Chapter VII: Part 7

Unfortunately, however, the sentimental attachment of our too susceptible highwayman was doomed to suffer a defeat; and still more unfortunately, he was quite as unsuccessful in his profession; for, committing a robbery in Leicestershire, where his comrade was killed in the attempt, he was closely pursued by the county, apprehended, and sent to gaol; and at the next Leicester assizes condemned. Whilst under sentence of death, he seemed to feel no remorse at all for his wickedness, nor in the least to repent of the blood of two persons, which he had shed. So being brought to the gallows, on Wednesday the fifth of May, 1708, he was justly hanged, in the thirty-second year of his age.

TOM DORBEL.

This robber was bred a glover; but before he had served one half of his time, ran off from his master, and coming to London, soon became acquainted with men of dispositions similar to his own. About the age of seventeen, Tom ventured to appear upon the highway, but was outwitted in his first attempt.

Meeting a Welshman, he demanded Taffy’s money, or he would take his life. The Welshman said, “Hur has no money of hur own, but has threescore pounds of hur master’s money; but, Cot’s blood! hur must not give hur master’s money,--what would hur master then say for hur doing so?” Tom replied, “You must not put me off with your cant; for money I want, and money I will have, let it be whose it will, or expect to be shot through the head.” The Welshman then delivered the money, saying, “What hur gives you is none of hur own; and that hur master may not think hur has spent hur money, hur requests you to be so kind as to shoot some holes through hur coat-lappets, that hur master may see hur was robbed.” So suspending his coat upon a tree, Tom fired his pistol through it, Taffy exclaiming, “Gots splatter a-nails! this is a pretty pounce; pray give hur another pounce for hur money!” Tom fired another shot through his coat. “By St. Davy, this is a better pounce than the other! pray give hur one pounce more!” “I have never another pounce left,” cried Tom. “Why then,” replied the Welshman, “hur has one pounce left for hur, and if hur will not give hur hur money again, hur will pounce hur through hur body.” Dorbel very reluctantly but quietly returned the money, and was thankful that he was allowed to depart.

But this narrow escape did not deter Dorbel, and he continued his villanies for the space of five years. It happened, however, that a gentleman’s son was taken for robbing on the highway, and as he had been formerly pardoned, he now despaired of obtaining mercy a second time. Tom undertook, for the sum of five hundred pounds, to bring him off. The one half was paid in hand, and the other half was to be paid immediately the deliverance was effected. When the young gentleman came upon his trial, he was found guilty; but just as the judge was about to pass sentence, Tom cried out, “Oh! what a sad thing it is to shed innocent blood! Oh! what a sad thing it is to shed innocent blood!” And continuing to reiterate the expression, he was apprehended, and the judge interrogating him what he meant by such an expression, he said, “May it please your lordship, it is a very hard thing for a man to die wrongfully; but one may see how hard-mouthed some people are, by the witnesses swearing that this gentleman now at the bar robbed them on the highway at such a time, when indeed, my lord, I was the person that committed that robbery.”

Accordingly, Tom was taken into custody, and the young gentleman liberated. He was brought to trial at the following assizes; and being asked, whether he was guilty or not, he pleaded, not guilty! “Not guilty!” replied the judge; “why, did not you at the last assizes, when I was here, own yourself guilty of such a robbery?” “I don’t know,” said Tom, “how far I was guilty then, but upon my word, I am not guilty now; therefore, if any person can accuse me of committing such a robbery, I desire they may prove the same.” No witness appearing, he was acquitted.

Tom, living at such an extravagant rate in the prison, had scarcely any part of the five hundred pounds remaining when he obtained his liberty; therefore, endeavoring to recruit his funds, by robbing the duke of Norfolk near Salisbury, his horse was shot, and he himself taken, and condemned at the next assizes. While under sentence, he found a lawyer who engaged, for the sum of fifty guineas, to obtain his pardon. He accordingly rode to London, was successful, and just arrived in time with the pardon, when Dorbel was about to be thrown off,--having rode so hard that his horse immediately dropped down dead. Such, however, was Tom’s ingratitude, that he refused to pay the lawyer, alleging, that any obligation given by a man under sentence of death was not valid.

Dorbel was so much alarmed upon his narrow escape from a violent death, that he resolved to abandon the collecting trade, and obtained a situation in several families as a footman. He also served six or seven years with a lady in Ormond street, who had a brother, a merchant in Bristol, whose only daughter, a girl sixteen years of age, prevailed upon her father to allow her to come to London to perfect her education. Dorbel being a person in whom her aunt thought she could place unlimited confidence, was sent to convey the young lady to London. In the last stage he was left alone with her, when the miscreant first shockingly abused her, then robbed her of her gold watch, diamond ring, jewels to the amount of a hundred pounds, and cutting a hole in the back of the coach, escaped, leaving the young lady in a swoon. It was with difficulty she recovered, to inform her relations how she had been treated. Her mother hastened to town to see her, and after speaking a few words to her, the poor girl breathed her last. The disconsolate father soon after lost his senses.

