Chapter XXVIII: Part 28

This unfortunate man, who, in the course of his life, made some noise in the world, was the son of honest and reputable parents at Hitchen, in Hertfordshire. They gave their son all the education necessary to qualify him for such business as he thought proper to put him to, which was that of a salesman; but before his time was expired he went over to Flanders, and served in the late War there, in several sieges and battles; where he behaved so well as to be preferred to the post of a serjeant in the Honourable General How's regiment of foot. But returning to England upon the peace, and being quartered at Worcester he there purchased his discharge.

Coming up to London he betook himself, for bread, to the office of a bailiff in Whitechapel Court, in which station he continued for about seven years until he fell into misfortunes, chiefly through the means of one C----th. To shelter himself from a gaol, which threatened him at that time, he was forced to go into the Foot Guards, where he served in the company commanded by the right Honourable the Earl of Albemarle; but unluckily for him, having commenced an acquaintance with Richard Bird at the aforesaid Mr. C----th's, Bird told him he perceived they were much in a case, that is, they both wanted money, and that therefore looking upon him (Everett) to be a man who could be trusted, he would propose to him an easy method for supply. This method was neither better nor worse than robbing on the highway.

To this proposition Everett readily agreeing, they immediately joined, provided proper utensils for their co-partnership, and soon after practised their trade with great success in the counties of Middlesex, Essex, Surrey and Kent, particularly robbing the Dartford coach, from the passengers of which they took a portmanteau, wherein was contained jewels, money and valuable goods to a very great amount. But spending as fast as they got it, they were never the better for the multitude of facts they committed, but were in a continual necessity of hazarding body and soul for a very precarious subsistance.

A short time after, they robbed the Woodford stage-coach and found in it only one passenger worth plundering. From him they took a gold watch and some silver, but the gentleman expressing a great concern at the loss of his watch, they told him if he would promise faithfully to send such a sum of money to such a place, they would let him have it again. On Hounslow Heath they attacked two officers of the army, who were well mounted and guarded with servants armed with blunderbusses. They took their gold watches and money from them, though the officers endeavoured to resist, but they forced them to submit to the well-known doctrine of passive obedience before they acquitted them. The watches (pursuant to a treaty they made with them on the spot) were afterwards left at Young Man's Coffee House, Charing Cross, where the owners had them again on payment of twenty guineas, as stipulated in the said treaty between the parties.

Another robbery they committed was on Squire Amlow (of Bream's Buildings, Chancery Lane), in Epsom Lane, turning up to Epsom. When he was attacked he drew a sword and made several passes at them as he sat in an open chaise; but notwithstanding his resolution in opposing them, they by force took two guineas, a silver watch, and his silver-hilted sword, and some parchment writings of a considerable value. On his submission and request for his writings, they accordingly delivered them up, let him pass and helped him to his watch again, being in the hands of Mr. Corket, a pawnbroker in Houndsditch. They also took opportunities to rob all the butchers and higlers from Epping Forest to Woodford, particularly one old woman, who wore a high crowned hat of her mother's as she said, which hat they took and searched, and out of the lining of it found three pounds and delivered her the hat again. On Acton Common they also met two chariots with gentlemen and ladies in them and robbed them in money, watches and other things to the value of forty pounds.

My readers, from these instances, must have a tolerable notion of Everett's humour, it may prove entertaining, therefore, to give them a specimen of his own manner of relating his adventures, and therefore I insert the following ones in his own words.

Soon after our last achievement, my old comrade Dick Bird, and I,
stopped a coach in the evening on Hounslow Heath, in which (amongst
other passengers) were two precise, but courageous Quakers, who had
the assurance to call us Sons of Violence; and refusing to comply
with our reasonable demands jumped out of the coach to give us
battle. Whereupon we began a sharp engagement, and showed them the
arm of flesh was too strong for the Spirit, which seemed to move
very powerful within them. After a short contest (though we never
offered to fire, for I ever abhorred barbarity, or the more heinous
sin of murder) through the cowardly persuasions of their
fellow-travellers they submitted, though sore against their
inclinations. As they were stout fellows and men every inch of them,
we scorned to abuse them, and contented ourselves with rifling them
of the little Mammon of unrighteousness which they had about them,
which amounted to about thirty or forty shillings and their watches.
The rest in the coach, whose hearts were sunk into their breeches,
Dick fleeced without the least resistance.

There was one circumstance of this affair which created a little
diversion, and therefore with my readers leave, I will relate it.
The Precisions for the most part, though they are plain in their
dress, wear the best of commodities, and though a smart toupee[91]
is an abomination, yet a bob-wig, or a natural of six or seven
guineas' price, is a modest covering allowed by the saints. One of
the prigs was well furnished in this particular, and flattering
myself it would become me, I resolved to make it lawful plunder.
Without any further ceremony, therefore, than alleging exchange was
no robbery, I napped his poll, and dressed him immediately in
masquerade with an old tie-wig, which I had the day before purchased
of an antiquated Chelsea pensioner for half-a-crown. The other
company, though in doleful dumps for the loss of the coriander seed,
could not forbear grinning at the merry metamorphis, for our Quaker
now looked more like a devil than saint. As companions in distress
ever alleviate its weight, they invited him with a general laugh
into their leathern convenience again, wished us a goodnight, and
hoped they should have no farther molestation on the road. We gave
then the watch-word, and assured them they should not, then tipped
the honest coachman a shilling to drink our healths, and brushed off
the ground.

