{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_53111/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_53111","id":"gutenberg_53111","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/53111","summary":null,"tags":["Brigands and robbers","Category: Crime, Thrillers and Mystery","Category: History - British","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Crime -- Great Britain","Criminals -- Great Britain","Great Britain -- Social life and customs","Roads -- Great Britain"],"text":"HALF-HOURS WITH\n  THE HIGHWAYMEN\n\n\n\n\nWORKS BY CHARLES G. HARPER\n\n\n     =The Portsmouth Road=, and its Tributaries: To-day and in Days of\n     Old.\n\n     =The Dover Road=: Annals of an Ancient Turnpike.\n\n     =The Bath Road=: History, Fashion, and Frivolity on an Old\n     Highway.\n\n     =The Exeter Road=: The Story of the West of England Highway.\n\n     =The Great North Road=: The Old Mail Road to Scotland. Two Vols.\n\n     =The Norwich Road=: An East Anglian Highway.\n\n     =The Holyhead Road=: The Mail-Coach Road to Dublin. Two Vols.\n\n     =The Cambridge, Ely, and King's Lynn Road=: The Great Fenland\n     Highway.\n\n     =The Newmarket, Bury, Thetford, and Cromer Road=: Sport and\n     History on an East Anglian Turnpike.\n\n     =The Oxford, Gloucester, and Milford Haven Road=: The Ready Way\n     to South Wales. Two Vols.\n\n     =The Brighton Road=: Speed, Sport, and History on the Classic\n     Highway.\n\n     =The Hastings Road= and the \"Happy Springs of Tunbridge.\"\n\n     =Cycle Rides Round London.=\n\n     =A Practical Handbook of Drawing for Modern Methods of\n     Reproduction.=\n\n     =Stage Coach and Mail in Days of Yore.= Two Vols.\n\n     =The Ingoldsby Country=: Literary Landmarks of \"The Ingoldsby\n     Legends.\"\n\n     =The Hardy Country=: Literary Landmarks of the Wessex Novels.\n\n     =The Dorset Coast.=\n\n     =The South Devon Coast.=\n\n     =The North Devon Coast.=\n\n     =The Old Inns of Old England.= Two Vols.\n\n     =Love in the Harbour=: a Longshore Comedy.\n\n     =Rural Nooks Round London= (Middlesex and Surrey).\n\n     =The Manchester and Glasgow Road=; This way to Gretna Green. Two\n     Vols.\n\n     =Haunted Houses=; Tales of the Supernatural.\n\n     =The Somerset Coast.=      [_In the Press._]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration:\n\n  _I walke the_ Strand, _and_ Westminster; _and scorne\n  to march i'th'_ Cittie, _though I beare the_ Horne.\n  _My_ Feather, _and my yellow_ Band _accord\n  to proue me_ Courtier: _My_ Boote, Spurr, _and sword_\n\n  _My smokinge_ Pipe, Scarfe, Garter, Rose _on shoe;\n  showe my brave minde t'affect what_ Gallants _doe.\n  I singe, dance, drinke, and merrily passe the day,\n  and like a Chimney sweepe all care away_\n\n  MULLED SACK.]\n\n\n\n\n  HALF-HOURS WITH\n  THE HIGHWAYMEN\n\n\n  _PICTURESQUE BIOGRAPHIES AND\n  TRADITIONS OF THE \"KNIGHTS\n  OF THE ROAD\"_\n\n\n  BY CHARLES G. HARPER\n\n\n  VOL. I\n\n  [Illustration: [++] Man on Horseback.]\n\n\n  _Illustrated by Paul Hardy and by the Author, and\n  from Old Prints_\n\n\n  LONDON\n\n  CHAPMAN & HALL, LIMITED\n\n  1908\n\n\n  _All rights reserved_\n\n\n\n\n  PRINTED AND BOUND BY\n  HAZELL, WATSON AND VINEY, LD.,\n  LONDON AND AYLESBURY.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: [++] Two Men on Horseback.]\n\n\n\n\nPreface\n\n\n_In a series of books designed to tell the story of the roads, and\nnot only of the roads, but of all subjects connected with road-travel\nin all ages, a book on the Highwaymen was sooner or later inevitable.\nWe have had in this series the story of the rise and progress towards\nperfection of coaching, and of the decay of stage-coach and mail when\nthe era of steam came in; and we have had two volumes on the Old Inns\nof Old England, to which the travellers of a bygone age came, wearied,\nwhen the day's tedious travel was done. The story of the highwaymen,\nwho robbed those travellers, is now told, for the first time since\nCaptain Alexander Smith in 1719-20, in three small octavo volumes,\nand Captain Charles Johnson in 1742, in one folio volume, collated\nthe numerous chapbooks and \"last dying speeches and confessions\" of\nthat and earlier ages. Captain Johnson, who stole extensively from\nSmith, who himself was prone to include the most extravagant myths in\nhis pages, calls his folio A GENERAL AND TRUE HISTORY OF THE LIVES AND\nACTIONS OF THE MOST FAMOUS HIGHWAYMEN. Both of them include pirates and\nmurderers. Of the \"truth\" of much in Smith and Johnson, the less said\nthe better._\n\n_No one has ever reprinted those authors in their original\nextravagance, or their grossness. It would be impossible; and, if\npossible, it would not be entertaining. Nor has any one ever edited\nthem, or even written an independent history of the highwaymen. When we\nconsider how astonishingly popular those romances have ever been which\nhave had Claude Du Vall, and Turpin, and their like for heroes, this is\nnot a little surprising._\n\n_Perhaps the task has been abandoned because of the difficulty\u2014the\nalmost insuperable difficulty\u2014of sifting fact from fiction, and because\nof a chilling sense that it would be a thankless task to present\nthe highwayman as he really was: a fellow rarely heroic, generally\nfoul-mouthed and cruel, and often cowardly. No novelist would be likely\nto thank the frank historian for this disservice; and I do not think\nthe historian who came to the subject in this cold scientific spirit\nof a demonstrator in surgery would be widely read. Most of us like to\nkeep a few of the illusions we believed in when schoolboys. Scientific\nhistorians have degraded many of our ancient heroes and exalted the\nvillains, for whom of old no mud was too thick and slab. Beliefs are\nbeing assailed on every side. To abolish the traditional courtesy\nof Claude Du Vall or the considerate conduct of Captain Hind would,\ntherefore, be strokes of the unkindest, and I have here attempted\nno such iconoclasm. Even where I cannot believe, I have told the\ntale\u2014whenever it has been worth the telling\u2014as it is found in criminal\ntrials, or in Smith or Johnson, and other old sources, decorously\nstripped of much vile language. For really, where much that seems\nincredible may be fully proved, and where the believable turns out not\nrarely to be false, 'tis your only way._\n\n_To continue the story of the highwaymen from Smith and Johnson down\nto the approaching end of all such things in the beginning of the\nnineteenth century, is like taking up and concluding a half-told tale.\nBut it was worth the doing. Only in respect of the great figure Turpin\nhas always made, has it been found really necessary to seriously\nconsider and re-state the career of that much-overrated scoundrel, and\nto put him in his proper place: a very much lower one than he usually\noccupies._\n\n_Hero-worshippers of the highwaymen we cannot be; as thorough\ndisbelievers of their picturesque exploits we dare not pose: for the\nrest, the proper spirit in which to treat the subject is that of ironic\ntolerance._\n\n                                        CHARLES G. HARPER.\n\n  PETERSHAM,\n    SURREY,\n      _October 1908_.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n  CHAPTER                                                          PAGE\n\n  I. INTRODUCTORY: THE GENERAL DECLENSION FROM OUTLAW TO\n  HIGHWAYMAN, AND THENCE TO FOOTPAD, THIEF, AND BURGLAR\u2014GAMALIEL\n  RATSEY\u2014THOMAS DUN, OF DUNSTABLE                                     1\n\n  II. ROBIN HOOD AND HIS MERRY MEN                                   23\n\n  III. THE \"HAND OF GLORY\"\u2014LIABILITY OF COUNTRY DISTRICTS FOR\n  ROBBERIES\u2014EXEMPTION IN RESPECT OF SUNDAY TRAVELLING                49\n\n  IV. THE YOUNGER SONS\u2014JUDGE POPHAM\u2014SHAKESPEAREAN HIGHWAYMEN\u2014THE\n  \"CAVALIER\" BRIGANDS\u2014A SEVENTEENTH-CENTURY RELIGIOUS TRACT          62\n\n  V. ENORMOUS CAPTURES MADE BY HIGHWAY GANGS\u2014BRACY'S GANG\u2014ROBBERIES\n  ON THE ROAD TO NEWMARKET\u2014ADVERTISEMENTS OF THE PERIOD\u2014AUGUSTIN\n  KING\u2014PLUNDER AND BATTLE ON THE ST. ALBANS ROAD\u2014SOLDIERS AS\n  HIGHWAYMEN                                                         75\n\n  VI. \"WHO GOES HOME?\" IN THE HOUSE OF COMMONS\u2014FOOTMEN TURN\n  HIGHWAYMEN\u2014SIR SIMON CLARKE\u2014A MERRY FREAK AND ITS TRAGICAL\n  CONSEQUENCES\u2014AMAZING POLTROONERY OF TRAVELLERS\u2014ADVERTISEMENTS OF\n  THE PERIOD\u2014HIGHWAY ROBBERY IN PICCADILLY                           92\n\n  VII. THE HIGHWAYMEN OF WILTSHIRE AND SALISBURY PLAIN\u2014MR. JOSEPH\n  READER'S ADVENTURE\u2014THE CHERHILL GANG\u2014\"CLIBBORN'S POST\"\u2014MURDER OF\n  MR. MELLISH\u2014CLOSE OF THE HIGHWAYMAN ERA                           114\n\n  VIII. THE LITERATURE OF THE LATER HIGHWAYMEN                      124\n\n  IX. THE NEWGATE CHAPLAINS: SAMUEL SMITH, PAUL LORRAIN, THOMAS\n  PURENEY\u2014THE PRISON LIFE                                           131\n\n  X. THE WATCHMAN, AND THE EXECUTION BELL OF ST. SEPULCHRE          148\n\n  XI. HANGMAN'S HIGHWAY: THE ROAD TO TYBURN                         156\n\n  XII. THE WAYSIDE GIBBETS                                          199\n\n  XIII. THE ROADS OUT OF LONDON:\n        I. The Dover Road                                           213\n        II. The Bath Road                                           221\n\n  XIV. THE ROADS OUT OF LONDON (_continued_):\n        III. The Great North Road                                   245\n        IV. The Oxford Road                                         255\n\n  MOLL CUTPURSE: THE \"ROARING GIRL\"                                 262\n\n  CAPTAIN PHILIP STAFFORD                                           269\n\n  CAPTAIN JAMES HIND, THE \"PRINCE OF PRIGS\"                         273\n\n  JOHN CLAVEL, \"GENTLEMAN\"                                          307\n\n  WILLIAM DAVIS, THE GOLDEN FARMER                                  317\n\n  THOMAS SIMPSON: \"OLD MOB\"                                         333\n\n  CLAUDE DU VALL                                                    342\n\n  FRANCIS JACKSON, AND HIS \"RECANTATION\"                            356\n\n  CAPTAIN RICHARD DUDLEY                                            387\n\n\n\n\nLIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS\n\n\nSEPARATE PLATES\n\n                                                                  PAGE\n\n  MULLED SACK                                            _Frontispiece_\n\n  THE FOOTPADS                                                        4\n\n  ROBIN HOOD, UNDER THE GREENWOOD TREE                               26\n\n  MARGARET OF ANJOU AND THE BANDIT                                   37\n\n  THE \"HAND OF GLORY\": BENEATH THE GALLOWS TREE                      50\n\n  \"OPEN LOCK, TO THE DEAD MAN'S KNOCK\"                               53\n\n  THE FIGHT IN NEEDWOOD FOREST                                       78\n\n  \"WHO GOES HOME?\"                                                   93\n\n  SCANDALOUS SCENE AT A HERTFORD EXECUTION                          143\n\n  THE BELLMAN                                                       153\n\n  CLEVER TOM CLINCH GOING TO EXECUTION                              169\n\n  AT THE \"BOWL\"                                                     181\n\n  AN EXECUTION AT TYBURN                                            187\n\n  EXECUTION OF THE IDLE APPRENTICE AT TYBURN                        188\n\n  QUEEN HENRIETTA MARIA PRAYING AT TYBURN                           191\n\n  \"THERE HE SWINGS BY THE ROADSIDE, IN HIS CAGE, IN A CONTEMPLATIVE\n  ATTITUDE, AS THOUGH PONDERING ON THE MYSTERIES OF LIFE AND DEATH\" 210\n\n  FALSTAFF ON GAD'S HILL                                            218\n\n  EXCHANGE OF COMPLIMENTS                                           226\n\n  JOHN HAWKINS AND GEORGE SYMPSON ROBBING THE BRISTOL MAIL          235\n\n  MURDER OF MR. STEELE ON HOUNSLOW HEATH                            243\n\n  SPIGGOTT PRESSED AT NEWGATE                                       253\n\n  \"SHELLING THE PEAS\"                                               261\n\n  MOLL CUTPURSE                                                     262\n\n  ALLEN AND HIND ATTACK OLIVER CROMWELL'S CARRIAGE                  281\n\n  HIND ROBS DR. PETERS                                              289\n\n  HIND SHOWS HIS DISGUISE                                           301\n\n  JOHN CLAVEL                                                       311\n\n  THE GOLDEN FARMER AND THE TINKER                                  327\n\n  \"OLD MOB\" ROBS THE DUCHESS OF PORTSMOUTH                          335\n\n  CLAUDE DU VALL DANCING THE CORANTO ON HOUNSLOW HEATH              348\n\n  THE FIGHT IN THE HOLLOW ROAD                                      360\n\n  CAPTAIN DUDLEY ON HOUNSLOW HEATH                                  388\n\n  CAPTAIN DUDLEY AND THE CLERGYMAN                                  392\n\n\nILLUSTRATIONS IN TEXT\n\n  \"A Terrible and Seasonable Warning\"                                69\n\n  The End of Wild Robert                                             70\n\n  Dr. Newman and his Pills                                          107\n\n  Eighteenth-Century Advertisement                                  108\n\n  Lansdowne Passage                                                 110\n\n  \"Clibborn's Post\"                                                 119\n\n  Decorative Headpiece from Pureney's \"Life and Confession of\n  Jonathan Wild and four other Malefactors\"                         139\n\n  The \"Execution Bell,\" St. Sepulchre                               155\n\n  The Road near Chester, 1675                                       200\n\n  Caxton Gibbet                                                     202\n\n  Miles's Irons                                                     211\n\n  The \"True Protracture\" of Captain Hind                            274\n\n  \"Here now thou seest me as a Butcher's Boy\"                       276\n\n  Captain Hind, the Cavalier Hero                                   284\n\n  \"Next; here am I presented to thy view\"                           284\n\n  \"Stand and Deliver! next in order comes\"                          287\n\n  \"Behold! at last, the saddest sight of all\"                       301\n\n  Execution of the Golden Farmer                                    329\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: [++] Image of a Highwayman.]\n\n\nHALF-HOURS\n\nWITH THE\n\nHIGHWAYMEN\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nINTRODUCTORY\n\nTHE GENERAL DECLENSION FROM OUTLAW TO HIGHWAYMAN, AND THENCE TO\nFOOTPAD, THIEF, AND BURGLAR\u2014GAMALIEL RATSEY\u2014THOMAS DUN, OF DUNSTABLE\n\n    _O, there was never a life like the robber's,\n      So careless, and gay, and free.\n    And its end? why, a cheer from the crowd below,\n      And a leap from the leafless tree._\n\n\nHalf-hours! In the days when the highwaymen flourished, and made travel\nperilous for law-abiding persons, a five-minutes' interview with\none of these \"Knights of the Road,\" who were but rarely knightly in\ntheir manners, would have been more than sufficient. Travellers, who\nhad been violently abused, threatened, and robbed, did not observe\nthat atmosphere of romance about the highwaymen, with which, not only\nmodern times, but their own age, enwrapped them. The highwaymen have\never been accounted romantic, as we shall see in these ensuing pages;\nfrom the more or less mythical Robin Hood, down to the Carolean age of\nCaptain Hind, Swiftnicks, and Du Vall, whose exploits were followed\nwith interest and sympathy by their contemporaries. From a lengthy\nstudy of these things, one fact rises prominently above all others: it\nis the fact that the highwayman's only ceased to be a romantic figure\nwhen he stopped and robbed one's self, under the usual circumstances\nof coarse vituperation and personal indignity. On all other occasions,\nalthough he commonly practised after nightfall, he paradoxically moved\nin a rosy atmosphere, in company with the knightly figures of ancient\nchivalry (who themselves, if the truth of it were told, would probably\nbe disclosed as a rather sordid crew).\n\nThe thrilling romance\u2014or the side-splitting humorous circumstances, as\nthe case might be\u2014of one's acquaintance or next-door neighbour being\nplundered, threatened with death at the pistol-muzzle, and then, with\nhis very coat stripped off his back, being bidden make haste away, is\nobvious enough, and the highwayman who did all the threatening and\nthe plundering is easily seen to be at once a hero and a humorist;\nbut when he met yourself in the darkling lane, and had your purse,\nyour coat, and your gold watch, and d\u2014\u2014d you because you did not carry\nmore wealth, and so make it better worth the while of a gentleman like\nhimself to be out upon the roads at such unconscionable hours\u2014why, then\nhe was a rogue of the most debased description, and the occasion was\nnot so much humorous as tragical; while, as for Romance: what sickly\ncant is this? Where are the patrol? What are the peace-officers doing,\nto earn their pay? Is this a civilised country?\n\nWe shall see in these pages the fine flower and the gradual declension\nof the highwaymen: shall trace the mythical and the almost wholly\nimaginary figures to the time when, under Charles the First and the\nCommonwealth, it was difficult to tell where the Cavalier ended and\nthe highwayman began; and shall thence come, by way of the disbanded\ntroopers, who turned highway robbers in William the Third's reign,\nto that curious age when there was an even chance that the armed and\nmounted man who bade you \"Stand and deliver!\" was a baronet, or a\nfootman out of place, turned gentleman of the road to support the vices\nhe had learned of his masters.\n\nFrom the middle of the eighteenth century, to its close\u2014the era of\nMaclaine and Sixteen String Jack, the art of highway robbery becomes\nless idealised. There is more police-court about it, and less hazy\nglamour. Beau Brocade is a fine figure, well-dressed and splendidly\nmounted, on the heath, but in the dock at Bow Street, and later at the\nOld Bailey, he never showed to advantage, Sixteen String Jack excepted,\nwith his pea-green coat and his bouquet, as big as a cabbage. And as\nthe eighteenth century closed and gave place to the nineteenth, the\nmounted highwayman gradually disappeared, and the footpad, a miserable,\nmuddy, cowardly figure, for whom no one ever had a good word, is seen\nin his dark lurk, in the wayside ditch, not often courageous enough\nto work alone, and generally found in couples, ready perhaps with the\nsuffocating pitch-plasters that so terrified the wayfarers of that time.\n\nThe footpad never had the slightest inkling of romance, and was always\nbrutal, whether he clapped that pitch-plaster over your mouth, or\nterrified you, or finished off his examination of your pockets by\nknocking you down and jumping on your body. A far cry, indeed, from the\ngenerous days of Captain Hind, or Claude Du Vall.\n\nNo one would ever contemplate a work on \"Half-Hours with the Footpads.\"\nIt would be to introduce the reader into the very worst of society, and\nthe least entertaining; and so we come by degrees to the present era of\nthe housebreakers and the newspaper records, where you may seek romance\nif you will.\n\n[Illustration: THE FOOTPADS.]\n\nThe history of the highwaymen is a lengthy emergence from ancient\nfables and marvellous rustic folklore, to more settled records. It is\nnot peculiar in that gradual development. Such is the evolution of\nall history. But that of the highwaymen begins with the giants and the\nheroes, continued down through the legendary period of Robin Hood, to\nthe times of the Civil War in England, between King Charles and his\nParliament, when highway robbers cloaked their villainies with Royalist\npartisanship, to the less romantic eighteenth century, and finally\nended, early in the nineteenth century, with all the glamour and\ntinselled things of the past, in squalid, commonplace circumstances.\nThe highwaymen begin in the dimness of antiquity, continue very largely\nas heroic myths throughout the middle ages, become philanthropic and\nchivalric figures in succeeding eras, and later are seen to be mere\nmasquerading footmen, brave only in their masters' fine clothes,\nseeking money wherewith to gamble and to live dissolute lives. They\nend, sordid, mud-splashed figures, from which romance shrinks; in no\ndetail distinguishable from such vermin as the footpads, who on dark\nnights robbed women and children, and defenceless old men, for coppers\nin solitary lanes, and fled in terror from the robust.\n\nWhen the profession of highwayman became extinct, those of pickpocket,\ncard-sharper, and burglar were greatly reinforced. Some severe censors\nof modern times declare that the Joint Stock and Limited Liability\nActs were passed in the interest of the classes in whose veins the\nhighwayman blood flowed, and whose instincts could not, in the altered\nconditions of life, find expression on the road. As company promoters\nof the Whitaker Wright and Jabez Balfour type, it has been said, these\nprovidential enactments enabled them to satisfy their natural leanings.\nAnd so the old world journeys down the ringing grooves of change, even\nas Tennyson desired it should do, though perhaps not on the exact lines\nof his thoughts.\n\nThere are no heroes in these days; or, at the most of it, the hero of\nto-day, beslavered with overmuch praise, is discovered to-morrow to be\na greatly overrated person, not so heroic as ourselves, if the truth\nwere known and every one had his due.\n\nThe very last hero in the records of these allied criminal enterprises\nwas Charles Peace, the burglar, who was hanged February 25th, 1879, for\nthe murder (not in the way of his business), of Mr. Dyson, at Banner\nCross, near Sheffield, on November 29th, 1876.\n\nThere can be no doubt that \"Charley,\" as the police themselves almost\naffectionately called him, would in a more favourable era have been a\nhighwayman. He had the instincts for the career, and was undoubtedly\ncourageous enough, resourceful enough, and sufficiently equipped with\nwhat passed for wit and humour to have shone with no dim light, even\nin such days as those of Hind and Du Vall. He was not a hero, and the\nage insisted that he should ply a less respected craft than that of the\nhighwayman, but he could have risen to such an occasion on the road,\nand perhaps because the public dimly saw as much, he figures in the\nimagination less as the armed midnight burglar he was, ready in cold\nblood to shoot down any one who stood in his way, than as a wonderfully\ndaring and skilful adventurer, whose known exploits and whose\nlegendary doings\u2014for legends have accumulated around his well-known\nand ascertained career\u2014can stir the pulse and heat the imagination.\nHe was well-equipped even in the accident of his name. The heathen\ngods themselves might have laughed in their heavens\u2014for humour was\nappreciated among the Olympians\u2014at the sardonic jest of one named Peace\nprowling at dead of night, armed with a six-chambered revolver, ready\nand willing to slay those who should bar his path. And then how fine\nhis gauge of the average intelligence, which even nowadays does not\noften range beyond that primitive conception of the typical burglar, in\nwhich he is pictured in the ankle-jacks, the breeches, the velveteen\ncoat, and the moleskin cap of Bill Sikes. He saw _that_ was the mental\npicture the British public cherished of gentlemen of his trade, and he\ntook his cue therefrom, posing as an independent gentleman. It mattered\nlittle that his physiognomy actually reproduced the Bill Sikes head and\nface, with remarkable closeness; he dressed well, talked well, lived\nin nicely furnished houses in respectable neighbourhoods, and\u2014last and\nclinching sign of respectability\u2014he kept a horse and trap.\n\nUntil his arrest on the night of November 17th, 1878, in the act\nof committing a burglary at St. John's Park, Blackheath, he was a\nrespected villa resident, who had a liking for art, a great fondness\nfor music, and, in general, cultivated tastes. There was no reason,\nexcept such reason or such elements of chance, as may be found in the\nbusy conduct of his trade, why he should ever have been caught. He\nburgled as cleverly as he lived; and had too much sense to work in\ncompany. Keeping his own counsel, and working alone, he was quite sure\nno pal would betray him.\n\nHis impudent assurance is well displayed in the authentic and\nwell-known anecdote of his offering a choice cigar from among some he\nhad looted, to a tradesman well acquainted with him. He entered the\nPeckham chemist's shop, made a purchase, passed the time o' day, and\noffered him his cigar-case. The shopkeeper took one, and later smoked\nit with great satisfaction.\n\nWhen next Peace entered the shop, the shopkeeper said: \"That was a fine\ncigar, sir, you gave me the other day.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" replied Peace, \"they _are_ good. I can't afford to buy, so I\nsteal them.\"\n\n\"Do you?\" rejoined the man, with a laugh at the absurdity of such a\nstatement from a customer so apparently respectable as Peace; \"I wish,\nthen, you would steal me some more.\"\n\n\"I will!\" said Peace; and he did. He had the effrontery to again burgle\nthe place whence his original supply had come.\n\n\"Here,\" he said in a day or two, giving the shopkeeper a box full,\n\"are the cigars I promised to steal for you.\" The delighted recipient\nthought how exquisitely his customer's kindness and humour blended.\n\nThere is nothing neater in all the history of highwaymen than this\nanecdote, twinkling brightly amid the matter-of-fact records of a\ndegenerate day.\n\nThere is plentiful evidence that when Captain Alexander Smith in\n1719-20 wrote and published his work upon the highwaymen and other\nevil-doers, he based his book upon the many chapbooks and broadsides\nthen in existence. Many of them may even now be found by those who do\nnot mind searching for them, but whether they will repay the trouble\nis quite another matter. He includes in his gallery even Robin Hood\nand Sir John Falstaff; and, not concerned to point out their legendary\nor merely literary character, gives an exact (though necessarily not a\ntruthful) biography of each.\n\nSeveral editions of Smith exist; some in three, others in two volumes.\nThe title-pages vary largely, but all are extremely lengthy, and so\ncurious that it is well worth while to reproduce one as on the next\npage.\n\n  A Compleat\n\n  HISTORY\n\n  of the\n\n  LIVES AND ROBBERIES\n\n    of the most Notorious\n    Highway-Men, Foot-Pads, Shop-Lifts,\n    and Cheats of both Sexes, in and about\n    _London_ and _Westminster_, and all Parts of\n    _Great Britain_, for above an Hundred Years\n    past, continu'd to the present Time.\n\n    Wherein their most Secret and Barbarous Murders,\n    Unparalell'd Robberies, Notorious Thefts,\n    and Unheard of Cheats, are set in a true Light,\n    and Expos'd to publick View, for the common\n    Benefit of Mankind.\n\n\n    To which is prefix'd,\n    The Thieves New Canting-Dictionary,\n    Explaining the most mysterious Words,\n    New Terms, Significant Phrases, and Proper\n    Idioms, used at this present Time by\n    our Modern Thieves.\n\n\n  By Capt. ALEX. SMITH.\n\n\n  The Fifth Edition (adorn'd with Cuts) with the Addition\n  of near Two Hundred Robberies lately committed.\n\n\n  In Two Volumes.\n\n\n  _London._ Printed for Sam. Briscoe, and sold by\n  _A. Dodd_ at the _Peacock_ without _Temple-Bar_, 1719.\n\nCaptain Alexander Smith took an immense delight in his villains. You\ncannot fail to perceive, if you read his book, that his only contempt\nwas for a bungler in the art. Royalist to the heart's core of him, he\nexpends his most loving labours upon the freebooters who displayed his\nown political bias, and there can be little doubt that, while they\ndid the robbing, it is the eloquence of Smith himself that supplies the\nembittered harangues, which the victims of Captain Hind, of Stafford,\nand of many another in his pages are supposed to endure. Nay, Smith\nenriches the career of many a Royalist highwayman with incidents those\ngallant fellows were entire strangers to; and himself robs (in the mere\nnarration of pen, ink, and the printed page) prominent Puritans, who in\nactual life were assuredly never \"held up\" on the road.\n\nThe convention of disapproval of his heroes' villainies sits very\nlightly upon Alexander Smith. He pays that merest homage to virtue, but\nthen starts rollicking through the biographies of the highwaymen with\nan unmistakable gusto. His table of comparative sinfulness is an oddity\nin itself. He says, \".... we have given them Precedency according as\nthey excelled one another in Villainy. In their general Character the\nReader will find the most unaccountable Relations of irregular Actions\nas ever were heard; penn'd all from their own Mouths, not borrow'd\nfrom the Account given of Malefactors by any of the Ordinaries of\nNewgate....\"\n\nHe then continues, not very convincingly: \"If we have here and there\nbrought in some of these wicked Offenders venting a prophane Oath or\ncurse, which is dash'd\" (much is left to the imagination in a \u2014\u2014) \"it\nis to paint them in their proper Colours; whose Words are always so\nodious, detestable, and foul, that some (as little acquainted with a\nGod as they) would be apt to conclude that Nature spoil'd them in the\nMaking, by setting their Mouths at the wrong end of their Bodies.\"\n\nSir John Falstaff strangely comes first in this Valhalla. Who ever,\nloving the Shakespearian Falstaff, would have expected him to be\nexalted on this particularly bad eminence, over the heads of the\nseveral atrocious murderers Smith does not scruple to include in his\npages?\n\nJohnson, Smith's copyist of twenty years later, like his precursor,\nboggles at no marvellous tale. They knew the temper of their times and\nworked in accord with it. Why be a critic in an uncritical age?