Dorbel was pursued in different directions, and apprehended just after he had robbed a gentleman of three pounds five shillings. He was tried, and condemned to be executed and hung in chains; which well-merited sentence was put in force against this hardened villain, on the 23d of March, 1708.

DICK ADAMS.

The parents of this worthless fellow lived in Gloucestershire, and gave him an education suited to his station. Leaving the country, and coming to London, the abode of the most distinguished virtue as well as of the most consummate villany, he was introduced into the service of a great duchess at St. James’, and stayed there for two years. He was at last dismissed for improper conduct; but while he remained there, he had obtained a general key which opened the lodgings in St. James’. Accordingly, he went to a mercer, and desired him to send, with all speed, a parcel of the best brocades, satins, and silks, for his duchess, that she might select some for an approaching drawing-room. Having often gone on a similar errand, the mercer instantly complied. His servant, and a porter to carry the parcels, accompanied Dick, and when arrived at the gate of some of the lodgings, he said, “Let’s see the pieces at once, for my duchess is just now at leisure to look at them.” So receiving the parcel, he conveyed it down a back stair, and went clear off. After waiting with great impatience for two or three hours, the porter and the man returned home, much lighter than when they came out.

About a month after, one evening when Dick had been taking his glass pretty freely, he unfortunately came by the mercer’s shop, while the mercer was standing at the door; the latter recollected and instantly seized him, saying, “Oh sir, have I caught you! you are a fine spark indeed! to cheat me out of two hundred pounds’ worth of goods! but before I part with you, I shall make you pay dearly for them!” Adams was not a little surprised at being so unexpectedly taken; but instantly seeing the bishop of London coming up in his carriage, he said to the mercer, “I must acknowledge that I have committed a crime to which I was forced by extreme necessity; but I see my uncle, the bishop of London, coming this way in his coach; therefore, I hope that you’ll be so civil as not to raise any hubbub of a mob about me, by which I should be exposed and utterly undone: I’ll go speak to his lordship about the matter, if you please to step with me; and I’ll engage he shall make you satisfaction for the damage I have done you.”

The mercer, eager to receive his money, and deeming this proposal a better method than sending him to gaol, consented. Adams went boldly up, and desiring the coachman to stop, requested a few words of his lordship. Seeing him in the dress of a gentleman, he was pleased to listen to him, upon which Adams said, “Begging your lordship’s pardon for my presumption, I make bold to acquaint your reverence that the gentleman standing behind me is an eminent mercer, keeping house hard by, and is a very upright, godly man; but being a great reader of books of divinity, especially polemical pieces, he has met therein with some intricate cases, which very much trouble him, and his conscience cannot be at rest until his doubts and scruples are cleared about them; I humbly beg, therefore, that your lordship would vouchsafe him the honor of giving him some ease before he runs utterly to despair.”

The bishop, always ready to assist any person troubled with scruples of conscience, requested Adams to bring his friend to him the following day: “But,” said Adams, deferentially, “it will be more satisfactory to the poor man, if your lordship will speak to him yourself.” Upon which the bishop bowing to the mercer, the latter approached the coach, when the bishop said, “The gentleman has informed me of all the matter about you, and if you please to give yourself the trouble of coming to my house at Fulham, I will satisfy you in every point.” The mercer made many grateful bows, and taking Adams to a tavern, gave him a good entertainment.

The next morning Adams waited upon the mercer, who was making out his bill to present to the bishop, and pretending that his coming in haste to attend him to the bishop’s house had made him forget to bring money with him, entreated that he would grant him the loan of a guinea, and put it down in the bill. They then went off to wait upon the bishop at the time appointed. After being regaled in the parlor with a bottle of wine, the mercer was introduced to the bishop, who addressed him, saying, “I understand that you have been greatly troubled of late; I hope that you are better now, sir?” The mercer answered, “My trouble is much abated, since your lordship has been pleased to order me to wait upon you.” So pulling out his pocket-book, he presented his lordship with a bill containing several articles, including a guinea of borrowed money, amounting in all to two hundred and three pounds nineteen shillings and tenpence.

His lordship, staring upon the bill, and examining its contents, said, “What is the meaning of all this? The gentleman last night might very well say your conscience could not be at rest, and I wonder why it should, when you bring a bill to me of which I know nothing.” “Your lordship,” said the mercer, bowing and scraping, “was pleased last night to say, that you would satisfy me to-day.” “Yes,” replied the prelate, “and so I would with respect to what the gentleman told me; who said that you, being much troubled about some points of religion, desired to be resolved therein, and, in order thereto, I appointed you to come to-day.” “Truly, your lordship’s nephew told me otherwise; for he said you would pay me this bill of parcels, which, upon my word, he had of me, and in a very clandestine manner too, if I were to tell your lordship all the truth: but out of respect to your honor, I will not disgrace your nephew.” “My nephew! he is none of my nephew! I never, to my knowledge, saw the gentleman in my life before!”