About a week or ten days later, my brother Dick and I projected a
new scheme more nimble than the former, to take a purse without the
charge of horse hire. Millington Common was determined to be the
scene of action. We sauntered for some time upon the green and
suffered several to pass by without the least molestation, but at
last we espied two gentlemen well-mounted coming towards us, who we
imagined might be able to replenish our empty purses, so we prepared
for an attack. After the usual salutation, I stopped the foremost
and demanded his cash, his watch and other appurtenances thereunto
belonging, and assured him I was a brother of an honourable but
numerous family; that to work I had no inclination and to beg I was
ashamed, and that I had at present no other way for a livelihood, if
such a demand at first view ought appear a little immodest or
unreasonable, I hoped he would excuse it, as necessity and not
choice was the fatal inducement.

My brother Dick was as rhetorical in his apologies with the
hindermost, whom he dismounted. We used them with more good manners
and humanity than the common pads, who act for the most part rather
like Turks and Jews than Christians, in such enterprises, to the
eternal scandal of the profession. We contented ourselves with what
silver and little gold they had about them, which to about three or
four pounds, and their gold watches, one of which, as well I
remember, was of Tompion's make, and which I afterwards pawned for
five guineas to a fellow that the week after broke, and ran away
with it, so that I had not the opportunity of restoring it again to
the proper owner, for which I heartily beg his pardon. As we must
own the gentlemen behaved well and came unto our measures without
the least resistance, so they must do us the justice to acknowledge
that we treated them as such and neither disrobed nor abused them.
We thought it, however, common prudence to cut the girths of their
horses' saddles, and secure their bridles for fear of a pursuit.

Thus flushed again with success, we made the best of our way to
Brentford, and there took the ferry; but Fortune, though she is
fair, yet she is a fickle mistress, her smiles are often false and
very precarious. Before we had got ashore, we heard the persons had
got scent of us, and our triumph had like to have ended in
captivity. When we were three parts over, and out of danger of
drowning, we told the ferrymen our distress, gave them ten
shillings, and obliged them to throw their oars into the Thames. The
agreeable reward and the fears of being thrown in themselves in case
of a denial, made them readily consent. In we plunged after them,
and soon made the shore. Though we looked like Hob just drawn out of
the well, those that saw us only imagined it was a drunken frolic.
Our expeditious flight soon dried our clothes, and without catching
the least cold, we both arrived safe that night at London.

We congratulated each other, you may imagine on our happy and
narrow escape, and solaced ourselves after the fatigue of the day,
with a mistress and a bottle.

I have copied these pages from Mr. Everett's book that my readers might have a clear and just idea of those notions which these unhappy men entertain of the life they lead, and hope they may be of some use in giving such youths as are too apt to be taken with their low kind of jests, a just abhorrence of committing villainy, merely to divert the mob, and make themselves the sole topic of discourse in alehouses and cellars.

But to return to Everett. He was taken up on suspicion and committed to New Prison, where he continued three years, behaving himself so well in the prison that the justices ordered him his liberty, and he was thereupon made turnkey of that place. In this post he continued to act so honestly that he got a tolerable reputation, taking the Red Lion alehouse, in Turnmill Street, Cow Cross, in order to live the better; resigning his place as turnkey as soon as he was settled in it.

He who succeeded him was a footman to the Duchess of Newcastle's and not being very well acquainted with the nature of his new office, he was very industrious to prevail with Everett to return to his former condition, and accept the key from him. Promises and entreaties were not long made in vain. Everett was sensible there was money to be got,[92] and therefore, upon the fair promises of the new keeper, became turnkey again. But when he had shown his master the art of governing such a territory as his was; when he had instructed him in the secrets of raising money, and shown him the methods of managing the several sorts of prisoners that were committed to its care, his superior quickly gave him to understand that he had now done all he wanted, and the next kind office would be to quit this place; for it is with those sort of people as with some in a higher station, though they at first caress men who are better acquainted with affairs than themselves, in order to improve their own knowledge, yet no sooner do they think themselves qualified to go on without their assistance, but they grow uneasy at such services, and are never quiet until they are rid of men whose abilities are their greatest faults.