\n\nThere were poets before Homer, but by all accounts they were a sorry\nlot; and there were biographers of highwaymen before Alexander Smith,\nbut for the most part their works are deadly dull. They had excellent\nmaterials, but did not know how to handle them. Shakespeare alone, in\nthe scenes on Gad's Hill with Falstaff and Prince Hal and the men in\nbuckram, knew the way, and all London laughed with him at those merry\nadventures; but such tiresome productions as the _Life and Death of\nGamaliel Ratsey_, published in 1605, continued to appear.\n\nThat little work is typical. Gamaliel Ratsey\u2014whether a real or\nimaginary person I dare not say\u2014appears by this publication to have\nbeen \"a famous thiefe in England, executed at Bedford the 26 of March\nlast past, 1605.\" Probably there was a Gamaliel Ratsey, highwayman,\nhanged then and there; but the adventures related of him are almost\ncertainly inventions: well invented, but told without the slightest\nscintilla of literary merit. Yet this ragbag stuff has figured in\nreprints of \"old English literature.\" So much the worse, then, for\nOld English literature, if this be representative; or, more likely so\nmuch the worse for the critical ability of those who considered it\nworth disinterring on those grounds. It is not \"literature,\" and not\nrepresentative of what old England could then produce in literature;\nbut it is valuable as one of the origins of the highwaymen legends.\n\nGamaliel Ratsey, according to this publication, was born at Market\nDeeping, in Lincolnshire, the son of a respected local gentleman,\none Richard Ratsey, who held a position in the service of a greater\ngentleman: an esquire, probably, in the train of a nobleman. His\nonly son, Gamaliel, received a good education, but was of a roving\ndisposition and went over to Ireland and joined the army of occupation\nthere, under the Earl of Essex. He so distinguished himself, early in\nthose operations, that he was made sergeant. Soon after the death of\nQueen Elizabeth, he returned to England with the Earl of Devonshire,\nand went home to Market Deeping. At the not far distant town of\nSpalding he began his filching career, by making use of the good terms\nhe enjoyed with the landlady of an inn to steal a bag containing \u00a340 in\ngold, which had been entrusted to her keeping by a farmer attending\nthe market. To convince Ratsey how trusted a person she was, she\nfoolishly showed where she had placed the bag; and as soon as her back\nwas turned he had taken it from the cupboard where it lay, and made off.\n\nWhen the farmer returned and wanted his money, there was the very deuce\nto pay. He and the landlady went off to the nearest justice and swore\nan information against Gamaliel, who was arrested and thrown into\nprison, but not before he had found time to return home and bury the\nbag in the garden. In confidence he told his mother where it was hid,\nhis mother told his sister, his sister told her husband, her husband\ntold his friends, and so at last the confession reached the ears of the\njustices. Gamaliel would undoubtedly have been hanged on that occasion,\nonly he broke prison and escaped, clad only in his shirt.\n\nHis further adventures with Snell and Shorthose, two companions of like\ninclination, are in themselves amusing when reduced to less stilted\nlanguage than that of the _Life_. Curiously enough, one of these\nincidents is concerned with the robbing of an actor, whom Ratsey bids\ndeliver his money first, and a scene from _Hamlet_ afterwards. So it\nwas not from any want of acquaintance with the best models that the\nunnamed author of Ratsey's life failed to put life into his narrative.\nThe incident is treated in as dead and wooden a manner as the rest.\n\nA Cambridge scholar, robbed in similar manner, was bidden deliver a\nlearned thesis. We find almost exactly parallel stories in Smith and\nJohnson. In those pages it is Sir Josselin (? Joscelin) Denville and\nhis numerous band of robbers, who, meeting a Benedictine monk in a\nwood, make him preach a sermon in praise of thieving. Captain Dudley,\na hundred years or so later, is represented demanding a sermon from a\nclergyman.\n\nMore shadowy even than Robin Hood, is \"Thomas Dun.\" We may be in some\nreasonable doubt as to the validity of many incidents and biographies\nin the pages of Smith and Johnson, but there is no possible doubt\nwhatever that the \"Life of Thomas Dun\" is what one of our own\neighteenth-century highwaymen and cutpurses would have called a \"flam.\"\nThere was never a Thomas Dun, highwayman, bandit, and murderer, as\ndepicted in those classic pages; but the fact that he was a myth does\nnot prevent those painstaking authors from presenting us with a very\nexact narrative of his deeds.\n\nThe curious \"moral reflection\" prefaced to Thomas Dun's entirely\napocryphal adventures is itself worth reproducing. It says: \"A\nman who is not forced from necessity or a desire of pleasure to\nbecome dishonest, but follows his natural dispositions in robbing\nand maltreating others, will generally be found to be destitute of\nevery humane and generous principle. So will it be found with this\ncharacter\u2014a person of mean extraction\u2014who was born in Bedfordshire,\nand who, even in childhood, was noted for his pilfering propensity and\nthe cruelty of his disposition.\"\n\nHe lived, it seems, in the time of Henry the First, \"and so many were\nhis atrocities,\" writes Johnson, \"that we can only find limits for the\nrecital of a few.\" The limits were perhaps more accurately determined\nby Johnson's own powers of invention.\n\nJohnson did not, of course, invent Thomas Dun. He is the child of the\nages. Equally with Robin Hood, every generation, until the decay of\nfolklore, added some new touch to him, and Johnson did but reduce him\nto print, add a little more, and shape him out of the somewhat formless\nbut threatening figure he presented.\n\nThere is this much basis for him: that, on the site of the town of\nDunstable, and for some distance along the Holyhead Road in that\ndirection, there extended, from Saxon times until the reign of Henry\nthe First, a dense thicket of scrub woods, overgrowing the ancient\nruins of the Roman station of _Durocobriv\u00e6_. From the time of the\nNorman conquest the neighbourhood had been infested with robbers, and\nit was to drive them out and establish some sort of order that the king\nhad clearings made in the woods that afforded such safe harbourage for\noutlaws. Under Royal encouragement a new town was founded, and in 1131\ngiven, with the rights of market, to a priory that had been founded\nin the meanwhile. The King himself had a residence at \"Dunstaplia,\"\nas the town was named, _i.e._ the \"hill-staple\" or market, and his\nsuccessors were often there. The wool market was the most important\nat Dunstable; the monks long maintaining great flocks of sheep on the\nadjacent downs.\n\nThe robbers became only a memory, but a memory that never faded. It\nmerely took on another form, and in the course of time the name of the\ntown itself was twisted into an allusion to them and to their leader.\nIt needed the collusion of gross ignorance and wild legend to effect\nso much, but the thing was done; and for centuries Dunstable was, and\nperhaps even now is, locally said to owe its name to \"Dun's Stable,\" a\nhollow in the chalk downs, pointed out as having been the place where\n\"Dun,\" the entirely imaginary leader of the outlaws, stabled his horse.\nIf you doubt this there is the town seal to convince the sceptical,\nshowing as it does what is said to be a horseshoe (a shoe of Dun's\nhorse!), but is really intended for a staple or hasp.\n\nThe legendary Dun was a kind of bogey to the children of the\nneighbourhood, and in Johnson's pages is a most blood-thirsty creature.\nThere we read that his first exploit was on the highway to Bedford,\nwhere he met a waggon full of corn, going to market, drawn by a\nfine team of horses. He accosted the waggoner, and in the midst of\nconversation stabbed him to the heart with a dagger. He buried the\nbody, and drove the waggon off to the town, where he sold the corn and\nthe waggon as well, and then disappeared!\n\nDun had a great animosity to lawyers (or, rather, the authors of the\nlegends worked into them their own dislike of the legal profession, and\nit is curious to note how this runs, like a thread, throughout all the\nfabric of highwaymen stories), and, hearing that some were to dine at\na certain inn at Bedford, went hurriedly into the house about an hour\nbefore the appointed time, and desired the landlord to hasten with the\ndinner, and to provide for ten or twelve. The company soon arrived,\nand while the lawyers thought Dun a servant of the inn, the innkeeper\nthought him an attendant of the lawyers. He bustled about, and on the\nbill being called for, collected the amount, and walked off with it.\nThe company, tired of waiting for him to return with their change, rang\nthe bell for it, and then discovered him to be an impostor. And the\nhats and cloaks and the silver spoons had gone too.\n\nDun became such a terror, that the sheriff of Bedford assembled a\nconsiderable force to attack him and his band. But Dun, finding\nhis own men to equal, if not actually to outnumber, those sent\nagainst him, assumed the offensive, and, furiously attacking the\nsheriff's expedition, routed it and took eleven prisoners, whom he\nhanged upon trees in the woods, by way of a hint how rash a thing it\nwas to interfere with him. Removing the prisoners' clothing, they\ndressed themselves in it, and forming a plan to rob the castle of\na neighbouring nobleman, appeared before it in the uniform of the\nsheriff's men and demanded admission, \"to search for Dun.\" Failing to\nfind him, they requested all the keys of the place, to make a narrower\nsearch, and so looted many costly articles. Upon a complaint being\nlodged with the sheriff, the ruse was belatedly discovered.\n\nIt would be wearisome to follow all the fables that tell of Dun's\ntwenty years' bloodstained progress to the scaffold. There is this much\nto be said in commendation of the popular legends of bandits: that when\nthey are shown to be really bad, without redeeming traits, the legends\nduly see to it that justice is satisfied. And so with Dun, who is made\nto end disastrously at Bedford, even without the advantage of a formal\ntrial. \"When two executioners approached him he warned them of their\ndanger if they should lay hands on him,\" and when they insisted upon\ndoing so he struggled with them so successfully that he flung them\nnine times upon the scaffold, before his strength gave way. The crowds\nwho gloated horribly over executions at Tyburn and elsewhere never had\nso great a treat as pictured in this fictitious scene: but this was\nmerely the appetiser, the anchovies, so to speak, before the more solid\ncourse. Better was to follow.\n\nThe original executioners having been put out of action by Dun's\nviolence, reinforcements were brought to bear, and did their business\nvery effectually. \"His hands were first chopped off at the wrist; then\nhis arms at the elbows; next, about an inch from the shoulders; his\nfeet below the ankles; his legs at the knees; and his thighs about\nfive inches from the trunk. The horrible scene was then concluded by\nsevering his head from the body, and consuming it to ashes. The other\nportions were set up in the principal places of Bedfordshire.\"\n\nThis by no means pretty ending, when told to children, terrified them\nmore than all the terrific deeds attributed to Dun himself, and often\nwoke them at night, screaming.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nROBIN HOOD AND HIS MERRY MEN\n\n    _Bold Robin Hood\n    Was a forester good\n    As ever stepped in\n    The merry greenwood._\n\n\nThe mythical Thomas Dun's redeeming qualities, supposing him, indeed,\nto have possessed any, are not set forth in those legends of him. He is\na blackguard shape; while the equally legendary Robin Hood is one of\nthe brightest figures of romance.\n\nRobin Hood is a poor man's hero, and has been, for over seven\ncenturies, to the peasantry of England something of what King Arthur\nwas to the nobles and the aristocracy. While Arthur was, and is some\nday again to be, the national hero in the larger issues of war and\nconquest, Robin remains the lion-hearted outlaw; warring from his\nboskage in the greenwood of Sherwood Forest, or Barnsdale, against the\nrich oppressors of the people, whether they be the nobles or the fat\necclesiastics of medi\u00e6val satire.\n\nMany industrious writers have sought to reduce the Robin Hood myths\nto a connected whole, and to trace their origin, but the task has\nproved hopeless. He is as pervasive as the winds, and came whence no\none knows, but may be traced back to the reign of Edward the Second,\nwhen he was already fully established as a ballad hero. Ritson, who\ncollected and edited the ancient literature referring to him, is of\nopinion that he was a real person, Robert Fitzooth, and was born\nat Locksley, in Nottinghamshire, in 1160. But no evidence settles\nthat point, and it is abundantly possible that he was really evolved\nfrom dim memories of Hereward the Wake, the Saxon hero, who long\nwithstood William the Norman in the fens of Ely. In course of time his\nchampionship of a conquered nation was lost sight of, and merged into\nthe endearing character of an English yeoman, outlawed for debt, taking\nrefuge with others of his kin in the forest, whence they levied toll\nupon the oppressor, and, as they themselves were outlawed, respected no\nlaw, save that of the greenwood, where the best man was he who could\ndraw the stoutest bow and shoot the straightest; who could make the\nbest play with that truly English weapon, the quarter-staff, or deal\nthe mightiest blow with the fist.\n\nThe whole cycle of Robin Hood legend is delightfully and most\ncharacteristically English, instinct with the purest and most\npassionate love of the countryside, and nerved with the championship\nof manhood's rights and with the fiercest hatred of the law and of\nthe ruling classes in days when laws were the repressive measures\ninstituted by the wealthy for the purpose of denying simple justice to\nthe poor. The hatred of authority and the armed resistance to it, that\nare the leading features of Robin Hood legend, are no mere criminal\ntraits, but violent protests (the only kind of protest then possible)\nagainst the bloody forest laws of the Norman and Plantagenet times,\nand the system by which the peasantry were serfs, with no more social\nrights than the negroes enjoyed before their emancipation in 1833.\n\nRobin Hood legend was for centuries the expression of what might now\nbe styled Liberal, or even Radical, or Socialist opinion, but it has\nan innate poetry and chivalry which those modern schools of thought\nconspicuously lack; and indeed, as personal liberty broadened, so did\nthe legends of this splendid figure of romance become blunted and\nvulgarised in the countryside, until he is made interchangeable with\nthe highwaymen who had only their own pockets to fill and no cause to\nrepresent.\n\nHow popular and how astonishingly widespread was the story of Robin\nHood, we may readily guess from the many places or natural objects\nnamed after him. \"Robin Hood's Butts\" on the racecourse near Onibury,\na mile and a half from Ludlow, are still pointed out. They are in the\nnature of sepulchral barrows. From there, says legend, Robin Hood\nshot an arrow that sped the mile and a half to Ludlow church, and\nfixed itself on the apex of the gable of the north transept! An arrow\nis certainly there, but Robin never shot it. It is, in fact, an iron\nlikeness of an arrow, and is the sign of the guild of Fletchers, or\narrow-makers, who built the transept.\n\nThere are other \"Robin Hood's Butts\" in the country: his \"Cairns\" on\nthe Blackdown Hills in Somerset; \"Robin Hood's Bay,\" on the Yorkshire\nCoast; his \"Barrows,\" near Whitby; \"Robin Hood's Tor,\" near Matlock;\nboundary-stones in Lincolnshire, known as \"Robin Hood's Crosses\";\na large logan-stone in Yorkshire, styled his \"Penny Stone\"; a\nfountain near Nottingham that figures as his; \"Robin Hood's Well,\"\nbetween Doncaster and Wetherby; \"Robin Hood's Stable,\" a cave in\nNottinghamshire; a natural rock in Hopedale, Derbyshire, known as\nhis \"Chair\"; his \"Leap,\" a chasm at Chatsworth. A number of ancient\noaks are \"Robin Hood's,\" and legends of his exploits still cling\nto Skelbrooke Park, Plumpton Park, Cumberland, Feckenham Forest,\nWorcestershire, and the forests of Sherwood, Barnsdale, Needwood, and\nInglewood.\n\nThe forest of Inglewood, in Cumberland, is indeed associated with other\noutlaws as legendary as Robin himself or as that Irish figure of wild\nromance, \"Rory o' the Hills.\" Andrew Bel, William of Cloudisdale, and\nClym o' th' Clough are the great woodland triumvirate of the north.\n\n[Illustration: ROBIN HOOD, UNDER THE GREENWOOD TREE.]\n\nIt would be a thankless office to dwell greatly upon the probability\nthat Robin Hood, as an individual person, never existed, and that he\nwas perhaps not even typical of the woodland outlaws of old, whose\nideas and practices doubtless fell far short of the ballad Robin's\nideals. It is much more pleasant to consider the romantic spirit\nthat evolved him and gave him his exquisite setting of mossy glades\nand giant oaks, where the sun comes in golden-green shafts through the\nembowering foliage, and you hear the winding of the hunters' horns in\nchase of the deer. There is a springtime gladness in the old verses, of\nwhich this is typical:\n\n    Whan shaws bene sheene and shroddes full fayre,\n      And leaves both large and longe,\n    Itt's merry walking in the fayre forrist\n      To hear the small birdes songe.\n\n    To se the dere draw to the dale,\n      And leve the hill\u00ebs hee,\n    And shadow hem in the lev\u00ebs grene,\n      Under the grene-wode tre.\n\nIt is the springtime of the year and of the English nation that you\nglimpse in these lines; a picture of that larger rural England of\npossible adventure, and uncontaminated skies that is now a thing of the\npast.\n\nNature is portrayed in these ballads with a vividness and certainty\nthat more ambitious poets cannot match:\n\n    The woodweele sang and wold not cease,\n      Sitting upon the spraye,\n    Soe lowde, he wakened Robin Hood,\n      In the greenwood where he lay.\n\nIt is versification of the simplest and the most sincere kind.\n\nRobin Hood, real or imaginary character, has himself no criminal taint,\nbut he is one of the original founts whence the stream of highwayman\nlegend is fed. It does not, or should not, sully his fame, that the\nstream becomes polluted with much vileness as it flows down the channel\nof time. A gradual vulgarising of the beautiful old story of the manly\noutlaws in Lincoln green, who went on foot and chased and shot the\ndeer, and redressed wrongs in the leafy coverts, is sadly to be noted;\nand by the middle of the eighteenth century it became so obscured that\nit was possible for one of the booksellers of the time to foist upon an\nundiscriminating public an absurd production, in which Robin and the\nseventeenth-century Captain Hind figure as contemporaries. The poor\nthreadbare rags of chivalry are thrown over the recreant shoulders\nof the highwaymen, but they suit them ill; and the fine clothes the\nhighwaymen sometimes wore and the excellent horses they rode, do not\nhide from us their essential coarseness.\n\nWhen Langland's _Vision of Piers Plowman_ was written, about 1362,\nRobin Hood long had been a popular figure; and in that wonderful\ndescriptive poem we find, among those lifelike figures, Sloth, the\npriest, who confesses himself ignorant of hymns of the Saviour and the\nVirgin, and unable even to repeat his paternoster; \"but,\" he says, \"I\ncan ryme of Robin Hode.\"\n\nThat confession would scarce have pleased the real Robin, who was an\nexceedingly religious man. In the oldest ballad surviving of him, he\nis found lamenting that he has not been to mass for a fortnight, and\nhe thereupon, at great risk, goes to Nottingham town, to repair the\nomission. He especially venerated the Virgin, and is in one ballad\nfound to be so extremely devoted to his religious duties as to have\nthree masses daily, before dinner.\n\nAt the same time, although he is found declaring to his band that no\ndamage is to be done to any husbandman \"that tylleth with his plough,\"\nnor to any good yeoman, nor to any knight or squire \"that wolde be a\ngood felowe,\" he delights in persecuting ecclesiastical dignitaries. A\nfat abbot, or a steward of a monastery, unlucky enough to fall in with\nhim, has a weary time of it. The higher these personages, the worse\nthe treatment meted out to them. \"Ye shall then beat and bind,\" we\nfind Robin directing his merry men; and as these ballads were but the\nessence of the public feeling of the age, it is quite evident that when\nat last Henry the Eighth made away with the monasteries, he must have\nhad a very considerable and long-established force of popular sentiment\nentirely in accord with him.\n\nOne of the chief exploits of Robin with the dignified clergy was the\ntraditional meeting with the Bishop of Hereford, in Skelbrooke Park,\nwhere he was said to have made the Bishop dance round an oak, and then,\nafter plundering him, to have left him bound securely to the tree.\nVariations of the story are met with in plenty in legends of other\noutlaws and highwaymen.\n\nThat the Robin Hood legends impelled other romantic souls to take to\nthe woodlands and be also Robin Hoods, in admiring imitation, seems\nsufficiently evident from old records, of which the Derbyshire petition\nto Parliament in 1439 is typical. The petitioners solicited help to\nprocure the arrest of a certain Piers Venables and others who, it is\nstated, \"wente into the wodes like as it hadde be Robyn-hode and his\nmeyne.\"\n\nNottingham was ever a town inimical to our Robin; probably because it\nwas nearest to his haunts in Sherwood Forest. In the earliest ballad\nextant of his exploits, we learn how, going piously into the town for\nthe feast of Pentecost, he met an old monk whom he had once robbed of\n\u00a3100. The monk \"betrays\" him, and to prevent his escape the town gates\nare closed. Robin, seeking to leave, is captured, after a desperate\nresistance, and thrown into prison; and the false-hearted monk sets\nout for London, to convey the welcome news to the King, who will be\ndelighted to learn that the bold outlaw is at last laid by the heels.\n\nBut Little John and Much waylay the monk, and kill him and his little\npage, and themselves, with the despatches, seek audience of the King,\nwho sends a command by them to the Sheriff of Nottingham, ordering him\nto bring Robin Hood before him.\n\nArriving at Nottingham, these bearers of the King's commands are\nreceived with due honours and elaborately entertained. Finally, after\nmuch feasting and drinking, and when the sheriff and his men are sunk\nin a drunken sleep, Little John and Much steal their keys, kill the\ngaoler, and release Robin Hood. Then they return happily to the forest.\nThe ballad ends by the pardon of Little John, in consideration of his\nfidelity to his chief.\n\nAnother ballad tells of the adventure of Robin and the potter. Meeting\nan itinerant seller of earthenware pots, Robin challenges him to the\nusual test of who is best man, a fight with quarter-staff. On this\noccasion he meets his match and is badly beaten. But there was never\nsuch a hungry man for a fight as our hero, and he then suggested a\ncombat with swords, in which he was also vanquished. Then he changes\nclothes with the man of pots, buys his stock, and goes to Nottingham,\nwhere he sells them at less than cost price and so makes a speedy\nclearance of all but five. These he gives to the sheriff's wife, who\nthen invites him to dinner. At the dinner-table he hears of a trial\nof skill at archery to be decided that afternoon, and attends and\nsurpasses all competitors. The sheriff asks him of whom he learned such\nmarvellous archery. \"Of Robin Hood,\" he answered; and then the sheriff\nexpresses a wish to see the outlaw. The pretended potter then conducts\nhim into the depths of the forest and there blows a single blast upon\nhis horn.\n\nImmediately they are surrounded by Robin's own merry men, who compel\nthe sheriff to leave his horse and other gear; glad enough to get away\non any terms. Robin, however, courteously sends the sheriff's wife a\nwhite palfrey that \"ambles like the wind.\"\n\nIndeed, Robin was very much of a lady's man, and no outlaw worthy the\nname of forester was ever else. They were all squires of dames, and in\nthis at least were equal, in theory at any rate, to the best \"perfit\ngentil knight\" that ever wore a lady's kerchief.\n\nCourtesy to beauty in distress was ever one of the chiefest salves with\nwhich bandits salved their self-respect. No sentence of outlawry could\nmake them rue, if to that principle they held them true. Even an outlaw\nhad his ideals: to play special providence, to succour the distressed,\nto punish the oppressor, and \"never to lay hands on a woman, save in\nthe way of kindness.\" There were, of course, many lapses from these\naltitudes of conduct, but the ideal long remained, and only seems to\nhave greatly decayed in the eighteenth century.\n\nWe have the historical instance of that adventure of the fugitive Queen\nof Henry the Sixth, lost in 1459 in the wilds of Staffordshire, after\nthe disastrous battle of Blore Heath. Plying from that stricken field,\non horseback, with her son, the youthful Prince Edward and one only\nretainer, the little party were surprised in the mountainous district\nof Axe Edge by a band of robbers, who seized their money, jewels, and\nevery article of value. These savage men knew nothing of their rank,\nsave that they were obviously people of quality. Then the rogues fell\nto quarrelling among themselves, as to the division of the spoil.\nMenaces were growled out, and swords drawn. Margaret of Anjou, the\nhigh-spirited Queen, seeing the bandits so engaged with each other,\ntook her son by the arm and hurried with him into an adjacent wood.\n\n[Illustration: MARGARET OF ANJOU AND THE BANDIT.]\n\nWe hear no more of the solitary retainer. He seems to have left early.\n\nThe Queen and her son had not gone far when they encountered another\noutlaw. With the simple frankness of a great despair, she threw herself\nand the young Prince upon his mercy. \"Friend,\" said she, \"I entrust to\nyour loyalty the son of your King.\"\n\nWhat a generous-hearted bandit could do, he did. Taking them under his\nprotection, he conducted them by secret and intricate ways into the\ncomparative safety of the Lancastrian headquarters.\n\nBut to resume our Robin. The fate of Guy of Gisborne shows how rash\nit was to attack our friend in Lincoln green, who was by no means so\ngreen as he looked. Guy had sworn to apprehend the outlaw, and roamed\nthe forest in search of him, in a \"capull hyde,\" which is said to\nmean a horse's skin. Guy found him at last, with disastrous results\nto himself, for Robin slew him and mangled his body with what is\nparticularly described as an \"Irish knife.\" He then clothed himself\nin the \"capull hyde\" and took his deceased enemy's horn, and went off\nto Barnsdale, where his men, unknown to himself, had been in combat\nwith the sheriff's force, with the result that several were killed\nand wounded on both sides. Robin's men had, however, the worst of the\nfight, and Little John had been taken prisoner and bound fast to a tree.\n\nRobin, drawing near his men's haunts, blew a blast upon the horn he had\ntaken, and the sheriff, recognising the note, and thinking it was Guy\nof Gisborne, come back victorious, went to meet him, with the result\nthat he and his force were taken, and Robin's men released.\n\nThe many scattered ballads of Robin Hood that had long passed from\nmouth to mouth were collected, edited, and printed about 1500 by Wynkyn\nde Worde, under the title of _A Lytell Geste of Robyn Hode and his\nmeyne, and of the proude Sheryfe of Notyngham_.\n\nAccording to this, the home of Robin Hood was in Barnsdale, the\nwoodland tract between Doncaster and Pontefract. There Little John and\ntwo companions waylay Sir Richard at the Lea, a knight passing through\nthe forest: a melancholy man, as sad as he of the Rueful Countenance.\nHe is not afraid to accompany the rovers to their master, for he has\nlittle to lose. But Robin, far from ill-using, entertains him to a\nsumptuous dinner, served (by what marvellous means we are not told)\nin the merry greenwood. Such medi\u00e6val delicacies as swans, with, of\ncourse, pheasants, smoke at the outlaw's spread. The feast being\nconcluded, the knight prepares to depart; but \"Pay you, ere you wend!\"\nsays Robin; \"it was never the custom of a yeoman to pay for a knight.\"\n\nThe knight, deeply humiliated, confessed he had but ten shillings.\n\n\"Go search,\" commands Robin to Little John. \"If, sir, you have no\nmore,\" he says to the knight, \"I will not have a penny.\"\n\nThe search confirmed the knight's words; and it then appeared that this\nwas a sorely stricken knight indeed.\n\n\"For a hundred winters,\" he explains, his ancestors had been knights,\nand until within the last two or three years he had possessed an income\nof four hundred pounds a year, as his neighbours well knew.\n\nBut his son was unlucky enough to kill a Lancashire knight, and a\nsquire as well, in a joust; and, to help pay the penalty of his son's\nmishap, the father's goods had been \"sette and solde,\" and his lands\npledged to the Abbot of St. Mary's, for four hundred pounds. The\nday for repayment of this loan was close at hand, and the knight,\nunprovided with money, already foresees his estate pass from him.\n\nRobin Hood then asks him, who would be the knight's surety, if he\nadvanced the sum.