Dick not long after went into the life-guards, but as his pay would not support his extravagance, he sometimes collected upon the highway. Along with some of his companions upon the road, they robbed a gentleman of a gold watch and a purse of a hundred and eight pounds. Not content with his booty. Adams went after the gentleman, saying, “Sir, you have got a very fine coat on; I must make bold to exchange with you.” As the gentleman rode along, he thought he heard something making a noise in his pocket, and examining it, to his great joy he found his watch and all his money, which Adams in his hurry had forgot to remove out of the pocket of his own coat when he exchanged with the gentleman. But when Adams and his associates came to an inn, and sat down to examine their booty, to their unspeakable chagrin they found that all was gone.

Adams and his companions went out that very same day to repair their loss, and attacked the stage-coach, in which were several women, with whom, irritated by their recent misfortune, they were very rough and urgent. While Dick was searching the pockets of one of the women, she said, “Have you no pity or compassion on our sex? Certainly, you have neither Christianity, nor conscience, nor religion, in you!” “Right, we have not much Christianity nor conscience in us: but, for my part, you shall presently find a little religion in me.” So falling next upon her jewels and ear-rings, “Indeed, madam,” exclaimed Adams, “supposing you to be an Egyptian, I must beg the favor of you, being a Jew, to borrow your jewels and ear-rings, according as my forefathers were commanded by Moses;” and having robbed the ladies to the amount of two hundred pounds in money and goods, allowed them to proceed. After a course of depredations, Dick, in robbing a man between London and Brentford, was so closely pursued by the person who was robbed, and a neighbor whom he fortunately met upon the road, that in a little time afterwards he was apprehended, carried before a magistrate, committed to Newgate, tried, condemned, and executed, in March 1713. Though rude and profligate before, he was penitent and devout after receiving his sentence.

WILLIAM GETTINGS.

William’s father was a grazier in Herefordshire, and he lived with him until he was sixteen years old, and then came up to London. Sometimes in the capacity of a footman, and sometimes in that of a butler, he spent five years in a very irreproachable manner. Unfortunately, however, he became acquainted with evil company, was soon corrupted in principles, and became a rogue in practice.

He began his course under the name of William Smith, and traded in the smaller matter of pilfering. In the dress of a porter he one evening went into the house of a doctor of medicine, took down a rich bed, and packed it up. In carrying it off he fell down stairs, and had almost broken his neck. The noise alarming the old doctor and his son, they came running to see what was the matter; whereupon Gettings, puffing and blowing as if he was quite out of breath, perceiving them nearer than they should be, said to the doctor, “Is not your name so and so?”--“Yes,” replied the doctor; “and what then?”--“Why, then, sir,” said Gettings, “there’s one Mr. Hugh Hen and Penhenribus has ordered me to bring these goods hither (which have almost broken my back,) and carry them away to a new lodging, which he has taken somewhere hereabouts.”--“Mr. Hugh Hen and Penhenribus!” replied the doctor again: “pray, who’s he? for, to the best of my knowledge, I don’t know such a gentleman.”--“I can’t tell,” said Gettings, “but, indeed, the gentleman knows you, and ordered me to leave the goods here.” “I don’t care,” said the doctor, “how well he knows me! I tell you I’ll not take the people’s goods, unless they were here themselves; therefore, I say, carry them away!”--“Nay, pray sir,” said Gettings, “let me leave the goods here, for I am quite weary already in bringing them hither.”--“I tell you,” replied the doctor, “there shall none be left here; therefore take them away, or I’ll throw them into the street!”--“Well, well,” said Gettings, “I’ll take the goods away then; but I’m sure the gentleman will be very angry, because he ordered me to leave them here.”--“I don’t care,” replied the doctor, “for his anger, nor your’s either! I tell you, I’ll take no charge of other people’s goods, unless they are here themselves to put them into my custody!”--“Very well, sir,” said Gettings, “since I must carry them away, I beg the favor of you and the gentleman there to lift them on my back.”--“Ay, ay, with all my heart,” replied the doctor. “Come, son, and lend a hand to lift them on the fellow’s back.”

Scarcely was William gone, when the doctor’s wife coming home from the market, and going into the room, saw the bed taken down, and came running in a great passion to her husband, exclaiming, “Why, truly, this is a most strange business, that I can never stir out of doors, but you must be making some whimsical alteration or other in the house!”--“What’s the matter,” replied the doctor, “with the woman? Are you beside yourself?”--“No,” said the wife, “but truly you are, in thus altering things as you do, almost every moment!” “Certainly, my dear,” replied the doctor, “you must have been spending your market-penny, or else you would not talk at this rate, as you do, of alterations, when not the smallest have been made since you have gone out.”--“I am not blind, I think,” retorted the wife, “for I am sure the bed is taken out of the two-pair-of-stairs back room; and pray, husband, where do you design to put it now?” The doctor and his son then went up-stairs, and not only found that the bed was stolen, but that they had assisted the thief to carry it off.

Our hero next resolved to try his fortune upon the highway, and meeting with a sharper on the road, commanded him to “stand and deliver!” He robbed him of two pence half-penny, when the sharper remarked, that “the world was come indeed to a very sad pass, when one rogue must prey upon another.”

He next robbed a man of twelve shillings and a pair of silver buckles. From thence he proceeded to rifle a stage-coach, and took away some money and a silver watch. Not long after, he robbed Mr. Dashwood and his lady of a gold watch and money.