A little after Everett was turned out to make room for the keeper's brother, he had the additional misfortune to keep an account with a person who too hastily demanded his money, and John, not being able to pay it, therefore upon arrested him, and threw him into gaol. He quickly turned himself over to the Fleet, where he first took the rules, and then got into the Thistle and Crown Alehouse, in the Old Bailey. There he lived for a while and afterwards took the Cock in the same place, where he lived for three years with an indifferent reputation, until he was prevailed on to take the Fleet Cellar[93], and became very busy in the execution of the then Warden's project, until the committee of the House of Commons thought fit to commit both of them to Newgate.

This effectually undid him, for while he was a prisoner there, the brewer made a seizure of his whole stock of beer, to the value of three hundred pounds, and this it was, as he himself said, which posted him out upon the highway again. Whether we may depend upon those protestations he had made that he should never otherwise have gone upon the road again, but have lived and died free, at least from that sort of wickedness which indeed he had reason to dislike, since he had saved his life by impeaching Bird his companion, who was hanged at Chelmsford at the assizes held there for the County of Essex. When he had once taken this resolution in his head, it was not long before he equipped himself with necessaries for his employment.

The first robbery he committed was upon a lady in a chariot, and the lady desiring that he would put up his pistol for fear of frightening a child of six years old in the coach with her, he did so, and took from her a guinea and some silver, without touching her gold watch, or any other valuable things that she had about her. He had scarce committed the robbery, before the lady's husband and another gentleman and his company came up, and the accident being related to them, they immediately pursued him as hard as their horses could gallop; and came so close up with him, that he was hardly got into the Globe Tavern, in Hatton Garden, and sent away his horse, before they passed by the door. As soon as he thought they were out of sight, he slipped away with all the precaution he was able, and got into a little blind alehouse in Holborn, where he had scarce lit a pipe, and called for a tankard of drink, before he perceived both the gentlemen looking very earnesty about, though he now looked upon himself as out of all danger.

It was a very short time after, that he committed the last fact, which was the robbing of Mrs. Manley[94], and a lady, who was in a chariot with her, a black boy being behind in the coach. He got safe enough off and into town, after this robbery; but how it was I cannot tell, his neighbours suspected him, and talked of him as a highwayman, and reported very confidently that he was taken up, as it seems he was, but was discharged again for want of evidence. He was speedily seized again, and being committed to Newgate, was brought to his trial at the Old Bailey for the said fact.

Mrs. Ellis deposed that the prisoner was the person who robbed the coach, and that she observed him follow it when they came out of town. Mrs. Manley deposed also to his being the person who robbed them, and William Coffee, a negro boy, who was behind the coach, swore positively to his face. Several men who were present at his being apprehended, swore that he had a pistol, dagger, six bullets, a flint and powder horn about him, under a red rug coat.

His defence was very trivial, and the jury upon a short consultation, found him guilty. Under sentence of death, he behaved very indifferently, sometimes appearing tolerably cool, at others in a grievous passion, especially at the keepers, if they refused him such liberties as he thought fit to ask. When he was first condemned, he flattered himself with hopes of life, if it were possible for him to prevail on the ladies whom he had robbed to petition in his favour; in order to induce them to which, he wrote the following letter, though to no purpose, for the death warrant came down suddenly and he was included with the before-mentioned prisoners.

THE LETTER

Madam,

I crave leave, with all humility and respect, to address you and
Madam Ellis, and with the utmost submission and concern, do humbly
beg your pardons for the fears and surprise my misfortunes reduced
me to put you and the children into, whose cries moved so much
compassion in me that I had not power to pursue with any rigour my
desperate designs, which your ladyship must have perceived by the
consternation I was struck into on a sudden. My sole intention was,
if I could have got £50 to settle myself in a public house, and to
take up an honest course of life, and do own at best it is a very
heinous crime. Yet, madam, you will recollect after what manner I
treated you, and at the same time consider the methods taken by
others on the like occasion. This necessity I was drove to, by
adhering to a certain master I lately served, and to obey his wicked
and pernicious commands, in following his wicked and pernicious
counsels, brought me to poverty, and consequently to this unhappy
state I now labour under, and was become almost as much as himself,
the scorn and hatred of mankind. I say, madam, if you will be so
good as to consider all these unhappy circumstances, and that
necessity admits of no contradiction, they will, I am persuaded,
inspire compassion in generous souls (a character you both
deservedly bear); and as a fellow-creature, I beg mercy at your
ladyship's hands, by signing a petition to the Recorder for me, to
the end, he may be induced to make a favourable report, and thereby
move his most sacred Majesty to clemency, by the sentence to some
other corporal punishment, and shall dedicate the rest of my days in
praying for both your happiness and prosperity in this world, and
eternal felicity and bliss in that to come, and crave leave, with
due deference, madam, to subscribe myself,

Your ladyship's most devoted,
Afflicted humble servant,
John Everett

The Ordinary of Newgate, in the account he has given of this prisoner, has drawn as bad a character as he is able, and in order to it, has gathered together all the ill-terms he could think of, even though some of them are contrary to one another. The truth is, that the fellow in himself had abundance of ill-qualities, with some good ones, and especially good nature of which he had a very large share. Lewd women were what brought him to his ruin, for to their company he continually addicted himself, and with his low intrigues amongst them is the book I have mentioned stuffed from one end to the other.