\n\nAlas! replies the knight, he is as badly in want of friends as of\nmoney. He can offer no surety, save Our Lady, who had never failed him\nbefore.\n\nIn Robin Hood's way of thinking, no better surety could be found,\neven if England were sought through and through; and the knight is\nimmediately provided, not only with money, but with clothes, a horse,\nand a trusty squire, in the person of Little John. The whole band enter\ndeeply into their leader's feelings, and weep salt tears over the\nknight's misfortunes, and themselves contribute liberally to supply his\nneeds.\n\nThe second \"fytte,\" or act, is placed at St. Mary's Abbey, on the day\nof reckoning, and the abbot is introduced, chuckling at the absence\nof the knight, and the probability of his lands being forfeited. The\nprior entreats his superior to show a little pity, but his call for\nmoderation is scornfully rejected by the abbot, and by the cellarer,\na fatheaded monk of the type made familiar in modern German paintings\nof tonsured voluptuaries eyeing tables full of food and stroking their\npaunches.\n\nIn midst of these proceedings, the knight enters, and humbly begs for\nan extension of time; but the abbot insists on his bond, and will have,\nand at once, either the money or the land. Then the high justice is\nintroduced, as moderator:\n\n    \"What will ye gyve more?\" said the justice,\n      \"And the knight shall make a release;\n    And elles dare I safly swere\n      Ye never hold your lande in pees.\"\n\n    \"An hundred pounde\" sayd the Abbot;\n      The justice said \"Give him two.\"\n    \"Nay, be God! sayd the knight,\n      \"Ye gete ye it not soo:\n\n    \"Though ye woulde gyve a thousande more,\n      Yet were ye never the nere;\n    Shall there never be myn eyre\n      Abbot, justyse, ne frere.\"\n\n    He sterte hym to a borde anone,\n      Tyll a table rounde,\n    And there he shoke out of a bagge,\n      Even four hundred pounde.\n\nThe debt thus paid, the knight takes leave of the disappointed abbot,\nand \"went hym forthe full merye syngynge, as men have told the tale.\"\n\nLiving at home in retirement, he soon saves sufficient to get together\nthe sum that Robin had advanced; and then equips himself with a\nsplendid present of bows and arrows for the outlaw, and rides, with a\nmerry song and a light heart, to Barnsdale.\n\nThe third fytte tells the adventures of Little John, who, straying\ninto Nottingham, attracts the attention of the sheriff by his skill\nin archery, and enters into his service for one year, in the name of\nReynold Greenleaf. But in a little while, in the sheriff's absence,\nLittle John raises a quarrel in the house and runs away with the cook.\nTogether they go off to the greenwood, with the family plate, and ready\nmoney, \"three hundred pounds and three.\" Robin Hood receives them,\nbut they have not long returned when Little John plans to capture the\nsheriff himself, on his way home. The seizure is easily made, and the\nsheriff is taken to the foresters' camp, where supper is served to him\non his own plate. He is then stripped to his shirt and breeches, and\nreleased the next morning, after being obliged to take an oath never to\nlie in wait for Robin Hood, \"by water, ne by londe,\" and if any of the\nband fall into his custody, to help them to the best of his power.\n\nThe fourth fytte opens with the cellarer of St. Mary's, travelling with\na large sum of money. He falls in with Robin and his men, but declares\nhe has only twenty marks. Little John, however, on searching him,\ndiscovers eight hundred pounds; whereupon Robin Hood exclaims that the\nmoney must be sent by Our Lady, who, with her accustomed goodness, had\ndoubled the sum he lent the knight.\n\nThe monk is then bidden go his way, after refusing a parting glass;\nvowing, with much truth, that he might have dined cheaper at Blyth or\nDoncaster. The knight, at this moment, arrives with the money to repay\nhis loan. Robin accepts his presents, but will not take the money, as\nOur Lady has just now paid it back, together with another four hundred\npounds, which he begs the knight to accept.\n\nThe fifth fytte opens with the Sheriff of Nottingham proclaiming a\nshooting match. Robin attends, and bears off the prize, but as he\nleaves the town, the cry of \"Robin Hood\" is raised. \"Great horns 'gan\nthey to blow\"; the townsmen assemble, and a fight begins, in which\nLittle John is wounded in the knee, so that he can neither walk nor\nride. In this desperate pass, he entreats his captain to smite off his\nhead with his sword, so that he may not fall alive into the hands of\nthe enemy, but Robin indignantly refuses. Little Much takes him on his\nback, and carries him off, halting from time to time to speed arrows\ninto the ranks of the pursuing sheriff's men. They then all escape\nto the castle of their knightly friend, who, in the sixth fytte, is\nwaylaid, and carried off by the sheriff.\n\nThe knight's lady then appeals to Robin Hood, who calls his men, and,\nproceeding to Nottingham, slays the \"proud Sheriff\" and releases the\nknight.\n\nIn the seventh fytte we have the arrival of \"our comely King,\" Edward\nthe Third, at Nottingham, come to inquire into a complaint the sheriff\nhad made against the knight for harbouring outlaws. The King, for a\nwhole year, endeavours to capture Robin or the knight, but has no sort\nof success until a forester offers, if the King will assume the costume\nof an abbot, to conduct him to the outlaws' retreat, \"a mile under the\nlynde\"; _i.e._ in the midst of the lime-trees, or lindens.\n\nThis offer is accepted, and Robin receives the pretended abbot with\nunusual courtesy, taking but one-half of the forty pounds he offers for\nransom of himself. The \"abbot\" then produces a summons under the Royal\nseal, inviting Robin to Nottingham \"both to meat and meal.\"\n\nRobin goes down on bended knee before this august message, and\nentertains the \"abbot\" in the best style, with venison and\n\n    With good white bread and good red wine,\n    And therto fine ale brown.\n\nAfter dinner he entertains his guest at a shooting-match; the chief\ncondition being that whoever misses a rose-garland suspended between\ntwo poles shall forfeit bow, arrows, and quiver, and submit to receive\na buffet on the head.\n\nRobin misses by three fingers and more, and the King is entitled to\ninflict the penalty. He hesitates. \"Smite boldly!\" says Robin; \"I give\nthee large leave.\"\n\nThus encouraged, the king, with one blow of his stalwart arm, makes\nthe outlaw reel. Such an exhibition of vigour was more convincing than\nmoral suasion, and Robin, perceiving that this is no abbot, but the\nKing himself, submits at once, with his men. The sovereign graciously\npardons them and invites them to London.\n\nThe eighth fytte concludes the story. Robin and his men follow the King\nto the Court; but within a year the love of the free and unconventional\nforest had lured away all but Robin and two companions, and Robin\nhimself was sick to be gone. The finishing touch was the sight of a\ngathering of young archers.\n\n      \"Alas! and well-a-way\n    If I dwell longer with the King,\n      Sorowe wyll me slay,\"\n\nsays the sometime outlaw, longing to be a forester again.\n\nSo he forswears the Court, and retires again to the forest.\n\nAnd there, the legends say, he lived as of old for twenty-two years;\nuntil falling sick, he resorted to the priory of Kirklees, where a\nkinswoman of his was prioress. After the medical fashion of the time,\nthe remedy was to be slightly bled; but the treacherous prioress, and\none Sir Roger of Doncaster, opened a vein by which he bled to death:\ndying \"from the perfidy of a woman,\" as had been prophesied.\n\nFrom the chamber in the gatehouse of the priory where he lay, he shot\nhis final arrow, his faithful Little John whom he had summoned by three\nblasts of his horn, supporting him. The spot where the arrow fell was\nto be his grave, and there Little John was to lay him, with his bow\nbent by his side, a turf under his head, and another at his feet. The\nold ballad of his affecting end piously concludes:\n\n    Crist have mercy on his sowle\n      That dyed on the rood,\n    For he was a good outlawe\n      And dyde pore men much good.\n\nThe railed-in spot where he, by tradition, lies buried had once, we are\ntold, a stone inscribed\n\n    Near undernead dis laitl stean\n    laiz robert earl of Huntingtun\n    Nea arcir ver as hie sa geud\n    An pipl kauld im robin heud\n    sich outlawz az hi an iz men\n    vil england nivr si agen\n                    Obijt 24 kal Dekembris, 1249.\n\nBut this appears to have been the invention of Martin Parker, author\nof the \"True Tale\" of the hero, c. 1632. It still, however, imposes\nupon the credulous and supports the somewhat sweeping saying current in\nCamden's time: \"Tales of Robin Hood are good for fools.\"\n\nWykyn de Worde's collection of Robin Hood romances is itself a proof of\nthe wide popularity the hero had always enjoyed, and did still enjoy;\nbut it does not stand alone as proof. In 1444 we hear a grumbling\nvoice speaking of Robin, Little John, Friar Tuck, and the others of\nthat immortal band, \"of whom the foolish vulgar, in comedies and\ntragedies, make entertainments, and are delighted to hear the jesters\nand minstrels sing them, above all other ballads.\"\n\nA century later, none other than Latimer, Bishop of Worcester,\npreaching before Edward the Sixth, bore unwilling testimony to Robin's\npopularity with the masses: \"I came once myself,\" he said, \"to a place,\nriding on a journey homeward from London, and I sent word overnight\ninto the town that I would preach there in the morning, because it\nwas a holyday.... I thought I should have found a great company in\nthe church, but when I came there, the church door was fast locked. I\ntarried there half an hour and more, and at last the key was found; and\none of the parish comes to me, and says, 'Sir, this is a busy day with\nus, we cannot hear you; it is Robin Hood's Day. The parishes are gone\nabroad to gather for Robin Hood.'\n\n\"I thought my rochet should have been regarded, though I were not,\"\nadded Latimer, plaintively; \"but it would not serve; it, too, was fain\nto give place to Robin Hood's men.\"\n\nApparently at this point the congregation laughed, for we find him,\nresuming, rather heatedly: \"It is no laughing matter, my friends,\nbut rather a weeping matter, a heavy matter, under the pretence\nof gathering for Robin Hood, a traitor, and a thief, to put out a\npreacher, to have his office less esteemed, to prefer Robin Hood before\nthe preaching of God's Word.\"\n\nIn 1601, when England was living under a recently reformed religion,\nit became again necessary to reconstruct Robin Hood legend for popular\nacceptance, and in a play, written by Anthony Munday and Henry Chettle,\nhe appears as the outlawed Earl of Huntingdon; a figure for which\nthere is not the slightest historical warranty. Thus the fabricated\n\"epitaph\" at Kirklees must itself have been, as it were, a by-product\nof this play. Maid Marian and several other characters who appear in\nit originated only a century earlier, and have no part in the earliest\nballads. The play then gradually merged into May Day festivities\nand the once familiar \"Jack-in-the-Green,\" extinct only within the\nlast forty years, but greatly vulgarised towards the end, when\nchimney-sweeps acted \"Jacks-in-the-Green,\" and the Maids Marian were\ntoo often fat and fiery-faced sluts. The entertainment was found all\ntoo often outside public-houses.\n\nRobin Hood has, of course, equally with other heroes, suffered greatly\nfrom being continually edited and restated, from age to age. How\nshould he escape the fate that King Arthur experienced, of being made\ninto a distinctly Victorian gentleman? Tennyson has redressed old\nRobin, with new clothes and a new conscience, in _The Foresters; Robin\nHood and Maid Marian_, and there you cannot but entertain the horrible\nsuspicion that he has become a typically respectable mid-Victorian, and\nthat if any one offered to exchange his greenwood tree for a \"parlour\"\nwith perhaps a suite of walnut furniture upholstered in green repp,\nand a marble clock with a couple of glass lustres on the dining-room\nmantel-piece, he would gladly accept, forswear his woodland glades, and\nlive cleanly thereafter.\n\nBut the two most striking evidences of the old-time popularity of Robin\nHood, not so long dead, are found in the many inns named after him, and\nin that great friendly society, the \"Ancient Order of Foresters,\" whose\ntitle is directly inspired by the legendary story of Robin and his\nfellow outlaws. No one who has ever seen the Foresters in their regalia\nat their annual day at the Crystal Palace can have any doubt of that\ninspiration.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nTHE \"HAND OF GLORY\"\u2014LIABILITY OF COUNTRY DISTRICTS FOR\nROBBERIES\u2014EXEMPTION IN RESPECT OF SUNDAY TRAVELLING\n\n\nThose far-distant, unpleasant days when \"highway lawyers,\" and entirely\nunromantic bands of robbers, murderers, and footpads swarmed over the\ncountry, and robbed and slew with comparatively little fear of the law,\nwere also extremely superstitious days. Good men and bad were alike\nsteeped in a degrading belief in white and black magic, portents, and\nomens. Magical aids in the prosecution of both innocent and guilty\nenterprises were employed; and among them none more fearful than the\ncharm known generally as the \"Hand of Glory\": the \"open sesame\" of\nthieves and assassins, among whom, it is to be feared, we must include\nnot a few of our \"romantic\" highwaymen; although probably the larger\nnumber of them would actually have felt themselves insulted at being\nstyled thieves, and certainly only a minority slew wilfully. Most\ndesired nothing so little as to shed blood, in spite of the terrible\nalternative they threatened\u2014\"Your money, or your life!\"\n\nBut among the thieves and the murderous the superstition of the \"Hand\nof Glory\" was widely prevalent. It appears to have originally derived\nfrom medi\u00e6val Germany, that storehouse of terrible imaginings. What the\n\"Hand of Glory\" was, and the effect it produced, may be seen better by\nthe following quotation from the _Ingoldsby Legends_, which is one of\nthe most genuinely thrilling passages in literature. It is full of the\nmost dreadful description, but exquisitely done:\n\n      On the lone bleak moor, At the midnight hour,\n    Beneath the Gallows Tree,\n      Hand in hand The Murderers stand,\n    By one, by two, by three!\n      And the moon that night With a grey, cold light,\n    Each baleful object tips;\n      One half of her form Is seen through the storm,\n    The other half's hid in Eclipse!\n      And the cold wind howls, And the Thunder growls,\n    And the Lightning is broad and bright;\n      And altogether It's very bad weather,\n    And an unpleasant sort of a night!\n      \"Now mount who list, And close by the wrist,\n    Sever me quickly the Dead Man's fist!\n      Now climb who dare Where he swings in air,\n    And pluck me five locks of the Dead Man's hair!\"\n\n[Illustration: THE \"HAND OF GLORY\": BENEATH THE GALLOWS TREE.]\n\nThe dried hand, thus obtained, was fitted with wicks, one to each\nfinger and the thumb, made from the five locks of hair dipped in grease\nfrom the murderer's own body and the fat of a black tom cat, and\ngenerally consecrated with the saying of the Lord's Prayer, backwards.\nWhen all these wicks were lighted, and the blazing Hand of Glory\ncarried into a house, a spell was supposed to be cast on place and\ninmates, in which the malefactor could work his will:\n\n      \"Now open lock To the Dead Man's knock!\n    Fly bolt, and bar, and band!\n      Nor move, nor swerve, Joint, muscle, or nerve,\n    At the spell of the Dead Man's hand!\n      Sleep, all who sleep!\u2014Wake, all who wake!\u2014\n    But be as the Dead, for the Dead Man's sake!\"\n\n[Illustration: \"OPEN LOCK, TO THE DEAD MAN'S KNOCK.\"]\n\nTraditions not so long since surviving in the North Riding of Yorkshire\ntell a horrid story of the use of an enchanted hand of this kind. One\nwild and bitter night\u2014the sort of night when homeless wayfarers were\nmore than usually to be pitied\u2014a man clad in ragged clothes knocked at\nthe door of a lone inn on a solitary moor, and asked for a lodging.\nThere was no accommodation to spare, but as the night was so inclement\nand the way was long to the next house, he was told that if he liked,\nhe might lie in the front of the kitchen fire. He accepted this offer\nwith every appearance of thankfulness, and soon after, when the family\nhad gone to bed, he was left there. But although the innkeeper and his\nfamily had retired and left the stranger alone, the servant was still\nengaged for a few minutes in another room which chanced to command a\nview of the kitchen. Happening to glance in that direction, she was at\nfirst astonished, and then horrified, to find that the stranger had\nrisen up from the floor and had seated himself at the table where she\nsaw him take a shrivelled, mummified hand from his pocket, set it up,\nand then, one by one, light the fingers. The girl rushed upstairs\nto warn her master of these extraordinary doings, but she found him\nand his family all already in a charmed sleep. It was impossible to\narouse them; and here she found herself alone in the house with the\nevil-intentioned stranger and his uncanny movements. She quietly\nwent downstairs again and saw the beggarman exploring the house and\ncollecting articles that appeared to him worth taking. Still on the\nkitchen table burnt the four fingers of the Hand of Glory, in blue,\nsickly flames; but the thumb was not burning. To that fact was due the\ncircumstance that one person in the house remained unaffected by the\nspell.\n\nStealing on noiseless feet into the kitchen, she blew upon the Hand,\nbut could not blow it out. She poured beer over it, but the Hand only\nseemed to burn better. She tried water, but that appeared to have no\neffect, one way or the other. Then she emptied the milk-jug over it.\nImmediately the place was in darkness, except for the glow of the\nkitchen-fire. The spell was instantly removed, the sleepers awakened,\nand the robber seized and afterwards tried and hanged.\n\nHarrison Ainsworth, revelling as always in the horrible, gives us\nhis version of the Hand of Glory in _Rookwood_. In this variant you\nrecognise the nastiness of it, rather than the horror:\n\n    From the corse that hangs on the roadside tree\n    (A murderer's corse it needs must be)\n    Sever the right hand carefully:\u2014\n    Sever the hand that the deed hath done,\n    Ere the flesh that clings to the bones be gone;\n    In its dry veins must blood be none.\n    Those ghastly fingers, white and cold,\n    Within a winding-sheet enfold;\n    Count the mystic count of seven;\n    Name the Governors of Heaven,\n    Then in earthly vessel place them,\n    And with dragon-wort encase them;\n    Bleach them in the noon-day sun,\n    Till the marrow melt and run,\n    Till the flesh is pale and wan.\n    As a moon-ensilver'd cloud\u2014\n    As an unpolluted shroud.\n    Next within their chill embrace\n    The dead man's awful candle place;\n    Of murderer's fat must that candle be,\n    (You may scoop it beneath the roadside tree)\n    Of wax and of Lapland sesame.\n    Its wick must be twisted of hair of the dead,\n    By the crow and her brood on the wild waste shed.\n    Wherever that terrible light shall burn,\n    Vainly the sleeper may toss and turn;\n    His leaden lids shall he ne'er unclose\n    So long as that magical taper glows.\n    Life and treasure shall he command,\n    Who knoweth the charm of the Glorious Hand!\n    But of black cat's gall let him aye have a care,\n    And of screech-owl's venomous blood beware.\n\nThe ancient condition of Merry England was a despotic rule tempered\nby rebellion and highway robbery, in which the Barons revolted from\ntime to time against kingly encroachments, and the peasantry were\ngenerally at odds with both those estates. The woodland tracts that\nthen overspread the greater part of the country were filled with\noutlaws, of whom Robin Hood, as we have already seen, was a sublimated\nidealisation, and in those tangled thickets a man, or a body of men,\nmight lurk and exist for years, subsisting upon the deer whom it was\nthen, under the old forest laws, mutilation and death to slay. But with\nthe law already arrayed against them, the outlaws who had been deprived\nof the very few rights a man of the peasant class might then own, cared\nlittle for the fearful penalties that awaited those who took a fat buck\nand converted it into venison, and valued not at all the punishments\nthat awaited the highway robber. A man proscribed for some offence, who\nhad then taken to the woods of necessity, might even, for sheer love of\nthe life, elect to remain in them for sport; for the sporting instinct\nhas ever been deeply implanted in the character of the English race,\nwithout respect of class. It is largely the sporting instinct, and not\nso much the actual worth of the quarry, that makes the modern poacher\nbrave the keepers of the squire's preserves.\n\nIt was but a step from specialising in unlawful chase of the deer to\nrobbing travellers. The deer-stealers were already Ishmaels, before\nthey had dared so greatly, and they were doubly outlawed after so\nboldly usurping the hunting prerogatives of kings and nobles. What\nmattered, then, the taking of a purse; nay, even of a life?\n\nThe Legislature early attempted to put pressure upon local authorities,\nto secure the arrest of robbers, and, as usual, the pressure was\nexercised through that most vulnerable part, the pocket, the\n\"Achilles' heel\" of civilisation. The country (often in later years\nwe find it \"the county\") was supposed to be responsible for good\ngovernance, and if the country was unfortunate enough to be infested\nwith robbers, it was expected to arrest them; or failing that, to be\nfinancially answerable for their robberies. We find this specifically\nprovided for by Act of Parliament in 1285, and again in 1354.\n\nBut it was impossible in those times, in the sparsely populated\ncountry, to suppress robbers, and the rural districts suffered severely\nin pocket as a result of bold pillaging in the day-time.\n\nIn 1509 Margaret Paston, writing from Norfolk, is found nervous of\nsending gold to London, and telling her husband, then staying in town,\nthat a sum of twenty marks had been paid for a ward, but that the\nperson who paid it \"dare not aventure her money to be brought up to\nLondon for feere of robbyng; for it is seide heere that there goothe\nmany thefys be twyx this and London.\" He was therefore to have the\nmoney at his coming home.\n\nThe county division known as \"the hundred\" was the area responsible\nand liable to reimburse losses occasioned in this manner. Thus, _inter\nalia_, we find the Hundred of Benhurst, in Berkshire, continually\nassessed to make good the losses sustained by travellers, along what is\nnow the Bath Road, through Maidenhead Thicket, a place whose ill repute\nwas second only to that of Hounslow Heath. By an Act of Parliament of\n1585 (27 Elizabeth c. 13, s. 2) the sum recoverable from the hundreds\nwas limited to half the travellers' loss. The reasons given for this\nlimitation were the distress and impoverishment of the inhabitants\nby reason of these frequent and severe levies upon their purses. It\nis evidence of the extraordinary increase of highway robbery at that\nperiod. Five years after this enactment, the Hundred of Benhurst paid\n\u00a3255 compensation for robberies committed in the Thicket.\n\nEven so, the liability of the country, the county, or the hundred, had\nalways been limited to robberies committed in daylight. \"Between sun\nand sun,\" _i.e._ between the setting of the sun and the next morning's\nsunrise, the highwaymen might work double tides and plunder as they\nwould, and no action for damages would lie against the inhabitants.\n\nNor could travellers who were robbed on Sunday have any redress.\nIt was particularly enacted by the statute of 1676, known as the\nSunday Trading Act, that any one travelling on the Lord's Day did so\nentirely at his own risk, and was barred from bringing an action.\n\"But nevertheless,\" the section continues, \"the inhabitants of the\ncounties and hundreds (after notice of such robbery to them, or some\nof them, given, or after hue-and-cry for the same to be brought) shall\nmake or cause to be made fresh suit and pursuit after the offenders,\nwith horsemen and footmen, according to the statute made in the\ntwenty-seventh year of Queen Elizabeth, upon pain of forfeiting to the\nKing's Majesty, his heirs and successors, as much money as might have\nbeen recovered against the hundred by the party robbed, if this had not\nbeen made.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nTHE YOUNGER SONS\u2014JUDGE POPHAM\u2014SHAKESPEAREAN HIGHWAYMEN\u2014THE \"CAVALIER\"\nBRIGANDS\u2014A SEVENTEENTH-CENTURY RELIGIOUS TRACT\n\n\nNo doubt many of the \"highwaymen's\" escapades in the times of Henry the\nEighth and Queen Elizabeth were the coltish pranks of high-spirited\nyoung men of family, or the freaks of university students. To assume a\ndisguise, to buckle on a sword, and then take to the highway, singly or\nin bands, would be just the kind of adventure to tickle the fancy of\nsuch youths, and the danger that lay behind it all was really rather\nan appetising spice than a discouragement. The tradition of Henry the\nFifth, when yet Prince of Wales, robbing on Gad's Hill for pastime, was\nstill current, and Shakespeare had just revived it, and invested the\ndoings of the Prince and Falstaff and their merry men with the glamour\nof the stage, which even then set the fashion.\n\nSuch a young man, according to Aubrey, was John Popham, afterwards Sir\nJohn, and Chief Justice of the King's Bench. \"In his youthful days,\"\nsays Aubrey, \"he was a stout and skilful man at sword and buckler as\nany in that age, and wild enough in his recreations, consorting with\nprofligate companions, and even at times wont to take a purse with\nthem.\"\n\nThis wild fellow became, as a member of Parliament and a judge, an\nextremely severe personage in dealing with the class of people with\nwhom we thus learn him to have associated. Partly his work was the Act\nof 1589, which prescribed banishment (or, as later times phrased it,\n\"transportation\") \"into such parts beyond the seas as shall be at any\ntime hereafter for that purpose assigned.\"\n\nShakespeare's highwaymen are, as a rule, gentlemen. Such were the\noutlaws who in the _Two Gentlemen of Verona_ waylaid Valentine and\nSpeed in the forest. They had been banished from Verona and Mantua\nmerely for such trivial and essentially gentlemanly peccadilloes as an\nattempt to abduct an heiress, and stabbing another gentleman to the\nheart. Too bad!\n\nThey found Valentine so presentable a young man that, finding he had no\nproperty to lose, they immediately proposed to make him their captain.\nThey were prepared to do him homage, and be ruled by him. \"But if thou\nscorn our courtesy, thou diest.\"\n\nMaking the best of circumstances\u2014being rather prepared to captain a\nband of desperadoes than lose his life, Valentine consented, with one\nproviso:\n\n    \"I take your offer, and will live with you;\n    Provided that you do no outrages\n    On silly women, or poor passengers.\"\n\nTo which the outlaws indignantly reply that they \"detest such vile,\nbase practices.\"\n\nThe doings of Falstaff and Prince Hal in their highway robbery exploits\non Gad's Hill are classic farce, with elements of probability, although\nSir John Fastolf, the original Falstaff, was introduced by Shakespeare\nwithout the slightest warranty: the real Sir John having been no\ndissolute, cowardly old man, but a brave and stern soldier, who had\nwarred nobly for King and country for forty years.\n\nThe point of view from which the gentlemen highwaymen regarded\nthemselves is admirably set forth in the play of _Sir John Oldcastle_,\nproduced in 1600. The stage is generally regarded as the mirror of\nlife, and thus, when \"Sir John \u00e0 Wrotham\" is made to introduce himself\nto the audience, by frankly acknowledging he was, \"in plain terms, a\nthief; yet, let me tell you, too, an honest thief,\" we doubtless have\nthe real mental attitude of the \"collectors\"\u2014as they were pleased to\nfancifully style themselves\u2014set forth. He goes on to declare himself,\nin the good old Robin Hood vein, to be \"one that will take it where\nit may be spared, and spend it freely in good fellowship.\" A modern\ncompany-promoter, of the Whitaker Wright type, might say as much, but\neven if true, it would not be held an excuse.\n\nThe same outlook upon life is observed in _The Cashiered Soldier_,\na tract published in 1643. It represents that warrior out of work\nexclaiming:\n\n    \"To beg is base, as base as pick a purse;\n    To cheat, more base of all theft\u2014that is worse.\n    Nor beg nor cheat will I\u2014I scorn the same;\n    But while I live, maintain a soldier's name.\n    I'll purse it, I,\u2014the highway is my hope;\n    His heart's not great that fears a little rope.\"\n\nAgain, Bishop Earle, in his _Microcosmography_, shows us how the\nhighwaymen were recruited. Speaking of the sorrows of younger sons, and\nnarrating the shifts to which they were often reduced, he says: \"Others\ntake a more crooked path, through the King's highway, where at length\nthe vizard is plucked off, and they strike fair for Tyburne.\"\n\nThe biographies of highwaymen given later in these pages, fully\nillustrate the position of affairs in the succeeding age, and show that\nthe country swarmed with highway robbers after the conclusion of the\nCivil War between King and Parliament. Many of them were impoverished\ncavaliers, but the most prominent were only pretended gentlemen, who\nused any Royalist sympathies they may have had in giving a specious\nexcuse for their misdeeds. Captain Hind is typical of these plundering\nfellows in the era of the Commonwealth. So many were they, and so\nformidable, travelling, as they often did, in bands, that it became the\nbusiness of the troops, at the conclusion of the war, to hunt out all\nsuch associated brigands.