These, however, were only smaller exhibitions of his dexterity. One evening, well mounted, he passed through Richmond, and perceiving a gentleman walking in his gardens, inquired of the gardener if he might be permitted to view the gardens, of which he had heard so much.

The gardener, well acquainted with the harmless vanity and benevolence of his master, granted his request. Giving his horse to the gardener, Gettings walked forward, and in a very respectful manner accosted the gentleman, who received him very courteously; when, sitting down together in an arbor, Gettings said, “Your worship has got a fine diamond ring upon your finger.”--“Yes,” replied the owner, “it ought to be a very fine one, for it cost me a very fine price.”--“Why, then,” said Gettings, “it is the fitter to bestow on a friend; therefore, if your worship pleases, I must make bold to take it and wear it for your sake.” The gentleman stared at his impudence, but Gettings presenting a pistol, made a short process of the matter. Having taken the ring, the villain added, “I am sure you do not go without a good watch too.” Making free with that also, and some guineas, he bound the gentleman, and went off with his booty, after requesting him to be patient, and he would send some person to set him at liberty. When he came to the gate, he gave the gardener a shilling, informing him that Sir James wanted to speak to him. The botanical retainer accordingly went and untied his master, who with a grim smile returned him thanks for sending a man into his own garden to rob him.

Upon another day, Gettings undertook a long journey, for the express purpose of robbing the house of a friend; and being well acquainted with all parts of the house, was successful, and brought off money, plate, and goods, to a considerable amount. He at last, in an unlucky moment, robbed a Mr. Harrison of four guineas, some silver, and a watch; and being detected, was tried, condemned, and executed, on the 25th September, 1713, in the twenty-second year of his age.

NED BONNET.

Edward Bonnet was born of respectable parents in the isle of Ely, in Cambridgeshire, received an education superior to many of his companions, and when he was only ten years old, gave the following proof of his promising genius. He was sent to the parson with the present of a sparerib of pork, wrapped up in a cloth in a basket. Ned knocked with some degree of importance at the door, which a servant answered, inquiring his business. “I want to speak with your master.” The master came. “Well, my dear, what is your business?” “Why, only my father has sent you this,” said young Ned; and gave him the basket, without moving his hat. “O fie! fie! child, have you no manners? you should pull off your hat, and say,--Sir, my father gives his service to you, and desires you to accept this small token. Come, go you out again with the basket, and knock at the door, and I’ll let you in, and see how prettily you can perform it.” The parson waited within until his impatience to receive and examine the contents of the basket incited him to open the door. But Ned was at a considerable distance, walking off with the present. “So ho! so ho, sirrah! where are you going?” “Home, sir,” replied Ned, in an equally loud voice. “Hey, but you must come back and do as I bade you first.” “Thank you for that, sir, I know better than that; and if you teach me manners, I’ll teach you wit.” The father smiled at the story, and retained his sparerib.

At the age of fifteen, Bonnet was sent apprentice to a grocer, served his time with credit, was afterwards married to a young woman in the neighborhood, and continued in business until he had acquired about six hundred pounds. Unfortunately, however, he was reduced to poverty by an accidental fire. Unable to answer the pressing demands of his creditors, he left the place, and came up to London. Here he soon became acquainted with a band of highwaymen, and began with them to seek from the highway what had been lost by fire.

Nor did he long continue in the inferior walks of his new profession, but providing himself with a horse which he taught to leap over ditch, hedge, or toll-bar, and to know all the roads in the country, whether by day or by night, he quickly became the terror of Cambridgeshire.

Upon this horse, he one day met a Cantabrigian, who was possessed of more money than good sense, morality, or wit, in a calash with a dashing courtesan. Ned commanded the student to “stand and deliver.” Unwilling to show his cowardice before his companion, he refused. Without any respect for the venerable university to which he belonged, Ned by violence took from him about six pounds, and presenting a pair of pistols, constrained the hopeful pair to strip themselves, then bound them together, and giving the horse a lashing, the animal went off at full trot with them to the inn to which he belonged. But no sooner did these Adamites enter the town, than men, women, and children, came hallooing, shouting, and collecting the whole town to behold such an uncommon spectacle. The student was expelled for disgracing the university, and the courtesan was sent to the house of correction.

Humorous Ned next met with a tailor and his son, who had arrested him for five pounds. He commanded him to surrender, and received thirty-five in place of his five. “I wonder,” said the innocent son, “what these fellows think of themselves? Surely they must go to the place below for committing these notorious actions.” “God forbid,” replied the tailor, “for to have the conversation of such rogues there, would be worse than all the rest.”

Ned’s next adventure was with an anabaptist preacher, whom he commanded to deliver up his purse and scrip. The latter began by reasonings, ejaculations, and texts, to avert the impending evil. Ned instantly put himself in a great passion, and replied, “Pray, sir, keep your breath to cool your porridge, and don’t talk of religious matters to me, for I’ll have you to know, that, like all other true-bred gentlemen, I believe nothing at all of religion; therefore deliver me your money, and bestow your laborious cant upon your female auditors, who never scold with their maids without cudgelling them with broken pieces of scripture.” Whereupon, taking a watch and eight guineas, he tied his legs under his horse, and let him depart.

