Chapter II: Part 2

After writing this he went privately into the widow’s closet and secured all her ready money, which amounted to above three hundred pounds; then, going into the stable, saddled his horse, mounted, and rode out at the back door, leaving the family fast asleep, and the widow and the gentleman lover to prosecute their amours as they thought fit.

Witherington, not yet content with the spoil obtained from the parish and from the widow, repaired to the London road, where he perpetrated a robbery between Acton and Uxbridge; after which he was detected and committed to Newgate, where he led a most profligate life till the day of his execution.

He was executed with Jonathan Woodward and James Philpot, two most notorious housebreakers, who had once before received mercy from king James I. upon his accession to the throne. One of the name of Elliot, the son of a respectable lady then living, was condemned at the same time, but afterwards pardoned. This individual, thus restored to society by the royal clemency, afterwards became a worthy citizen and a good Christian. Out of compassion for other criminals, and in acknowledgment of the king’s favor, his mother, upon her death-bed, bequeathed a handsome sum to the parish of St. Sepulchre’s in London, upon the condition of finding a man who should always, between the hours of eleven and twelve o’clock of the night previous to the execution of any unhappy criminal, go under Newgate, and, giving notice of his approach by the ringing of a bell, remind the prisoners of their approaching end, by repeating religious exhortations, tending to prepare them for death. Witherington and his companions in death were the first to whom these exhortations were given; and as the design is truly benevolent, and as they are often fraught with incalculable blessings to the guilty, we will gratify our readers by the insertion of them, and with this close the life of Witherington.

The person appointed, after inquiring of the criminals if they are awake, and being answered in the affirmative, proceeds thus:

“Gentlemen, I am the unwelcome messenger who comes to inform you that to-morrow you must die. Your time is but short, the time slides away apace, the glass runs fast, and the last sand being now about to drop, when you must launch out into boundless eternity, give not yourselves to sleep, but watch and pray to gain eternal life. Repent sooner than St. Peter, and repent before the cock crows, for now repentance is the only road to salvation; be fervent in this great duty, and without doubt you may to-morrow be with the penitent thief in paradise. Pray without ceasing; quench not the spirit; abstain from all appearance of evil; as your own wickedness hath caused all this to fall upon you, and brought the day of tribulation near at hand, so let goodness be your sole comfort, that your souls may find perpetual rest with your blessed Savior who died for the sins of the world; he will wipe all tears from your eyes, remove your sorrows, and assuage your grief, so that your sin-sick souls shall be healed for evermore. I exhort you earnestly not to be negligent of the work of your salvation, which depends upon your sincere devotion betwixt this and to-morrow, when the sword of justice shall send you out of the land of the living. Fight the good fight of faith, and lay hold of eternal life whilst you may, for there is no repentance in the grave. Ye have pierced yourselves with many sorrows, but a few hours will bring you to a place where you will know nothing but joy and gladness. Love righteousness and hate iniquity, then God, even your God, will anoint you with the oil of gladness above your fellows. Go now boldly to the throne of grace, that ye may obtain mercy and find grace to help in time of need. The God of peace sanctify you wholly! and I pray God, your whole spirits, and souls, and bodies, may be preserved blameless, until the meeting of your blessed Redeemer! The Lord have mercy upon you! Christ have mercy upon you! Sweet Jesus receive your souls! and to-morrow may you sup with him in paradise! Amen! Amen!”

Next day, when they were to die, the bell on the steeple was tolled, and the cart stopped under the churchyard wall at St. Sepulchre’s, where the same person related from the wall the following additional exhortation:

“Gentlemen, consider, now you are going out of this world into another, where you will live in happiness or woe for evermore. Make your peace with God Almighty, and let your whole thoughts be entirely bent upon your latter end. Cursed is he that hangeth on a tree; but it is hoped the fatal knot will bring your precious souls to a union with the great Creator of heaven and earth, to whom I recommend your souls, in this your final hour of distress. Lord have mercy upon you! Christ look down upon you and comfort you! Sweet Jesus receive your souls this day into eternal life! Amen!”

JAMES BATSON.

This famous robber was born in the first year of James the First. It so happens (although perhaps the circumstance is no very satisfactory evidence of the authenticity of his adventures) that he is his own historian; we are accordingly compelled, in default of other particulars, to lay his auto-biography before our readers.

“I suppose,” says he, “that, according to custom, the reader will expect some relation of my genealogy, and as I am a great admirer of fashion, I shall gratify his curiosity. My grandfather had the good fortune to marry a woman well skilled in vaulting and rope-dancing, and who could act her part uncommonly well. Though above fifty years of age, and affected with the phthisic, she died in the air. To avoid seeing other women fly as she had done, her husband would not marry again; but diverted himself with keeping a puppet-show in Moorfields, deemed the most remarkable that ever had been seen in that place. My grandfather was also so little, that the only difference between him and his puppets was, that they spoke through a trunk, and he without one. He was, however, so eloquent, and made such lively speeches, that his audience were never rendered drowsy. All the apple-women, hawkers, and fish-women, were so charmed by his wit, that they would run to hear him, and leave their goods without any guard but their own straw hats.

