Chapter III: Part 3

The tender-hearted doctor, moved with compassion, alighted and accompanied him into his house, assuring him that he should be very happy to be of any service in restoring his wife to health. Hind showed the doctor up-stairs; but they had no sooner entered the door, than he locked it, presented a pistol, showing, at the same time, his empty purse, saying: “This is my wife; she has so long been unwell, that there is now nothing at all within her. I know, sir, that you have a sovereign remedy in your pocket for her distemper, and if you do not apply it without a word, this pistol will make the day shine into your body!” The doctor would have been content to have lost his fee, upon condition of being delivered from the importunities of his patient; but it required only a small degree of the knowledge of symptoms to be convinced, that obedience was the only thing which remained for him to observe: he therefore emptied his own purse of forty guineas into that of the captain, and thus left our hero’s wife in a convalescent state. Hind then informed the doctor, that he would leave him in possession of his whole house, to reimburse him for the money which he had taken from him. So saying, he locked the door upon the doctor, mounted that gentleman’s horse, and went in quest of another county, since this had become too hot for him.

Hind has been often celebrated for his generosity to the poor; and the following is a remarkable instance of his virtue in that particular. He was upon one occasion extremely destitute of cash, and had waited long upon the road without receiving any supply. An old man, jogging along upon an ass, at length appeared. He rode up to him, and very politely inquired where he was going. “To the market,” said the old man, “at Wantage, to buy me a cow, that I may have some milk for my children.” “How many children have you?” The old man answered, “Ten.” “And how much do you mean to give for a cow?” said Hind. “I have but forty shillings, master, and that I have been scraping together these two years.” Hind’s heart ached for the poor man’s condition; at the same time he could not help admiring his simplicity; but, being in absolute want himself, he thought of an expedient which would serve both himself and the poor old man. “Father,” said he, “the money which you have is necessary for me at this time; but I will not wrong your children of their milk. My name is Hind, and if you will give me your forty shillings quietly, and meet me again this day se’nnight at this place, I promise to make the sum double.” The old man reluctantly consented, and Hind enjoined him to “be cautious not to mention a word of the matter to any body between this and that time.” The old man came at the appointed time, and received as much as would purchase two cows, and twenty shillings more, that he might thereby have the best in the market.

Though Hind had long frequented the road, yet he carefully avoided shedding blood; and the following is the only instance of this nature related of him. He had one morning committed several robberies, and among others, had taken more than 70_l._ from colonel Harrison, the celebrated parliamentary general. As the Roundheads were Hind’s inveterate foes, the colonel immediately raised the hue-and-cry after him, which was circulated in that part of the country before the captain was aware of it. At last, however, he received intelligence at one of the inns upon the road, and made every possible haste to fly the scene of danger. In this situation the captain was apprehensive of every person he met upon the road. He had reached a place called Knowl Hill, when the servant of a gentleman, who was following his master, came riding at full speed behind him. Hind, supposing that it was one in pursuit of himself, upon his coming up, turned about, and shot him through the head, when the unfortunate man fell dead upon the spot. Fortune favored the captain at this time, and he got off in safety.

The following adventure closes the narrative of Hind’s busy life. After Charles I. was beheaded, the Scots remained loyal, proclaimed his son Charles II., and resolved to maintain his right against the usurper. They suddenly raised an army, and entering England, proceeded as far as Worcester. Multitudes of the English joined the royal army, and among these captain Hind, who was loyal from principle, and brave by nature. Cromwell was sent by Parliament with an army to intercept the march of the royalists. Both armies met at Worcester, and a desperate and bloody battle ensued. The king’s army was routed. Captain Hind had the good fortune to escape, and, reaching London, lived in a retired situation. Here, however, he had not remained long, when he was betrayed by one of his intimate acquaintances. It will readily be granted that his actions merited death by the law of his country, but the mind recoils with horror from the thought of treachery in an intimate friend.

Hind was carried before the speaker of the house of commons, and, after a long examination, was committed to Newgate and loaded with irons; nor was any person allowed to converse with him without a special permission. He was brought to the bar of the session-house at the Old Bailey, indicted for several crimes, but, for want of sufficient evidence, nothing worthy of death could be proved against him. Not long after this, he was sent down to Reading under a strong guard, and, being arraigned before judge Warburton, for killing George Symson at Knowl Hill, as formerly mentioned, he was convicted of wilful murder. An act of indemnity for all past offences was issued at this time, and he hoped to have been included; but an order of council removed him to Worcester gaol, where he was condemned for high treason, and hanged, drawn, and quartered, on the 24th September 1652, aged thirty-four years. His head was stuck upon the top of the bridge over the Severn, and the other parts of his body placed upon the gates of the city. The head was privately taken down and interred, but the remaining parts of his body remained until consumed by the influence of the weather.

In his last moments he declared that his principal depredations had been committed against the republican party, and that he was sorry for nothing so much as not living to see his royal master restored.