On another occasion, Bonnet and a few associates met a nobleman and four servants in a narrow pass, one side of which was enclosed by a craggy and shattered rock, and the other by an almost impenetrable wood, rising gradually considerably higher than the road, and accosted them in his usual style. The nobleman pretended that he supposed they were only in jest, and said, “that if they would accompany him to the next inn, he would give them a handsome treat.” He was soon informed that they preferred the present to the future. A sharp dispute ensued, but the nobleman and his men were conquered; and the lord was robbed of a purse of gold, a gold watch, a gold snuff-box, and a diamond ring.

Being conducted into the adjacent wood, and bound hand and foot, the robbers left them, saying, “that they would bring them more company presently.” Accordingly, they were as good as their word, for in less than two hours they contrived to increase the number to twelve, on which Ned cried, “There are now twelve of you, all good men and true; so bidding you farewell, you may give in your verdict against us as you please, when we are gone, though it will be none of the best; but to give us as little trouble as possible, we shall not now stay to challenge any of you. So, once more, farewell.”

Ned Bonnet and his comrades now going to the place of rendezvous, to make merry with what they had got, which was at a by sort of an inn standing somewhat out of the high-road between Stamford and Grantham, it happened at night to rain very hard, so that one Mr. Randal, a pewterer, living near Marygold alley in the Strand, before it was burnt down, was obliged to put in there for shelter. Calling for a pot of ale, on which was the innkeeper’s name, which was also Randal, the pewterer asked him, being his namesake, to sit and bear him company.

They had not been long chatting, before Ned and one of his comrades came down stairs and placed themselves at the same table; and understanding the name of the stranger, one of the rogues, fixing his eyes more intently than ordinary upon him, in a fit of seeming joy leaped over the table, and embracing the pewterer, exclaimed, “Dear Mr. Randal! who would have thought to have seen you here? it is ten years, I think, since I had the happiness to be acquainted with you.”

Whilst the pewterer was recollecting whether he could call this spark to mind or not, for it came not into his memory that he had ever seen him in his life, the highwayman again cried out, “Alas! Mr. Randal, I see now I am much altered, since you have forgotten me.” Here, being arrived at a _ne plus ultra_, up started Ned, and with as great apparent joy said to his companion, “Is this, Harry, the honest gentleman in London, whom you so often used to praise for his great civility and liberality to all people? Surely then we are very happy in meeting thus accidentally with him.”

By this discourse they would almost have persuaded Mr. Randal that they perfectly knew him; but being sensible of the contrary, he very seriously assured them that he could not remember that he had ever seen any of them in his life. “No!” said they, struck with seeming astonishment; “it is strange we should be altered so much within these few years.”

But to evade further ill-timed questions, the rogues insisted upon Mr. Randal’s supping with them, which invitation he was by no means permitted to decline.

By the time they had supped, in came four more of Ned’s comrades, who were invited also to sit down, and more provisions were called for, which were quickly brought, and as rapidly devoured.

When the fury of consuming half a dozen good fowls and other victuals was over, besides several flasks of wine, there was not less than three pounds odd money to pay. At this they stared on each other, and held a profound silence, whilst Mr. Randal was fumbling in his pocket. When they saw that he only brought forth a mouse from the mountain of money the thieves hoped to find piled in his pocket, which was only as much as his share, he that pretended to know him started up, and protested he should be excused for old acquaintance sake; but the pewterer, not willing to be beholden, as indeed they never intended he should, to such companions, lest for this civility they should expect greater obligations from him, pressed them to accept his dividend of the reckoning, saying, if they thought it equitable he would pay more.

At last one of them, tipping the wink, said, “Come, come, what needs all this ado? Let the gentleman, if he so pleases, present us with this small treat, and do you give him a larger at his taking his farewell in the morning.” Mr. Randal not liking this proposal, it was started that he and Ned should throw dice to end the controversy; and fearing he had got into ill company, to avoid mischief, Randal acquiesced to throw a main who should pay the whole shot, which was so managed that the lot fell upon Randal. By this means Randal, having the voice of the whole board against him, was deputed to pay the whole reckoning; though the dissembling villains vowed and protested they had rather it had fallen to any of them, that they might have had the honor of treating him.

Mr. Randal concealed his discontent at these shirking tricks as well as he could; and they perceiving he would not engage in gaming, but counterfeited drowsiness, and desired to be abed, the company broke up, and he was shown to his lodgings, which he barricaded as well as he could, by putting old chairs, stools, and tables against the door. Going to bed and putting the candle out, he fell asleep; but was soon awaked by a strange walking up and down the room, and an outcry of murder and thieves.

At this surprising noise he leaped out of bed, and ran to the door, to see whether it was fast or not: and finding nothing removed, (for the highwaymen came into his chamber by a trap-door which was behind the hangings,) he wondered how the noise should be there in his apartment, unless it was enchanted; but as he was about to remove the barricade to run and raise the house, he was surrounded by a crew, who, tying and gagging him, took away all his clothes, and left him to shift for himself as well as he could.

