people. Amongst these was a dissolute woman whom he met at Drury Lane. She believed him to be a man of wealth, and sought to obtain a share of it. Ferguson flung away all his money on her. It could not have been a difficult task, one would say, nor have occupied him long. And when all the money was gone, he went back, sadder possibly, but still not wiser, to his livery-stable situation in Piccadilly, as postilion. It was in this employment that he observed the debonair gentlemen who had been his rivals in the affections of this woman calling upon her, and received, where he had been thrust forth with contumely when his money was at an end, and when she discovered that he was no man about town, but only one who got his living in the stables. False, perfidious Nancy!

It was some time before the true character of those visitors was revealed to him; but one day, acting as a postilion on the Great North Road, the chaise he was driving was stopped by two highwaymen, duly masked. One stood by the horses, while his companion robbed the occupants of the chaise. It was a windy day, and a more than usually violent gust blew the first highwayman's mask off. Instantly Ferguson recognised the man who stood by the horses as one of his Nancy's visitors.

Seeing this, the unmasked robber perceived, clearly enough, that the situation was peculiarly dangerous, and, when he had galloped off with his companion, laid the facts before him. They agreed that there was nothing for it but to await Ferguson's return at a roadside inn, and to bribe him to silence. There, accordingly, they remained until the chaise on its return journey drew up at the door.

Two gentlemen, said the landlord, particularly desired to see the postilion. He entered and accepted a price for his silence; further agreeing to meet them that night at supper in the Borough. Meeting there, according to arrangement, Ferguson was persuaded to throw in his lot with the highway blades. His imagination took fire at the notion of riding a fine horse, and, dressed in handsome clothes, presenting a figure of romance; but his new-found friends were cool men of business, and had nothing of that kind in view for their fresh associate. To cut a fine figure was, no doubt, all very well, but the more important thing was to know which travellers were worth robbing, and which were not. If they could be reasonably well advised on that point, much useless effort, and a considerable deal of risk, would be avoided, in not stopping those whose pockets were so nearly next to empty as to be not worth "speaking to" on the road. Their idea was that Ferguson should continue in his employment of postilion, and, as a confederate, keep them well informed of the movements of his clients.