THE GERMAN PRINCESS.

Though this remarkable female character was denominated a German Princess, for a reason which will be mentioned in the course of her narrative, she was a native of Canterbury, and her father a chorister of that cathedral. From her sprightly and volatile disposition, she at an early period took delight in reading the novels that were at that time fashionable,--such as Parismus and Parismanus, Don Bellianis of Greece, Amadis de Gaul, and Cassandra and Cleopatra; and in a little time really believed what she wished, even that she was a princess.

But in her marriage she lost sight of her exalted conceptions, and united her fortune with a journeyman shoemaker. She resided with him until she had two children, who both died in their infancy. The industrious shoemaker was unable to support her extravagance, so that she at last left him, to seek her fortune elsewhere.

A woman of her figure, beauty, and address, was not long before she procured another husband. She went to Dover, and married a surgeon of that place, but, being apprehended and tried at Maidstone for having two husbands, by some dexterous manœuvre she was acquitted.

She presently after embarked for Holland, and travelled by land to Cologne, and having a considerable sum of money, took handsome lodgings at a house of entertainment, and cut a dashing figure. As it is customary for the gentry in England to frequent Brighton during the season, so it was then customary for those in Germany to frequent the Spa. Our heroine went thither, and was addressed by an old gentleman who had a good estate in the vicinity. With the assistance of her landlady, she managed this affair with great art. The old gentleman presented her with several fine jewels, besides a gold chain and costly medal, which had been given him, for some gallant action under count Tilly, against the valiant Gustavus Adolphus of Sweden. He at length began to press matrimony with all the keenness of a young lover, and, unable to resist the siege any longer, she consented to make him happy in three days. Meanwhile, he supplied her with money in great profusion, and she was requested to prepare what things she pleased for the wedding. The Princess now deemed it high time to be gone, and, to secure her retreat, acquainted her landlady with her design. Having already shared largely of the spoils that our adventurer had received from her old doating lover, the aged beldame, in hopes of pillaging him a little more, encouraged and aided her flight. Our heroine requested her to go and provide her a seat in a carriage which took a different road from that of Cologne, as she did not wish that her lover should be able to trace her route. When our Princess found herself alone, she broke open a chest in which the good woman had deposited all her share of the spoil that she had received from our heroine, as well as her own money. Madame made free with all, and took her passage to Utrecht, from thence went to Amsterdam, sold her chains and some jewels, and then passed into Rotterdam, from whence she speedily embarked for England.

She landed at Billingsgate, one morning very early in the end of March 1663, and found no house open until she came to the Exchange inn, where she attained to the dignity of a German princess in the following manner. In this inn, she got into the company of some gentlemen who, she perceived, were full of money, and these addressing her in a rude manner, she began to weep most bitterly, exclaiming that it was extremely hard for her to be reduced to this extreme distress, who was once a princess. Here she recited the story of her extraction and education, and much about her pretended father, the lord Henry Vanwolway, a prince of the empire, and independent of every man but his Imperial Majesty. “Certainly,” said she, “any gentleman here present may conceive what a painful situation this must be to me to be thus reduced, brought up as I have been under the care of an indulgent father, and in all the luxuries of a court. But, alas! what do I say?--Indulgent father! was it not his cruelty which banished me, his only daughter, from his dominions, merely for marrying, without his knowledge, a nobleman of the court whom I loved to excess? Was it not my father who occasioned my dear lord and husband to be cut off in the bloom of his age, by falsely accusing him of a design against his person,--a deed which his virtuous soul abhorred?” Here she pretended that the poignancy of her feelings would allow her to relate no more of her unfortunate history.

The whole company was touched with compassion at the melancholy tale, which she related with so much unaffected simplicity, that they had not a doubt of its truth. Compassionating her unfortunate situation, they requested her acceptance of all the money they had about them, promising to return again with more. They were as good as their promise, and she ever after went by the name of the unfortunate German Princess.

The man who kept the inn, knowing that she was come from the continent, and seeing that she had great riches about her, was disposed more than ever to believe the truth of her story. Nor was Madame backward to inform him, that she had collected all that she possessed from the benevolent contributions of neighboring princes, who knew and pitied her misfortunes. “Nor durst any one of them,” continued she, “let my father know what they had done, or where I am, for he was so much more powerful than any of them, that if he understood that any one favored me, he would instantly make war upon them.”

King, the innkeeper, being convinced of her rank and fortune, John Carleton, his brother-in-law, no doubt receiving proper information from King, became enamored of the Princess, and presumed to pay his addresses to her. She was highly displeased at first, but, from his importunity, was at last prevailed upon to descend from her station, and receive the hand of a common man. Poor Carleton thought himself the happiest of mortals, in being thus so highly honored by a union with such an accomplished and amiable princess, possessed of an ample fortune, though far inferior to what she had a right to expect from her noble birth.