“My father had two trades, or two strings to his bow; he was a painter and a gamester, and master much alike at both; for his painting could scarcely rise so high as a sign-post, and his hand at play was of such an ancient date, that it could scarcely pass. He had one misfortune, which, like original sin, he entailed upon all his children; and that was, his being born a gentleman, which is as bad as being a poet, few of whom escape eternal poverty.

“My mother had the misfortune to die longing for mushrooms. Besides myself she left two daughters, both very handsome and very young; and though I was then young myself, yet I was much better skilled in sharping than my age seemed to promise. When the funeral sermon was preached, the funeral rites performed, and our tears dried up, my father returned to his daubing, my sisters to their stitching, and I was despatched to school. I had such an excellent memory, that though my dispositions were then what they have continued to be, yet I soon learned as much as might have been applied to better purposes than I have done. My tricks upon my master and my companions were so numerous, that I obtained the honorable appellation of the Little Judas. My avaricious disposition soon appeared, and if my covetous eyes once beheld any thing, my invention soon put it into my possession. These, however, I could not obtain gratis, for they cost me many a boxing bout every day. The reports of my conduct were conveyed home, and my eldest sister would frequently spend her white hands upon the side of my pate; and sometimes even carried her admonitions so far, as politely to inform me, that I would prove a disgrace to the family.

“It was my good fortune, however, not to be greatly agitated by her remonstrances, which went in at the one ear and out at the other. It happened, however, that my adventures were so numerous, and daily increasing in their magnitude, that I was dismissed the school with as much solemnity as if it had been by beat of drum. After giving me a complete drubbing, my father carried me to a barber, in order to be bound as his apprentice. I was first sent to the kitchen, where my mistress soon provided me with employment, by showing me a parcel of dirty clothes, informing me, that it made part of the apprentice’s work to clean them: ‘Jemmy,’ said she, ‘mind your heels, there’s a good boy!’ I hung down my head, tumbled all the clouts into a trough, and washed them as well as I could. I so managed the matter, that I was soon discarded from my office, which was very fortunate for me, for it would have put an end to Jemmy in less than a fortnight.

“The third day of my apprenticeship, my master having just given me a note to receive money, there came into the shop a ruffian with a pair of whiskers, and told my master he would have them turned up. The journeyman not being at hand, my master began to turn them up himself and desired me to heat the irons. I complied, and just as he had turned up one whisker, there happened a quarrel in the street, and my master ran out to learn the cause. The scuffle lasting long, and my master desirous to see the end as well as the beginning of the bustle, the spark was all the time detained in the shop, with the one whisker ornamented, and the other hanging down like an aspen leaf. In a harsh tone he asked me, if I understood my trade; and I, thinking it derogatory to my understanding to be ignorant, boldly replied that I did; ‘Why, then,’ said he, ‘turn up this whisker for me, or I shall go into the street as I am, and kick your master.’ I was unwilling to be detected in a lie, and deeming it no difficult matter to turn up a whisker, never showed the least concern, but took up one of the irons, that had been in the fire ever since the commencement of the street bustle, and having nothing to try it on, and willing to appear expeditious, I took a comb, stuck it into his bristly bush, and clapped the iron to it: no sooner did they meet, than there arose a smoke, as if it had been out of a chimney, with a whizzing noise, and in a moment all the hair vanished. He exclaimed furiously, ‘Thou son of a thousand dogs! dost thou take me for St. Lawrence, that thou burnest me alive!’ With that he let fly such a bang at me, that the comb dropped out of my hand, and I could not avoid, in the fright, laying the hot iron close along his cheek: this made him give such a shriek as shook the whole house, and he, at the same time, drew his sword to send me to the other world. I, however, recollecting the proverb, that ‘One pair of heels is worth two pair of hands,’ ran so nimbly into the street, and fled so quickly from that part of the town, that though I was a good runner, I was amazed when I found myself about a mile from home, with the iron in my hand, and the remainder of the whisker sticking to it. As fortune would have it, I was near the dwelling of the person who was to pay the note my master gave me: I went and received the money, but deemed it proper to detain it in lieu of my three days’ wages.

“This money was all exhausted in one month, when I was under the necessity of returning to my father’s house. Before arriving there, I was informed, that he was gone to the country to receive a large sum of money which was due him, and therefore went boldly in, as if the house had been my own. My grave sisters received me very coldly, and severely blamed me for the money which my father paid for my pranks. Maintaining, however, the honor of my birthright, I kept them at considerable distance. The domestic war being thus prolonged, I one day lost temper, and was resolved to make them feel the consequences of giving me sour beer; and, though the dinner was upon the table, I threw the dish at my eldest sister, and the beer at the younger, overthrew the table, and marched out of doors on a ramble. Fortunately, however, I was interrupted in my flight by one who informed me, that my father was dead, and in his testament had very wisely left me sole heir and executor. Upon this I returned, and soon found the tones and tempers of my sisters changed, in consequence of the recent news. I sold the goods, collected the debts, and feasted all the rakes in town, until not one farthing remained.