As to religion, it is certain he had very little of it before he was confined, so it is not very likely that he should make any great proficiency while he remained there. He was careless, indeed, under his misfortunes, but did not give himself up to any loose or profane expressions, but on the contrary attended at Chapel with decency at least, if not with devotion.

Some attempts were made to save his life, by engaging him to make discoveries in an affair of high concern, but all was ineffectual, and he suffered on the 20th of February, 1729-30, with less apprehension than might have been expected from a man under his unhappy circumstances. The executioner, to put the prisoner sooner out of his pain, jumped upon his shoulders, and thereby broke the rope, but he was soon tied up again, and there remained until the rest were cut down.

At the time of his execution, he was forty-four years of age or thereabouts.

FOOTNOTES:

[91] This was a small wig covering only the top of the head; a
bob-wig was short and tied at the back with a large bow; a
natural was a large, full wig, in which the hair was made to
look like natural locks.

[92] The scandalous system of bleeding prisoners for every little
necessity and comfort made gaoloring a very profitable trade.

[93] That is, managed the sale of liquor in the Fleet.

[94] Author of _The New Atlantis_ and sundry political pamphlets
and libels, plays and novels.

The Lives of ROBERT DRUMMOND, a Highwayman and FERDINANDO SHRIMPTON, a Highwayman and Murderer

Robert Drummond was the brother of James Drummond, whom we have before mentioned. He had formerly dealt in hardwares, and thereby lived with some reputation in the town of Sunderland, nobody ever dreaming that he went upon the highway for money. But it was not long that he continued even to put this mask upon his villainy, but on the contrary gave way to his wild and debauched temper, and committed a thousand extravagancies, which soon created suspicions, and occasioned his being apprehended on suspicion of a robbery. This clearly being made out at the ensuing assizes, he was thereupon convicted, pardoned, and transported. But he soon found a way to return into England, and grew one of the most daring and mischievous robbers that ever infested the road.

The multitude of his robberies made his person so well known that it is wonderful he should so long escape, especially considering the roughness and cruelty of his temper, he never using anybody well, firing upon any who attempted to ride away from him, and beating and abusing those who submitted to him. He drew in, as has been said before, his brother James, and deserting him when pursued and in danger, he was the occasion of his death. It was also suspected that Shrimpton and he were the persons who committed those robberies for which Knowland and Westwood were executed. However it were, he continued for a considerable space after the two Shrimptons and he robbed together, committing sometimes nine or ten robberies in one night, until they were all three apprehended, and William Shrimpton became an evidence against them.

Ferdinando Shrimpton, the other malefactor, was a person well educated, though his father was one of the greatest highwaymen in England. He [the father] lived at Bristol, and behaved in outward appearance so well that he was never suspected, but unluckily one evening some constables coming into an inn hastily to apprehend another person, his guilty heart making him afraid that they were come in search of nobody but himself, he thereupon immediately drew a pistol and shot one of them dead, for which murder being convicted, he readily confessed his former offences, and after his execution for the aforesaid crime, was hung in chains.

As for this unhappy man, his son, he had been bred to no trade, but after his father's death served as a foot-soldier in the Guards and eked out his pay by taking the same steps which his father had done before him. Never any fellow was of a bolder and of a more audacious spirit than he, and after he had once associated himself with Drummond, they quickly forced William Shrimpton, who was Ferdinando's cousin, to commit one or two facts with him, and afterwards he would never suffer him to be quiet.

On Hounslow Heath, it seems, Shrimpton robbed a man of a horse, a silver watch and some money. The man applied himself to Shrimpton when he was apprehended, begging that he would find a way to help him to his horse again. Shrimpton promised he would, and for a guinea was as good as his word, though the gelding was worth fifteen pounds; but for his watch, nothing either was, or as they pretended could be, told about it. But that was only for fear of disobliging the pawnbroker where they had sent it, for Shrimpton afterwards, upon the owner's thirty-four shillings by his wife, had it again, though Ferdinando was very much disobliged that he received but half a crown for his trouble.

Drummond, he and his cousin being seized, William turned evidence against them, and at the ensuing sessions at the Old Bailey, Shrimpton being indicted for the murder of Simon Prebent, Mr. Tyson's coachman, and Robert Drummond for aiding and abetting, and assisting him, they were both upon full evidence convicted, as they were also convicted for a robbery on the highway, on Mr. Tyson, after the death of the coachman. They were a third time indicted together for assaulting Robert Furnel on the highway, taking from him a watch of great value, a guinea and a half, some silver and a whip, together with some other things of value. They were also indicted afresh for assaulting Jonathan Cockhoofs on the highway, taking from him a bay gelding, value nine pounds, several roasting pigs and pieces of pork, etc.; of all which they were found guilty, the fact being as clear and as strong against them as possible.