One day having the misfortune to have his horse shot under him, Bonnet embraced the first opportunity to take a good gelding from the grounds of the man who kept the Red Lion inn. Being again equipped like a gentleman, he rode into Cambridgeshire, and met with a gentleman, who informed him that he had well nigh been robbed, and requested him to ride along with him for protection. As a highwayman is never out of his way, he complied, and, at a convenient place, levied a contribution, as protector of the gentleman, by emptying his pockets of eighty guineas. He, however, had the generosity to give him half-a-crown to carry him to the next town.

After having, according to computation, committed three hundred robberies, another thief, being apprehended, in order to save his own life, informed against Bonnet, who was apprehended, not upon the highway, but in his own lodgings, and sent to Newgate, and at the next assizes carried down to Cambridge, sentenced and executed before the castle, on the 28th March, 1713, to the great joy of the county, which had suffered severely by his depredations.

WILL OGDEN AND TOM REYNOLDS.

The first of these was a waterman, and born in Southwark. The second was a dung-bargeman, and born in Barnaby street. Entering into company, they robbed shops and ships, during the space of two years, with considerable success: they then ascended to the second degree of robbery, and broke several houses in Southwark. Associating themselves with another, they broke into a watchmaker’s shop, and extracted twenty-six watches; but the stranger becoming evidence, our two trusty friends were lodged in Newgate, tried, and condemned, but received a pardon, in consequence of which they were again let loose upon the community. Ogden one evening met a parson walking home under the light of the moon, and approached him in the character of a seaman in great poverty and distress. His dismal narrative excited the compassion of the parson, who gave him a sixpence. The parson had not proceeded far when Ogden met him again, and renewed his request. “You are the most impudent beggar that ever I met with,” cried the reverend gentleman. Ogden told him that he was in very great want, and that the sixpence he had received would not supply his necessities. He then gave him half a crown. Ogden said, “These are very sad times, for there’s horrid robbing abroad, therefore, if you have any more money about you, you may as well let me have it as another, who perhaps may abuse you, and binding you hand and foot, make you lie in the cold all night; but if you’ll give me your money, I’ll take care of you, and conduct you very safely home.”

The parson made a virtue of necessity, and gave him all his money, which was about forty shillings. Ogden then said, “I see you have a watch, sir; you may as well let me have that too.” The parson complied, and as they were plodding along, two or three fellows came out upon them, to whom Ogden cried, “The moon shines bright,” and they let them proceed. They had only gone a short way, when the same scene was repeated, but at last the parson was brought safely to his own door. He requested his guide to go in, assuring him that he should receive no injury; but the latter declined his offer. The good parson then brought a bottle of wine, and drinking to Ogden, gave him the bottle and the glass to help himself, upon which he ran off with both.

Upon another day, meeting Beau Medlicote, he was commanded to “stand and deliver.” The beau pretended to make some resistance with his sword, but pistols being produced, he was constrained to yield. There were only two half-crowns found in his pocket, and one of them was bad. Upon this he received a complete caning for presuming to carry counterfeit money.

Some time after this, Ogden and Reynolds, in company with one Bradshaw, the grandson of serjeant Bradshaw, who condemned king Charles the First to death, were watching in a wood for some booty. A poor servant girl was returning home from her service, with a box upon her head. Bradshaw was deemed a sufficient match for her; accordingly, he alone rushed out of the wood and seized her box, in which were her clothes and fifteen shillings, being all her wages for three months’ service. When he had broken up her box and was rifling it, there happening to be a hammer in it, she suddenly seized the hammer, and gave him a blow upon the temples, which was followed by another equally well directed, with the claw of the hammer, into his windpipe, on which the villain instantly expired.

In a short time a gentleman came up, to whom she related the whole adventure; he went up to the deceased, and found in his pockets eighty guineas, with a whistle. Perceiving its use, he immediately whistled, when Ogden and Reynolds in a moment rushed from the wood; but discovering that it was a wrong person who gave the signal, they with equal speed ran back. The gentleman carried the girl before a magistrate, became bail for her appearance; and being tried, she was acquitted.

At another time, these two men met a tallyman, well known for his commerce of two kinds with the hawkers of St. Giles’-in-the-Fields. They employed the common phrase “Stand and deliver!” In a piteous tone the victim entreated them to spare a poor man who was at great pains to acquire his daily bread. In a violent passion Ogden exclaimed, “Thou spawn of hell! have pity on thee? No, sirrah! I know you too well, and I would almost as soon be kind to a bailiff or an informing constable. A tallyman and a rogue are terms of similar import. Every Friday you set up a tenter in the Marshalsea court, upon which you rack and stretch poor prisoners, like English broadcloth, beyond the staple of the wool, till the threads crack, which causes them upon the least wet to shrink, and presently wear threadbare. I say that you and all your calling are worse rogues than ever were hanged at Tyburn.” After this eloquent harangue, he took whatever he found upon him, stripped him naked, bound him hand and foot, and left him under a hedge to ruminate on his former villanies.