“One evening, a party of my companions carried me along with them, and, opening the door of a certain house, conveyed from thence some trunks, which a faithful dog perceiving, he gave the alarm. The people of the house attacked the robbers, who threw down their burdens to defend themselves: meanwhile, I skulked into a corner all trembling. The watch made their appearance, and seeing three trunks in the street, two men dangerously wounded, and myself standing at a small distance, they seized me as one concerned in the robbery. Next day I was ordered to a place of confinement, and could find no friend to bail me from thence. In ten days I was tried, and my defences being frivolous and unsatisfactory, I was about to be hoisted up by the neck, and sent out of the world in a swinging manner, when a reprieve came, and in two months a full pardon.

“After this horrible fright, (for I was not much disposed to visit the dwelling of my grandfather,) I commenced travelling merchant, and, according to my finances, purchased a quantity of wash-balls, toothpicks, and tooth-powders. Pretending that they came from Japan, Peru, or Tartary, and extolling them to the skies, I had a good sale, particularly among the gentry of the playhouse. Upon a certain day, one of the actresses, a beautiful woman of eighteen, and married to one of the actors, addressed me, saying, ‘she had taken a liking to me, because I was a confident, sharp, forward youth; and therefore, if I would serve her, she would entertain me with all her heart; and that, when the company were strolling, I might beat the drum and stick up the bills.’ Deeming it an easier mode of moving through the world, I readily consented, only requesting two days to dispose of my stock, and to settle all my accounts.

“In my new profession my employments were various, some of which, though not very pleasant, I endeavored to reconcile myself to, inasmuch as they were comparatively better than my former. In a little time, I became more acquainted with the tempers of my master and mistress, and became so great a favorite, that fees and bribes replenished my coffers from all expectants and authors who courted their favor. Unfortunately, however, one day, in their absence, I was invited by some of the party to take a walk, and, going into a tavern, commenced playing at cards, till my last farthing was lost. Determined, if possible, to be revenged of my antagonist, I requested time to run home for more money: it was readily granted. I ran and seized an article belonging to my mistress, pawned it for a small sum, which soon followed my other stores. But evils seldom come alone: I was in this situation not only deprived of my money, but also obliged to decamp.”

The next adventure of Batson was to enlist as a soldier. It happened, however, that his captain cheating him out of his pay, caused a grievous quarrel. Batson soon found that it was dangerous to reside in Rome and strive with the pope. His captain, upon some pretence of improper conduct, had him apprehended, tried, and condemned to be hanged. The cause of this harsh treatment was a very simple one: “For,” says Batson, “I was one day drinking with a soldier, and happened to fall out about a lie given. My sword unluckily running into his throat, he kicked up his heels, through his own fault, for he ran upon my point, so that he may thank his own hastiness.” Upon this our hero says, “As if it had been a thing of nothing, or as a matter of pastime, they gave sentence that I should be led in state along the streets, then mounted upon a ladder, kick up my heels before all the people, and take a swing in the open air, as if I had another life in my knapsack. A notary informed me of this sentence, who was so generous that he requested no fee, nor any expenses for his trouble during the trial. The unfeeling gaoler desired me to make my peace with my Maker, without giving me one drop to cheer my desponding heart. Informed of my melancholy condition, a compassionate friar came to prepare me for another world, since the inhabitants of this were so ready to bid me farewell. When he arrived, he inquired for the condemned person. I answered, ‘Father, I am the man, though you do not know me.’ He said, ‘Dear child, it is now time for you to think of another world, since sentence is passed, and, therefore, you must employ the short time allowed you in confessing your sins, and asking forgiveness of your offences.’ I answered, ‘Reverend father, in obedience to the commands of the church, I confess but once in the year, and that is in Lent; but if, according to the human laws, I must atone with my life for the crime I have committed, your reverence, being so learned, must be truly sensible that there is no divine precept which says, “Thou shall not eat or drink;” and therefore, since it is not contrary to the law of God, I desire that I may have meat and drink, and then we will discourse of what is best for us both; for I am in a Christian country, and plead the privilege of sanctuary.’

“The good friar was much moved at finding me so jocular when I ought to be so serious, and began to preach to me a loud and a long sermon upon the parable of the lost sheep, and the repentance of the good thief. But the charity bells that ring when criminals are executed knolling in mine ears, made a deeper impression than the loud and impressive voice of the friar. I therefore kneeled down before my ghostly father, and cleared the store-house of my sins, and poured forth a dreadful budget of iniquity. He then gave me his blessing, and poor Batson seemed prepared to take his flight from a world of misfortunes and insults.