Under sentence of death, they behaved themselves with great obstinacy and resolution, refused to give any account of their crimes, but in general would say that they were great and notorious offenders. As to the fact committed by Knowland and Westwood, they would not positively say it was done by them, though they could not deny it. Only when pressed upon it, Drummond would say in a passion, _What, would you have us take upon us all the robberies that were committed in the country?_ This was all that could be got from him, even when he was at the point to die and the wife of Knowland earnestly begged that he would tell the truth, as he was now entering into another world, and the owning or not owning of those facts could no ways prejudice them.

As to the barbarous murder committed upon Mr. Tyson's coachman, it did not seem to make the least impression upon their spirits. Shrimpton, by whose hands the man was killed, never appeared one whit more uneasy when the sermon on murder was peculiarly preached on his account, but on the contrary talked and jested with his companions as he was wont to do. In a word more hardened, obstinate and impenitent wretches were never seen; for as they were wanting in all principles of religion, so they were void even of humanity and good nature. They valued blood no more than they did water, but were ready to shed the first with as little concern as they spilt the latter. Inured in wickedness and rapine, old in years and covered in offences, they yielded their last breaths at Tyburn, with very little sign of contrition or repentance, on the 17th of February, 1730, Drummond being about fifty, and Shrimpton about thirty years of age.

The Life of WILLIAM NEWCOMB, a housebreaker

Though the many instances we have, of late years, had of amazing wickednesses committed by lads one would scarce believe were capable of executing, much less of contriving schemes so full of ginning and of guilt, ought in a great measure to prevent our being surprised at anything of the same kind, let it be committed by ever such a stripling, yet I confess it was not without wonder that I perused the papers relating to this unfortunate young man--so strong an instance of a great capacity for mischief at the same time that he never once evidenced either care or ability in succeeding in an honest way. On the contrary, he was assidious only to attain as much money as might put him on the road of debauchery, and then stupidly gave himself up to squandering it in the gratification of his lusts, until indigence brought to rack his inventions again, and his second attempt proving abortive, brought him to the gallows.

He was born of honest parents, who took care enough in his education to qualify him for the business of a shoemaker, for which they designed him, and to which they put him apprentice. He had not served above three years of his time, before he robbed his master of a very considerable sum of money. The man having a respect for his family, put him away without prosecuting him. His father took him home, but, however, reproaching him very often for the villainous facts he had committed, he went away from him and lay about the town, intending to take the first opportunity that offered of stealing a good booty, and march off into the country.

At last, after consulting with himself for some time, he fixed upon a banker's shop in Lombard Street, within two doors of the church of St. Edmund the King, thinking with himself that if once he could get into that shop, be should make himself at a blow. In order to it he got into the church overnight and stayed there until morning, when, just as it began to grow light, he steered downstairs into the shop, having got over the top of Mr. Jenkin's house, and watching his opportunity, laid hold of a single bag and slipped out of doors with it. The booty was indeed a large one, for it happened that what he took was all gold, which was upwards of eight hundred guineas. This put it in his power to show himself in that state of life which he most admired, for sending for a tailor be had two or three suits of fine clothes made, bought a couple of geldings, hired a footman in livery to attend him, and thus equipped set out for the horse races at Newmarket.

Women and gaming very soon reduced the bulk of his gold and in six or seven months, finding his pockets very low, he returned to London to replenish himself. The good success he before had in robbing a banker, and his knowing nobody was so likely to furnish him with ready money, put him upon making the like attempt at Mr. Hoare's, into whose house he got and endeavoured to conceal himself as conveniently as he could for that purpose. But being detected and apprehended on the roof of the house, whither he had fled to avoid pursuit, he was committed to Newgate, and at the next sessions at the Old Bailey, was tried for burglary, and convicted.

Under sentence of death he behaved with great mildness and civility. He confessed his having been as great a sinner as his years would give him leave, addicted to whoring, drunkenness, gaming and having quite obliterated all the religious principles which his former education had instilled into him. However, he endeavoured to retrieve as much as possible the knowledge of his duty, and to fulfil it by praying to Almighty God for the forgiveness of his many offences; and in this disposition of mind he departed this life, on the 17th of February, 1730, being about nineteen years of age.

The Life of STEPHEN DOWDALE, a Thief

This unfortunate man was the son of parents in good circumstances in the Kingdom of Ireland, who were very careful of giving him the best education they were capable of, both as to letters and as to the principles of the Christian religion. Yet from some hope they had of his succeeding in a military way, they chose rather to let him serve in the army than breed him to any particular trade. It seems he behaved so well in the regiment of dragoons in which he served, that his officers advanced him to the post of sergeant, and just as the Peace was concluded, he had hopes of being made a quartermaster. But the regiment then being broke, his hopes were all dissipated, and he thrown into the world to shift for himself as well as he could.