These rogues were great cronies of Thomas Jones and John Richardson, the one butler, the other footman, to a gentleman living at Eltham. These fellows having one day robbed a gentleman on Blackheath, left him bound by the roadside. Their master coming past a few hours after, relieved the unfortunate gentleman, took him to his own house, and gave him a glass of wine to recruit his spirits. The butler no sooner appeared, than the gentleman knew him, and instantly charged him with the robbery. His master was astonished, and could scarcely credit the report; but the other describing the horse upon which he rode, and the person who was along with him, he found that he was one of his footmen. The two servants being examined, and acknowledging the fact, were committed, tried, and suffered the punishment due to their crimes.

Ogden and Reynolds continued their depredations until justice at length overtook them, and at Kingston-upon-Thames they were sentenced. They were unsuccessful in attempting to break out of the Stock-house; and such was the indifference of Ogden, that when he was going to the place of execution, he threw a handful of money among the crowd, saying, “Gentlemen, here is poor Will’s farewell.”

They were executed on the 2d of April, 1714.

JOHN PRICE.

The depravity of human nature was exemplified in its full extent in the character of John Price. The indigence and profligacy of his parents were such, that he received no education, and he was sent into the world to shift for himself at the age of seven. Before this period, he was a proficient both in cursing and lying. It is rather a singular fact, that his habitual lying was once a means of saving his life.

About the age of eighteen he was serving a gentleman in the country, who turned him off for his notorious falsehoods. In going to London, he robbed a woman of eighteen shillings, was apprehended in the act, and convicted; but his late master, who was sheriff, took pity upon his situation, and saved his life. Informed of this, the judges at the next assizes blamed the gentleman’s conduct for allowing a man to escape who had pleaded guilty. The sheriff acknowledged that such a man had been condemned at the last assizes; but then, he knew the fellow to be such an unaccountable liar, that there was no believing one word he said; so his pleading guilty to what was laid to his charge, was in his opinion a sufficient reason for his being believed innocent of the fact, and he would not hang an innocent man for the world. This reply made the judges smile, and he was dismissed with a severe reprimand, and cautioned not to come before them again.

Upon obtaining his liberty, Price went to London; associated with a band of robbers, and in a short time was apprehended for diving into another person’s pocket instead of his own, and for that crime committed to Newgate. He was accordingly sentenced to a severe whipping, and sent on board a man-of-war; but after he had received the punishment assigned to stealing from the sailors, he was discharged from the ship.

He hastened again to London, joined another association of thieves, and abandoned himself to all manner of wickedness. One evening his gang divided themselves into three companies. The first met an attorney, near Hampstead, whom they robbed of eight guineas. The unfortunate lawyer had not gone far when he was attacked by the second party, to whom he related his misfortunes, and into what cruel hands he had fallen. “Cruel!” said one of them; “how dare you use these terms? And who made you so bold as to talk to us with your hat on? Pray, sir, be pleased henceforward to learn more manners.” They then snatched off his hat and wig, and took a diamond ring from his finger. As he was plodding his way home, uncertain which road was safest, the third division came up to him near Kentish Town, bringing with them a man whom they pretended to have completely stripped, and constrained the lawyer to clothe the naked with his own coat and waistcoat; then told him he might be thankful to get off with his life, which he employed in sowing division amongst society.

In a short time after this, Price and a companion one evening entered a garret, in which there was nothing but lumber, with the intention of robbing the house when all was silent. But in the dark, as Price was laying his hand upon a pistol which he had placed upon a table, it went off and alarmed the people of the house. His comrade instantly ran to the window, where they fastened a rope for their escape, and his companion attempting to slide down, the rope soon broke, though he was not so much injured but he got away. Price seeing the extreme danger of being caught, removed the rope to another window, and it conveyed him to a balcony. He was, however, scarcely there, when all the people in the house were alarmed; on which he leaped into a large basket of eggs which a man was carrying upon his head, from Newgate market; so that the fall being broken, he was able to make his escape, amid the cry of “thieves!”

Jack now began to be so well known about town, that he found it necessary to remove to the country. He was there most industrious in stripping the hedges of all the linen that he found upon them. Putting up at an inn, the landlord soon understood from his discourse that he was a servant who would suit him, and therefore hired him as his tapster. It was this miscreant landlord’s custom to murder travellers who put up at his house; but one gentleman being warned by a maid of his danger, provided for his safety.

Among other things the maid informed him that it was usual for the landlord to ring a bell, on which an assassin, pretending to be a servant, entered the chamber and snuffed out the candle, when the other villains rushed in and murdered the stranger. The gentleman caused the maid to place a lantern with a candle in it under a stool, and he laid his arms ready and stood upon his guard. Scarcely had he sat himself down when it happened as the girl had mentioned; but the gentleman, with the assistance of his servant, killed two of the villains and put the rest to flight. He then seized the innkeeper and his wife, carried them before a magistrate, and they were indicted to stand trial at the next assizes. From the maid’s deposition it appeared that fourteen strangers had been murdered by them, and that their bodies were concealed in an arched vault in the garden, to which there was a passage from the cellar. Both were executed, and the innkeeper hung in chains.