“But, having previously presented a petition to the marquis D’Este, then commanding officer, he at that critical moment called me before him. He, being a merciful man, respited my sentence, and sent me to the galleys for ten years. Some friends farther interfered, and informed the marquis, that the accusation and sentence against me were effected by the malice of the captain, who was offended because I had insisted for the whole of my listing money. The result was that he ordered me to be set at liberty, to the disappointment of my captain, together with that of the multitude and the executioner.

“The deadly fright being over, and my mind restored to tranquillity, I went forth to walk, and to meditate upon what method I was now to pursue in the rugged journey of life. Every man has his own fortune, and, as good luck would have it, I again met with a recruiting officer, who enlisted me, and, from partiality, took me home to his own quarters. The cook taking leave of the family, I was interrogated if I understood any thing in that line. To this I replied, as usual, in the affirmative, and was accordingly installed into the important office of a cook.

“In the course of a military life, my master took up his winter residence at Bavaria, in the house of one of the richest men in those parts. To save his property, however, the Bavarian pretended to be very poor, drove away all his cattle, and removed all his stores to another quarter. Informed of this, I waited upon him, and acquainted him that, as he had a person of quality in his house, it would be necessary to provide liberally for him and his servants. He replied, that I had only to inform him what provisions I wanted, and he would order them immediately. I then informed him, that my master always kept three tables, one for the gentlemen and pages, a second for the butler and under officers, a third for the footmen, grooms, and other liveries; that for these tables he must supply one ox, two calves, four sheep, twelve pullets, six capons, two dozen of pigeons, six pounds of bacon, four pounds of sugar, two of all sorts of spice; a hundred eggs, half a dozen dishes of fish, a pot of wine to every plate, and six hogsheads to stand by. He blessed himself, and exclaimed, ‘If all you speak of be only for the servants’ tables, the village will not be able to furnish the master’s.’ To this I replied, that my master was such a good-natured man, that, if he saw his servants and attendants well provided, he was indifferent to his own table; a dish of imperial stuffed meat, with an egg in it, would be sufficient for him. He asked me of what that same imperial stuffed meat was composed? I desired him to send for a grave-digger and a cobbler, and while they were at work, I would inform him what there was wanting. They were instantly called. I then took an egg, and putting it into the body of a pigeon, which I had already gutted with my knife, said to him, ‘Now, sir, take notice; this egg is in the pigeon, the pigeon is to be put into a partridge, the partridge into a pheasant, the pheasant into a pullet, the pullet into a turkey, the turkey into a kid, the kid into a sheep, the sheep into a calf, the calf into a cow; all these creatures are to be pulled, flead, and larded, except the cow, which is to have her hide on; and as they are through one into another, like a nest of boxes, the cobbler is to sew every one of them with an end, that they may not slip out; and the grave-digger is to throw up a deep trench, into which one load of coals is to be cast, and the cow laid on the top of it, and another load above her; the fuel set on fire, to burn about four hours, more or less, when the meat being taken out, is incorporated, and becomes such a delicious dish, that formerly the emperors used to dine upon it on their coronation-day; for which reason, and because an egg is the foundation of all that curious mass, it is named the “imperial egg-stuffed meat.”’ The landlord was not a little astonished, but after some conversation we understood each other, and my master left the matter to my care.

“In the course of my negotiations with the landlord, I incurred the displeasure of my master, who, discovering my policy, came into the kitchen, seized the first convenient instrument, and belabored me most unmercifully. He was, however, punished for his rashness, by the want of a cook for two weeks.

“The scoundrels of the French were audacious enough to pay us a visit while we remained here. I was ordered out with the rest, but I kept at the greatest distance, lest any bullet should have mistaken me for some other person. No sooner did I receive the intelligence that the French were conquered, than I ran to the field of battle, brandishing my sword, and cutting and slashing among the dead men. It unfortunately happened, however, that, as I struck one of them with my sword, he uttered a mournful groan, and, apprehensive that he was about to revenge the injury done to him, I ran off with full speed, leaving my sword in his body. In passing along, I met with another sword, which saved my honor, as I vaunted that I had seized it from one in the field of battle.

“While thus rambling through the field of blood and danger, my master was carried home mortally wounded, who called me a scoundrel, and cried, ‘Why did not you obey me?’ ‘Lest, sir,’ replied I, ‘I should have been as you now are.’ The good man soon breathed his last, leaving me a horse and fifty ducats.

“Being again emancipated from the bonds of servitude, I began to enjoy life, and continued to treat all my acquaintance so long as my money would permit. The return of poverty, however, made me again enlist under the banners of servitude.

“About this time a singular occurrence happened to me. I chanced to go out into the street, when my eyesight was so affected, that I could not discern black from green, nor white from gray. Observing the candles suspended in a candle-maker’s shop, and taking them for radishes, I thought there was no great harm though I should taste one of them. Accordingly, laying hold of one, down fell the whole row, and being dashed to pieces upon the floor, a scuffle ensued; I was taken into custody, and made to pay the damage, which operated to restore my sight to its natural state.