In Ireland he remained with his friends some years, but finding by degrees that their kindness cooled, and that it would be impossible for him to subsist much longer upon the bounty of his relations, he thereupon resolved to come over at once to England and endeavour to live here by his wits. The gaming tables were the places where he chiefly resorted, but finding that fortune was a mistress not to be depended upon he resolved to take some more certain method of living, and for that purpose associated himself with ten or a dozen knights of the road. He continued his practices without the least suspicion for a very considerable time, in all which he appeared one of the greatest beaux at the other end of the town.

But growing uneasy in the midst of that seeming gaiety in which he lived, and being under some apprehensions that one or more of his companions was meditating means of making peace with the government at the expense of his life, he resolved to prevent them; and thereupon surrendered himself of his own accord into the hands of a constable, and gave the best information he was able against all his confederates. But however it was, most of them had previous knowledge of the warrants issued against them, and thereby made their escapes. Others who were apprehended were acquitted by the jury, notwithstanding this evidence against them, so that the public not being likely to reap any benefit by his discovery, some people thought proper to turn his own confession upon himself. Accordingly, at the next Sessions at the Old Bailey, he was indicted for feloniously stealing a gold watch value twenty pounds, out of the house of Thomas Martin, on the 30th of August preceding the indictment. He was also indicted a second time for feloniously stealing a diamond ring out of the shop of John Trible, on the 25th of August. Both these facts were in the information he had made, and therefore the proof was dear and direct against him, and beyond his power to avoid by any defence.

Under sentence of death be behaved himself with great resignation, seemed to be very penitent for those numerous offences he had committed, though now and then he let fell expressions which showed that he thought himself hardly dealt with by those who had received his confession. However, what with fear and concern, and what with the moistness of the place wherein he was confined, he fell into a grievous distemper, which quickly increased into a high fever, which affected his senses, and shortly after took away his life, just as a very worthy gentleman in the commission for the peace for Middlesex had procured his life, which was thus ended by the course of Nature though in the cells of Newgate, he being then in the forty-fourth year of his age. He died on the 5th of April, 1730.

The Life of ABRAHAM ISRAEL, a Jew

As it is a very ordinary case for fiction to be imposed on the world for truth, so it sometimes happens that truth hath such extraordinary circumstances attending it, as well nigh bring it to pass for fiction. The adventures of this unhappy man, who was a Hebrew by nation, have something in them strange, and which excite pity; for a man must be wanting in humanity who can look upon a young person endowed with the natural advantage of a good genius, lightened by the acquired accomplishments of learning, fall of a sudden from an honest and reputable behaviour into debauchery, wickedness and rapine, methods that lead to certain destruction, and as it were to drag men to violent and shameful deaths.

This unfortunate person, Abraham Israel, was born of parents of the Hebrew nation, of good character and in good circumstances, at Presburg, in the kingdom of Hungary. They were exceedingly desirous of giving their son a good education, and therefore sent him to study in the Jewish College at Prague, in Bohemia, where they allowed him about two hundred pounds Stirling a year. He improved under the tuition of the rabbis there to a great degree, insomuch that he was admired by them as a prodigy of learning. His behaviour in every other way being unblamable, and therefore not spending above half what his father sent him, he distributed the rest among the indigent scholars there, of all nations and religions. As a mark of his early and polite genius, we have thought proper to entertain our readers with a short description of the city of Prague, which he wrote in the German tongue, and which on this occasion we have ventured to translate into English.

Prague is the capital of the Kingdom of Bohemia, which, as if
protected by nature, is encompassed round with high mountains.
Throughout all Europe there is no soil in general more fertile or
better adapted to the plough. The fruits there are excellent and
great quantities of fowl are plentiful almost to excess, the cattle
are large and excellent. In fine nothing is poor, wretched or
miserable there except the people, who are slaves to their lords,
and never enjoy even the fruits of their own hard labour. But to
return to Prague, it is a city situated on a hill, part of it
stretching down the plain, having the river Muldau running through
it. The buildings are of so large extent that this city is divided
into three, and by some into four cities. The old city lies on the
east of the river, is exceedingly populous, and houses in that
quarter fair, but old-fashioned. Here is the quarter assigned unto
our nation (i.e., the Jews) where we enjoy greater privileges and
are treated with more lenity than in any other part of Germany. The
heads of our people deal to very great advantage in jewels and
precious stones dug out of the Bohemian mines. The lesser town on
the other side of the river is more beautiful in its building than
the old town, has fine gardens and stately palaces, among which
there is the famous one of Count Wallenstein, the magnificence of
which, may be the better guessed from our knowing that a hundred
houses were pulled down to make room for it. Its hall is thought one
of the finest in all Europe, its gardens are wonderfully stately,
and the stables which he built here for his horses are almost beyond
description, marble pillars parted the standing of each horse from
another. The racks were of polished steel, and their mangers of the
finest marble, and over the head of each stand was placed the figure
of each horse, as large as the life. This famous man who was the
greatest captain of his time, after having built this sumptuous
palace, re-established the Emperor's power, almost utterly broken by
the Swedes, growing at last too powerful for a subject, or as the
Germans say, endeavouring to make himself master of the Kingdom of
Bohemia, he was, if not by the command, at least by the connivance
of the Emperor Ferdinand, privately assassinated in the city of
Egra, in the year 1634, by certain Irish officers, in whom he
reposed the greatest confidence. Since his time Prague has seen no
greater powerful persons among her countrymen; on the contrary, the
inhabitants now in general are poor, their habits mean, the Hebrew
nation being obliged, both men and women, to wear a particular garb.
Its streets are dirty, and nothing but the Imperial Palace preserves
anything of its ancient grandeur; the same fate hath befallen the
other Bohemian cities, and thus in a land of Paradise the people
live like slaves.