But, during this dream of pleasure, Mr. King received a letter, informing him, that the woman who resided at his house, and was married to his brother-in-law, was an impostor, that she had already been married to two husbands, and had eloped with all the money she could lay her hands on: and that the writer said nothing but what could be proved by the most unquestionable evidence in a court of justice. The consequence was, that a prosecution was instituted against her for polygamy; but from insufficient evidence she was acquitted.

She was then introduced as an actress among the players, and by them supported for some time. Upon the strength of her popularity the house was often crowded, and the public curiosity was excited by a woman who had made such a figure in the world, and was receiving great applause in her dramatic capacity. She generally appeared in characters suited to her habits of life, and those scenes which had been rendered familiar to her by former deception and intrigues. But what tended chiefly to promote her fame, was a play called the “German Princess,” written principally upon her account, in which she spoke the following prologue in such a manner as gained universal applause.

I’ve passed one trial, but it is my fear
I shall receive a rigid sentence here:
You think me a bold cheat, but case ’twere so,
Which of you are not? Now you’d swear, I know;
But do not, lest that you deserve to be
Censured worse than you can censure me;
The world’s a cheat, and we that move in it
In our degrees do exercise our wit;
And better ’tis to get a glorious name,
However got, than live by common fame.

The Princess had too much mercury in her constitution to remain long within the bounds of a theatre, when London itself was too limited for her volatile disposition. She did not, however, leave the theatre until she had procured many admirers. Her history was well known, as well as her accomplishments and her gallantry, and introduced her into company. She was easy of access, but in society carried herself with an affected air of indifference.

There were two young beaux, in particular, who had more money in their pockets than wit in their heads; and from the scarcity of that commodity in themselves, they the more admired her wit and humor. She encouraged their addresses until she had extracted about three hundred pounds from each of them, and then observing their funds were nearly exhausted, discarded them both, saying, she was astonished at their impudence, in making love to a princess!

Her next lover was an old gentleman about fifty, who saw her, and though he was acquainted with her history, nevertheless resolved to be at the expense of some hundreds a year, provided she would consent to live with him. To gain his purpose he sent her several rich presents, which, with seeming reluctance, she accepted. When they commenced living together as man and wife, she so accommodated herself to his temper and disposition that he was constantly making her rich presents, which were always accepted with apparent reluctance, as laying her under so many obligations. In this manner they continued, until her doating lover one evening coming home intoxicated, she thought it a proper opportunity to decamp. So soon as he was asleep, she rifled his pockets, and found his pocket-book, containing a bill for a hundred pounds, and some money. She also stripped him of his watch, and, taking his keys, opened his coffers, and carried off every thing that suited her purpose. She next went and presented the bill, and, as the acceptor knew her, received the money without hesitation.

Having thus fleeced her old lover, our German princess took up lodgings in a convenient place, under the character of a young lady with a thousand pounds, whose father was able to give her twice as much: but disliking a person whom he had provided as a husband for her, she had left her father’s house, and did not wish to be discovered by any of her friends. Madame now continued to have different letters sent her from time to time, containing an account of all the news concerning her father and lover. These were left carelessly about the room, and her landlady reading them, became confirmed in the belief of her story.

This woman had a rich nephew, a young man, who, having been introduced to her acquaintance, became enamored of her, and to gain her favor presented her with a gold watch, which she could hardly be prevailed upon to accept. Her lover already thought the door of paradise open to him, and their amour proceeded with all the mutual felicity that young lovers can expect or desire. But in this season of bliss, a porter knocked at the door with a letter. Her maid, as previously directed, brought the letter in to her, which she had no sooner read, than she exclaimed, “I am undone! I am ruined!”--and pretended to swoon away. The scent bottle was employed, and her enraptured lover was all kindness and attention. When she was a little recovered, she presented the letter, saying, “Sir, since you are at last acquainted with most of my concerns, I shall not make a secret of this; therefore, if you please, read this letter and know the occasion of my affliction.” The young gentleman received it, and read as follows:

“DEAR MADAM,

“I have several times taken my pen in my hand, on purpose to write you, and as often laid it aside again, for fear of giving you more trouble than you already labor under. However, as the affair so immediately concerns you, I cannot in justice hide what I tremble to disclose, but must in duty tell you the worst of news, whatever may be the consequence of my so doing.

“Know, then, that your affectionate and tender brother is dead. I am sensible how dear he was to you, and you to him, yet let me entreat you, for your own sake, to acquiesce in the will of Providence as much as possible, since our lives are all at his disposal who gave us being. I could use another argument to comfort you, that, with a sister less loving than you, would be of more weight than that I have urged; but I know your soul is above all mercenary views. I cannot, however, forbear to inform you, that he has left you all he had; and farther, that your father’s estate of 200_l._ per annum, can devolve upon no other person than yourself, who are now his only child.