“Not long after this adventure, I was assailed with love for the fair sex, and, after some sighs and presents, I was bound to a woman for better or for worse, and continued with her until the charms of the marriage state and the pleasures of domestic life began to pall upon me, and an ardent desire to return to my old course of adventure took possession of my mind. Towards the attainment of this desirable end, I one day kicked my wife out of doors, dressed myself, and prepared to sally forth. I had no sooner effected this liberation, than a tavern was my first resting-place to recruit my spirits and to redeem lost time.

“I at last formed the resolution of returning to my native home, and there spending the evening of my bustling life in calm repose. After travelling many a tedious mile, I got to London. Arrived in the capital, I went directly to my father’s house, but found it in the possession of another, and my sisters departed this life. As both of them had been married, and had left children, there was no hope of any legacy by their death: I was therefore under the necessity of doing something for a living. Finding the gout increasing upon me, I, by the advice of an acquaintance, took a public house; and, as I understood several languages, I thought I might have many customers from among foreigners.”

Batson then gravely concludes his own narrative in these words:--

“I intend to leave off my foolish pranks, and as I have spent my juvenile years and money in keeping company, hope to find some fools as bad as myself, who delight in throwing away their estates and impairing their health.”

He accordingly took a house in Smithfield, and acquired a considerable sum. But, being desirous to make a fortune with one dash, he hastened his end. Among others who put up at his house was a gentleman who had purchased a large estate in the country, and was going to deliver the cash. The ostler observed to his master, that the bags belonging to the gentleman were uncommonly heavy when he carried them into the house. They mutually agreed to rob, and afterwards to murder him; and the ostler accomplished the horrid deed. But, differing about the division of the spoil, the ostler got drunk, and disclosed the whole matter. The house was searched, the body of the gentleman found, and both the murderers were seized, tried, and condemned. The ostler died before the fatal day, but Batson was executed, and, according to the Catholic faith, died a penitent, a year before the restoration of king Charles the Second.

MULLED SACK, _alias_ JOHN COTTINGTON.

This man’s father was a petty haberdasher in Cheapside, but living above his income, he died so poor that he was interred by the parish. He had eighteen children, fifteen daughters and three sons. Our hero was the youngest of the family, and at the age of eight was bound apprentice to a chimney-sweeper. In his first year, deeming himself as expert at his profession as his master, he left him, and, acting for himself, soon acquired a great run of business.

Money now coming in upon him, he frequented the tavern, and, disdaining to taste of any thing but mulled sack, he acquired that appellation. One evening he there met with a young woman, with whom he was so enamored, that “he took her for better for worse.” But, not enjoying that degree of comfort in this union which his imagination had painted to him, he frequented the company of other women, until it became necessary to make public contributions to supply their pressing necessities. His first trials were in picking pockets of watches, and any small sum he could find. Among others, he robbed a lady famous among the usurers, of a gold watch set with diamonds, and another lady of a similar piece of luxury, as she was going into church to hear a celebrated preacher. By the aid of his accomplices, the pin was taken out of the axle of her coach, which fell down at the church door, and in the crowd, Mulled Sack, being dressed as a gentleman, gave her his hand, while he seized her watch. The pious lady did not discover her loss, until she wished to know the length of the sermon, when her devout meditations, excited by the consoling exhortation of the pious preacher, were sadly interrupted by the loss of her time-piece. It is related, that upon a certain occasion, he had the boldness to attempt the pocket of Oliver Cromwell, and that the danger to which he was then exposed determined him to leave that sneaking trade, and in a genteel manner to enter upon the honorable profession of public collector on the highway.

He entered into partnership with Tom Cheney. Their first adventure was attacking colonel Hewson, who had raised himself by his merit from a cobbler to a colonel. He was riding at some distance from his regiment upon Hounslow-heath, and, even in the sight of some of his men, these two rogues robbed him. The pursuit was keen: Tom’s horse failing, he was apprehended, but Mulled Sack escaped. The prisoner, being severely wounded, entreated that his trial might be postponed on that account. But, on the contrary, lest he should die of his wounds, he was condemned at two o’clock, and executed that evening.

One Horne was the next accomplice of Mulled Sack. His companions were, however, generally unfortunate. Upon their first attempt, Horne was pursued, taken, and executed.

Thus twice bereft of his associates, he acted alone, but generally committed his depredations upon the republican party, who then had the wealth of the nation in their possession. Informed that the sum of four thousand pounds was on its way from London, to pay the regiments of Oxford and Gloucester, he concealed himself behind a hedge where the wagon was to pass, presented his pistols, and the guard supposing that many more must have been concealed, fled, and left him the immense prize.