When at the age of thirteen, the unfortunate Abraham was recalled by his father from college, at his return home, every one was surprised at that prodigious knowledge which he had acquired while at Prague. Those of their nation who resided at Presburg desired Abraham's father that his son might, according to the custom of the Hebrews, read in the synagogue, which accordingly he did with great and deserved applause. His relations, and the rich Jews of the town, loaded him the next day with valuable presents, in order to show their veneration for the religion and learning of their ancestors; but these encouragements being heaped on a vain and ambitious temper, were the ruin of a youth hitherto virtuous in his conduct and passionately fond of learning. For growing on a sudden conceited with his own abilities, puffed up with the vanity of having excelled his equals, he began to addict himself to acquire higher accomplishments, grew fond of music, delighted in dancing-schools, would needs be taught fencing and riding, and from the studies preparative to making a grave rabbi, jumped all of a sudden to the qualities necessary to finish a Jewish fop.

His relations soon showed by the alteration of their conduct how little they approved of his new state of life, but that signified nothing to him, he still went on at his old rate; until at last perceiving his parents would do nothing for him, he went with an idle woman to Amsterdam. There he was uneasy, not knowing what course of life to take, but at last submitted to wearing a livery, and got into service. He behaved himself amongst the Spanish Jews so well that they gave him a recommendation to Baron Swaffo in England, upon which he came over thither, and entered into his service. He recommended him to Mr. Jacob Mendez da Costa, where he Stayed for some time, with a good character as a diligent servant. From him he went to Mr. Villareal on College Hill. It seems that while he continued at the Hague, he fell in love with a young woman there, who continually ran in his head after his coming over hither. As soon, therefore, as he got money enough, he went over to the Hague, on purpose to make her a visit. When he came there, he found she was gone, which made him very uneasy, yet he resolved not to go to Amsterdam, whither he heard she went from the Hague.

However, it was not long before she was thrown in his way, for upon his coming over again to London, where he got into the service of Mr. Jacob Mendez da Costa, he heard at a barber's shop of a young maid just brought over from Holland who was then at her uncle's in St. Mary Axe, not knowing where to get a place. Upon enquiring her name, he found it to be his old acquaintance and mistress at the Hague. It was not long before he turned out the cook at the place where he lived, and brought her home in her place.

For a while she behaved like an honest and industrious servant, but one night as Abraham went to bed, he saw her opening an escrutoire with a knife, which she said she could at any time do. Abraham at first forbid her, but she by her endearments, quickly brought him over to her party, insomuch that after having lain with her, he consented to rummage the escrutoire. In it they found diamond rings and other jewels to a very great value. The wench said to him, holding up a fine diamond ring, _Abraham, you might take this, and it would prove the making of us both._ But the fellow would not listen to her. However, they agreed to take five guineas, which when they had done, they went to bed together according to custom.

Sometime after they begged a holiday and going out borrowed some more money from the same bank, but staying out all night she lost her place, whereupon she went back to her uncle's, and afterwards got a place in Winchester Street. There Abraham visited her, and suspecting that she was with child, asked her very gravely and kindly whether it were so or not? She said, _No_, and pretended to want money, upon which he turned back and gave her a guinea. Some time after he came to see her again, asked her the same question, and had the same answer, yet in a few hours after she caused him to be apprehended by the parish officers, the expenses whereof cost him five guineas immediately, and he was obliged to deposit fourteen guineas more as a security that he would indemnify the parish.

This threw him out of his place, and though he got into another, and behaved well in it, yet going into the service of Mr. John Mendez da Costa, he became there so uneasy on account of his child, and some other troublesome affairs, that he ventured on stealing eight silver spoons, five silver forks, two pair of silver canisters, a diamond ring value two hundred and fifty pounds, a pair of diamond ear-rings worth ninety pounds, three diamond buckles, and other goods of a great value. For this fact he was prosecuted, and on very full evidence convicted.

Under sentence of death, the Ordinary informs us that he appeared to be better acquainted with Hebrew than is common amongst Jews. He came up to the chapel rather for the air than for devotion. However, he one day sung part of a Psalm. His hatred against his prosecutor was strong and unconquerable, for when the minister told him it was his duty to forgive him, he said he did not know whether it was or no according to their law, and sometimes said that Heaven might deal with the same justice by him hereafter, as he had been dealt with here.