\n\nOn September 17th, 1649, General Fairfax issued a proclamation\naddressed to the commanders of \"every respective regiment of horse,\"\nurging them to activity in the apprehension of all robbers, and\npromising high rewards for everyone captured. To this a Royalist\nprint, the _Man in the Moon_, sarcastically rejoined that the \"House\nof Robbers\"\u2014by which the House of Commons was meant\u2014had voted for the\nnext six months a reward of \u00a310 for the taking of every burglar or\nhighway-robber, \"the State's officers exempted.\"\n\nThe proclamation, however, had its due effect, for on December 24th,\nno fewer than twenty-eight malefactors, principally of the classes\nspecified, were all gibbeted together at Tyburn. Among them was \"one\nCaptain Reynolds, who was of the King's party in Cornwall, at the\ndisbanding of the Lord Hopton's army at Truro.... His carriage was very\nbold, and, as he was going to be turned off, he cried: 'God bless King\nCharles: Vive le Roi.'\"\n\nBut they were generally defiant at the last, whether Royalists or mere\npurse-takers; whether of the seventeenth or eighteenth centuries.\nConscience, which makes cowards of all, did not awake and begin to\nunnerve these candidates for Jack Ketch until the very opening of the\nnineteenth century.\n\nThus, in the olden times we find the condemned highwaymen nearly always\nnursing the grievance of their doom, and speaking of Justice and her\nemissaries as their \"enemies\"; as witness Thomas Hill, executed July\n19th, 1694. Was he penitent at Tyburn? Not at all. His last words\nwere, \"God bless all my friends, and let all my enemies be hanged\nas I am\"; and, adds his biographer \"other reflecting and abusive\nExpressions.\"\n\nAlthough it might well seem, after an extensive course of reading in\nthe thoughts and deeds of those times, that the country was entirely\npopulated by two classes: the scoundrels who were always trying to\nevade Justice, and the officers of the law, continually occupied\nin tracing them, an unobtrusive residuum of well-intentioned and\nwell-conducted people existed. We do not, it is true, hear much of\nthem, which is only to be expected; but they existed, nevertheless, and\nwere often as anxious to save sinners as any modern tract-distributor.\n\nA curious seventeenth-century four-page leaflet in the British Museum,\nstyled _A Terrible and Seasonable Warning_, shows something of the\nwell-meaning forces, as well as a good deal of the superstition, of\nthe time, in an account of how a young man named Abraham Joiner,\naged between seventeen and eighteen, described as a ballast-man, of\nShakesby's Walk, near Shadwell church, was saved at the last moment\nfrom becoming a footpad or a highwayman. It is nothing more nor less\nthan a seventeenth-century ancestor\u2014and a very badly printed one\u2014of\nthe modern religious tracts produced nowadays by the million, in a\nrather hopeless endeavour to save hurrying sinners, often too anxiously\nwondering how they are to live in this world, without troubling about\nthe next.\n\nThe young man began to keep bad company, and in especial that of one\nAnn Turner, who said she must have money, and he must by some means get\nit for her. Abraham went home in a desperate frame of mind. He thought\nof the several ways (none of them honest ones) in which money in a\nsufficiency might suddenly be obtained; and frightened his mother by\nsaying he must and would get some, even though he asked the devil to\nhelp him to it.\n\n\"In this Humour,\" we learn, \"he went out to the _Cock_ and _Lyon_\nin King Street, where there came into A Room to him a Person in a\nDark-colour'd Habit, and ask'd him what made him so Melancholly? If\nhe wanted Money, he cou'd help him to it, and bid him meet him the\nnext Night, which he at first told him he wou'd do; but afterwards\nsuspecting it might be the Devil, he told him he cou'd not meet him at\nthe time, then bid him meet him on _Sunday_, behind _Stepney_ church,\nwhich he consented to do, and, going away, gave him a Pistole in gold\n(a coin, not a firearm) after which the Young Man grew uneasy in his\nMind, and going home show'd his Brother, who advis'd him to throw the\nMoney away, assuring him it could be none but the Devil, which very\nmuch terrified the young man, so that he threw the Money away, and was\ntaken with a sudden trembling, and falling on his knees, besought God\nto forgive him.\n\n\"In this condition, Mr. Constable, the Minister of the Parish, was sent\nfor, and Mr. Symons, who Pray'd by him till the time was over when he\nhad promis'd to meet the Person he had seen, and Mr. Constable and\nthe other Divines us'd many Prayers and exhortations with him, and at\nlength so comforted him that 'tis hoped the Devil will have no further\nPower over him, if he takes this timely Warning of the Mercies of God.\"\n\n[Illustration: \"A TERRIBLE AND SEASONABLE WARNING.\"]\n\nThen follow \"Some of the Prayers.\" The first page shows a very\nrespectable-looking devil and a very greatly terrified young man; also\nsome black-cassocked clergymen on their knees, very earnestly praying.\n\nA curious broadsheet tract of about a century and a half later,\nentitled _Wild Robert_, may be fitly noticed here. Like the earlier\ntract, it was a purely religious publication; but the time had gone by\nfor supernatural terrors to be invoked. Poetry, of sorts, is brought to\nbear, instead:\n\n[Illustration: THE END OF WILD ROBERT.]\n\n\nTHE EXECUTION OF WILD ROBERT.\n\n_Being a Warning to all Parents._\n\n    WILD ROBERT was a graceless Youth,\n      And bold in every sin\n    In early life with petty thefts,\n      His course he did begin.\n\n\n    But those who deal in lesser sins,\n      In great will soon offend;\n    And petty thefts, not check'd betimes,\n      In murder soon may end.\n\n    And now, like any beast of prey,\n      Wild Robert shrunk from view,\n    Save when at eve on Bagshot Heath\n      He met his harden'd crew.\n\n    With this fierce crew Wild Robert there\n      On plunder set his mind;\n    And watch'd and prowl'd the live-long night\n      To rob and slay mankind.\n\n    But God, whose vengeance never sleeps,\n      Tho' He delays the blow,\n    Can in a single moment lay\n      The prosperous villain low.\n\n    One night, a fatal night indeed!\n      Within a neigh'bring wood,\n    A harmless passenger he robb'd,\n      And dy'd his hands in blood.\n\n    The direful deed perform'd, he went\n      To shew his golden spoils,\n    When vengeful Justice, unawares,\n      Surpris'd him in her toils.\n\n    Wild Robert seiz'd, at once was known,\n      (No crape had hid his face)\n    Imprison'd, tried, condemn'd to die!\n      Soon run was Robert's race.\n\n    Since short the time the laws allow\n      To murderers doom'd to die,\n    How earnest shou'd the suppliant wretch\n      To Heaven for mercy cry!\n\n    But he, alas! no mercy sought,\n      Tho' summon'd to his fate;\n    The Cart drew near the Gallows Tree,\n      Where throng'd spectators wait.\n\n    Slow as he past no pious tongue\n      Pour'd forth a pitying pray'r;\n    Abhorrence all who saw him felt,\n      He, horror and despair.\n\n    And now the dismal death-bell toll'd,\n      The fatal cord was hung,\n    While sudden, deep and dreadful shrieks,\n      Burst forth amidst the throng.\n\n    Hark! 'tis his mother's voice he hears!\n      Deep horror shakes his frame;\n    'Tis rage and fury fill his breast,\n      Not pity, love, or shame.\n\n    \"One moment hold!\" the mother cries,\n      \"His life one moment spare,\n    One kiss, my miserable child,\n      My Robert, once so dear!\"\n\n    \"Hence, cruel mother, hence,\" he said,\n      \"Oh! deaf to nature's cry;\n    Your's is the fault I liv'd abhorr'd\n      And unlamented die.\n\n    \"You gave me life, but with it gave\n      What made that life a curse;\n    My sins uncurb'd, my mind untaught,\n      Soon grew from bad to worse.\n\n    \"I thought that if I 'scap'd the stroke\n      Of man's avenging rod,\n    All would be well, and I might mock\n      The vengeful pow'r of GOD.\n\n    \"My hands no honest trade were taught,\n      My tongue no pious pray'r;\n    Uncheck'd I learnt to break the laws,\n      To pilfer, lie, and swear.\n\n    \"The Sabbath bell that toll'd to church,\n      To me unheeded rung;\n    God's holy name and word I curs'd\n      With my blaspheming tongue.\n\n    \"No mercy now, your ruin'd child\n      Of heav'n can dare implore,\n    I mocked at grace, and now I fear\n      My day of grace is o'er.\n\n    \"Blame not the law which dooms your son,\n      Compar'd with you 'tis mild;\n    'Tis you have sentenc'd me to death,\n      To hell have doom'd your child.\"\n\n    He spoke, and fixing fast the cord,\n      Resigned his guilty breath;\n    Down at his feet his mother fell,\n      By conscience struck with death.\n\n    Ye parents, taught by this sad tale,\n      Avoid the path she trod;\n    And teach your sons in early years\n      The fear and love of GOD.\n\n    So shall their days, tho' doom'd to toil,\n      With peace and hope be blest;\n    And heav'n, when life's short task is o'er,\n      Receive their souls to rest.\n\nThe price of this improving publication was one halfpenny, and no one,\nobserving the dramatic picture with which it begins, or reading the\nverses, will be disposed to think value for money was not given. Let us\nhope the parents of that age duly profited by the advice given!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nENORMOUS CAPTURES MADE BY HIGHWAY GANGS\u2014BRACY'S GANG\u2014ROBBERIES ON THE\nROAD TO NEWMARKET\u2014ADVERTISEMENTS OF THE PERIOD\u2014AUGUSTIN KING\u2014PLUNDER\nAND BATTLE ON THE ST. ALBANS ROAD\u2014SOLDIERS AS HIGHWAYMEN\n\n\nMuch has already been said in these pages of the imaginative character\nof a good deal to be found in Captain Alexander Smith's _Lives of the\nHighwaymen_, but at the same time it would not be proper to regard that\nwork as a work of fiction. The amazing adventures of the highwaymen\nwhose careers are treated of there can be readily paralleled in the\nactual trials of their kind, not only in the periods with which he\ndeals, but at a much later time. The enormous booty they carry off in\nhis pages may seem incredible, but time and again we find, in accounts\nthat cannot be disputed, that the highwaymen did, in fact, secure\nextremely large sums. Instances might be multiplied indefinitely, if\nit were necessary to prove the truth of this statement. The trial at\nDerby in August 1679 of \"Twelve Notorious Highway Men, Murderers, and\nClippers of Money\" is merely one case in point.\n\nThese were \"Mr.\" Bracy, evidently superior to most of the gang, Richard\nPiggen, Roger Brookham, another superior person, one \"Mr.\" Gerrat, John\nBarker, William Loe, John Roobottom, Thomas Ouldome, John Baker, Daniel\nBuck, Thomas Gillat, and one Smedley.\n\nBracy was captain of the gang: the head and brains of it. They broke\none night into the house of \"Captain John Munday, Esquire,\" at\nMorton, near Derby, took away \u00a31200 in gold and silver, also plate,\n\"binding the Esquire and all his Family in their beds, and using great\ninsolences by threats, to make them confess their Treasures.\"\n\nTwo months after this exploit the gang \"met\" (not, we may suppose,\ncasually) a waggon between Lenton and Newark, in which were several\nsmall barrels of money, and others of gold lace. Securing the waggoner,\nthey hauled out the barrels, and, breaking open the barrel-heads with\nthe hatchets they had been careful to bring with them, they secured a\nbooty of eighteen hundred pounds, \"which,\" we are told, \"they divided,\nand so disperst.\"\n\nBuck, together with a man named Ryley, was shortly afterwards taken\nat Ockbrook, near Derby. Both were hanged. The rest of the company\ncontinued their former practices. Breaking open the house of Lady Jane\nScroop, at Everston, near Nottingham, they took \u00a3600, \"missing two or\nthree thousands by being one day too forward in their Actions.\" They\nthen must needs quarrel over dividing the spoil. The affair is best\ntold in the words of the original account:\n\n\"Upon the discussing of this booty, one of the company and Bracy\nfalling at a difference, they had a small Combate with their Swords,\nthe other cutting the Throate of a Mare that Bracy rode upon, which for\nswiftness and goodness was hardly to be compar'd in England.\"\n\nThe gang next proposed to raid the house of one Squire Gilbert, at\nLocko, near Derby, and that of Mr. Garland at Lenton; but in the\nmeanwhile most of them were arrested. Bracy, who at that time had\nhurried off to his wife's death-bed, at an inn she kept, twelve miles\nnorth of Nottingham, was betrayed by one of the servants of the inn,\nwho informed the Justices that the highwayman who was being sought\nwas in the house. The inn was presently surrounded, and Bracy's son,\nlooking out of a window, saw there was little chance of his father\nescaping. What chance there remained was tried. Taking a horse out of\nthe stable at the back, he bid his father mount, leap the fence, and\nmake a dash for it. It was a poor chance, and was made worse by the\nhorse refusing the jump. A sheriff's man then shot the horse dead, and\nwith a second bullet wounded Bracy himself. The highwayman, however,\ncontinued the combat until he sank, mortally wounded. He was then\ncarried to a bed in the inn, where he died.\n\nThe remnant of this numerous band were indomitably active. Three of\nthem beset two gentlemen in Needwood Forest, bidding them \"Stand and\ndeliver!\" Refusing, one of them was shot; but the other, with sword and\npistol, made a brisk resistance, until one of the thieves, creeping up\nbehind, ran him through the body.\n\n[Illustration: THE FIGHT IN NEEDWOOD FOREST.]\n\nThese three were not long afterwards arrested for clipping money. Tried\nand convicted of that offence, itself involving capital punishment,\nthey had no hesitation in confessing their other crimes.\n\nAmong others at that time under arrest were Piggen and Baker. Piggen\nturned King's evidence, and was pardoned: Baker also being pardoned,\nbut why, we do not learn. Among the facts deposed to by these convicted\ncriminals was that the gang were accustomed to meet at an inn called\nthe \"Cock,\" near St. Michael's Church, Derby, kept by a widow named\nMassey and John Baker, her son-in-law. There they had clipped in one\nnight so much as \u00a3100. A boy of fifteen years of age was employed in\nthe house, and by some means accidentally learnt too much of the gang's\nbusiness. They thought him too dangerous, and so murdered him and\nburied his body in the cellar.\n\nWhere wealth gathered, there were the highwaymen also. There was no\nroad more frequented by wealthy men in the reign of James the First\nand that of Charles the Second than the road to Newmarket. The Court\nwas frequently there for the race-meetings, and gamblers of all kinds\nwere naturally attracted. Many a gamester who had lost his all on\nhorses or by cards at Newmarket took as a matter of course to robbing\nother sportsmen: either those hasting down to try their luck, or\nthose fortunate ones who were returning home with pockets bulging with\ntheir winnings. One William Fennor, who in 1617 published a pamphlet\ncalled the _Competers' Common-Wealth_, has much that is interesting\nto disclose about these reckless blades. A \"competer\" was, of course,\none of the gamesters aforesaid; and any of them who had the misfortune\nto lose his money went immediately, as he tells us, upon the Heath,\nto replenish his pockets. They were by no means proud, and did not\ndisdain to rob rustics of their pence. \"Poor Countrie people,\" he says,\nwith bitter satire, \"cannot passe quietly to the Cottages, but some\nGentlemen will borrow all the money they have.\" Tyburn Tree and Wapping\nGibbets, he added, had \"many hangers-on,\" gathered in from among these\ngentry.\n\nFennor's disclosures did not end these practices. As the fame and\nvogue of Newmarket increased, so also did the highway robberies on\nthe Newmarket Road. The culminating point of it all appears to have\nbeen a pitched battle which, according to the _Domestic Intelligence_\nof August 24th in that year, took place at the Devil's Ditch, through\nwhich the highway runs on to Newmarket Heath. Five highwaymen had here\nrobbed a coach and taken \u00a359, and a very considerable booty in the way\nof gold lace, silks, and linen. Before they could make off with the\nplunder, the exasperated countryfolk were roused, and were stationed\nin a body in the opening of that tall and steep bank, impracticable\nfor horsemen, the only way by which the Heath may be entered or left.\nThe highwaymen were thus completely shut in, and could only escape\nby abandoning their horses: an unthinkable alternative. Had they\nretreated, they would have been captured in Newmarket town. The only\nthing to be done was to make a dash for liberty. \"Knowing themselves\nDead Men by the Law, if they were taken,\" says that early newspaper,\n\"they charged through the Countrymen, and by Firing upon them Wounded\nfour, one of which we understand is Dead of his Wounds.\" Thus they\ngot clear away: the whole incident leaving upon the mind a very vivid\nimpression of a lawless and ill-policed country.\n\nNot only were these men determined in resistance. They were ready to\nrevenge such of their comrades as had been unfortunate enough to be\ncaptured; as we see from the diary of Sir John Reresby, who, writing in\nFebruary 1677, says: \"I went to London (from York) well guarded, for\nfear of some of my back friends and highwaymen, having caused the chief\nof them to be taken not long before.\"\n\nThe newspapers of that time were full of advertisements offering\nrewards for the recovery of property, or the apprehension of thieves.\nSome of them afford amusing reading. Thus, in the _London Gazette_ of\nDecember 1st, 1681, we find the following:\n\n     \"Robb'd the 10th of _Nov._ last, from Mr. _Joseph Bullock_ of\n     _Bristol_, on the Road between _Hungerford_ and _Newbury_ in\n     _Barkshire_, one Silver Watch and Case, there being on the\n     backside of the Case an Almanack, a Hanger with a Plate Hilt,\n     a Buff Belt, with Silver Buckles; by Three Men, the one a\n     middle-siz'd Man, full Fac'd, a short White Wigg much Curl'd in\n     an old Cloth-colour riding Coat, on a Flea-bitten Horse, about\n     14 hands high, his Brows Brown; the other a middle-sized Black\n     Favour'd, on a Grey Horse, above 14 hands high, with Black Hair\n     or Wigg, and thin Favour, the other a full set Man, thin Favour'd\n     with curled dark Brown Hair. Whoever can discover the Persons\n     aforesaid to Mr. _Bullock_ of _Bristol_ or at the _Three Cups_ in\n     _Breadstreet, London_; (the said Robbers having killed one _John\n     Thomas_, the said Mr. _Bullock's_ Servant,) shall have their\n     Charges, and ten pounds reward.\"\n\nHere, in the matter-of-fact language of an advertisement, we see one\nof those obscure tragedies that were always occurring on the roads:\nbloodshed that for the most part called in vain for vengeance.\n\nAgain\u2014this time in 1684\u2014the _London Gazette_ is used as the medium, in\nan effort to obtain justice, but it is not to be supposed that there\nwere any results. He must have been an extremely sanguine advertiser to\nhave offered so speculative a reward for information so greatly desired:\n\n     \"On Whitsunday in the Evening was committed a great Robbery by\n     four Highwaymen within half a mile of Watford Gap in the County\n     of Northampton, to the value of above Eight score Pounds taken\n     from some Passengers. They were of indifferent stature, their\n     Coats were all turned up with Shag, one had a blew Shag, and\n     wore a Perriwig, the others wore their own Hair; They had two\n     Bay Naggs, a Bay Mare somewhat battered before, and a Sprig Tail\n     Sorrel Mare, which they took away from one they robb'd, and a\n     black Nag; one of them had short Holsters to his Saddle without\n     breast-plate, another a pair of Pistols in his Saddle Cover.\n     Whoever gives notice of the said Robbers to Joshuah Snowden,\n     Confectioner at the Belsavage Gate on Ludgate Hill, or to Henry\n     Keys at Watford Gap Inn, shall be well rewarded.\"\n\nEven University graduates were at this period known to occasionally\npresent a pistol upon the road. Such behaviour was by no means uncommon\namong collegers in earlier centuries, but we read with astonishment how\nAugustine King, a graduate of King's College, Cambridge, was publicly\nadvertised in the _London Gazette_ of December 1st, 1687, among other\nhighwaymen, as follows:\n\n     \"There is likewise abroad one Augustine King, formerly convicted\n     at Cambridge; a Notorious Highway Robber, who made his Escape\n     from the _Gatehouse_. He is a lusty fat man, about 31 or 32 years\n     of Age, fresh-coloured, full Ey'd, his own Hair, lank, inclinable\n     to black: he hath several more in his Company, who, some, or\n     most of them, are well-known to some Inn-keepers not far distant\n     from _London_, who will do well to cause them, especially _King_,\n     to be taken before next Sessions at the _Old Bayly_, for their\n     own Indemnity.\"\n\nKing would seem to have actually been captured as a result of this\npublic announcement, for we find that he was executed in the following\nyear.\n\nThe road on to St. Albans witnessed astounding doings. On November\n9th, 1690, seven highwaymen robbed the Manchester carrier of \u00a315,000,\ntax-money, which was being conveyed under what is described as a\n\"strong\" escort, to London. The robbery was coolly planned and with\nequal coolness executed. At their leisure the highwaymen arrived on the\nscene, fully advised of the approach of the carrier, and proceeded to\nseize and rob all wayfarers and then securely tie them to trees. Having\nthus made sure of not being interrupted, they were ready for the chief\nbooty of the day. Dashing among the strong escort, they overcame them\nin a fight, whose details are not reported, and after taking the money\nkilled or hamstrung eighteen horses, to render pursuit impossible.\n\nIt appears that this was looked upon as a Jacobite and Roman Catholic\nplot, and that two Roman Catholics were arrested on suspicion and\ncommitted for trial; but the rest is obscure. Some suspicious persons\nmight even regard the whole affair as a put-up job between the escort\nwho thus betrayed their trust and shared an excellent haul.\n\nAgain, at London Colney, near by, on the night of August 23rd, 1692,\nthe highwaymen performed a notable feat; robbing none other than the\ngreat Duke of Marlborough, the foremost military genius of the age, of\nfive hundred guineas.\n\nThree months later a party of highwaymen\u2014no doubt the same dare-devil\nrogues\u2014secured between \u00a31,500 and \u00a32,000 out of a waggon \"near Barnet,\"\nand in November the Oxford coach was pillaged in mid-day, after a\nbloody fight. About the same time, we read in Narcissus Luttrell's\ndiary, fifteen butchers, going to Thame market to buy cattle, were\nrobbed by nine highwaymen, who carried them over a hedge, made them\ndrink King James's health in a bottle of brandy, and bid them sue the\ncounty: a remedy open to travellers who were robbed on the roads in\ndaylight \"between sunrise and sunset.\"\n\nMilitary force was found necessary for the suppression of these\noutrages. Detachments of Dragoons were sent out all round London and\nposted at a distance of about ten miles out, on the great roads. The\ncaptures effected by these patrols were numerous; but at some spot\nnot more clearly identified than as being \"near Barnet\" they had an\narmed encounter with the band led by \"Captain\" James Whitney, December\n6th, 1692. One Dragoon was killed, but Whitney was captured and duly\nexecuted, and the roads, in the north, at any rate, for awhile had\npeace.\n\nNot, however, for very long. Robberies may not have been again\ncommitted on so astonishing a scale; but highwaymen reappeared when\nthe Dragoons were withdrawn, and found their occupation, not only\nlucrative, but pretty safe.\n\nBut as the years went on, things grew steadily worse. Unemployment\nwas the principal cause of the enormous increase of highway robberies\nin 1698. Highwaymen, as we have already seen, were numerous before,\nbut they now grew more than ever daring. The Peace of Ryswick, which\nhad the year before ended an inglorious war, caused great numbers of\nsoldiers to be disbanded, and, finding no livelihood to be obtained in\nhonest work, they naturally chose to plunder the travellers whom they\nobserved journeying to and from London, often with well-filled purses,\nready to become the property of any bold fellow who could command a\ngood horse, a pistol or sword, and courage to stop men on their lawful\nbusiness. Near Waltham Cross, bandits to the number of thirty built\nthemselves huts amid the leafy coverts of Epping Forest, and, without\nwaiting for the kindly obscurity of night, came forth at all hours with\ndeadly weapons and held up the traffic along the Cambridge and the\nNewmarket roads.\n\nThey did not hesitate to slay, and often the bodies of slaughtered\nwayfarers affrighted the next travellers, who, warned by such sights\nof the futility of resistance, rendered unto these highway C\u00e6sars\nwhatever they had about them: satisfied to escape, with empty pockets\nindeed, but with a whole skin. For a while this settlement of reckless\nmen was abolished by a raid, under the direction of the Lord Chief\nJustice, but the expedition, raiding in the interests of law and\norder, had not long departed when the outlaws again occupied the spot.\nThey even had the impudence to send a written and signed defiance\nto Whitehall. There they went too far, for that would have been no\nGovernment worthy of the name which consented to receive such a\ndocument and to idly pass it by. Another Dragoon expedition, somewhat\nsimilar to that of 1692, was equipped, and while some of the soldiers\npatrolled the roads in that direction, others encamped for a time in\nthe Forest itself. Thus it is probable that soldiers still in service\nwere employed against those others not so fortunate, who had been\ndisbanded and obliged to seek these ways of existence.\n\nThis fraternity was certainly broken up, and we do not hear again of\nsuch numerous, or such highly organised, bands; but when the Dragoons\nwere again withdrawn, the roads once more became extremely dangerous.\n\nThe Dragoons themselves were, individually, not above suspicion. No\ndoubt they learned some useful things when engaged on this kind of\nduty; and when such unskilled persons in the use of arms as ruined\ngamesters took to the road to replenish their pockets, it was perhaps\nnot remarkable that soldiers should seek to add to their scanty pay by\nlike means. The Guards regiments numbered many experts in the \"Stand\nand deliver\" way. Opportunity helped them. They were already armed,\nand, as they did not live in barracks until about 1790, and were merely\nquartered on the inhabitants of London and Westminster, they were free\nat all hours of the night to \"labour in the calling of purse-taking.\"\n\nThus we read of a quite typical affair in January 1704, on Hounslow\nHeath, in which James Harris, a trooper in the Horse Guards, was\nprincipally concerned. It seems that on the 26th of that month a\ncertain George Smith, Esquire, and a Major Wade, of Bristol, were\ntravelling westward in a postchaise. They halted at the \"Pack Horse\"\nat Turnham Green, \"for refreshment,\" and appear to have refreshed so\nwell that by the time their equipage was crossing Hounslow Heath they\nhad fallen fast asleep. From this slumber of repletion they were rudely\nawakened by stern voices saying, \"D\u2014n you, give me your money!\" and\n\"D\u2014n you, give me your watch!\"\n\n\"Who's that a-calling?\" asks the songster. In this case it was\nJames Harris and a companion, who robbed them effectually after a\nrough-and-tumble with the servant of Mr. Smith, who sprang at Harris\nand pulled him off his horse. There they struggled, and presently the\nhighwayman's mask was torn off, disclosing his scarred face. Mr. Smith\nthen declared he would give up all his valuables if the highwayman\nwould spare his man's life, and the affair ended.\n\nMr. Smith afterwards, hearing that a man answering to this description\nhad been arrested on suspicion of being concerned in other robberies,\ncame forward, entirely in the public interest, and identified him at\nthe military mews. \"Sir, do you know me?\" Harris impudently asked,\nadvancing upon him with insolent braggadocio. Mr. Smith did.\n\nHarris was indicted at the Sessions on February 28th, and found guilty,\nbut was afterwards reprieved.\n\nSuch lenient treatment was not calculated to render the highways\nmore safe, and so especially dangerous became the road between\nShoreditch and Cheshunt that the turnpike men were in 1722 provided\nwith speaking-trumpets, in a singular effort to warn travellers and\none another \"in case any Highwaymen or footpads are out.\" It does not\nappear exactly how this idea was worked, or if travellers were supposed\nto wait until such highwaymen or footpads retired: but, according to a\nnewspaper report of that time, the scheme was successful, for we read:\n\"We don't find that any robbery has been committed in that quarter\nsince they have been furnished with them, which has been these two\nmonths.