There were a few passengers in the wagon, who were greatly affrighted. He, however, consoled them, assuring them that he would not injure them, saying, “This which I have taken is as much mine as theirs who own it, being all extorted from the public by the rapacious members of our commonwealth, to enrich themselves, maintain their janizaries, and keep honest people in subjection, the most effectual way to do which is to keep them very poor.”

When not employed as a chimney-sweep, which profession he still occasionally pursued, he dressed in high style, and is said to have received more money by robbery than any man in that age. One day, being informed that the receiver-general was to send up to London six thousand pounds, he entered his house the night before, and rendered that trouble unnecessary. Upon the noise which this notorious robbery occasioned, Mulled Sack was apprehended; but through cunning, baffling the evidence, or corrupting the jury, he was acquitted.

In a little time after, he robbed and murdered a gentleman, and, for fear of detection, went to the continent, and was introduced into the court of Charles the Second. Upon pretence of giving information, he came home, and applied to Cromwell, confessed his crime, but proposed to purchase his life by important information. But whether he failed in his promise, or whether Cromwell thought that such a notorious offender was unworthy to live, cannot be ascertained; one thing is certain, that he was tried and executed in the forty-fifth year of his age, in the month of April 1659.

CAPTAIN JAMES HIND.

The father of Hind was an industrious saddler, a cheerful companion, and a good Christian. He was a native of Chipping Norton, Oxfordshire, where James was born. As our hero was his only son, he received a good education, and remained at school until he was fifteen years of age.

He was then sent as an apprentice to a butcher in that place, and continued in that employment during two years. Upon leaving his master’s service, he applied to his mother for money to bear his expenses to London, complaining bitterly of the rough and quarrelsome temper of his master. The complying mother yielded, and, giving him three pounds, she, with a sorrowful heart, took farewell of her beloved son.

Arrived in the capital, he soon contracted a relish for the pleasures of the town. His bottle and a female companion became his principal delight, and occupied the greater part of his time. He was unfortunately detected one evening with a woman of the town who had just robbed a gentleman, and along with her confined until the morning. He was acquitted because no evidence appeared against him, but his fair companion was committed to Newgate.

Captain Hind, soon after this accident, became acquainted with one Allan, a famous highwayman. While partaking of a bottle, their conversation became mutually so agreeable that they consented to unite their fortunes.

Their measures being concerted, they set out in quest of plunder. They fortunately met a gentleman and his servant travelling along the road. Hind being raw and inexperienced, Allan was desirous to have a proof of his courage and address; he, therefore, remained at a distance, while Hind boldly rode up to them and took from them fifteen pounds, at the same time returning one to bear their expenses home. This he did with so much grace and pleasantry, that the gentleman vowed that he would not injure a hair of his head though it were in his power.

About this period, the unfortunate Charles I. suffered death for his political principles. Captain Hind conceived an inveterate enmity to all those who had stained their hands with their sovereign’s blood, and gladly embraced every opportunity to wreak his vengeance upon them. In a short time, Allan and Hind met with the usurper, Oliver Cromwell, riding from Huntingdon to London. They attacked the coach, but Oliver being attended by seven servants. Allan was apprehended, and it was with no small difficulty that Hind made his escape. The unfortunate Allan was soon after tried, and suffered death for his audacity. The only effect which this produced upon Hind was to render him more cautious in his future depredations. He could not, however, think of abandoning a course on which he had just entered, and which promised so many advantages.

The captain had ridden so hard to escape from Cromwell and his train that he killed his horse, and having no money to purchase a substitute, he was under the necessity of trying his fortune upon foot, until he should find means to procure another. It was not long before he espied a horse tied to a hedge with a saddle on and a brace of pistols attached to it. He looked round and observed a gentleman on the other side of the hedge. “This is my horse,” exclaimed the captain, and immediately vaulted into the saddle. The gentleman called out to him that the horse was his. “Sir,” said Hind, “you may think yourself well off that I have left you all the money in your pocket to buy another, which you had best lay out before I meet you again, lest you should be worse used.” So saying, he rode off in search of new booty.

There is another story of Hind’s ingenious method of supplying himself with a horse upon occasion. It appears that, being upon a second extremity reduced to the humble station of a footpad, he hired a sorry nag and proceeded on his journey. He was overtaken by a gentleman mounted on a fine hunter, with a portmanteau behind him. They entered into conversation upon such topics as are common to travellers, and Hind was very eloquent in the praise of the gentleman’s horse, which inclined the other to descant upon the qualifications of the animal. There was upon one side of the road a wall, which the gentleman said his horse would leap over. Hind offered to risk a bottle on it, to which the gentleman agreed, and quickly made his horse leap over. The captain acknowledged that he had lost his wager, but requested the gentleman to let him try if he could do the same; to which he consented, and the captain, being seated in the saddle of his companion, rode off at full speed and left him to return the other miserable animal to its owner.