Jack having once more escaped death, returned to his pilfering trade, was committed to Newgate, and whipped for his crimes. But Jack was now determined to follow the example of the great ones of the earth, and to better his circumstances by marriage. Accordingly, he married one of the name of Betty, who gained her livelihood by running errands to the prisoners of Newgate. Nor was Jack, like too many, disappointed in his matrimonial connection, for he was soon elevated to be hangman to the county of Middlesex. In this station he assumed great importance, and held a levee every day that he did business at Tyburn; but though he sometimes ran in debt, yet he was always very willing to work in order to pay his obligations. But envy reached even him, and he lost his place by means of one who had greater ministerial interest. But Jack could never be destitute while he had hands and fingers to lay hold of whatever was within his reach.

He at last suffered from having assaulted a watchman’s wife, whom he met in Bunhill Fields, and used in such a barbarous manner that she died in a few days of her wounds. Two men suddenly came up to him, and, being seized, he was secured in Newgate. After his trial and condemnation he remained impenitent, and endeavored, by intoxication, to stifle the forebodings of conscience. He was hanged on the 31st of May, 1718.

JACK SHEPHERD.

The father of the celebrated John Shepherd was a carpenter in Spitalfields, of good character, and exceedingly solicitous to train up his children in the path of sobriety and religion. They, however, afforded a melancholy proof that the most virtuous example, and the soundest principles, are frequently unsuccessful in influencing the conduct of children. Two of his sons followed evil courses, and were convicted at the bar of the Old Bailey.

After his father’s death, young Shepherd was sent to a school in Bishopsgate street, where he received the rudiments of education, and was bound apprentice to a cane chair-maker. His master used him well, and he lived very comfortably with him; but this master dying, he was sent to another, who treated him so very harshly that he eloped. Masters ought to be cautious how they conduct themselves towards their servants, because this harsh usage was in all probability the cause of Jack Shepherd’s ruin, as well as of bringing great injury upon society. In a short time, he commenced his depredations, and, in place of his former sober mode of life, his time was spent in drinking all day, and retiring to an infamous abode all night.

The history of this unfortunate man adds another to the many examples already given in this volume, that the company of profligate women has plunged men into scenes of dissipation and vice, to which they would have been entire strangers, had it not been for such associates. He was first enamored of one Elizabeth Lion, a woman remarkable for her stature and strength. Having separated from her, he associated with one who stimulated him to all manner of pilfering, in order that he might be the better able to feed her extravagances.

One day, informing her that she had received his last half-crown, she instigated him to rob a wealthy pawnbroker. Shepherd left her about one in the morning, and returned with goods to the value of twenty-two pounds. It was not long before the two who had planned the robbery exhausted the booty.

The first favorite of Shepherd was committed to St. Giles’ round-house, for some pilfering pranks. Jack went to see her, broke open the doors, beat the keeper, and set Bess Lion at liberty. It is scarcely necessary to add, that this action gained him great fame among ladies of her description, and stimulated him to more daring acts of depredation.

About this period Jack supplied his brother with a little money to equip him for the honorable profession he himself followed: and they broke into a linen draper’s shop, from whence they extracted goods to the amount of fifty pounds. The younger brother, however, being rather a novice in the art, was too open in the disposal of the goods, by which means he was detected, and his first return for the kindness of his brother was to inform upon him and several of his confederates. Jack Shepherd was accordingly apprehended, and committed to the round-house for farther examination. This place could not long retain so bold a spirit, and marching off, he that very evening committed a robbery, and vowed to be revenged upon Tom for his ungenerous conduct.

Detection produced no reformation. Jack, in common with one Benson, attempting to steal a gentleman’s watch, was discovered and committed to New Prison. The first person whom he discerned there was his old favorite Bess Lion, who had been sent there upon a similar errand. After exerting all his cunning and stratagem in vain, Bess and he by force escaped, and instantly repaired to her old lodgings. There he remained concealed for some time, but, taking leave of his friend, he again associated with one Grace in raising contributions. These two villains becoming acquainted with one Lamb, an apprentice to Mr. Carter, they enticed him to introduce them into his master’s house, from whence they extracted goods to a considerable amount. Shepherd and Grace, however, differed in the division of the spoil, and betrayed each other; when Grace and Lamb were apprehended. The misfortune of poor Lamb, who was so simply inveigled, excited the compassion of some gentlemen, who by their exertions succeeded in mitigating his sentence to transportation.

The confederates of Shepherd, in order to obtain a ready market for their goods, employed one Field to sell them, but he being occasionally dilatory, they hired a warehouse, and there deposited what goods they stole. Field, displeased at being turned off from his lucrative employment, importuned them to show him their stores, as he had several orders for goods, and could therefore dispose of them to advantage. He was conducted to the warehouse and shown the goods, and though he had not the courage manfully to rob any person, yet he emptied the warehouse of every rag it contained.

In the course of business, Shepherd robbed a Mr. Kneebone, and was tried at the ensuing sessions. He appeared simple and almost foolish at his trial, alleging, as his principal defence, that Jonathan Wild had disposed of part of the goods, and ought therefore to be punished as well as himself. He was however sentenced, and conducted himself, in the whole of his defence, more like an ignorant and simple man, than one who was formed to excel in his own or any other profession.