“What I am next to acquaint you with may, perhaps, be almost as bad as the former particular. Your hated lover has been so importunate with your father, especially since your brother’s decease, that the old gentleman resolves, if ever he should hear of you any more, to marry you to him, and he makes this the condition of your being again received into his favor, and having your former disobedience, as he calls it, forgiven. While your brother lived, he was every day endeavoring to soften the heart of your father, and we were only last week in hopes he would have consented to let you follow your inclinations, if you would come home to him again; but now there is no advocate in your cause who can work upon the man’s peevish temper; for he says, as you are now his sole heir, he ought to be more resolute in the disposal of you in marriage.

“While I am now writing, I am surprised with an account that your father and lover are preparing to come to London, where, they say, they can find you out. Whether or not this be only a device, I cannot tell, nor can I conceive where they could receive their information, if it be true. However, to prevent the worst, consider whether or not you can cast off your old aversion, and submit to your father’s commands; for if you cannot, it will be most advisable in my opinion to change your residence. I have no more to say in the affair, being unwilling to direct you in such a very nice circumstance. The temper of your own mind will be the best instructer you can apply to; for your future happiness or misery during life depends on your choice. I hope that every thing will turn out for the best.

“From your sincere friend, S. E.”

Her lover saw that she had good reason to be afflicted, and, whilst he seemed to feel for her, he was no less concerned about his own interest. He advised her immediately to leave her lodgings, and added that he had very elegant apartments which were at her service. She accepted his offer; and, with her maid, who was informed of her intentions, and prepared to assist her, immediately set out for the residence of her lover. When introduced to their new apartment, these ladies did not go to bed, as they had resolved to depart next morning, but lay down to rest themselves with their clothes on. When the house was all quiet, they broke open the lover’s desk, took out a bag with a hundred pounds, two suits of clothes, and every thing valuable that they could carry along with them.

Her numerous and varied adventures would far exceed the limits appropriated to one life in this volume. It is sufficient to observe, that rather than her hands should be unemployed, or her avaricious disposition unsatisfied, she would carry off the most trifling article; that, according to the proverb, all was fish that came into her net; and that when a watch, a diamond, or piece of plate could not be found, a napkin, a pair of sheets; or any article of wearing apparel, would suffice.

One day she, along with her pretended maid, went into a mercer’s shop in Cheapside, and purchased a piece of silk to the value of six pounds. She pulled out her purse to pay the draper, but to her surprise found that she had no money except some large pieces of gold, for which she had so high an esteem, that she could not think of parting with them. The polite draper, on his part, could not think of hurting the feelings of a lady so elegantly dressed, and, accordingly, dispatched one of his shopkeepers along with her to receive his money. Arrived at the Royal Exchange, Madame ordered the coachman to stop, when, upon pretence of purchasing some ribands that would suit the silks, her maid carried out the parcel, and went along with her, leaving the shopman in the coach to wait their return. The young man waited in the coach, until he was impatient and ashamed, and then returned home to relate his misfortunes, and the loss of his master.

Upon another occasion Madame waited upon a French weaver in Spitalfields, and purchased goods to the amount of forty pounds. He went home with her to carry the parcel and to receive his money. She desired him to make out a bill for the whole of the goods, as one half belonged to a lady in the next room. With all the ceremony natural to a Frenchman, he sat down to write his account, while she took the silk into the adjacent room to show it to her niece, to whom the one half belonged. By means of a bottle of wine which Madame had placed before the French weaver, half an hour passed over without much uneasiness. At length his patience was exhausted, and, having called up the people of the house, he inquired for the lady who came in with him, and who told him she was only gone into the next room. To the utter confusion and disappointment of poor Monsieur, he was informed that his lady was gone, and would, they believed, return no more to that dwelling. To calm his rage, and to convince him that they were not confederates in her villany, they conveyed him to the next room, and showed him, that the proper entry to her apartment was by a back stair; adding, that she had only taken their room for a month, for which she had paid them, and that her time being expired, they knew not whither she had gone.

Determined to collect her contributions from householders instead of travellers, she next took lodgings from a tailor. As it was natural for a generous, good-hearted lady to promote the prosperity of the family where she resided, Madame employed the tailor to make the goods she had procured from the mercer and the weaver. Convinced that he had got an excellent job, as well as a rich lodger, the tailor, with mirth and song, sat down to make Madame’s dresses. As she acquainted him that upon a specified day she was to have a large party, the tailor called in all his journeymen to his aid, and had the whole finished by that time. Meanwhile, the Princess gave her landlady a guinea to purchase what things she deemed necessary, promising to pay her the remainder the following day. The day arrived, the guests appeared, an elegant entertainment was served up, and plenty of wine drunk. None were without their due portion. The tailor had plied his glass so plentifully, that his wife had to lend him her assistance to his bed-chamber. This answered the design of our Princess. She and all her company departed one by one, carrying away, each a silver tankard, or a saltcellar, or a knife, or a fork, while the maid carried off all the clothes that were not upon their backs. The moment they reached the street, the maid was placed in a coach with the booty, and the rest of the company took different directions, none of them being discovered. Thus a merry night brought a sorrowful morning to the poor industrious tailor.