\"\n\nOther roads and suburban districts to the east and north-east of\nLondon continued to be extremely dangerous. In the history of Hackney\nwe read, for example, of numerous highway robberies, burglaries, and\nmurders, in a long series of years. The neighbourhood of the then\nalmost trackless Hackney Marshes no doubt was a predisposing cause for\nthis exceptional ill-repute. Here again, we find that soldiers were\noften the criminals. On November 23rd, 1728, the house of a Mr. Wood,\na farmer, near Hackney, was broken open by half-a-dozen fellows, who\nseized and bound all the family. The account then goes on to say that,\n\"They had the good conduct to take off their coats that nobody might\nknow what regiment they belonged to, and robbed in their red waistcoats\nonly, but left a cockade behind them. It is supposed they belonged to\nthe Dragoons; but those gentlemen (it is humbly presumed) ought not to\nleave their cockades behind them when they go upon such expeditions,\nsuch things being of no use but upon reviews.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\n\"WHO GOES HOME?\" IN THE HOUSE OF COMMONS\u2014FOOTMEN TURN HIGHWAYMEN\u2014SIR\nSIMON CLARKE\u2014A MERRY FREAK AND ITS TRAGICAL CONSEQUENCES\u2014AMAZING\nPOLTROONERY OF TRAVELLERS\u2014ADVERTISEMENTS OF THE PERIOD\u2014HIGHWAY ROBBERY\nIN PICCADILLY\n\n\nAn old-world survival, heard every night in the lobbies of the House\nof Commons during session, is that of the cry, \"Who goes Home?\" When\nthe House rises, and the legislators, who have left their brains\noutside and have voted \"as their leaders tell 'em to\" are dispersing,\nthe stentorian shout of \"Who goes Home?\" passes from policeman to\npoliceman, along corridors and down staircases, until at last it\nreaches the coachmen and the cabmen waiting in Palace Yard. The cry\nmeans nothing now, except that the sitting is over, but it originated\nin the ill-guarded condition of the streets and of the suburbs some\nhundreds of years ago, when even members of Parliament were not safe\nfrom highwaymen and footpads, and when at that call they assembled in\nlittle bands, often under the protection of the linkmen, to journey\ntogether for mutual protection to their several destinations.\n\n[Illustration: \"WHO GOES HOME?\"]\n\nThose were the times when Londoners, travelling at night westward\nfrom Hyde Park Corner, where the last outpost of civilisation, in the\nshape of the ultimate watchman's box, was situated, assembled there in\nparties, armed with bludgeons and blunderbusses, and, so fortified,\ncame thankfully to their destinations in one or other of those solitary\ncountry mansions, whose high-walled gardens and heavy doors arouse\nthe astonishment of those modern observers who do not realise the old\nnecessity that existed for residences so situated being planned very\nmuch after the style of block-houses in a hostile country.\n\nNor was it only by night that the fringes of London were made dangerous\nby highwaymen and footpads. Hyde Park was a fashionable resort, even\nunder the Commonwealth, but even in the early years of the succeeding\ncentury it was a dangerous place, as we learn from the following item\nin Narcissus Luttrell's diary, only one among many such, under date of\n1704:\n\n1704. \"A Gentleman going from St. James's to Kensington was met and\nattacked in Hide Park by two Foot Pads, who took from him his Sword,\nWatch, Perriwig, and Rings, in all to the value of \u00a3130, and left him\nin a deplorable condition.\"\n\nThe highwaymen who terrorised travellers from about 1720 and onwards\nwere still recruited from the ranks of younger sons, from broken\ngamesters, and from the army; but about this time they were very\nlargely reinforced by a class of men now extinct. The noblemen and\nthe wealthy of the eighteenth century kept up establishments that\nhave long since become things of the past. The \"running footmen,\" for\nexample, who were a feature in every peer's household, trotting in\nadvance of my lord's carriage, are only to be found in books on bygone\nusages. The Duke of Queensberry, \"Old Q,\" kept the last of them, and\nhe died in 1810. From the footmen, \"running\" or other, the coachmen,\nand the other servants of nobility in that age, the roads were very\nlargely peopled with highwaymen. These men had learned in service to\nimitate all the vices and none of the virtues (although they were\nfew enough) of their masters. Their imitation chiefly led them into\ngambling, and when they lost their places through their failure to do\ntheir duty, and sometimes the robbery of plate and money, that commonly\nresulted from their devotion to cards and drink, there was nothing\neasier than to take to the road. They had learned, in their association\nwith the great, something of deportment, they could generally ride a\nhorse, and a cast-off suit of my lord's fully furnished them, in the\nbad light of a winter's day, with the appearance of gentlemen. Such at\nthat period were many of the \"Knights of the Road\"; and thus, in spite\nof the glowing accounts commonly given of the mid-eighteenth century\nhighwaymen, it is not surprising to find that they were, as a general\nrule, merely sordid fellows, whose idea of repartee was the cold muzzle\nof a pistol and a \"Deliver instantly\": embellished with a volley of\noaths.\n\nBut now and again we happen upon some pleasing play of fancy; as, for\ninstance, when Harry Simms, a really dashing highwayman who was well\nknown as \"Gentleman Harry,\" came upon a gentleman in a postchaise.\nHarry rode furiously always. \"Don't ride your horse so hard, sir,\" said\nthe gentleman, \"or you'll soon ride away all your estate.\"\n\n\"Indeed I shall not,\" returned Gentleman Harry, \"for it lies in several\ncounties.\"\n\nHe then bade the traveller deliver what he had about him, which proved\nto be over a hundred guineas, and having realised so much of his widely\ndistributed estate, he made off in search of fresh adventure. He found\nplenty, before he was finally captured at Dunstable and hanged in June\n1747.\n\n\"Gentleman Harry\" was but a gentleman by the popular recognition\naccorded his dashing ways; but a real, officially recognised gentleman\nwas at the same time upon the road; no less a personage than Sir Simon\nClarke, Bart., who, in company with a certain Lieutenant Arnott,\nscoured the roads of Hampshire for a brief space. The Baronet was\nbrought to trial at Winchester and convicted, but so impressed were the\nHigh Sheriff and the grand jury by the threatened scandal of a Baronet,\neven though merely a bad one, being hanged, that they petitioned the\nKing on the subject, and Sir Simon Clarke was reprieved _sine die_,\n\"which,\" says the contemporary chronicler of these things, \"implies for\never.\"\n\nThere was, however, a certain blind fury about the ways of Justice at\nthat time, which in general boded ill for evil-doers. The abstract\ntheory of Justice eliminates the idea of revenge, and capital\npunishment for all manner of trivial offences was inflicted, less from\nany real sense of the enormity of the crimes, than with the object of\nprotecting Society. Society could not adequately be protected in those\ndays by the primitive forerunners of our police, and so, when by chance\nany criminal was captured\u2014and the capturing of them generally was a\nchance affair\u2014Justice usually made a terrible example of them, by way\nof warning. It was only as times grew gradually more secure that it was\nimagined justice could really afford to dispense with these examples,\nwhich were fondly thought to be deterrents. Capital punishment was then\nthe best conceivable warning to others _not_ to go and do likewise,\nand the subsequent exhibition of the criminals' bodies dangling from\ngibbets was the next best; but the very frequency of these loathsome\nexhibits rendered men callous and by familiarity blunted the edge of\nall these practical warnings Society thought itself bound to give, for\nits own protection.\n\nPrivate influence and class interests might now and then be powerful\nenough to procure the reprieve of a highwayman in the mid-eighteenth\ncentury, but a due sense of what was owing to the middle classes\ngenerally forbade lenient treatment. A pretty face, however, and\npersistent pleading could produce wonderful results.\n\nThere was no sense of humour in justice at that period, as may be\nclearly seen in the case narrated by Silas Told, the earnest Wesleyan\nwho in 1744 began to thrust himself into the fearful prison atmosphere\nof Newgate, and to wrestle there with condemned prisoners for their\nsouls, in surroundings of the utmost brutal indifference.\n\nIt seems that during the riotous proceedings accompanying the election\nof a member of Parliament for Chelmsford, four young men of good family\nhad grown so merry with drink that they went out upon the country road\nand played the dangerous game of highwaymen. In the course of this\ndrunken freak they robbed a farmer, and were recognised and arrested,\nbeing afterwards sent to Newgate, tried, and capitally convicted.\nTheir names were Brett, Whalley, Dupree, and Morgan. The last-named\nhappened at the time to be engaged to Lady Elizabeth Hamilton, daughter\nof the Duke of Hamilton. The young lady was stricken with grief, and\nfrequently visited her unlucky sweetheart in prison, and \"Like the\nimportunate widow set forth in the Gospel,\" says the good Told, \"she\nwent daily to His Majesty, as also did others at her request, and\npleaded with His Majesty for the life of Mr. Morgan; but at first, His\nMajesty, considering it a point of injustice as well as partiality,\nwould by no means attend to her plaintive petitions. Another\nconsideration was that they were all persons of dignity and fortune,\nand could not plead necessity to palliate the enormity of the robbery,\nas many unhappy sufferers could; therefore His Majesty said his\nsubjects were not to be put in bodily fear and suffer the loss of their\nproperty merely through a capricious, wanton whim. However, the morning\nbefore the execution, Lady Betty Hamilton appeared before His Majesty\nand fell upon her knees (I suppose in tears too). 'My lady,' said His\nMajesty, 'there is no end of your importunity; I will spare his life,\nupon condition that he be not acquainted therewith till he arrives at\nthe place of execution.'\"\n\nIn the result, the unfortunate Brett, Whalley, and Dupree, who had\nnot high-born sweethearts to plead for their lives with Royalty, were\nhanged. Morgan followed in the cart, and the sheriff did not produce\nthe order for respite until it was at the foot of the gallows.\n\nSilas Told describes the actual scene. \"'Tis hard,\" he says, \"to\nexpress the sudden alarm this made among the multitude; and when I\nturned round, and saw one of the prisoners out of the cart, with his\nhalter loose, falling to the ground, he having fainted away at the\nsudden news, I was instantly seized with a great terror, as I thought\nit was a rescue, rather than a reprieve; but when I beheld Mr. Morgan\nput into a coach, and perceiving that Lady Betty Hamilton was seated\ntherein, in order to receive him, my fear was at an end, and, truly, I\nwas very well pleased on the occasion.\"\n\nBut no one seems to have been very greatly scandalised at the\nexceedingly hard measure meted out to the others, who had no charming\nsweethearts to plead for them, but who, nevertheless, certainly ought\nto have been reprieved with Morgan, who by no means deserved his good\nfortune; for he entered upon a wild life, and was observed, six months\nlater, gambling with a fraudulent bankrupt, who himself was presently\nhanged.\n\nSome thirty years earlier, in 1722, to be precise, a man named John\nHartley, who had been convicted and condemned to death for robbing\nupon the highway as a footpad, had his life begged by an extraordinary\ndeputation of six young women, who went, dressed in white, to plead\nwith the King at St. James's Palace, for a reprieve. Hartley's crime\nwould in our own day be considered severely punished with the award of\nsix months' hard-labour, for he had merely felled a poor journeyman\ntailor, gone over his pockets, and, in a furious rage, because he found\nno greater sum than twopence, stripped him of every stitch of his\nclothing, tied him to a tree, and made off with this singular booty.\nIt was, no doubt, an assault, aggravated by exposing the unfortunate\ntailor to the bitter blast; but that a man should die for twopence, and\na bundle of not very desirable clothes, seems a punishment altogether\nbeyond the bounds of reason. Yet, at a period when a man might be\nhanged for merely stealing a handkerchief, without any aggravated\nassault, this was not considered unreasonable. \"Society must be\nprotected,\" in effect, said the law; and if Society could not police\nthe streets and the roads with living police, and so prevent crime, it\ntook care that gallows and gibbet should display unmistakable evidence\nof its readiness to avenge it.\n\nThere must have been some extraordinary attraction about John Hartley,\nin spite of his mean and paltry occupation of a footpad, for the young\nwomen who went in white to beg for a reprieve were eager, if their\nprayer were granted, to cast lots among themselves for the honour of\nbeing his wife. But it was not to be. The reprieve was refused by\nthe King in person, who told the hopeful young women that he thought\nhanging would be better for him than marriage.\n\nTheir hazardous calling begat in the gentlemen of the high-toby a\nghastly kind of humour. Thus, when that unholy trio, Christopher\nDickson, John Gibson, and Charles Weymouth, united in the not very\ndesperate job of robbing a poor old man, who proved to have nothing on\nhim but the suit of clothes he stood up in, and a pair of spectacles;\nand when Dickson would have taken even these from him, Gibson\nintervened. \"Give the old fellow his spectacles back,\" he said; \"for,\nif we follow this trade, we may assure ourselves we shall never reach\nhis years, to make use of them.\" True enough: they were hanged soon\nafterwards, and never required any aids to eyesight.\n\nThe impudence of the highwaymen is sometimes so unconsciously\nextravagant, that it is on that account alone extremely amusing. They\nfelt it an intolerable grievance when they happened upon purses not\nparticularly well lined, and resented it hotly. An instance of this may\nbe found, not in any irresponsible novel, or other work of imagination,\nbut in the sober pages of the _Worcester Journal_ of September 29th,\n1738, where we learn that in the early morning of September 21st,\nbetween the hours of four and five, the \"Flying Bath Coach\" was stopped\nby two footpads, about a mile on the London side of Newbury. There were\nfive passengers in the coach, all of whom these daring adventurers\nrobbed, without being resisted in the least. While one of them held the\nhorses' heads, the other interviewed the passengers.\n\nFrom a Sardinian gentleman he took a purse of guineas and a rich\nscimetar that might have been profitably employed by the Sardinian\ngentleman, one would have thought, about the robber's head and body;\nfrom Captain Willoughby of Abchurch Lane, twenty-six shillings\nand\u2014oh! degrading\u2014his coat and periwig; from Mr. Grubb, a distiller,\nof Bishopsgate Street, twenty-five shillings; from Mr. Rawlinson,\nHigh Constable of Westminster, three half-crowns, together with his\nperiwig and silver stock-buckle; and from Mr. Pratt, proprietor and\ncoachman of the \"Flying Coach,\" four guineas, and his silver watch. He\nthreatened every minute to blow out their brains with a horse-pistol\nhe flourished, and although he had succeeded, without any trouble, in\nsecuring a not inconsiderable booty, cursed them violently, saying,\n\"gentlemen were not obliged to be at the expense of powder and ball,\nand likewise a long attendance on the road, to lose their time for so\nslender a profit.\"\n\nTo frighten travellers by these outrageous methods was a duly\ncalculated part of the business. We have, in the pages of Borrow's\n_Romany Rye_, the theory of violent language and violent behaviour\non the part of the highwaymen duly expounded by the ostler of the\nunnamed inn mentioned in chapter xxiv. This ostler, a Yorkshireman by\nbirth, had seen a great deal of life in the vicinity of London, to\nwhich he had gone at a very early age. \"Amongst other places where he\nhad served as ostler was a small inn at Hounslow, much frequented by\nhighwaymen, whose exploits he was fond of narrating, especially those\nof Jerry Abershaw, who, he said, was a capital rider.\" Abershaw, he\nwould frequently add, however, was decidedly inferior to Galloping\nDick, who was a pal of Abershaw's. I learned from him that both were\ncapital customers at the Hounslow inn, and that he had frequently drunk\nwith them in the corn-room. He said no man could desire more jolly\nor entertaining companions over a glass of \"summat\"; but that upon\nthe road it was anything but desirable to meet them: there they were\nterrible, cursing and swearing, and thrusting the muzzles of their\npistols into people's mouths; and at this part of his locution the old\nman winked and said, in a somewhat lower voice, that upon the whole\nthey were right in doing so, and that when a person had once made up\nhis mind to become a highwayman, his best policy was to go the whole\nhog, fearing nothing, but making everybody afraid of him; that people\nnever thought of resisting a savage-faced, foul-mouthed highwayman,\nand if he were taken, they were afraid to bear witness against him,\nlest he should get off and then cut their throats some time or other,\nupon the roads; whereas people would resist being robbed by a sneaking,\npale-visaged rascal, and would swear boldly against him on the first\nopportunity: adding, that Ferguson and Abershaw, two most awful\nfellows, had enjoyed a long career; whereas, two disbanded officers\nof the army, who wished to rob a coach like gentlemen, had begged the\npassengers' pardon, and talked of hard necessity, had been set upon by\nthe passengers themselves, amongst whom were three women, pulled from\ntheir horses, conducted to Maidstone, and hanged with as little pity as\nsuch contemptible fellows deserved. \"There is nothing like going the\nwhole hog,\" he repeated, \"and if ever I had been a highwayman, I should\nhave thought myself all the more safe; and, moreover, shouldn't have\ndespised myself. To curry favour with those you are robbing, sometimes\nat the expense of your own comrades, as I have known fellows do, why,\nit is the greatest\u2014\u2014\"\n\n\"So it is,\" interposed the postilion.\n\nThe newspapers of those times afford deeply interesting reading. Very\nfew of them but contain some startling item of highway robbery, or\nnews of the capture or trial of the highwaymen who dared even to ply\ntheir trade within sight of the streets. It seems so very long ago, and\nit all has an extraordinary air of unreality. Even although you turn\nover the small quarto and foolscap pages of those daily and evening,\nor weekly or bi-weekly sheets, these things seem the stuff that dreams\nare made of; but if the items of news give that effect, certainly\nwhen you turn to the advertising columns, you feel once more that\nyou are in touch with actualities. The same quacks, or rather their\ngreat-great-grandfathers, are puffing the same kinds of goods, and even\nthe blackguard fellows who figure, with their own \"brainy\" or impudent\nfaces, in the advertising pages of twentieth-century popular magazines,\nand successfully gull hundreds of thousands of simpletons, have their\nancestors posturing in these yellowing sheets. They are not so boldly\n\"displayed,\" for the mechanical possibilities of the age did not\npermit of it, and they of necessity appealed only to hundreds, instead\nof the hundred thousand; but they are at one, in all essentials,\nwith the creatures who nowadays make \"this unparalleled offer to\nYOU,\" and rudely point a finger at you out of the page. In the _Grub\nStreet Journal_ for 1737 and succeeding years, and in its numerous\ncontemporaries are to be found advertised the \"greatest Restorative\nin the world,\" cures for consumption, marvellous literary works,\nwithout which life would be a blank, and a certain Dr. Newman's vile\nelectuaries. Dr. Newman advertised largely and long, and he generally\nincluded a quaint little woodcut of himself, seated at a table, and\nwith a box of his beastly pills (comparatively the size of a saucepan)\non the table beside him, with a bottle of his medicine, apparently\nsupplied in two-gallon carboys, keeping it company. He is the ancestor,\nyou perceive, as you observe him staring out of the page, of all those\nmodern pushful persons, who seem to think that by picturing themselves\nin their advertisements of how to add to your stature, to add to your\npurse, or turn your nose down, your ears in, to grow stouter or leaner,\nor what not, their statements are by some mysterious means fortified\nand endorsed.\n\n[Illustration: DR. NEWMAN AND HIS PILLS.]\n\nThe quaintest things are advertised in these old journals. A coachman\nin Long-Acre has devised a bullet-proof postchaise, or chariot, in\nwhich \"any Gentleman may travel with Safety and not less Expedition\nthan heretofore.\" It is claimed to be proof against any weapons carried\nby highwaymen.\n\nMr. Lott, of Maidstone, who, in several of his advertisements, \"Begs\nleave to acquaint all Gentlemen and others (others!) that he has taken\na large House in Beer-Cart Lane,\" advertises sporting and other guns,\nand has a very choice assortment of pistols \"for Gentlemen travelling,\"\nperhaps also\u2014who knows?\u2014purchased by highwaymen on the look-out for\nthose travelling gentlemen. His advertisement is embellished most\nremarkably with a somebody, whether gentleman or highwayman, it would\nbe difficult to say\u2014but it looks not altogether unlike a conventional\nrepresentation of the devil. On due reconsideration, however, it would\nappear to be a sportsman, for he is accompanied by what may be taken\nfor a dog. What kind of sport he expects to get with the gun he holds\nin his left hand, with the remarkable kink in the barrel, it would be\nimpossible to say; but the pistol he flourishes in his right looks\nlethal enough to do the business of any highwayman that ever patrolled\nthe roads and spoke with the coaches.\n\n[Illustration: EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY ADVERTISEMENT.]\n\nEven in those times, there were people who strove to abolish capital\npunishment; and the advertisement columns of these old journals bear\nwitness to the fact, in the announcement of a pamphlet, priced at\nonly sixpence, displaying arguments in favour of discontinuing the\ndeath-penalty. On one occasion it is printed next to a paragraph\nwhich records briefly how a highwayman, disappointed at not getting\nsufficient plunder, shot a poor traveller on the road near Staines. \"We\nhear,\" says the journal, \"that the man has since dy'd of his Wounds.\"\nThis curious juxtaposition looks uncommonly like a sly example of\neditorial sarcasm at the expense of the excellent advertiser: a hint\nafter the style of the sardonic French philosopher's comment upon the\nsimilar proposal to remit the death penalty upon murderers: \"_que\nmessieurs les assassins commencent_.\"\n\nThe newspapers and the magazines alike contain the most startling\ncommentaries upon life as lived in London during the eighteenth\ncentury. Thus we read, in an obscure paragraph, how the French mail\nwas robbed in Piccadilly, by the valise containing the bags being cut\noff the postchaise. The occasion was not so exceptional that it would\ndemand more than a few lines. But in those days newspapers had not\ndiscovered the way of exploiting news for all it was worth, and more,\nby the twin arts of the artful headline and the redundant adjective.\n\nAgain, it was late in September 1750, Horace Walpole tells us, and he\nwas sitting in his dining-room in Arlington Street, close upon eleven\no'clock one Sunday night, when he heard a loud cry of \"Stop thief!\" A\nhighwayman had attacked a postchaise in Piccadilly, at the corner of\nArlington Street, and, being pursued, rode over a watchman and almost\nkilled him. He escaped, of course.\n\nAcross the way, on the west side of Berkeley Street, the curious sunk\nthoroughfare, known as Lansdowne Passage, (the name as painted up is\nspelled wrongly, without the concluding \"e\") dividing the gardens of\nLansdowne House and the Duke of Devonshire's mansion, is connected with\na highwayman story of some eighteen years later. The entrance to this\npassage-way for pedestrians is divided by an iron bar, which renders\nit impossible for anything more bulky than a man to squeeze through,\nand there are even some particularly stout persons who might find it\ndifficult to pass. The passage conducts to Curzon Street, and is at\nsuch a low level that a flight of steps leads down to it, through the\nnarrow opening.\n\n[Illustration: LANSDOWNE PASSAGE.]\n\nThe iron bar dates from about 1768, and was placed there immediately\nafter the sensation caused by a mounted highwayman, who, having\ncommitted a robbery in Piccadilly, evaded his pursuers by riding up\nBerkeley Street and down the steps of Lansdowne Passage, and so through\nit and into Bolton Street, at a gallop.\n\nWhen such things as those just narrated were possible, it is only a\nlittle more surprising to read how Sir John Fielding, the Bow Street\nmagistrate, could raid a masquerade ball, on March 6th, 1753, in\nsearch of highwaymen. He had received information that some of the\nprofession would be present, and went with his men and entered the\ngaming-room, and obliged all the company to unmask and give an account\nof themselves. \"It is supposed,\" says the _Gentleman's Magazine_,\n\"those fellows had notice of his coming before he could get upstairs,\nand so made off in the crowd, for none of them were taken.\" There had\nbeen deep gaming that night, and a plentiful circulation of bad guineas.\n\nIt is amazing to modern readers who read of the notoriety in which the\nhighwaymen often lived, that they should have been suffered to appear\nin public so frequently, and yet their profession to be so well known.\nAt Ranelagh, at Vauxhall, at the fashionable coffee-houses they were\nfound, enjoying the gaieties of the town, and reading, no doubt, in\nthe newspapers of the day, accounts of their own enterprises of a day\nor two earlier. There was a certain or an uncertain period of grace\nallowed most of these fine fellows, whose careers, long or short, were\nvery largely lengthened or shortened by the amount of the rewards that\npresently began to be offered for their apprehension. The convenience\nor safety of the long-suffering public was never consulted. It never\nis. Then and now, the public existed, and still exists, for the support\nof officials and functionaries. That is what we of the unofficial\nclasses are here for. This system, carried to its logical conclusion,\nmay be best studied in France and Germany, but we in England are fast\nadvancing on the same lines.\n\nIn the days of the highwaymen, the system worked, in respect of them,\nin this way: they were not worth catching until a reward was offered,\nand it even then remained a nice point whether it were not better to\nwait until a still larger reward was advertised, before closing in\nupon the fellows and haling them before the magistrates. You had\nsimply to watch the \"public form,\" so to speak, of your man, just as\npeople accustomed to bet upon horse-races watch the performances of the\nanimal they favour. If your highwayman were a dashing and enterprising\nfellow, likely to make much of a stir in his line, it was obviously\nnot worth the while to collar him for the sake of a mere \u00a340 reward\noffered for the apprehension of a highwayman. You just waited until he\nbecame a notorious person, with some great deeds to his credit\u2014a big\nhaul of guineas or jewellery, or perhaps even a murder. Then he would\nbe worth \u00a3100, or, in extreme cases, even more; and then only would he\nbe taken, unless, indeed, some foolish competitive busybody officiously\nintervened, and got him before he had quite ripened.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nTHE HIGHWAYMEN OF WILTSHIRE AND SALISBURY PLAIN\u2014MR. JOSEPH READER'S\nADVENTURE\u2014THE CHERHILL GANG\u2014\"CLIBBORN'S POST\"\u2014MURDER OF MR.\nMELLISH\u2014CLOSE OF THE HIGHWAYMAN ERA\n\n\nMany of the stories in these pages are concerned with the doings of\nhighwaymen in the districts near London, but the neighbourhood of\nalmost every town was infested in degree, and there are few local\nhistories, and fewer of the older newspaper files, that do not afford\ncurious reading in the highway robbery sort, intermingled with\nadvertisements offering rewards for the apprehension of horse- and\nsheep-stealers and fugitive husbands who have left their wives and\nfamilies chargeable upon the parish. The neighbourhoods of Devizes\nand Salisbury seem to have been exceptionally favoured with these\nmiscellaneous rascals, no doubt because those two places stood at\neither extreme of what long remained the wild and desolate region\nincluding Salisbury Plain, where, although the great roads to Bath and\nExeter brought a considerable traffic, the houses were few and far\nbetween. It was an ideal district for evil-doers, and there are a very\nconsiderable literature and a very startling series of incidents in\nthis sort, connected with it.[1]\n\nA curious incident is that told on an old broadsheet printed in 1712,\nand sold at the usual broadsheet price of one penny, of the hanging\nof a highwayman by one of the travellers he attacked. On Saturday,\nFebruary 2nd, in that year, a Mr. Nat. Seager, a maltster, took horse\nfrom Shaftesbury for Blandford, to buy corn in Blandford market. He had\nonly gone two miles and had descended into the plain from the hill-top\ntown, when \"he was attack'd by a Highway-Man and a pistol clap'd to his\nBreast, with the Word of Command 'God D\u2014n you, you old Dog, alight and\ndeliver.'\"\n\nMr. Seager, very much terrified, dismounted, or perhaps, rather,\ntumbled off his horse, and threw the man \u00a33 in silver; but the\nhighwayman was not content with this. \"It was not all,\" he said; and,\nrapping out another oath, he drew a broadsword and gave Mr. Seager a\ncut on the shoulder. Whereupon Mr. Seager produced twenty-four guineas\nmore, with which the highwayman rode off contented, leaving the\nunfortunate maltster bleeding on the ground.