As the time of his death approached, he grew graver, and read more constantly in those books he had in Hebrew characters of his own religion. However, he wrote a letter to the gentleman he robbed in very harsh terms, and applied to him some of the imprecations of the hundred and ninth Psalm. At the place of execution he had two men with him, who were muttering something or other in his ear. He had a little Hebrew prayer-book in his hand, and read in it. When being again persuaded to forgive his prosecutor, he at last, in a faint voice, answered that he did, and then submitted to his fate at Tyburn, on the 12th of May, 1730, being then about twenty-two years of age. He had several relations who had a great deal of money in England, and they took care of his body.

The Life of EBENEZER ELLISON, a Notorious Irish Thief

With respect to this malefactor I have nothing to acquaint the world with but what is taken from his own speech which was printed at Dublin, and said to be published there by his own desire for the common good. It made a great noise there then, and may perhaps serve to entertain you now, wherefore I proceed to give it you in his own words.

I am now going to suffer the just punishment of my crimes,
prescribed by the Law of God and my country. I know it is the
constant custom that those who come to this place should have
speeches made for them, and cried about in their own hearing as they
are carried to execution; and truly they are such speeches that
although our fraternity be an ignorant illiterate people, they would
make a man ashamed to have such nonsense and false English charged
upon him, even when he is going to the gallows. They contain a
pretended account of our birth and family, of the facts for which we
are to die, of our sincere repentance, and a declaration of our
religion. I cannot expect to avoid the same treatment with my
predecessors. However, having an education one or two degrees better
than those of my rank and profession, ever since my commitment I
have been considering what might be proper for me to deliver upon
this occasion.

And first, I cannot say from the bottom of my heart that I am truly
sorry for the offence I have given to God and the world; but I am
very much so for the bad success of my villainies, in bringing me to
this untimely end; for it is plainly evident, that after having some
time ago obtained a pardon from the Crown, I again took up my old
trade. My evil habits were so rooted in me, and I was grown unfit
for any other kind of employment; and therefore, although in
compliance with my friends I resolved to go to the gallows after the
usual manner, kneeling with a book in my hand and my eyes lift up,
yet I shall feel no more devotion in my heart than I observed in
some of my comrades, who have been drunk among common whores the
very night before their execution. I can say further from my own
knowledge, that two of my own fraternity, after they had been hanged
and wonderfully came to life, and made their escapes, as it
sometimes happens, proved afterwards the wickedest rogues I ever
knew, and so continued until they were hanged again for good and
all; and yet they had the impudence at both times they went up to
the gallows to smite their breasts and lift up their eyes to Heaven
all the way.

Secondly, from the knowledge I have of my own wicked dispositon, and
that of my comrades, I give it as my opinion that nothing can be
more unfortunate to the public than the mercy of Government in even
pardoning and transporting us, unless we betray one another, as we
never fail to do if we are sure to be well paid, and then a pardon
may do good. By the same rule, it is better to have but one fox in a
farm than three or four, but we generally make a shift to return
after being transported, and are ten times greater rogues than
before, and much more cunning. Besides, I know it by experience,
that some hopes we have of finding mercy when we are tried, or after
we are condemned, is always a great encouragement to us.

Thirdly, nothing is more dangerous to idle young fellows than the
company of those odious common whores we frequent, and of which this
town is full. These wretches put us upon all mischief to feed their
lust and extravagance. They are ten times more bloody and cruel than
men. Their advice is always not to spare us if we are pursued, they
get drunk with us, and are common to us all, and yet if they can get
anything by it, are sore to be our betrayers.

Now, as I am a dying man, something I have done which may be of good
use to the public, I have left with an honest man and indeed the
only honed man I ever was acquainted with--the names of all my
wicked brethren, the present places of abode, with a short account
of the chief crimes they have committed in many of which I have been
their accomplice, and heard the rest from their own mouths. I have
likewise set down the names of those we call our setters, of the
wicked houses we frequent, and of those who receive and buy our
stolen goods. I have solemnly charged this honest man, and have
received his promise upon oath, that whenever he hears of any to be
tried for robbing or housebreaking, he will look into his list, and
he if finds the name there of the thief concerned, to send the whole
paper to the Government. Of this I here give my companions fair and
public warning, and I hope they will take it.

In the paper above-mentioned, which I left with my friend, I have
also set down the names of the several gentlemen whom we have robbed
in Dublin streets for three years past. I have told the
circumstances of those robberies, and shown plainly that nothing but
the want of common courage was the cause of their misfortunes. I
have therefore desired my friends that whenever any gentleman
happens to be robbed in the streets, he will get the relation
printed and published with the first letters of those gentlemen's
names, who by their want of bravery are likely to be the cause of
all the mischief of that kind, which may happen for the future. I
cannot leave the world without a short description of that kind of
life which I have led for some years past and is exactly the same
with the rest of our wicked brethren.