Madame being attacked with a fit of mourning, sent her confidential maid to a shop in the New Exchange, where she had purchased a few articles the previous day. The woman of the shop, with all possible expedition, selected the best specimens of her goods, and hastened to the lodgings. Madame was so very much indisposed when the milliner arrived, that she could not look at the things, and desired her to return after dinner, when she doubted not but they would agree as to the price. The obliging milliner was satisfied, and requested liberty to leave her goods until she returned, a request which was readily granted. At the hour appointed she returned, and inquired if the lady up stairs were at home. To her great mortification she was informed that she was gone they could not tell where, and that she did not intend to return. But before her departure she had conveyed away the valuable part of her effects. Thus both her landlady and the milliner were left to regret her absence, and to reflect upon their own easy credulity and loss.

But the adventures of our ingenious Princess increase in magnitude as they multiply in number. Being arrayed in her sable robes, and having taken lodgings in Holborn, she sent for a barrister of Gray’s Inn, and informed him, that by the death of her father, she was sole heir to his fortune, but that she was married to an extravagant husband, who was resolved to secure her property to himself. Here she poured forth a torrent of tears and the most grievous lamentations, the more to interest the young barrister in her favor. But while the lawyer was squaring his features to the occasion, and talking of the matter in a learned and eloquent strain, a woman ran up stairs, exclaiming, “O, madam, we are all undone! for my master is below; he has been asking for you, and swears that he will come up to your chamber. I am afraid the people of the house will not be able to hinder him, he appears so resolute.”--“O heavens!” exclaimed Madame, “what shall I do?”--“Why?” cried the lawyer. “Why!” quoth she, “I mean how shall I dispose of you? Dear me, what excuse shall I make for your being here? I dare not tell him your quality and business, for that would endanger all; and, on the other side, he is extremely jealous. Therefore, good sir, step into that closet until I can send him away.” Surprised, and at a loss what to do, the lawyer complied. The closet being locked, and the curtains of the bed drawn, she opened the door to her husband, who was loudly demanding admittance.

The moment he entered, he gave his spouse the most opprobrious language. “O, mistress abandoned! I understand you have a man in the room: a pretty companion for a poor innocent woman, truly! one who is always complaining how hardly I use her. Where is the villain? I shall sacrifice him this moment. Is this your modesty, madam? this your virtue? Let me see your gallant immediately, or, by the light! you shall be the first victim yourself.” Saying this, he made to the closet door, and burst it open like a fury. The young lawyer was discovered with shame, though innocent, and trembling in every limb. The husband’s sword was unsheathed, and death was before the barrister’s eyes. But Madame, interposing, seemed determined rather to die herself than to suffer the blood of an innocent man to stain her chamber. A companion of the husband also fortunately came to her assistance, and seizing the arm of the infuriated man, struggled to wrest the sword from his hand.

The discernment of the lawyer soon discovered the deception, and, to exculpate and relieve himself, he candidly related the whole matter, and the reason for which he was introduced into that place. But all was in vain. The injured and enraged husband insisted that this was only a feigned narrative to cover his villany, and nothing but his blood, or an adequate remuneration, would assuage his fury. The cause was at last referred to the arbitration of the kind stranger who had interfered, and aided Madame in protecting the young lawyer. Five hundred pounds were proposed as a proper recompense; but that was far beyond the power of the lawyer to command. It was with no small difficulty agreed that he should give a hundred pounds, rather than be found exposed to the consequences of detection, in a situation where he was unable to vindicate his innocence. He sent a note to a friend for that sum, the confederates being careful to examine it before it was transmitted, lest it should be for a constable, instead of a hundred pounds. Upon the payment of that sum the lawyer was liberated, and went off with the bitter reflection, that, instead of receiving a good fee for writing a deed of settlement, he had paid a hundred pounds for a few minutes’ lodging in a closet; but, consoling himself with the hopes of seeing this amiable widow speedily _exalted_ to merited honor.

The good wishes of the lawyer were in a very few years verified in her history. Not long after this, Madame was apprehended, accused of stealing a silver tankard at Covent Garden, and sent to Newgate. At the next sessions she was tried, and transported to Jamaica; where, however, she only remained two years, when she returned to England, and appeared in the character of a great heiress. The result of this artifice was, that she was speedily married to a rich apothecary, whom she soon robbed of above three hundred pounds, and then left him to resolve the question whether the loss of his money or the loss of his wife was the greatest misfortune. Madame went next to lodge in a house where the landlady, a watchmaker, herself, and her faithful maid, composed the whole family. Having established her character for sobriety and probity, she invited her landlady and the watchmaker to the play, and treated them with tickets. They accepted the invitation, and the maid remained at home, sole guardian of the garrison. But during their absence, she broke open the locks, extracted about two hundred pounds, and made free with about thirty watches; so that her spoil amounted in all to six hundred pounds, which she carried to the appointed place of rendezvous. Meanwhile, Madame, not satisfied with treating the watchmaker and her good landlady with tickets to the play, after it was over took them to a tavern to treat them to a small collation, where she embraced an opportunity to decamp.