\n\nIn a little while there came along the road another traveller, Mr.\nJoseph Reader, miller, of Shaftesbury, whistling upon his way,\naccording to his habit.\n\n\"What is the matter?\" he asked, surprised to see his friend and\nneighbour lying there, all gory.\n\nSeager told him.\n\n\"Master,\" said Reader, \"lend me your horse, and I will endeavour to\novertake the rogue, if you will describe him to me.\"\n\n\"He has a great blue coat, and a sorrel horse,\" replied Seager: and\nwith that, Reader mounted and hastened the way he had gone.\n\nIt was not long before he overtook the highwayman, who was waiting for\nmore prey, and thought he saw it in Reader. Twice he fired pistols at\nhim, and twice he missed; and then Reader, who was by far the stronger\nof the two, smote him with a cudgel he carried, and dragged him from\nhis horse. At this moment Seager came up and found them struggling on\nthe ground, and Reader immediately despatched him for aid.\n\nBut when he was gone, and our brave miller had opportunity for\nreflection, it occurred to him that his adversary might by some means\nget the better of him, after all, before help arrived; and so he stood\nthe risk of losing the \u00a340 reward due to him for taking a highwayman.\nThat was a risk not to be entertained, and \"therefore,\" said he, \"I'll\ne'en hang him myself.\" And so he did. Striking him insensible, he\ndragged the unlucky man to a wayside tree, and hanged him from it by\nhis own belt.\n\nThe highwayman had not long given up the ghost before Seager returned,\nat the head of the Sheriff's posse; when the miller learned, much\nto his dismay, that, by acting as hangman upon one who had not been\nbrought to trial, he had put himself in very grave peril.\n\nIn fact, the law, resenting this interference with its prerogative, had\na good deal to say to Mr. Joseph Reader, who was brought to trial at\nDorchester before Mr. Justice Coker, at the next assizes, and charged\nwith murder. Fortunately, he was acquitted, and his resourcefulness\nproperly acknowledged by a subscription of over \u00a330, made up for him in\nCourt.\n\nNot only solitary highwaymen, but bands of marauders, scoured the\ntreeless and hedgeless wastes of Salisbury Plain and its neighbourhood.\nOne of these was known as the \"Cherhill Gang,\" and chiefly favoured the\nlocality between Marlborough, Calne, and Devizes. Individual members of\nthis brotherhood were taken from time to time, hanged at Devizes, and\nafterwards gibbeted at a spot high on the downs, between Beckhampton\nand Cherhill. The remaining members of the band and the friends and\nrelations of the departed of course bitterly resented this kind of\npost-mortem publicity, and very often they would either come by night\nand saw through the post of the gibbet and so bring the whole thing\nto the ground, or would climb up the post and bring down the tattered\nrelics of their friend, swinging there in his chains or his iron cage,\nand give it decent burial. There is much to be said in favour of them.\nBut after this had continued for some time, the authorities hit upon\na plan of binding the lower portion of the gibbet round with iron, of\ntarring it, and of driving some hundreds of nails half-way into the\npost, just by way of deterrents to climbers and others.\n\nA very pretty story\u2014pretty in its peculiar way\u2014is told of Serjeant\nMerewether successfully defending one of the Cherhill Gang at the\nassizes, and of his being robbed of his fee that night, by his\ninteresting client, when on his return home.\n\nAnother member of the same gang had the peculiar fancy of stripping\nhimself perfectly naked, by night, and then springing out of a wayside\nbush upon the startled traveller. The unexpected spectacle, he said,\nwas so alarming that robbery became very easy. But this was probably\nonly a midsummer freak. Imagination refuses to contemplate even the\nmost desperate highwaymen in midwinter, when snow-squalls swept\nMarlborough Downs, emulating those picturesque figures, the naked\naborigines of the poet's vision:\n\n    When, wild in woods, the noble savage ran.\n\nI will quote here but one of the many old newspaper reports of doings\non this spot, but that a picturesque one. The date is January 1743: \"A\ncaptain in the army, who was going to Bath in a postchaise, was stopped\nnear Sandy Lane by two highwaymen, by one of whom he was told that he\nwanted but a guinea, which he hoped to be soon able to pay him again.\nThe captain gave him the guinea, and the fellow gave the driver a\nshilling, and told the gentleman if he was stopped by any one else, to\nsay 'Virgin Mary,' that being the watchword for the day. They had not\ngone far before they were stopped by four persons; but on being given\nthe watchword, they raised their hats, and rode off.\"\n\n[Illustration: \"CLIBBORN'S POST.\"]\n\nThe visible relics of the highwaymen are few, but among them that\nof \"Clibborn's Post\" is peculiarly interesting. This relic is found\nin Hertfordshire, in the neighbourhood of that fine old Elizabethan\nmanor-house, now a farm, but famed in romance, Queen Hoo Hall. On the\nway from Tewin and Queen Hoo Hall to Bramfield, the wooded lane rises\nin a curve to the summit of what is known locally as \"Open Valley\nHill.\" Here, on the grassy bank, firmly planted in the soil, stands\na stout, oaken post, carefully bound with strips of iron. This is\n\"Clibborn's Post,\" the modern successor of the original stake driven\nthrough the body of a brutal highwayman of that name, shot dead at this\nspot in the act of attacking a farmer who was on his way home from\nHertford Market to Datchworth. This occurrence happened on December\n28th, 1782. There had, about that time, been many highway robberies\ncommitted on the country roads in this neighbourhood; but no one had\nbeen able to identify the desperado, who had plunged the countryside,\nand especially the week-end market folk, into such terror. On this\nparticular night this farmer was driving home in a cart, accompanied by\na servant named Shock. Just as they reached this spot\u2014then, as now, a\nlonely place surrounded by tangled undergrowth and dense plantations\u2014a\nman rushed out from the thickets and seized the horse's reins. The\nfarmer jumped down to struggle with him, but his assailant was getting\nthe upper hand, and was in the act of unclasping a knife to cut his\nthroat, when the farmer called out to his servant, who carried a\nblunderbuss: \"Shoot, Shock, or I am a dead man!\" Shock had been afraid\nto fire, thinking he might hit the wrong man, but, on this command,\nhe let fly, and shot the highwayman dead. When they examined the body\nthey found it to be that of a pieman named Clibborn, a well-known and\nostensibly honest person who frequented the Hertford inns on market\nday, selling pies to the farmers and others. He had opportunities of\nnoting those who would be carrying large sums of money home with them;\nand, leaving early, waylaid them in some lonely spot such as this.\n\nIt was still, at the close of the eighteenth century, abundantly\npossible for peaceful travellers along the roads to be killed by\nhighwaymen: Mr. Mellish, a city merchant, returning from a day with\nthe King's hounds, in company with two friends, named Bosanquet and\nPole, having been shot dead by a gang, who attacked and robbed the\ncarriage in which they were travelling, when near Sipson Green, on the\nBath Road. It was a wanton act, too; the travellers having disbursed\ntheir money on demand, and the carriage already starting off again\nfor Hounslow when one of the gang fired a shot after it. Mr. Mellish,\nsitting with his back to the horses, was struck in the forehead. It\nis probable that the highwayman intended no more than to warn the\noccupants of the carriage that he and his fellows really were fully\narmed, and that they had therefore better hasten away as quickly as\nthey could; but the intention is immaterial: the unfortunate man was\nkilled, and the highwaymen were never captured.\n\nThe nineteenth century opened badly for the highwaymen, for not only\nhad the business of banking and the payment of money by cheque grown\nlargely, but Pitt's Act for Restricting Cash Payments, passed in\n1797, had led to fewer large amounts in coin being carried about their\npersons by unprotected travellers. Nothing was more remarkable than\nthe great sums of money that seem to have been carried by all classes\nin the periods already discussed; and in those circumstances lay the\nhighwaymen's opportunity. But now they had fewer and smaller takings\nin coin, practically a choice only between watches and jewellery and\nbank-notes: very dangerous classes of property to handle unlawfully.\n\nBut if their takings were less, their numbers were scarcely fewer; and\nthe gibbets were still not infrequently replenished. Thus, a highwayman\nnamed Haines was, in May 1799, gibbeted on Hounslow Heath, just where\nthe Bath and the Exeter roads part company, at the western extremity\nof Hounslow town. A curious item in the _Annual Register_ for that\nyear proves\u2014if proof were wanted\u2014that the spectacle of his hanging had\nbeen a popular sight; for there we read an account of how a party of\neight gentlemen, who had been out for the day to witness the spectacle,\nferried over the Thames to the \"Flower Pot\" inn at Sunbury that night,\nat ten o'clock, presumably with the intention of \"making a night of\nit.\" It may not be uncharitable to suppose that they had already taken\nmore than sufficient, for in crossing the river, the boat was upset and\nthree of them were drowned.\n\nThe stumps of the gibbets that formerly stood at the fork of the Exeter\nand the Bath roads, at the western end of Hounslow were discovered in\n1899, when the road was excavated for the electric tramways that now\npass the spot.\n\nAt the close of the eighteenth century, the approaches to London\nagain became so dangerous that it was necessary to institute some\nkind of protection. This was established in 1805, under the name of\nthe Bow Street Patrol, and was organised, as its name implies, from\nthe principal London police-office. This was a forerunner of the\nexisting horse-patrols of the Metropolitan Police, to be now and\nagain encountered at night on lonely suburban roads in these far more\nsecure times of ours. Even Hounslow Heath and Finchley Common grew\ncomparatively safe when this armed and efficient force got to work.\nThey were probably not in full existence when the poet Campbell and his\nwife, walking on Sydenham Common in that year, were confronted by a\nmounted highwayman who demanded their money, with menaces. An alarm was\npromptly raised, and he was pursued and captured; when he was found to\nbe a resident of the neighbourhood.\n\nIn the provinces the era of the highwaymen was longer lived. The roads\nbetween Arundel and Chichester were in 1807, for example, haunted by\none Allen, a highwayman who preyed chiefly upon the farmers coming\nhome with well-filled purses from market. The militia were called out\nto capture him, and thus, in these peculiarly glorious circumstances\nof war, he was shot dead near Midhurst, while endeavouring to escape\narrest.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nTHE LITERATURE OF THE LATER HIGHWAYMEN\n\n\nSince Smith and Johnson's days, the literature of the highwaymen\nhas declined in quality and increased in output. The history of\nthe highwaymen has never been reconsidered or restated since they\nflourished, and no one has ever attempted to extend it from 1742. Not\neven Turpin appears in Johnson's folio, published three years earlier\nthan that \"hero's\" execution at York: an omission which seems amply to\nprove that Turpin's contemporaries did not consider him a particularly\ninteresting or notable person.\n\nYet, although nothing has been done to tell the story of the highwaymen\nwho flourished numerously long after Smith and Johnson had completed\ntheir works, there is an abundance of materials for the purpose.\nThey are not nice materials. Distinctly unappetising trials for the\nmost part, \"last dying speeches and confessions,\" usually impudent\nfabrications, and, when not entirely un-authentic, generally the\nutterly unreadable productions of the Ordinaries of Newgate and other\nprisons, who turned an honest, if somewhat discreditable, penny in\nhearing the generally boastful and lying accounts by prisoners of\ntheir crimes and adventures; seldom writing them down from dictation,\nand commonly but imperfectly memorising them, and only setting down\ntheir general sense. That is why the very numerous \"authentic\" lives,\nlast dying speeches, and confessions of the highwaymen and others,\nwritten out by the Ordinaries and usually attested at the end by\nthe criminals themselves, are so bald and unconvincing. An outside\nrival production was, as a general rule, a good deal more spicy, and\nalthough unauthorised, not necessarily less truthful. The \"official\"\nproductions, as we may term them, were of a stereotyped fashion,\nballasted with an intolerable deal of moral reflections, and written\nin a heavy-handed way that by no means reflected the convict's own\ngenerally keen relish of his own villainies. We should not mind all\nthis, if we knew the Ordinaries to have been good and earnest men;\nbut they were nothing of the kind. By education gentlemen, and by\nvirtue of their holy orders bound to maintain the law and the Gospel,\nthey were nevertheless a pack of intolerable scoundrels, drunken and\ndissolute, and not infrequently as fitted for the cells as the unhappy\nprisoners in the Stone Jug, to whom on Sundays in the prison chapel\nthey preached Hell and Damnation, the Burning Lake and Everlasting\nTorment. The publication of the last dying speeches and confessions of\ntheir interesting charges was the perquisite of these unworthy men,\nand it was one of the most indefensible of privileges in that age of\nperquisites.\n\nThus the pamphlets they issued and grew fat upon soon pall upon us.\nThere are, however, other sources: the \"Newgate Sessions Papers,\" the\nsomewhat too famous \"Newgate Calendar,\" which shared with the Bible the\nfavour of George Borrow; the \"New Newgate Calendar\"; the \"Malefactors'\nBloody Register,\" and other atrocious \"literature\"\u2014to give it the\nconventional title bestowed without discrimination upon all printed\nmatter.\n\nI am sorry for myself, after having perused those dreadful pages, and\nmany other like authorities, in search of the romantic highwayman as\nseen in fiction. I have not found him, but I have found plentiful\nevidence of the existence of innumerable ineffable blackguards and\nirreclaimable villains of the most sordid, unrelieved type: bestially\nimmoral, tigerishly cruel, and cringing cowards until they were safely\njugged, when their cowardice was exchanged for a certain callousness.\nThere were exceptions, but the general effect of reading these\noriginals is an effect of moral and material muddiness, of a personal\nuncleanliness not a little distressing. It would even have a lasting\neffect of depression, were it not abundantly evident that these things\nare of a day that is done. They are part of those \"good old times\"\nthat, happily, are not our times.\n\nFortunately, even among this extensive literature, it is possible to\nfind some human touches; here and there to trace some humorous rogue\nand find him entertaining.\n\nRather late in the day comes James Catnach, with his penny chapbooks\nand broadsides. He is not elevating, and is often vulgar. The more\nvulgar his productions, the better they sold. I don't think he quite\nrealised that point, but some modern popular publishing firms have,\nand profit hugely by it, for vulgarity is popular and pays enormously.\nIf Jemmy Catnach, of Nos. 2 and 3, Monmouth Court, Little Earl Street,\nhard by the Seven Dials, had fully grasped this point, he would have\ndied worth very much more than the \u00a33,000, \u00a35,000, or even \u00a310,000 he\nwas represented to have left when he quitted this life, about 1841.\n\nJames Catnach commenced business about 1813. His publications were all\nissued at the popular price of one penny, and covered every subject\nlikely to attract the sympathies of the lower classes. Not quite the\nlowest classes, for they could not at that time read at all. We must\nnot suppose that he dealt only in the horrible. Not by any means.\nYou might buy of him for the nimble penny the history of Goody Two\nShoes, the story of Jack the Giant Killer, the affecting tale of Cock\nRobin, or the even more affecting story of the Babes in the Wood. The\n\"Soldier's Farewell to Home and Parents,\" in which the illustration is\nintrinsically so rough, and the paper and print are so abominable, that\nit is difficult to see which is the soldier and which are the parents,\nshowed that maudlin sentiment was very profitable. He published also\na large selection of patriotic, amorous, and tearful ballads; but\nit is sadly to be confessed that his penny murders were by far the\nmost popular. He had no penny Sunday papers and no halfpenny evenings\nto compete with him, and the daily and weekly journals ranged from\nthreepence to eightpence. His only competitors were the garret, cellar,\nand kitchen printers of his own kidney: Birt, of the neighbouring Great\nSt. Andrew Street, and others. But he was the chief of them, the most\nindustrious, and the most successful. He and his small staff in 1824\nprinted in eight days, off four formes, no fewer than 500,000 copies\nof an account of the murder of Mr. Weare by Thurtell, and bagged \u00a3500\nprofit on the business. His customers were a low and dirty mob of\npedlars, hawkers, and street-sellers, who paid chiefly in coppers, and\ndirty ones at that. Those were the days when pennies and halfpennies\nwere really coppers, and not, as now, bronze; and they were large. A\npenny weighed one ounce, and was an appreciable weight in the pocket:\nsixpence in coppers was a burden. The coppers Catnach received in the\nway of his business were a nuisance to him, and he was afraid, from\ntheir filthy condition, that they would also be infectious, and so\nhe generally boiled them in a solution of potash and vinegar. In the\nalmost vain endeavour to dispose of them he was accustomed to pay the\nwages of his boys and men in coppers, from ten shillingsworth to forty\nshillingsworth, and even then had to arduously load up vehicles with\nthe rest, for the bank. His back kitchen was paved with bad pennies set\nin concrete.\n\nThe lives and adventures of the highwaymen were always a safe sale.\nLike most of his rudely illustrated productions, they were embellished\nby his own ingenious hand. The backs of old engraved plates of music\nserved him instead of wood-blocks, and these he engraved upon,\napparently with a chopper and a hammer, if we may judge by the\nstartling results. He could have taught Thomas Bewick a thing or two\nin breadth of treatment, and in his noble scorn of detail (or in his\ninability to execute it, whichever it was) he was undoubtedly the first\nof the Impressionists. He was rather good at devils, and supreme in\npicturing a ferocious villain; but not successful in representing a\nvillage beauty.\n\nHe issued a very good edition of the _Life and Adventures of Dick\nTurpin_ at the usual price of one penny: good beyond his common run,\nbecause he seems to have employed some one to engrave the pictorial\ncover for him, and you can really distinguish quite easily between\nBlack Bess and the turnpike-gate, over which that gallant mare is shown\nto be jumping. Dick Turpin, in this production, affects a jockey-cap.\n\nBirt, of Great St. Andrew Street, was another of the many small\nprinters, who issued popular and ill-printed penny lives of Turpin in\nthe days before the boys' penny papers issued in frowsy courts off\nFleet Street, began to print long, long romances of him and Tom King,\nalways to be \"continued in our next.\" Birt shows us what purports\nto be a portrait of Turpin, no doubt from some strictly un-authentic\nsource, and the short narrative ends with the picture of an execution,\nin which alone the purchaser had his money's worth, for we see two\ncriminals hanging: Turpin and another, who would seem, so far as\nappearances go, to be his twin brother. It is a new light upon the life\nand death of the hero.\n\n[Illustration: [++] TWO MEN HANGING.]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nTHE NEWGATE CHAPLAINS: SAMUEL SMITH, PAUL LORRAIN, THOMAS PURENEY\u2014THE\nPRISON LIFE\n\n\nThe Chaplains, or Ordinaries, of Newgate were amply provided for.\nThe presentation to the office was in the gift of the Lord Mayor and\naldermen, and included a residence in Newgate street, in addition\nto the salary, a legacy of \u00a310 a year paid by the Governors of St.\nBartholomew's Hospital, an annual \u00a36 from Lady Barnardiston's legacy,\nand what are described as \"two freedoms yearly,\" which generally sold\nfor \u00a325 each. In addition to these, the city usually presented the\nOrdinary with one other, annually. By 1779 it appears that he no longer\nenjoyed the freedoms, but his salary was augmented to \u00a3180, and, in\naddition, he received \u00a33 12s. 0d. a year from the sheriffs.\n\nSurely this was a stipend ample enough for the class of men who held\nthe office, especially as the divines who generally obtained it did\nvery well out of the \"authentic\" lives of the criminals to whom they\nextended ghostly counsel. The \"Bishop of Newgate\" was the slang term\nfor the Ordinary, and so well\u2014though not so admirably\u2014did the men, who,\nin a long succession, filled the office, fit into the place, that we\nbut rarely find one translated to other fields of activity. They lived\nand died Ordinaries of Newgate. Even a good man might have become\ndegraded by the place and its fearful management, but the men appointed\nwere of the worst type, and a disgrace to the Church.\n\nThe Reverend Paul Lorrain and the Reverend Thomas Pureney were\ntypical Ordinaries, blusterous, bloated, and snuffy; ready with a\nthreadbare tag from an easy classic; profaning the Scriptures with\nvinous hiccoughs; more keen to nose a revelation for their delectable\nbroadsides and hypocritical pamphlets than to lead a sinner to\nrepentance, even if they knew the way; and always with an alert eye on\nthe main chance.\n\nLorrain succeeded one Samuel Smith in 1698, and held the post until\nhis death, in 1719. He was most diligent in the production of those\n\"official\" accounts of the lives, confessions, and last dying speeches\nof the criminals, which were printed and sold largely, and thus formed\na considerable augmentation to the salary of himself and his kind.\nA collection of forty-eight of these curious pamphlets, written by\nhim, is found in the British Museum. We turn to them with expectancy,\nbut from them with disgust. With every advantage at their command in\nthis peculiar form of authorship, the Reverend Paul Lorrain and his\nsuccessors failed to produce anything but the most insufficient of\nlives, the most commonplace confessions, and the most threadbare last\ndying speeches, garnished with haphazard texts.\n\nGenerally published at eight in the morning of the day after the\nrespective executions, they had their public; but the very cream of the\nsale was skimmed off on the actual day of the execution by unlicensed\npublications, and it was usually quite easy for the doomed men going\nto Tyburn to purchase a penny biography of themselves, and to read\nwhat they had said at the last moment, before the last moment itself\nwas reached. In Hogarth's print of the end of the Idle Apprentice at\nTyburn, the \"Last Dying Speech and Confession of Thomas Idle\" is being\nbawled out at the moment of his hearing the final ministrations in the\ncart. Obviously, these productions could not be \"authentic,\" in so far,\nat least, as the concluding scenes were concerned; but there is that\njournalistic _flair_ about many of those that have survived the bad\npaper and the worse ink with which they were produced, which shows a\nfull comprehension of what the public wanted. And whatsoever the public\nwants, it is the journalist's business to see it duly gets. There is\nmore resource, more touch with life, in these than in the works of the\nOrdinaries.\n\nA certain low and undistinguished feeling of pedantry runs through all\nthose clerical issues. The Reverend Mr. Paul Lorrain, or the equally\nReverend Mr. Thomas Pureney, tells us of such and such an one, that,\n\"departing from the early paths of Virtue and Integrity, where the\nFlowers of Innocency may be pluckt,\" (much _they_ knew of such things,\nto be sure!) \"he stray'd among the Profligate and the Abandon'd, and\nbecame a Highway Man.\"\n\nSuch stuff! All very well for copy-book maxims or good books for\nwell-behaved children; but the streets wanted stronger meat than this;\nand they got it. In the unauthorised lives of the various malefactors,\nwritten for the appreciation of the crowd, it may be read how such\na youthful innocent as the one described above in so sesquipedalian\na style, \"was a practis'd prig at eleven years of age. He stole his\nFather's Cash-Box, and, coming with it to London, spent the Contents in\nthe gayeties of the Town.\" Precocious youth! But precocity is not, as\nmany suppose, a Twentieth-Century portent.\n\n\"He soon became a Flash Cull and set up half a dozen Doxies of his own,\nwho empty'd his Pockets as soon as he filled 'em.\" Nothing at all about\nthe early paths of Virtue and Integrity in this, it will be observed.\n\n\"He then, observing that more was to be made in one Night's\ngood-fortune under the Stars than in a week of snatching the Bung\nor cly-filing in the streets, and with less danger, in it, became a\nCollector of Tolls upon the High-Way.\"\n\nThat was your true penny style for the streets. It was sympathetic and\nunderstood, which the \"Flowers of Innocency\" business was not.\n\nPaul Lorrain and his brethren never failed with the moral lesson,\nhowever little they themselves believed in it; and always, you will\nfind, who read their nauseating pages, that those who had the\nmisfortune to sit to them for their biographies were \"truly penitent,\"\n\"moved to contrition,\" or \"heartily renounced their Wicked and\nprofligate course of life,\" and the like.\n\nAnd yet nothing is more certain than that the larger number of them\nwent to death impenitent and hardened. The better sort were merely\nsulky; the worse cursed and flung indecent quips to the crowd, all\nthe way to the gallows. Nor need there be much wonder at it. To die\nfor taking a purse from a traveller must have seemed even to an\neighteenth-century highwayman, born into this state of things and\nbound to suffer by it, an extravagant penalty. Temperament, sanguine\nor otherwise, did the rest, and conditioned his attitude on the Tyburn\njourney.\n\nThe Reverend Thomas Pureney had a way of his own with sinners. He\ncould not make them truly penitent, but he could, and did, frighten\nthem almost into convulsions by a way he had in preaching. He was a\nnasty person, among a succession of forbidding persons. He stumbled\nas he walked: his nose and cheeks flamed with intemperance in drink:\nhe took the flavour of the pot-house with him whithersoever he went.\nNay, he even, as a youth, before ever he was educated for the Church,\nhad thoughts of himself going upon the highway, and indeed actually\nbegan the business of taking things without leave of the owners of\nthem. His first and only essay in this sort was the handling of a\nsilver flagon and two volumes of sermons, which he was conveying from\nthe rectory of his native place in Cambridgeshire, when the excellent\nclergyman discovered him with this singular booty and lectured him,\nnot unamiably. He would certainly end his days in Newgate, prosed the\ngood man, if he did not instantly see the error of his youthful ways,\nand reform. Why, that very reform, so far as it went, served, strange\nto say, to land him, years later, at Newgate; and there he ended,\nafter all; but very differently from the fashion the old clergyman had\nforeseen.\n\nHis respectable parent soon after this youthful escapade entered him\nat Corpus Christi College, Cambridge, and there he assimilated as much\nlearning as sufficed to place him in holy orders. But he had not been,\nin any sense of the word, a moral man while at the University, and\nalthough he found a curacy at Newmarket, it was with a reputation which\nrather fitted him for the society of the racecourse than for the pulpit\nthat he went there.\n\nThe eighteenth century demanded little of a clergyman, but even\nthat little our Pureney could not render, and he was flung out with\nignominy, even from Newmarket. Drink and flagrant immorality were the\nundoing of him there, and the rumours of his evil ways long followed\nhim about, and prevented him securing another post, until at last that\nof Ordinary at Newgate was tossed contemptuously to him. The suggestion\nof that office\u2014insult though it would have been to a decent man\u2014found\nin him a ready and grateful acceptance. No standard of conduct was\nrequired, and, joy of joys! he became pastor among the very kind of\nheroes who had fired the imagination of his perusing youth.\n\nHe lorded it over those caged gaol-birds with imperious ways for thirty\nyears, and in that time had the fortune to hob and nob with many a\nfamous rogue. Jack Sheppard and many a lesser light sat under him in\nthe prison chapel and listened to his outrageous sermons, promising\ndamnation and everlasting torment; and he had the singular fortune to\ncall the infamous Jonathan Wild a crony for some years, and in the\nend, when that appalling scoundrel had been found out and cast for the\nshameful death to which he had brought so many others, to preach the\nworm that dieth not to him also. It is true that, owing to his intimate\nacquaintance with Pureney, Wild did not greatly value his discourse,\nand sought and obtained the counsel and guidance of an outsider, the\nReverend Mr. Nicholson, to wit, who, he says, \"very Christian-like gave\nme his assistance\"; but the Ordinary came into his own again on the\nSunday, when the condemned, Wild among them, were herded into their\ngruesome pew in that most awful of chapels, and had to listen to his\nravings.