At another time the captain met the regicide Hugh Peters in Enfield chace, and commanded him to deliver his money. Hugh, who was not deficient in confidence, began to combat Hind with texts of scripture, and to cudgel our bold robber with the eighth commandment: “It is written in the law,” said he, “that ‘Thou shalt not steal:’ and furthermore, Solomon, who was surely a very wise man, spoke in this manner, ‘Rob not the poor, because he is poor.’” Hind was desirous to answer him in his own strain, and for that purpose began to rub up his memory for some of the texts he had learned when at school. “Verily,” said Hind, “if thou hadst regarded the divine precepts as thou oughtest to have done, thou wouldst not have wrested them to such an abominable and wicked sense as thou didst the words of the prophet, when he said, ‘Bind their kings with chains, and their nobles with fetters of iron.’ Didst thou not then, detestable hypocrite, endeavor, from these words, to aggravate the misfortunes of thy royal master, whom thy cursed republican party unjustly murdered before the gate of his own palace?” Here Hugh Peters began to extenuate that proceeding, and to allege other parts of scripture in his own defence. “Pray, sir,” replied Hind, “make no reflections against men of my profession, for Solomon plainly said, ‘do not despise a thief.’ But it is to little purpose for us to dispute; the substance of what I have to say is this, deliver thy money presently, or else I shall send thee out of the world to thy master, the devil, in an instant.” These terrible words of the captain’s so terrified the old Presbyterian, that he forthwith gave him thirty broad pieces of gold and then departed.

But Hind was not satisfied with allowing so bitter an enemy to the royal cause to depart in such a manner. He accordingly rode after him at full speed, and, overtaking him, addressed him in the following language:--“Sir, now I think of it, I am convinced this misfortune has happened to you because you did not obey the words of the scripture, which expressly says, ‘provide neither gold, nor silver, nor brass, in your purses, for your journey,’ whereas it is evident that you had provided a pretty decent quantity of gold. However, as it is now in my power to make you fulfil another commandment, I would by no means slip the opportunity; therefore, pray give me your cloak.” Peters was so surprised that he neither stood still to dispute nor to examine what was the drift of Hind’s demand. But he soon made him understand his meaning, when he added, “You know, sir, our Savior has commanded, that if any man take away thy cloak, thou must not refuse thy coat also; therefore, I cannot suppose that you will act in direct contradiction to such an express command, especially as you cannot pretend you have forgot it, seeing that I now remind you of that duty.” The old Puritan shrugged his shoulders some time before he proceeded to uncase them; but Hind told him that his delay would be of no service to him, for he would be implicitly obeyed, because he was sure that what he requested was entirely consonant with the scripture. He accordingly surrendered, and Hind carried off the cloak.

The following sabbath, when Hugh ascended the pulpit, he was inclined to pour forth an invective against stealing, and selected for his subject these words: “I have put off my coat, how shall I put it on?” An honest plain man, who was present, and knew how he had been treated by the robber, promptly cried out, “Upon my word, sir, I believe there is nobody here can tell you, unless captain Hind were here.” Which ready answer to Hugh’s scriptural question put the congregation into such an outrageous fit of laughter, that the parson was made to blush, and descended from his pulpit, without prosecuting the subject farther.

The captain, as before mentioned, indulged a rooted hatred against all those who were concerned in the murder of the late king; and frequently these men fell in his way. He was one day riding on the road, when president Bradshaw, who had sat as judge upon the king, and passed the sentence of death upon him, met with the captain. The place where they came into collision was on the road between Sherbourne and Shaftesbury. Hind rode up to the coach, and demanded Bradshaw’s money, who, supposing that his very name would convey terror along with it, informed him who he was. “Marry,” cried Hind, “I neither fear you nor any king-killing villain alive. I have now as much power over you, as you lately had over the king, and I should do God and my country good service, if I made the same use of it; but live, villain, to suffer the pangs of thine own conscience, till justice shall lay her iron hand upon thee, and require an answer for thy crimes, in a way more proper for such a monster, who art unworthy to die by any hands but those of the common hangman, or at any other place than Tyburn. Nevertheless, though I spare thy life as a regicide, be assured, that unless thou deliver up thy money immediately, thou shalt die for thy obstinacy.”

Bradshaw began to perceive that the case was not now with him as it was when he sat at Westminster hall, supported by all the strength of the rebellion. A horror took possession of his soul, and discovered itself in his countenance. He put his trembling hand into his pocket, and pulled out about forty shillings in silver, which he presented to the captain, who swore he would that minute shoot him through the heart, unless he found him coin of another species. To save his life, the sergeant pulled out that which he valued next to it, and presented the captain with a purse full of Jacobuses.