It happened that one Mr. Freeman, a brewer, had been robbed of two hundred pounds, and that an officer had been sent to search every suspected place for the thieves. One Lancaster was the person upon whom suspicion chiefly rested, and, while searching a house for him, they discovered Madame walking in a night-gown. The thief-catcher entered her room, and, seeing two letters upon the table, he began to examine their contents. Madame was highly displeased with his impertinent freedom, and, in the course of the dispute which ensued, he had occasion to examine the features of her countenance, and recognising her ladyship, took both her and her letters along with him.

When removed to the Old Bailey, she was interrogated, whether she was the woman who usually went by the name of Mary Carleton. She answered, “Yes.” The court then demanded the reason of her return from banishment before the specified time. She made many trifling excuses, which detained the court for a few days; but finding these excuses would not answer her purpose, she pleaded pregnancy. A committee of matrons was then appointed to examine her, who gave a verdict against her, and she was condemned to suffer in conformity with her previous sentence.

In prison she was visited by many, out of curiosity to see the behavior of such a remarkable character in confinement and under sentence of death; and several clergymen attended her to conduct her devotions, and to direct her in her calamitous situation. She confessed herself to be a Roman Catholic, and sincerely bewailed her criminal conduct, frequently wishing that she could again renew her life, in order to spend it in a more exemplary and virtuous manner.

On the day of her execution, she appeared more cheerful and gay than usual, and, placing the picture of her husband upon her arm, she went to Tyburn with it. She appeared devout, and, when she heard St. Sepulchre’s bell begin to toll, uttered several pious ejaculations. To a friend, who rode in a cart with her to the place of execution, she delivered two Roman Catholic books; and, addressing the multitude, owned that she had been a very vain woman, and hoped that her fate would deter others from the same evil ways; and that, though the world had condemned her, she had much to say for herself. Then, praying God to forgive her as she did her most inveterate enemies, she was in a few minutes launched into eternity. She was executed in the year 1672, in the thirty-eighth year of her age, and in the same month of the year in which she was born.

CAPTAIN DUDLEY.

Captain Dudley was born at Swepston in Leicestershire. His father once possessed a considerable estate, but through extravagance lost the whole except about sixty pounds per annum. In these reduced circumstances he went to London, intending to live in obscurity, corresponding to the state of his finances.

Richard his son had a promising genius, and received a liberal education at St. Paul’s school. But a naturally vicious disposition baffled all restraints. When only nine years old he showed his covetous disposition, by robbing his sister of thirty shillings, and absconding with it. In a few days, however, he was found, brought home, and sent to school, where his vicious propensities were only strengthened by indulgence. Impatient of the confinement of a school, he next robbed his father of a considerable sum of money, and absconded. His father, however, discovered his retreat, and found him a little way from town in the company of two loose women.

Despairing of his settling at home, his father sent him on board a man-of-war, in which he sailed up the straits, and behaved gallantly in several actions. Upon his arrival in England, he left the ship, under the pretence that a younger officer had been preferred before him, upon the death of one of the lieutenants. In a short time he joined a band of thieves, assisted them in robbing the country-house of admiral Carter, and escaped detection. Having at length commenced robber, the first remarkable robbery in which he was engaged, was that of breaking into the house of a lady of Blackheath, and carrying off a large quantity of plate.

He and his associates were successful in selling the plate to a refiner; but in a short time he was apprehended for the robbery, and committed to Newgate. While there, he sent for the refiner, and severely reproached him in the following manner: “It is,” said he, “a hard matter to find an honest man and a fair dealer: for, you cursed rogue, among the plate you bought there was a cup with a cover, which you told us was but silver gilt, buying it at the same price with the rest; but it plainly appeared, by the advertisement in the gazette, that it was a gold cup and cover; I see you are a rogue, and that there is no trusting any body.” Dudley was tried, convicted for this robbery, and sentenced to death: but his youth, and the interest of his friends, procured him a royal pardon.

For two years he conducted himself to the satisfaction of his father, so that he purchased for him a commission in the army. In that situation he also acquitted himself honorably, and married a young lady of a respectable family, with whom he received an estate of a hundred and forty pounds a year. This, with his commission, enabled them to live in a genteel manner. Delighting, however, in company, and having become security for one of his companions for a debt, and that person being arrested for it, one of the bailiffs was killed in the scuffle, and Dudley was suspected of being the murderer.

What strengthened this suspicion was, that Dudley was the avowed enemy of all that class of society. He deemed a bailiff in England, or what is known in Scotland by the name of messenger, as one who is determined to strip every person who comes under his power of all he possibly can.