\n\nPureney's account of the life, crimes, conviction and confession of\nJonathan Wild and of other malefactors condemned at the same time\nis a folio broadsheet, distinguished among a badly produced class\nof literature as surely the very worst-printed, on paper of the\ncommonest. A rude woodcut at the beginning discloses the Ordinary\nin a black Geneva gown, preaching to his charges (an extraordinarily\nlarge Ordinary, and remarkably small convicts), with conventional\nrepresentations of Heaven and Hell, to left and right. A Hand, bearing\na celestial crown a good many sizes too large for any of the convicts\nhere pictured, is seen amid clouds; the Ordinary, not at all astonished\nby the phenomenon, pointing to it and continuing his discourse.\n\n[Illustration: DECORATIVE HEADPIECE FROM PURENEY'S \"LIFE AND CONFESSION\nOF JONATHAN WILD AND FOUR OTHER MALEFACTORS.\"]\n\nHell's mouth, smoking like the exhaust of an over-lubricated motor-car,\nis occupied by a very convincing Devil, armed with an undeniably\nbusiness-like trident, who has most certainly got his eye rather\nupon the unsuspecting Ordinary than on the weak-kneed group of five\nmalefactors, one of whom appears by his attitude to prefer Hell to any\nmore of the Ordinary's exhortation. And, if all accounts of Pureney's\nlife and death be true, the Devil did get him, after all.\n\nSuch was the type of publication out of which Pureney earned an\naddition to his income; but the tale does not quite end here. The\nlast page is largely occupied with an advertisement of the most\nflagrantly indecorous and reprehensible character, of which even an\neighteenth-century clergyman of the Church of England might have been\nashamed. But the clergy fell generally far short of the ideal ministers\nand vicars of God. Whether in town or in the country, where \"Parson\nTrullibers\" abounded, they were a disgrace to their office; and even\nwhen they were earnest, which was seldom, provoked criticism by their\nextravagance.\n\nIn 1724, when Jack Sheppard, pickpocket and housebreaker, was again\nlying in Newgate, after being re-captured, his doings appealed greatly\nto the imagination of all. He was the most famous person of that\nyear, and great crowds thronged to see him. Sir James Thornhill,\nthe Royal Academician, painted his portrait; chapbooks innumerable,\nbadly written, and ill-printed, on vile paper, were issued before his\nexecution and sold in thousands to eager purchasers; and clergymen\ntook his career for their texts. One ingenious preacher, given to\nsensational discourse, outdid all his brethren in thus improving the\noccasion:\n\n\"Now, my beloved, what a melancholy consideration it is, that men\nshould show so much regard for the preservation of a poor, perishing\nbody, that can remain at most but a few years, and can at the same time\nbe so unaccountably negligent of eternity. Oh! what care, what pains,\nwhat diligence, and what contrivances are made use of for, and laid out\nupon, these frail and tottering tabernacles of clay, when, alas! the\nnobler part of us is allowed so very small a share of our concern that\nwe will scarce give ourselves the trouble of bestowing a thought upon\nit.\n\n\"We have, dear brethren, a remarkable instance of this, in a notorious\nmalefactor, well known by name as Jack Sheppard. What amazing\ndifficulties has he overcome! What astonishing things has he performed,\nfor the sake of a stinking, miserable carcase, hardly worth hanging!\nHow dexterously did he pick the padlock of his chain with a crooked\nnail! How manfully burst his fetters asunder, climb up the chimney,\nwrench out an iron bar, break his way through a stone wall, and make\nthe strong door of a dark entry fly before him, till he got upon the\nleads of the prison! And then, fixing a blanket to the wall with a\nspike, how intrepidly did he descend to the roof of the turner's house,\nand how cautiously pass down the stairs and make his escape at the\nstreet door!\n\n\"Oh! that ye were all like Jack Sheppard! Mistake me not, my brothers,\nI mean not in a carnal, but in a spiritual sense; for I purpose to\nspiritualise these things. What a shame it would be, if we did not\nthink it worth our while to take as much pains, and employ as many deep\nthoughts, to save our souls, as he has done to preserve his body! Let\nme exhort you, therefore, to open the locks of your hearts with the\nnail of repentance; burst asunder the fetters of your beloved lusts;\nmount the chimney of hope, take from thence the bar of good resolution,\nbreak through the stone wall of despair, and all the strongholds in\nthe dark valley of the shadow of death. Raise yourselves to the leads\nof divine meditation; fix the blanket of faith with the spike of the\nChurch; let yourselves down to the turner's house of resignation,\nand descend the stairs of humility. So shall you come to the door of\ndeliverance from the prison of iniquity, and escape the clutches of\nthat old executioner, the devil, who 'goeth about like a roaring lion,\nseeking whom he may devour.'\"\n\nNo doubt the preacher meant well, but his figurative style was too\npronounced.\n\nIt is easy and proper to be severe on the subject of the Newgate\nchaplains, but perhaps some allowance should be made for them,\non the score of the associations of prison life, always bad, but\nincredibly degrading in that age. If we except Pureney, who was\nhimself an instinctive criminal, the Ordinaries could not, all at\nonce, have become callous and depraved. They were not, of course, men\ndistinguished for learning or piety, for it was the practice to give\nthe chaplaincy to the dregs of the profession; but were doubtless,\nat the time of their appointment merely average men, eager to obtain\na livelihood. They ran very grave risks, too, in those days when\ngaol-fever ravaged the prison, and even infected the sessions-house.\nIt was highly dangerous to attend the prisoners, often indiscriminate\nin their revengeful violence, both in their cells and at the place of\nexecution. A peculiar incident recorded of an execution at Hertford, on\nMarch 25th, 1723, shows that all manner of indignities were possible.\nOn that day, when William Summers and another man named Tipping were\nturned off, the hangman was so intoxicated, that, supposing three\nhad been ordered for execution, he insisted on putting a rope round\nthe parson's neck as he stood in the cart, and was with difficulty\nprevented from stringing him up as well.\n\n[Illustration: SCANDALOUS SCENE AT A HERTFORD EXECUTION.]\n\nIt is only charitable to suppose that the Ordinaries must needs have\nbeen shocked when first introduced to their morally and physically\npestiferous charges, and gradually became used to their surroundings.\nLet us take a prisoner typical of those whom these divines attended:\n\nValentine Carrick is not so well-known a name as Maclaine, but he\nalso formed a popular sight during the short interval between his\nconviction and execution. \"James\" Carrick, as he is also styled, was\nson of a retired jeweller, who was wealthy enough to set up for a\ngentleman, and to purchase his son an ensign's commission in the army.\nLike hundreds of others of his class, the young ensign gambled freely;\nlike most, he lost, and like a large proportion of broken gamesters,\nhe sought to replenish his pockets by emptying those of travellers on\nthe King's highway by threats, and at the point of sword or muzzle of\npistol. He was one of the most reckless blades that ever the Stone Jug\nhad received. He applied the saying of the heedless folk mentioned in\nthe Bible to his own situation: \"Let us eat, drink, and be merry; for\nto-morrow we die.\" Others might laugh and tipple as they passed their\nfew days in the condemned hold; he did more, for he shouted and sang,\nand was generally roaring drunk.\n\nHundreds came to see this edifying spectacle, and the Newgate turnkeys\nreaped a rich harvest in fees paid by eager sightseers. Such an\nextraordinary rush impressed even the prisoner, who appears to have\nthought it very stupid. \"Good folks,\" he exclaimed, \"you pay for\nseeing me now, but if you had suspended your curiosity till I went to\nTyburn, you might have seen me for nothing.\" The company he kept\u2014and\nwas by the lax regulations of the prison readily allowed to keep\u2014in\ngaol was of the most depraved type. At any rate, these dissolute\ncompanions served to keep up his spirits to the very last, and followed\nhim to Tyburn itself, where he ended in the same vein: \"When he came\nto the place of Execution, he smiled upon, and made his Bows to all he\nknew. Instead of praying with the rest of the Criminals, he employ'd\nthat time in Giggling, taking Snuff, and making Apish Motions to divert\nhimself and the Mob. When Prayers were over, he told them the Sheriffs\nhad made an order that no Surgeons should touch his Body. The Ordinary\nadvised him to consider whither he was going, to which he answered\nthat, being a Roman Catholic, he had receiv'd no Sacrament, and\nprepar'd for Death in his own Way; and then, giving himself some pretty\nand genteel Airs (as he seem'd to think 'em) in adjusting the Halter\nabout his Neck, the Cart was drawn away.\"\n\nSo far from contrition and repentance being found in Newgate, the\nprison was generally, as we have seen, the riotous finish of an\nill-spent life. The interest with which they were regarded effectually\nprevented the prisoners from realising themselves the miserable sinners\nthey were officially declared to be from the chapel pulpit on Sundays.\nThe times were practically pagan.\n\nWilliam Hawke, or Hawkes, one of several men at different times styled\nthe \"Flying Highwayman,\" was greatly honoured. He had been condemned\nin July 1774, on the paltry charge of stealing a small quantity of\nlinen: quite beneath a person of his skill, and, like many another fine\nfellow, received very distinguished company as he lay in his dungeon\ncell. Rank and fashion, wit and beauty, enlivened his days and made\nthem pass cheerfully enough. Among others who called upon him was the\neccentric Colonel George Hanger, afterwards fourth Lord Coleraine, who\noffered him a handsome price for his horse, to which the high-minded\nHawke warmly responded: \"Sir, I am as much obliged to you for your\nproposal as for your visit. But,\" he added in a low tone, and in a wary\nmanner that implied his increasing confidence, \"the mare won't suit\nyou, perhaps, if you want her for the Road. It is not every man that\ncan get her up to a carriage.\"\n\nHanger was so exceedingly pleased with this little trait of\nprofessional sympathy that he advanced Hawke \u00a350, to enable him to\noffer bribes for his escape; but all efforts in that direction failing,\nthe highwayman later returned the money, with his grateful thanks.\nHe was buried in Stepney churchyard, with the following epitaph:\n\"Farewell, vain world, I've had enough of thee,\" over him, by his own\ndesire; an ineffective post-mortem repartee upon the world, which had\nalready so emphatically proved it had had enough of him.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nTHE WATCHMAN, AND THE EXECUTION BELL OF ST. SEPULCHRE\n\n\nRobert Dowe, citizen of London and merchant taylor, who died in 1612,\nbequeathed the annual sum of twenty-six shillings and eightpence to\nthe vicar and churchwardens of St. Sepulchre, for the time being,\nfor the delivery of a solemn exhortation to the condemned criminals\nin Newgate, on the night before their execution. The parish clerk,\nor other person that might be appointed for the purpose, it was laid\ndown by the terms of this bequest, \"should come in the night-time, and\nlikewise early in the morning, to the window of the prison where they\nlie, and there ringing certain tolls with a hand-bell appointed for the\npurpose, should put them in mind of their present condition and ensuing\nexecution, desiring them to be prepared therefor, as they ought to be.\nWhen they are in the cart, and brought before the wall of the church,\nat the beginning of their journey to Tyburn, there he shall stand\nready with the same bell, and, after certain tolls, he shall rehearse\na certain prayer, desiring all the people there present to pray for\nthem.\"\n\n\"Admonition to the Prisoners in Newgate, on the Night before Execution.\n\n    You prisoners that are within,\n    Who for wickedness and sin,\n\nafter many mercies shown, are now appointed to die to-morrow in the\nforenoon: give ear, and understand, that to-morrow morning the greatest\nbell of St. Sepulchre shall toll for you, in form and manner of a\npassing-bell, as used to be tolled for those that are at the point\nof death: to the end that all godly people, hearing that bell, and\nknowing it is for your going to your deaths, may be stirred up heartily\nto pray to God to bestow His grace and mercy upon you, whilst you\nlive. I beseech you, for Jesus Christ's sake, to keep this night in\nwatching and prayer, to the salvation of your own souls, while there\nis yet time and place for mercy; as knowing to-morrow you must appear\nbefore the judgment-seat of your Creator, there to give an account\nof all things done in this life, and to suffer eternal torments for\nyour sins committed against Him, unless upon your hearty and unfeigned\nrepentance, you find mercy through the merits of the death and passion\nof your only Mediator and Advocate, Jesus Christ, who now sits at\nthe right hand of God, to make intercession for as many of you as\npenitently return to Him.\"\n\nThen followed the:\n\n\"Admonition to the Condemned Criminals as they are passing by St.\nSepulchre's Church-wall to Execution.\n\n\"All good people, pray heartily unto God for these poor sinners, who\nare now going to their death, for whom this great bell doth toll.\n\n\"You that are condemned to die, repent with lamentable tears; ask mercy\nof the Lord, for the salvation of your own Souls, through the merits of\nJesus Christ.\n\n    Lord have mercy upon you.\n    Christ have mercy upon you.\"\n\nTo see that these injunctions were duly carried out, the Beadle of\nMerchant Taylors' Hall was given a \"modest stipend,\" but whether any\nother person drew a further sum for seeing to it that the Beadle saw\nthe parish clerk perform the duty does not appear.\n\nIt would seem that, as time went on, the watchman who patrolled the\nneighbourhood at night took over the duty of performing the midnight\nexhortation. By that time it had been crystallised into poetic form,\nand was no doubt, when delivered with due solemnity under the frowning\nwalls of Newgate at that midnight hour, a very impressive thing. Twelve\no'clock sounded slowly from the belfry of St. Sepulchre, and then,\nheard through barred windows in those massive walls of rusticated\nmasonry, came that deliberate recitation:\n\n    All you that in the condemned hold do lie,\n    Prepare you, for to-morrow you shall die.\n    Watch all, and pray, the hour is drawing near,\n    When you before the Almighty must appear.\n    Examine well yourselves, in time repent,\n    That you may not to eternal flames be sent;\n    Forswear your sins, trust in Christ's merit,\n    That Heavenly grace you may inherit;\n    And when St. Sepulchre's bell to-morrow tolls,\n    The Lord have mercy on your souls!\n\n              Past twelve o'clock!\n\n[Illustration: THE BELLMAN.\n\n    All you that in the condemned hold do lie,\n    Prepare you, for to-morrow you shall die.]\n\nWe may imagine, if we pause a moment, with the fearful story of that\nhistoric prison in our minds, the condemned men, merrymaking up\nto the last and receiving curious and dissolute visitors in their\nimprisonment, having their reckless carousing broken in upon by that\nawful message, and halting a moment, with an icy terror striking in\nupon their nerves, to realise that this, then, was the last chapter in\ntheir lives. We are not to suppose, however, that these solemn words,\nordained by the excellent Robert Dowe, made a lasting impression on\nthose for whom they were intended. The passing citizen, or the honest\ntradesman lying wakeful in his bed, probably was more deeply impressed.\nThe criminals themselves, as the long story of them through the\ndreadful centuries shows, were mostly callous. They had, the larger\nnumber of them, long over-passed the dread of death; and even with\nthose who were afraid, it was by tradition a point of honour to take\nthat last journey to Tyburn as gaily as though they were the central\nfigures in some merrymaking, instead of going to their own shameful\nextinction. Indeed, the populace expected no less, and while they were\nready to applaud the highwayman, who made his exit in gala costume, and\nwith something that might pass for wit on his lips, and were eager\nfor the honour of shaking him by the hand, they were not backward with\ncurses, stones, and mud when some poor devil, unnerved, or perhaps even\npenitent, broke down and was drawn, a miserable object, to the gallows.\n\nBut there were those critics who did not believe in the picturesque\nnocturnal method of admonishing malefactors of their approaching end.\nThey did not consider it was possible they could be oblivious of it, or\n\"as if Men in their Condition you'd have any stomach to Unseasonable\nPoetry\"; as that \"late famous, notorious robber,\" John Hall, executed\n1708, very pertinently remarks in his \"Memoirs.\"\n\nDid those criminals who were sincerely penitent properly value Mr. Dowe\nand his bequest? It is to be feared they did not altogether relish\nbeing woke up from the sleep (if they had any) of their last night\non earth. Of another sort than the generality of them, however, was\nSarah Malcolm, who died in 1733 for the murder of her mistress, Mrs.\nDuncombe. \"D'ye hear, Mr. Bellman,\" she shouted out from her window;\n\"call for a Pint of Wine, and I'll throw you a Shilling to pay for it.\"\n\nThe great bell of St. Sepulchre continued to toll on the morning of\nexecutions until 1890. It was to have been sounded at the execution\nof Mrs. Pearcey, but a guest at the Viaduct Hotel was lying ill at\nthe time, and a message being conveyed to the vicar, asking that it\nmight on this occasion be dispensed with, the old custom was then\ndiscontinued, and was not again renewed. It had, in fact, been merely\na sentimental survival since 1888, when the Charity Commissioners\nhad laid hands upon, and appropriated the \u00a350 left two hundred and\neighty-three years before. The midnight bellman had ceased his warning\ncry in 1783, when Tyburn executions ended and Newgate's prisoners began\nto be executed in the Old Bailey, on the very threshold of the prison.\n\n[Illustration: THE \"EXECUTION BELL,\" ST. SEPULCHRE.]\n\nThe original hand-bell reposes in a glass case on the north wall of the\nchancel of St. Sepulchre's church, with a suitable inscription.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nHANGMAN'S HIGHWAY: THE ROAD TO TYBURN\n\n    TYBURN:\n\n          _That most celebrated place,\n    Where angry justice shows her awful face;\n    Where little villains must submit to fate,\n    That great ones may enjoy the world in state._\n\n\nLet us now see something of that road\u2014that _Via Dolorosa_, as we may in\nall fitness call it\u2014along which the condemned, highwaymen and others,\nwent to Tyburn Tree. I shall style it \"Hangman's Highway.\" It is not a\npretty name, and it was never its official designation; but it is an\napt one. Since 1783, when it lost that unenviable notoriety, its social\nstatus has continually risen, and there is now not a more respectable\nthree-miles stretch of thoroughfare in London.\n\nIt had in remote ages been \"Hangman's Highway,\" for from the west\ngateway in the wall of Roman _Londinium_, from the spot in after-years\nknown as \"Newgate,\" the malefactors of the Roman period were marched\nout and done to death. But in medi\u00e6val times, the citizens of London,\nnot then so easily moved at the sight of executions, were content\nto allow criminals to be put to death in their midst, and we read\nof executions on Cornhill. A little later, and we find Smithfield\nchosen; a spot called \"The Elms,\" apparently situated opposite where\nSt. Bartholomew's Hospital stands, being the place where, not only\ncriminals of low degree, but many of high rank suffered. Here the\nScottish patriot, Wallace, was hanged in 1305, and here Mortimer was\nexecuted in 1330.\n\nHolinshed, indeed, deriving his information from Adam Murimuth, tells\na different tale. He says, of Mortimer: \"He was at London drawne and\nhanged at the commen place of execution called in those daies The\nElmes, and now Tiborne, as in some bookes we find.\"\n\nBut there is some confusion of ideas here: Tyburn did not become a\nplace of execution until long after, and St. Giles's was the next site\nof the gallows.\n\nIt was a little less than a hundred years later, that the newer\nchoice was made, for about 1413 we read that the gallows was set up\nat the northern boundary of the Leper Hospital of St. Giles, half-way\nto Tyburn. It is referred to in ancient documents as the \"Novelles\nfurches,\" _i.e._ the \"new forks\": in allusion to the arms of the\ngallows-tree. There, in 1417, Sir John Oldcastle was hanged and his\nbody afterwards burnt.\n\nBut Smithfield was still occasionally the scene of executions, and\nthere, also, the fires that consumed the Protestant martyrs in the\nMarian persecution were lighted. Even so late as 1693, the celebrated\nhighwayman, Captain James Whitney, was executed at Smithfield, on a\nspot known as \"Porter's Block,\" near Cowcross Street. The equally\ncelebrated, or notorious, John Cottington, called \"Mulled Sack,\" was\nhanged at \"Smithfield Rounds,\" some years earlier.\n\n\"The Elms\" was also the name of the earlier Tyburn, and much confusion\nhas naturally arisen over this duplicating of names. The original\nTyburn appears to have been established on the banks of a stream,\nwhich long ago ran across what is now Oxford Street, near Stratford\nPlace. Here, then, were those other elms, distinct from the fatal\nelms of Smithfield.[2] To this place the executions were remitted, no\ndoubt following upon the remonstrance of some aggrieved person, who\nfound the gallows of St. Giles injuring his property.[3] The continued\nwestward progression of Tyburn Tree is, indeed, a sign of the growth\nof London in that direction, and a proof of the very natural objection\nentertained by residents and owners of property to executions conducted\nin front of their windows.\n\nThe Tye Bourne obtained its name from the two branches, in which it\nflowed down from the Hampstead heights towards the Thames. The two\nstreams were something over half a mile apart: the easterly branch\ncrossing Oxford Street just below Stratford Place, and the westerly\u2014the\n\"West Bourne,\" that has itself also disappeared, but has given its\nname to Westbourne Grove and Westbourne Terrace\u2014flowing across the\nBayswater Road into Kensington Gardens. Its course lay along what is\nnow Kensington Gardens Terrace, and does so still: underground, and\nenclosed in a pipe.\n\nA Roman road went due west out of the West Gate of _Londinium_ to\njoin the Watling Street (which ran from Stangate, Lambeth, across the\nThames at Westminster, in a north-westerly direction to Edgware) at\nthe present junction of Oxford Street, Bayswater Road, and the Edgware\nRoad, occupying the line of the existing Oxford Street. It crossed the\neastward branch of the Tye Bourne by a paved ford: the \"strat-ford\"\n_i.e._ \"street ford,\" that long, long ago suggested a name for\nStratford Place. Even the great modern borough of St. Marylebone owes\nits name to this bourne, and to the original church of St. Mary, built\nnot far from its bank. The present Marylebone Lane owes its curious\nwindings to the fact that it was once a country lane that followed the\ntwists and turns of the little river.\n\nSt. Marylebone gets its name in a manner worth describing. The original\nchurch of St. John, Tyburn, that had stood from time immemorial\nbeside the banks of the Tye Bourne, between the Oxford Street end of\nwhat are now Marylebone Lane and Stratford Place, was situated in a\nvery lonely, yet exposed situation, on the great road from the City\nof London to the west. The village centred about where High Street,\nMarylebone, is now to be found, and the church and the village pound\nstood apart. So often was this original place of worship broken\ninto and desecrated by thieves and vagabonds that it became at last\nnecessary to remove it altogether. Accordingly, a licence was obtained\nin 1440 from the Bishop of London, Robert Braybrooke, to demolish\nthe building and to erect a new church in the village itself, to be\ndedicated to St. Mary. Hence the disuse of \"Tyburn\" and the rise of\n\"St. Mary-le-bourne.\"\n\nThe old Court House and vestry offices of Marylebone, in Marylebone\nLane, built in 1829, occupy the site of the ancient vestry and that of\nthe old pound for strayed cattle; and skeletons, found there in plenty\nat the building of it, were ascribed to the criminals anciently hanged\nand gibbeted on the spot, rather than thought to be the bones of the\nrespectable inhabitants.\n\nBut, however dangerous the neighbourhood for three hundred and\nsixty-four days of the year, it was on one summer's day, annually, the\nscene of a gay civic festival. Ever since 1239 there had been conduits\nestablished here for the supply of water to London\u2014that one square mile\nof London known as the City\u2014and to this spot on that annual occasion\nrepaired my Lord Mayor and aldermen, to feast in a building called the\n\"Banqueting House,\" that then stood in the pleasant country meadows.\nIt may be found, distinctly marked, on old maps, on the site of\nStratford Place, which itself is of considerable age, having been begun\nin 1744.\n\nA record is still preserved of that civic junketing in 1562,\nwhen, after lunch, the Lord Mayor and the other guests hunted the\nhare through the woods of St. Marylebone. Then they dined, and,\nthe huntsman having unearthed a fox, the hunt tailed away to St.\nGiles-in-the-Fields, where at last he was killed, \"with great hollowing\nand blowing of horns at his death.\"\n\nThere should never have been the slightest doubt as to the real meaning\nof the word \"Tyburn.\" It clearly means \"the two streams.\" Somewhat\nsimilar derivations of place-names are found in the numerous \"Twyfords\"\nthroughout the country, and in the name of Tiverton: the meanings\nbeing, of course, respectively, \"Two Fords,\" and \"Two Ford Town.\" But\nwe find such derivations as \"t'Ay Bourne,\" and the quaint passage\nwritten in 1617, \"Teyborne, so-called of bornes and springs and of\ntying men up there.\" Fuller, at any rate, if not prepared to suggest an\norigin, was not, on the other hand, content to accept the popular view.\nHe adopted a mildly critical attitude when he wrote his _Worthies_, and\nsaid: \"Some will have it from Tie and Burne, because the poor Lollards\nfor whom this instrument (of cruelty to them, though of justice to\nmalefactors) was first set up, had their necks tied to the beame, and\ntheir lower parts burnt in the fire. Others will have it that it is\ncalled from Twa and Burne; that is, two rivulets, which it seems meet\nnear to the place.\"\n\nBut the earliest mention of the stream, or streams, in A.D. 951, when\nit was called \"Teoburne,\" seems to settle the point, beyond reasonable\ndoubt.\n\nThe valley of this vanished stream can still most clearly be perceived,\nin the very marked dip in the road at this point, and its course onward\ntowards the Thames may be traced by Brook Street and Half Moon Street,\nto Piccadilly (where a similar dip in the road will be found) and so\ninto the Green Park.\n\nThe westward march of London in course of time moved on the Tyburn\n\"Elms,\" to a site midway between the two branches of the Tye Burn, and\nfixed the scene of execution for some two centuries at what was later\nknown as \"Tyburn Gate,\" until at last \"Tyburn,\" as a Golgotha, ceased\nto be, in 1783.\n\nThere was probably an excellent reason for this selection. The spot\nwas certainly not near either of the bournes, but it was, as already\npointed out, at a junction of roads, and it was then a place where\nthe greatest publicity could be given to the ways of justice\u2014or what\npassed for such\u2014with the breakers of laws. It was not, according to\nancient accounts, a nice place, even before the gallows was erected\nthere; being nothing but a barren heath, standing rather high above the\nsurrounding country, and with no houses near.\n\nThe road to this last Golgotha of London, before executions took place\noutside Newgate prison, is known by many names to-day: Holborn, High\nHolborn, New Oxford Street, and Oxford Street, along whose course it\nwould now be difficult to point out many historical survivals. The\nchurch of St. Sepulchre still stands, as of yore, immediately without\nthe site of the ancient City wall, and seems to many well versed in\nthe gloomy memories of the spot, to bear an ominous name, until it is,\nwith a little thought, recognised to be really dedicated in memory of\nthe Holy Sepulchre at Jerusalem. An ironic fate, indeed, it was that\nfor so many centuries associated its name with the last moments of the\ncapitally convicted.\n\nIts tower is prominent even now, but it was even more striking\u2014though\nmore closely hemmed in with houses\u2014before the Holborn Viaduct, in 1867,\nsuperseded the road that in the old days plunged down into the deep\nvalley of the Fleet River, that Old Bourne, or Hole Bourne, so greatly\nin dispute among antiquaries, and crossed here by Holborn Bridge, until\nthe improvements of the viaduct-building age overbuilt the valley, and\nswept away the bridge and the surrounding streets into the limbo of\nforgotten things.