But though Hind had got possession of the cash, he was inclined to detain the sergeant a little longer, and began the following eulogium upon the value of money:--

“This, sir, is the metal that wins my heart forever! O precious gold! I admire and adore thee as much as either Bradshaw, Prynne, or any other villain of the same stamp, who, for the sake of thee, would sell his Redeemer again, were he now upon earth. This is that incomparable medicament, which the republican physicians call the wonder-working plaster; it is truly catholic in operation, and somewhat of kin to the Jesuit’s powder, but more effectual. The virtues of it are strange and various; it maketh justice deaf as well as blind; and takes out spots of the deepest treasons as easily as Castile soap does common stains; it alters a man’s constitution in two or three days, more than the virtuoso’s transfusion of blood can do in seven years. It is a great alexipharmic, and helps poisonous principles of rebellion, and those that use them; it miraculously exalts and purifies the eye-sight, and makes traitors behold nothing but innocence in the blackest malefactors: it is a mighty cordial for a declining cause; it stifles faction and schism as certainly as rats are destroyed by common arsenic: in a word, it makes fools wise men, and wise men fools, and both of them knaves. The very color of this precious balm is bright and dazzling. If it be properly applied to the fist, that is, in a decent manner, and in a competent dose, it infallibly performs all the above-mentioned cures, and many others too numerous to be here mentioned.”

The captain, having finished his panegyric upon the virtues of the glittering metal, pulled out his pistol, and again addressed the serjeant, saying, “You and your infernal crew have a long while run on, like Jehu, in a career of blood and impiety, falsely pretending that zeal for the Lord of Hosts has been your only motive. How long you may be suffered to continue in the same course, God only knows. I will, however, for this time, stop your race in a literal sense of the word.” And without farther delay, he shot all the six horses that were in the carriage, and left Bradshaw to ponder upon the lesson he had received.

Hind’s next adventure was with a company of ladies, in a coach upon the road between Petersfield and Portsmouth. He accosted them in a polite manner, and informed them that he was a protector of the fair sex, and it was purely to win the favor of a hard-hearted mistress that he had travelled the country. “But, ladies,” added he, “I am at this time reduced to the necessity of asking relief, having nothing to carry me on in the intended prosecution of my adventures.” The young ladies, who had read many romances, could not help concluding that they had met with some Quixote or Amadis de Gaul, who was saluting them in the strains of knight-errantry. “Sir knight,” said one of the most jocular of the company, “we heartily commiserate your condition, and are very much troubled that we cannot contribute towards your support; for we have nothing about us but a sacred _depositum_, which the laws of your order will not suffer you to violate.” The captain was much pleased at having met with such a pleasant lady, and was much inclined to have permitted them to proceed; but his necessities were at this time very urgent. “May I, bright ladies, be favored with the knowledge of what this sacred depositum, which you speak of, is, that so I may employ my utmost abilities in its defence, as the laws of knight-errantry require.” The lady who had spoken before told him, that the depositum she had spoken of was 3000_l._ the portion of one of the company, who was going to bestow it upon the knight who had won her good-will by his many past services. “Present my humble duty to the knight,” said he, “and be pleased to tell him that my name is captain Hind; that out of mere necessity I have made bold to borrow part of what, for his sake, I wish were twice as much; that I promise to expend the sum in defence of injured lovers, and in the support of gentlemen who profess knight-errantry.” Upon the name of captain Hind, the fair ones were sufficiently alarmed, as his name was well known all over England. He, however, requested them not to be affrighted, for he would not do them the least injury, and only requested 1000_l._ of the 3000_l._ As the money was bound up in several parcels, the request was instantly complied with, and our adventurer wished them a prosperous journey, and many happy days to the bride.

Taking leave of the captain for a little, we shall inform our readers of the consequences of this extorted loan of the captain’s. When the bride arrived at the dwelling of her intended husband, she faithfully recounted to him her adventures upon the road. The avaricious and embryo curmudgeon refused to accept her hand until her father should agree to make up the loss. Partly because he detested the request of the lover, and partly because he had sufficiently exhausted his funds, the father refused to comply. The pretended lover, therefore, declined her hand, because it was emptied of the third part of her fortune; and the affectionate and high spirited lady died of a broken heart. Hind often declared, that this adventure caused him great uneasiness, while it filled him with detestation at the dishonorable and base conduct of the mercenary lover.

The transactions of Hind were now become so numerous, and made him so well known, that he was forced to conceal himself in the country. During this cessation from his usual industrious labors, his funds became so exhausted, that even his horse was sold to maintain his own life. Impelled by necessity, he often resolved to hazard a few movements upon the highway; but he had resided so long in that quarter, that he durst not risk any such adventure. Fortune, however, commiserated the condition of the captain, and provided relief. He was informed that a doctor, who resided in the neighborhood, had gone to receive a handsome fee for a cure which he had effected. The captain then lived in a small house which he had hired upon the side of a common, and which the doctor had to pass in his journey home. Hind, having long and impatiently waited his arrival, ran up to him, and in the most piteous tone and suppliant language, told the doctor his wife was suddenly seized with illness, and that unless she got some assistance she would certainly perish, and entreated him just to tarry for a minute or two and lend her his medical assistance, and he would gratefully pay him for his trouble as soon as it was in his power.