But, leaving the statements of Dudley concerning these men, let us return to the relation of his actions. Having banished every virtuous feeling, being more inclined to live upon the ruins of his country than the fruits of his industry, and more disposed to fight than to work, he abandoned his own house, and joined a band of robbers. Dudley soon became so expert a robber, that there was scarcely any robbery committed but he acted a principal part in it. Pleased with this easy way of obtaining money, and of supporting an extravagant expense, he also prevailed upon Will, his brother, to join him in this employment. It happened, however, that Will had not been long in his new occupation, when the captain was apprehended for robbing a gentleman of a watch, a sword, a whip, and nine shillings. But, fortunately for him, the evidence was defective, and he escaped death a second time.

Now hardened in vice, he immediately recurred to his old trade. He robbed on the highway, broke into houses, picked pockets, or performed any act of violence or cunning by which he could procure money. Fortune favored him long, and he went on with impunity, but was at last apprehended for robbing Sir John Friend’s house. Upon trial the evidence was decisive, and he received sentence of death. His friends again interposed, and through their influence his sentence was changed for that of banishment. Accordingly, he and several other convicts were put on board a ship bound for Barbadoes. But they had scarcely reached the Isle of Wight, when he excited his companions to a conspiracy, and, having concerted their measures while the ship’s company were under hatches, they went off with the longboat.

No sooner had he reached the shore than he abandoned his companions, and travelled through woods and by-paths. Being in a very mean dress, he begged when he had no opportunity to steal. Arriving, however, at Hounslow heath, he met with a farmer, robbed him, seized his horse, and, having mounted, set forward in quest of new spoils. This was a fortunate day, for Dudley had not proceeded far on the heath when a gentleman, well dressed, and better mounted than the farmer, made his appearance. He was commanded to halt and to surrender. Dudley led him aside into a retired thicket, exchanged clothes and horse, rifled his pockets, and then addressed him, saying, that “he ought never to accuse him of robbing him, for according to the old proverb, exchange was no robbery;” so bidding him good day, he marched off for London. Arrived there, he went in search of his old associates, who were glad to see their friend; and who, in consequence of his fortunate adventures and high reputation among them, conferred upon him the title of captain, all agreeing to be subject to his commands. Thus, at the head of such an experienced and desperate band, no part of the country was secure from his rapine, nor any house sufficiently strong to keep him out. The natural consequences were, that he soon became known and dreaded all over the country.

To avoid capture, and to prevent all inquiries, he paid a visit to the north of England, and, being one day in search of plunder, he robbed a Dutch colonel of his horse, arms, and fine laced coat. Thus equipped, he committed several other robberies. At length, however, he laid aside the colonel’s habit, only using his horse, which soon became dexterous at his new employment. But one day meeting a gentleman near Epsom, the latter resisted the captain’s demands, and discharged his pistol at Dudley. In the combat, however, he was victorious, wounded the gentleman in the leg, and, having stripped him of his money, conveyed him to the next village, that he might receive medical assistance, and then rode off in search of new adventures. The captain and his men were very successful in this quarter. No stage, nor coach, nor passenger, of which they had intelligence, could escape their depredations, and scarcely a day passed without the commission of some notorious robbery.

Captain Dudley and his men went on in a continued course of good fortune, acquiring much wealth, but amassing little, as their extravagance was equal to their gains. On one ill-fated day, however, having attacked and robbed the Southampton coach, they were keenly pursued, and several of them taken, but Dudley escaped. Deprived of the chief part of his own forces, he now attached himself to some housebreakers, and with them continued to commit many robberies; in particular, with three others, he entered the house of an old woman in Spitalfields, gagged her, bound her to a chair, and rifled the house of a considerable sum of money, which the good woman had been long scraping together. Hearing the money clink that was going to be taken from her, she struggled in her chair, fell down upon her face, and was stifled to death, while the captain and his companions went off with impunity. But when the old woman came to be interred, a grandson of hers, who had been one of the robbers, when about to be fitted with a pair of mourning gloves, changed countenance, was strongly agitated, and began to tremble. He was suspected, charged with the murder, confessed the crime, and informing upon the rest, two of them were taken, tried, and condemned, and the three hanged in chains.

Yet, though Dudley’s name was published as accessory to the murder, he long escaped detection. At length, however, he was apprehended, and charged with several robberies, of which he, by dexterous management, evaded the deserved punishment. He was also called to stand trial for the murder of the old woman; but the principal evidence, upon whose testimony the other three were chiefly condemned, being absent, he escaped suffering for that crime. The dexterous manner in which he managed that trial, the witnesses whom he had suborned, and the manner in which he maintained his innocence before the jury, were often the cause of his boast and amusement.

The profligate Dudley was no sooner relieved from prison than he hastened to join his old companions in vice. Exulting to see their captain again at their head, they redoubled their activity, and committed all manner of depredations. Among other adventures, they robbed a nobleman on Hounslow heath of fifteen hundred pounds, after a severe engagement with his servants, three of whom were wounded, and two had their horses shot under them. They next directed their course along the west country road, and having robbed a parson, enjoined him, under the most terrific threats, to preach a sermon in praise of thieving. He was forced to comply, and the sermon being ended, they returned his money, and gave him four shillings to drink their health and success.

After this adventure, they left off infesting the highways, and rode for London. Arrived in the capital, the captain’s brother employed his dexterity about town in several adventures, which go far to show how well the brother profited by the example and instructions of the captain. He first dressed himself as a countryman, with a pair of dirty boots on, and a whip in his hand, and went to Bartholomew Fair, where he wandered all the forenoon without meeting any prey. But as he was returning, he accosted a plain countryman, saying, “Have a care, honest friend, of your money, for we are going into a cursed place, full of thieves, rogues, and pickpockets. I am almost ruined by them, and I am glad that they have not pulled the teeth out of my head. Let one take never so good care, they will be sure of his money; the devil certainly helps them.”

The face of the countryman glowed with courage as he replied, “I defy all the devils to rob me of any thing I value. I have a round piece which I’ll secure;” and thrusting it into his mouth, he rushed confidently into the fair. Will was only desirous to ascertain the fact that he had money about him; therefore, giving his instructions with a few sixpences and groats to a hopeful boy, he immediately ran after the countryman, while Will followed at a distance. The boy coming up with the countryman, fell down before him, scattering the money all around; and starting up, he raised the most hideous noise, crying that he was undone, and that he must run away from his apprenticeship, that his master was a furious man, and that he would certainly be killed. The countryman and others flocked around, and endeavored to assist the boy in gathering up his lost money. Then one of them said, “Have you found all?” “Yes, all the silver, but that is of no avail; there is a broad piece of gold which I was carrying to my master for a token sent from the country, and for the loss of it I shall be killed. Alas! I am undone! what will become of me?” Will now advanced among the crowd, and was equally concerned for the unhappy boy; and, seeing the countryman standing by, he gravely observed that he had seen him put a piece of gold into his mouth. The mob instantly seized him, and while one opened his mouth by force, another extracted the broad piece of gold; and when he attempted to speak in his own defence, he was kicked, pinched, and so tossed about, that he was glad to escape with his life. Meanwhile, the boy slipped away among the crowd, and at an appointed place met Will to surrender to him his booty.

Having changed his clothes, Will went into the market, and mingling with the crowd, learned that the countryman was gone to an inn, where he had sent for his master, a knight of a large estate, and some other respectable persons, to attest his character. Will knew this person well, and hastened to the Exchange, in full hopes of meeting him. Having reconnoitred the gentleman, and followed him until he perceived an opportunity, he robbed him of every guinea he had, except one, which he considerately left him to pay for his dinner. The knight, repairing to the inn, laughed heartily when the poor countryman informed him that he had been robbed, while he told him that he also had, in like manner, been just fleeced upon the Exchange. The countryman laughed in his turn, and said, “Sir, let us make our escape from this roguish place;” adding, with a shrug of the shoulders, “Sir, they’ll steal our small guts to make fiddle-strings of them.”

The gentleman, having recruited his purse, went on the next day to the Exchange. Will paid him the same compliment the second day. The knight was surprised how it was possible for any man to rob him when he was so forewarned, and so upon his guard; but, looking hastily about, his eye fixed upon Will, whom he suspected to be the delinquent. He went up to him, and, taking him by the button, informed him, that he strongly suspected that he was the person who had robbed him; but, as he was a gentleman of a large fortune, he did not regard the money, and would freely pardon him, and give him all the money, upon condition that he would inform him by what means he had done so. “This,” said he, “I promise upon my honor.” “Your word of honor,” said Will, “is sufficient; I know the greatness of your fortune; I am the man. I will wait on your worship at the tavern, and there show you some of my art more freely than I would do to my fellow-rogues.” In their way to the inn, the gentleman informed Will, that as he wished to make a frolic of the matter, he would send for some other gentlemen to be present, assuring him, at the same time, that he should sustain no damage from any discovery that he might make to them. “I know you’re a gentleman,” said Will, “and men of honor scorn to keep base company. Call as many as you please; I’ll take their word, and I know that I am safe.”

When the gentlemen arrived, Will told them many things which greatly astonished and pleased them; and when he pulled out the piece of gold, and informed them how he had used Roger, the gentleman’s tenant, he was immediately sent for to increase the amusement. “What would you say,” cried the knight, as he entered, “if you saw your gold again?” “Oh!” said he, “I wish I could; but if my mouth can’t keep it, where shall I put it? Shud! I’d rather see the rogue; I’d make a jelly of his bones!” “There he is,” said the knight, “and there’s your broad piece.” As Roger began to heave and to bully, his master commanded him to take his piece of gold, and sit down by him: upon which, the pacified Roger, seeing how things went, drank to his new acquaintance.