\n\n\"All, all are gone, the old familiar faces,\" sighed the poet; and the\nthing remains just as true and as sad when we substitute \"places\" to\nsuit our own present needs. Newgate prison is gone and Skinner Street\nis abolished, that once stood immediately adjoining St. Sepulchre\nchurch, and the only vestige remaining of it is a very plain tablet\ndated 1802, that may be found by the diligent and the quick-sighted\nin the dungeon-like crypt of the Guildhall Museum. The dirty alleys\nare gone too, and that is no loss\u2014and gone also is what was known to\nCockneys as \"'Obun 'ill.\" Holborn Hill, which, it need perhaps hardly\nbe explained, was the true name of this eminence, was not an Alp,\nnor even a Plinlimmon, but it remained to the very last a terror to\nLondon drivers, especially of heavy vehicles. It was a great thing when\nHolborn Viaduct was built, to have abolished those exceeding-steep\ngradients which faced all eastward\u2014and westward\u2014going traffic, and were\nterribly exacting to horses, especially in damp, greasy weather.\n\n[Illustration:\n\n  SKINNER\n  STREET,\n  1802.]\n\n\"'It 'im on the raw, mister!\" suggested a countryman in the old days\nto the omnibus driver, as the vehicle toiled up the steep, towards the\nCity.\n\nAlas! poor horse.\n\n\"Not yet,\" returned the driver, who knew his business; \"we saves that\nfor 'Obun 'ill!\" That was the supreme effort!\n\nThe descent of Holborn Hill was the first thing that lay before those\nold-time melancholy processions to the Elms in very ancient days, and\nto Tyburn, about half a mile further westward, in later ages; and\nsomething of what it was in the way of a descent we may still judge\nby looking down over the parapet of the Viaduct, on to Farringdon\nStreet, far below. Before the procession fairly started on its way\ndown this declivity, it halted by the porch of St. Sepulchre, and the\ncriminal, so soon to die, received a large nosegay from the clergyman,\nfor all the world as though he were a _d\u00e9butante_ upon the concert\nplatform, instead of his being about to make a painful and humiliating\nentry into the next world. The nosegay was generally tied in the best\nfashion, with white silken ribbons; and indeed, the thing was done in\nstyle by all present, not excepting the central figure, the condemned\nman, who was almost always, when he could afford it, dressed gaily\nand fashionably, as though he were going to a wedding. He went to his\ndeath like a gentleman, no matter how he had lived his life. The only\nderogatory circumstance about it was that, while the sheriff rode in\nhis carriage, the real hero of the day was obliged to go the journey in\na cart. For the rest, if he were a good-plucked one, the highwayman,\nforger, murderer, or pickpocket\u2014whatever was his crime\u2014went his way in\nreceipt of a continual ovation. He held the centre of the stage all the\nway. No one wanted to deprive him of this pre-eminence; be sure of that.\n\nOf these scenes Swift wrote in 1727:\n\n    As clever Tom Clinch, while the rabble was bawling,\n    Rode stately through Holborn to die at his calling,\n    He stopt at the \"Bowl\" for a bottle of sack,\n    And promised to pay for it when he came back.\n    His waistcoat and stockings and breeches were white,\n    His cap had a new cherry ribbon to tie't.\n    The maids to the doors and the balconies ran,\n    And said, \"Lack-a-day, he's a proper young man!\"\n    And as at the windows the ladies he spied,\n    Like a beau in a box, he bowed low on each side,\n    And when his last speech the loud hawkers did cry,\n    He swore from the cart, \"It was all a damn'd lie!\"\n    The hangman for pardon fell down on his knee:\n    Tom gave him a kick in the guts for his fee:\n    Then said, \"I must speak to the people a little;\n    But I'll see you all damn'd before I will whittle!\n    My honest friend Wild (may he long hold his place),\n    He lengthen'd my life with a whole year of grace.\n    Take courage, dear comrades, and be not afraid,\n    Nor slip this occasion to follow your trade;\n    My conscience is clear, and my spirits are calm,\n    And thus I go off, without prayer-book or psalm;\n    Then follow the practice of clever Tom Clinch,\n    Who hung like a hero, and never would flinch.\"\n\nThe original of this savage satire was, no doubt, Tom Cox, the\nyounger son of a gentleman of Blandford, who, resenting his meagre\nfortune under that old fetish of the English landowner, the law of\nprimogeniture, came to London for the purpose of adding to it in what\nwas then the conventional manner. His career was ended, too, by\nthe authorities with an equally slavish regard to precedent, for when\nconvicted at the Old Bailey of highway robbery, he was sentenced to\nbe hanged; and if, as a matter of fact, his actual ending at Tyburn\non June 3rd, 1691, was marked by an incident of striking originality,\nit was his own pluck and resource that provided the piquant sensation\ncreated, and nothing officially contributed.\n\n[Illustration: CLEVER TOM CLINCH GOING TO EXECUTION.]\n\nHe had been heedless in the extreme while in prison of the\nministrations of the Ordinary, and, being well provided with money,\nlived his last days riotously. Even when beneath the gallows at Tyburn\nhe remained unmoved, and when the Ordinary asked if he would not join\nwith his fellow-sufferers in prayer, he swore and kicked both him and\nthe hangman out of the cart. He was but twenty-six years of age when he\ndied.\n\nBut good humour generally prevailed on the way: \"The heroes of the day\nwere often on excellent terms with the mob, and jokes were exchanged\nbetween the men who were going to be hanged, and the men who deserved\nto be.\"\n\nNot only the \"mob\" enjoyed these occasions: people who, by position and\neducation ought to have known better, made a point of either witnessing\nthe start, or, better still, of being present at the actual execution.\nThose were not constituent items of the \"mob\" who, for example, paid\ntheir half-crowns for seats in the grand stand that was a permanent\nstructure at Tyburn, to witness the final scene; but they had all the\nferocity of mobs, and showed it one day in 1758, when, having paid\ntheir money to see Dr. Henesey hanged, he was not hanged, but reprieved\ninstead. Enraged at this shameful breach of faith\u2014and not at all glad\nthat one fellow-mortal had at the eleventh hour escaped a shameful\nend\u2014they wrecked the seats and departed in a by no means appeased\nill-humour.\n\nSome enthusiastic sightseers walked all the way: they could not have\ntoo much of a good thing. Happy were those who could not only do that,\nbut could by favour secure a place next the criminal himself! T. J.\nSmith, who wrote the well-known volume called _A Book for a Rainy\nDay_, tells how, as a little boy, he was nearly given such a treat. He\ndid, at any rate, witness the start, under the care of Nollekens, and\nsaw the clergyman give the condemned malefactor the nosegay: but the\ngreater treat was, by a mere accident, not to be his.\n\n\"Tom, my little man,\" whispered Nollekens, \"if my father-in-law, Mr.\nJustice Welch, had been high constable, we could have walked beside the\ncart all the way to Tyburn.\"\n\nWhere Holborn Viaduct ends westward in the Circus, graced in these\nlatter days of ours with that polite equestrian statue of the Prince\nConsort, lifting his cocked hat so high to omnibus passengers, the\nTyburn procession arrived at the summit of Holborn Hill; passing to\nit beneath the tall tower of St. Andrew's church. The respectable\ninhabitants of Thavies' Inn\u2014that demure row of red-brick houses on\nthe left hand, built late in the seventeenth century, or early in the\neighteenth\u2014were, we may be sure, as eager to view the passing show as\nwere the \"lower orders.\" The windows of the \"Old Bell\" inn, last but\none of the ancient galleried inns of London, demolished so recently\nas 1897, were, no doubt, in great demand; and indeed, at all the many\nhostelries on the line of march the sightseers gathered, and at one\nand the same time satisfied their curiosity and quenched the thirst it\nprovoked. But gone are all the relics of the coaching days, and most\nothers. Holborn is not what it was. Nothing is.\n\nThe weirdest jokes were current of the doomed criminals' behaviour on\nthis melancholy way. Thus Thomas Witherington, executed in 1635, when\ngoing up Holborn Hill, requested that the cart might be stopped, for\nhe desired to speak to the sheriff's deputy, who was conducting the\naffair. \"Sir,\" he is reported to have said, when the deputy asked what\nit was he wanted, \"I owe a small matter at the 'Three Cups' inn, a\nlittle further on, and I am afraid I shall be arrested for debt as I go\nby the door. So I shall be much obliged to you if you will be pleased\nto carry me down Shoe Lane and bring me up Drury Lane again, so that we\ndon't pass it, and perhaps lose my appointment at Tyburn.\"\n\nThe deputy, entering into the humour of it, said he could not alter the\nroute, but, if they were stopped, he would certainly go bail for him;\nand so Witherington, \"not thinking he had such a good Friend to stand\nby him in time of need, rid very contentedly to Tyburn.\"\n\nAs these cavalcades progressed, they came gradually into the country.\nThey passed the ultimate boundaries of the City at Holborn Bars, where\nthe ancient timbered and gabled buildings of Staple Inn still look\nacross the road to what is now Gray's Inn Road, but was then merely a\nlane. Near by is Furnival Street, formerly Castle Street, as a tablet\ndated 1785 proclaims.\n\n[Illustration:\n\n  Castle Street\n  1785]\n\n\"Holborn Bars\" is a name that but mildly stimulates the curiosity of\nmodern Londoners, who, seeing no bars here, wonder idly about the\nname, resolve to inquire about it, and then in the busy life they\nlead, forget their passing interest. There were toll-bars here in the\nhighwaymen's days, and those who care to seek for themselves may still\ndetermine the exact boundary of the City of London, for a granite\nobelisk on either side of the road, bearing the City arms, still\nmarks the spot. London had reached thus far early in the seventeenth\ncentury, but it went little further westward for another hundred years.\n\nThe names of Great Turnstile, Little Turnstile, and New Turnstile,\nnow narrow side streets, giving upon Lincoln's Inn Fields, are\nreminiscences of the time when the land westward of Lincoln's\nInn really was meadow-land, instead of a London square garden\nsurrounded by houses. These various \"Turnstile\" streets still keep\nthe ancient narrowness of the country lanes they once were, when the\n\"kissing-gates,\" or turnstiles, led into green fields spangled with\nbutter-cups and daisies; but such things are things of long ago: the\nold wall-tablet at the Holborn end of New Turnstile, dated 1688,\nshowing when the rustic pathways were first exchanged for streets, and\nthe wayside hedges for bricks and mortar. Until quite recent years\nTichborne Court remained near by, with its fine tablet bearing the\nTichborne arms and the date 1685.\n\n[Illustration:\n\n  NEW\n  TURN\n  STYLE\n  1688]\n\nKingsway, London's new street, immediately westward, has been driven\nalong the line of Little Queen Street since 1903; its name in some\nfashion intended to perpetuate the route taken by Charles the Second\nbetween Whitehall and Newmarket. When His Majesty shed the light of\nhis countenance upon the races, or when he merely wished to visit his\npalace at Theobalds, near Cheshunt, his way would lie along what is\nnow Kingsway, across Holborn, along the now vanished Kingsgate Street\n(demolished in 1903, in the Holborn to Strand street-improvements),\nand into the Theobald's Road. Kingsgate Street derived the second\npart of its name from it having been a private road for the King's\nown use: barred and locked against the passage of meaner folk, except\nin the case of a privileged few, fortunate enough to obtain passes.\nLess influential people, passing on foot, on horseback, or by carriage\ntowards Cheshunt and Newmarket, in the wake of the Court, had to\nstruggle as best they might through a network of peculiarly evil\nand muddy lanes, infested with highwaymen, who, nothing daunted by\nwitnessing the dismal processions of their brethren going westward,\nrobbed with celerity and an exquisite assurance those who, repairing to\nthe races, would in all likelihood have lost their guineas on Newmarket\nHeath.\n\n[Illustration:\n\n  TICHBORN COURT\n  ANNO DNI. 1685]\n\nThus we read in one of the \"News Letters\" of Charles the Second's\ntime, under date of 1666: \"Last Monday week in Holborn Fields, while\nseveral gentlemen were travelling to Newmarkett, to the Races there,\na Highway Man very politely begg'd their Purses, for he said he was\nadvis'd that he should win a great Sum if he adventur'd some guineas\nwith the Competers at New-Market on a certain horse call'd 'Boopeepe,'\nwhich my Lord Excetter was to run a match. He was so pressing that they\nresign'd their Money to his keeping (not without sight of his pistols);\nhe telling them that, if they would give him their names and the names\nof the places where they might be found, he would return to them that\nhad Lent, at usury. It is thought that his Venture was not favourable,\nfor the Gentlemen have not receiv'd neither Principle nor Interest. It\nis thought that it was Monsieur Claud Du Vall, or one of his knot, that\nVentur'd the Gentlemen's money for them.\"\n\nNot only have all those lanes disappeared in the long ago, but even\nsuch comparatively late landmarks as Kingsgate Street are no more:\nKingsgate Street, the home of Sairey\u2014\"which her name is well beknownst\nis S. Gamp.\"\n\nA little distance further westward, the Londoner not deeply versed in\nthe ancient lore of the metropolis is greatly surprised at finding High\nHolborn curving boldly to the left and departing in the most marked\nmanner from that straight line to the west traced nowadays by New\nOxford Street. He does not know, or does not stop to consider, that\nNew Oxford Street really is new, as newness in streets goes. It is,\nin fact, not older than 1847. Before it was made, there was no good\nthrough-route between the City and Tyburn, and the line of road went by\na circuitous course, still easily traced\u2014by High Holborn, Broad Street,\nand High Street, Bloomsbury. Passing under the very shadow of the\nChurch of St. Giles\u2014anciently \"St. Giles-in-the-Fields\"\u2014the road again\nfell into the straight line opposite Tottenham Court Road.\n\nThe reason for this curious departure from the direct course is thought\nto have been the existence in ancient times of a lake, or marsh\u2014a\ncertain \"Rugmere\" mentioned in old records\u2014covering the site of what is\nnow New Oxford Street. However that may have been, this marsh must in\ncourse of centuries have dried up, for the site was built upon in later\nages.\n\nIt was not an idyllic village that by degrees came into existence\nhere. It formed an annexe to St. Giles's, a village itself associated\nfrom remote times with undesirables. A leper hospital was one of the\nearly features of the place, and poverty and crime in later years came\nto roost by natural selection there; until, in fact, the proverbial\nconjunction of St. James's and St. Giles's, indicating the opposite\nextremes of aristocratic elegance and unredeemed vulgar squalor,\nwas coined out of its flagrant raggedness and dirt. The particular\nspot through which New Oxford Street runs, was the deepest deep\nof that foul slum. Drink and depravity met there and flourished.\nIt was generally known, this very microcosm of criminal life, as\n\"The Rookery,\" but satirists called it, in obvious contrast with\nits real character, the \"Holy Land.\" None dared venture into that\nselect purlieu, except under police protection; and London breathed\nmore freely when, in 1844, it was at last decided to remove this\nlong-threatened plague-spot. Three years later, the new thoroughfare\nwas opened; the improvement had cost no less a sum than \u00a3290,227 4s.\n10d., of which \u00a3113,963 went to the Duke of Bedford, as compensation,\nalthough the work had the effect of increasing the value of his\nadjoining property. The transaction is an eloquent instance of the\nmarvellous and continued success of the Russell family in feeding fat\nupon the body politic, like lice upon the corporeal body. It does not\nappear that, although His Grace was advantaged thus enormously, both by\nbetterment and by compensation, the unfortunate owners and occupiers of\nhouses and business premises in those highways suddenly converted into\nbyways received any of the much-needed compensation for the \"worsement\"\nthey suffered. For when New Oxford Street was made, the fortunes of\nHigh Street, Bloomsbury, of Broad Street, and of the circuitous part of\nHigh Holborn were at once shattered, and they at one stroke became the\nbyways they have ever since remained.\n\nSwift, in his ballad of \"Clever Tom Clinch,\" mentions the \"Bowl\"\ninn, at which the convict called \"for a bottle of sack.\" This was\na house that stood at the corner of what is now Endell Street and\nBroad Street. For \"sack,\" which Swift probably used for the sake of\nthe rhyme with \"come back,\" read ale, and the verse is true to facts;\nfor the processions halted at the \"Bowl\" ale house, and the criminals\nwere offered a drink of ale; and it does not seem ever to be recorded\nof them that they refused it. Perhaps they took with them memories of\nthe old saying, that \"the saddler of Bawtry was hanged for leaving\nhis ale\": an unfortunate occurrence directly attributable to his\nill-humour. No one knows what the saddler had done, but he was to die\nfor it, and being led out to York's execution place, on Knavesmire,\nturned from the drink offered him on the way. He had been effectually\nhanged only a minute or two, when an unexpected reprieve came by a\nhurried messenger; too late.\n\nAll the good-plucked ones on their way to Tyburn, were not only\nexpected to take their ale, but to make that joke about \"coming back\"\nto pay for it. It was as essential and as conventional as the clown's,\n\"Here we are again!\" Some surly ruffian might be moved, once in a way,\nto drain the bowl, fling it empty at the landlord, and bid him \"wait\nfor payment till he met him in H\u2014ll\"; but that was ungentlemanly, and\nthe assignation not certain of fulfilment. Sometimes it would happen\nthat one of these travellers going on to dance upon nothing at Tyburn\nwould make variations upon the old theme; but nothing seems to have\nbeen quite so neat as the last remark of an atrocious villain, Tom\nAustin, who, when he stood with the rope round his neck, replied to the\nOrdinary's query if he had anything to say before he died: \"Nothing:\nonly there's a woman yonder with some curds and whey, and I wish I\ncould have a pennyworth of them before I am hanged, because I don't\nknow when I shall see any again.\"\n\n[Illustration: AT THE \"BOWL.\"]\n\nLeaving the \"Bowl\" and threading the narrow passage of High Street,\nBloomsbury, the processions, passing St. Giles's Pound, came into\nthe \"Tyburn Road,\" called sometimes \"the Oxford Road,\" and now, and\nsince about 1718, styled Oxford Street. Lysons, in his _Environs of\nLondon_, says the row of the first few houses on the north side of\nTyburn Road westward of the Tottenham Court Road, was completed in\n1729, and then it was first called Oxford Street; but he is clearly\nin error, for until about 1888 there remained built into the wall of\nNo. 1, Oxford Street, on the south side, at the first-floor level, an\noval tablet inscribed, \"This is Oxford Streete, 1725.\" When the houses\nwere rebuilt, this simple relic disappeared. But a still earlier tablet\nremains to disprove Lysons. This is one built into the wall of a house\nat the corner of Rathbone Place, which announces \"Rathbones Place in\nOxford Street 1718.\" The omission of the possessive case apostrophe\nhas a somewhat gruesome effect, when we consider the old story of\nOxford Street; but the side street was then the property of a certain\nCaptain Rathbone. Oxford Street then had a very unenviable reputation.\nPennant's description of it in his own youthful days forms interesting\nreading.\n\n[Illustration:\n\n  THIS IS\n  OXFORD STREETE\n  1725]\n\n\"I remember Oxford Street,\" he says, \"a deep hollow road, and full\nof sloughs; with here and there a ragged house, the lurking-place of\ncut-throats: insomuch that I was never taken that way by night in my\nhackney-coach, to a worthy uncle's, who gave me lodgings in his house\nin George Street, but I went in dread the whole way.\"\n\n[Illustration:\n\n  RATHBONES\n  PLACE IN\n  OXFORD\n  STREET\n  1718]\n\nRathbone Place did not long remain the most westerly street. By 1725 a\ngood deal of the parish of St. George, Hanover Square, on the opposite\nside of the road, was in existence, and was at once fashionable; and\nThomas Street, with its tablet dated 1725, shows that, originally as\n\"Bird Street,\" it had carried the bricks and mortar tide still further.\n\nIt can easily be understood that the stigma of the Tyburn route was\nat this period of development beginning to be resented by these new\nsettlers, who glanced with loathing at the crowds who came to give the\ncondemned a good send-off.\n\n[Illustration:\n\n  BIRD\n  STREET\n  1725]\n\nIt was said that 200,000 persons visited Tyburn to witness the\nexecution of Ferdinand, Marquis Paleotti, in 1718, for the murder of\nhis servant, named, by a curious coincidence, Jack Sheppard, and thus\nby no means to be confounded with the famous Jack Sheppard, pickpocket\nand burglar, who was executed here in 1724.\n\nHenri Misson, one of the most entertaining and instructive of foreign\ntravellers in England, who travelled among us in 1718, and wrote\nhis experiences and impressions, says: \"Hanging is the most common\nPunishment in England. Usually this Execution is done in a great Road\nabout a quarter of a League from the Suburbs of London. The Sessions\nfor trying Criminals being held but Eight Times a Year, there are\nsometimes twenty Malefactors to be hang'd at a time.\n\n\"They put five or six in a Cart (some gentlemen obtain leave to perform\nthis journey in a coach) and carry them riding backwards, with the\nRope about their Necks, to the fatal Tree. The Executioner stops the\nCart under one of the Cross Beams of the Gibbet, and fastens to that\nill-favoured Beam one End of the Rope, while the other is round the\nWretches Neck. This done, he gives the Horse a Lash with his Whip, away\ngoes the Cart, and there swings my Gentleman Kicking in the Air.\n\n\"The Hangman does not give himself the Trouble to put them out of their\nPain; but some of their Friends or Relations do it for them. They pull\nthe dying Person by the Legs, and beat his Breast, to dispatch him as\nsoon as possible. The English are People that laugh at the Delicacy of\nother Nations, who make it such a mighty Matter to be hanged. Their\nextraordinary Courage looks upon it as a Trifle, and they also make a\nJest of the pretended Dishonour that, in the opinion of others, fall\nupon their Kindred.\n\n\"He that is to be hanged, or otherwise executed, first takes Care to\nget himself shaved and handsomely dressed; either in Mourning, or in\nthe Dress of a Bridegroom. This done, he sets his Friends at Work to\nget him Leave to be buried, and to carry his Coffin with him, which\nis easily obtained. When his Suit of Clothes, his Night Gown, his\nGloves, Hat, Periwig, Nosegay, Coffin, Flannel Dress for his Corps,\nand all those things are bought and prepared, the main Point is taken\nCare of. His Mind is at Peace, and then he thinks of his Conscience.\nGenerally he studies a Speech, which he pronounces under the Gallows,\nand gives in Writing to the Sheriff or the Minister that attends him\nin his last Moments; desiring that it may be printed. Sometimes the\nGirls dress in White, with great Silk Scarves, and carry Baskets full\nof Flowers and Oranges, scattering these Flowers all the Way they go.\nBut, to represent Things as they really are, I must needs own that if a\npretty many of these People dress thus gaily, and go to it with such an\nAir of Indifference, there are many others that go slovenly enough, and\nwith very dismal Phizzes.\"\n\n[Illustration: AN EXECUTION AT TYBURN.]\n\nJonathan Wild, hanged May 24th, 1725, was a whimsical fellow at the\nlast of his career, for he picked the pocket of the Ordinary on the\nway. It is perhaps most exquisitely characteristic of the race of\nNewgate Ordinaries that the article stolen was a corkscrew. \"Jonathan\nWild the Great,\" as Fielding calls him, \"died with the eloquent trophy\nin his hand.\"\n\nHalf a century later, those Newgate chaplains enjoyed an equally\nbad\u2014if, indeed, not a worse\u2014reputation, and a slighting remark is made\nin Storer's letter to George Selwyn, in describing the execution of Dr.\nDodd for forgery, on June 27th, 1777. He rode to Tyburn in exceptional\nstate, in a carriage, and as a heavy rain-shower was falling at the\nmoment of his entering the cart, an umbrella was held over him, so\nthat he might not be wetted. It was unfeelingly remarked at the time\nthat the precaution was entirely unnecessary, for he was going to a\nplace where he would soon be dried. John Wesley, who also witnessed the\nexecution, was of a different, and a more charitable, opinion. \"I make\nno doubt,\" he said, \"but at that moment the angels were ready to carry\nhim into Abraham's bosom.\"\n\n\"He was a considerable time in praying,\" says Storer, \"which some\npeople about seemed rather tired with; they rather wished for a more\ninteresting part of the tragedy. There were two clergymen attending\nupon him, one of whom seemed very much affected. The other, I suppose,\nwas the Ordinary of Newgate, as he was perfectly indifferent and\nunfeeling in every thing he said and did.\"\n\nIn Hogarth's print of the final scene in the life of the _Idle\nApprentice_, arrived at Tyburn to be hanged, we have a very painstaking\nrepresentation by that matter-of-fact artist of one of these fearfully\nfrequent executions. Hogarth was the most uncompromising realist; he\nset down what he saw, and extenuated nothing. Thus, in this view, we\nmay be quite sure we see a typical execution in the middle of the\neighteenth century; the criminal seated in the cart, with his coffin\ndolorously ready to receive his body, while with one eye upon the\nprayer-book, and the other on the ribald crowd, he strives to pay\nattention to the last exhortations of the Ordinary, who is seen with\nuplifted hand and finger pointing to the sky, apparently comforting him\nwith the assurance that he shall find that mercy in the other world,\nwhich man has denied him in this.\n\n[Illustration: EXECUTION OF THE IDLE APPRENTICE AT TYBURN.\n\n  _After Hogarth._]\n\nThe sheriff's mounted guard, with their halberds, look unconcernedly\non, for this is an almost everyday business with them. One is seen\njoking with a comrade. Drunken women are drinking gin, pickpockets are\nat work, and a slatternly woman is crying the \"Last Dying Speech and\nConfession of Thomas Idle.\"\n\nOn the right hand is the permanent stand for those spectators who\nwere above mixing with the mob, and were prepared to pay well for the\ncomfortable circumstances in which they could witness a fellow-creature\npublicly put to a shameful death. Close by, you perceive the\n\"three-legged mare\" itself, at that time a fixed, and a very roomy\nand most substantial structure, designed to accommodate as many as a\ndozen or so criminals at one time; so plentiful then were the hangings.\nThe hangman himself is seen to be idly reclining on top, smoking a\ncontemplative pipe, until it shall please the clergyman to finish, and\nhand over the doomed man to him. And there is the Sheriff's carriage,\nand on the left hand the brick wall, which then enclosed Hyde Park. In\nthe far distance are seen the pleasant heights of Notting Hill, then in\nthe open country, and no doubt a spot where the innocent delights of\ngathering hazel-nuts could still be enjoyed, as in the times when it\nwas first called the \"nutting\" hill.\n\n[Illustration: QUEEN HENRIETTA MARIA PRAYING AT TYBURN.]\n\nSo changed are the modern circumstances of the spot where Tyburn Gate\nin later times, and Tyburn gallows in earlier years, stood, that vexed\ncontroversies are continually arising as to the exact spot on which the\ngallows was erected. It is not, really, a difficult point to settle.\nThe structure shown in Hogarth's engraving, and displayed in a still\nearlier German print, in which Queen Henrietta Maria, the consort of\nCharles the First, is seen to be making pilgrimage and praying for the\nsouls of her Roman Catholic servants hanged here, was erected exactly\nin the middle of the road, where, as you go westward, the straight line\nof Oxford Street and the Bayswater Road is met by the Edgware Road.\nOld maps indisputably prove it, and the point is more particularly\nsettled by a large and very detailed plan of the parish of St. George,\nHanover Square, made in 1725, and until recently in the vestry. It is\nnow in the Buckingham Palace Road branch of the Westminster Public\nLibraries, where an old engraving of it also hangs on the staircase.\nThis plan shows the parish boundary running up Park Lane to Oxford\nStreet, and there meeting the boundaries of Marylebone and Paddington,\nat the junction of Oxford Street, the Bayswater Road, and the Edgware\nRoad. The three boundaries all meet in the middle of this confluence of\nthoroughfares, and there the gallows is shown, one of its three legs in\neach parish.\n\nIn its later years, Tyburn as a hanging place became more varied, and\nthe permanent gallows gave way to a temporary one, erected at different\npoints somewhat further west. Two circumstances suggested this:\nfirstly, the building of houses overlooking the scene, and the natural\nwish of the tenants that such dreadful exhibitions should not be\ndisplayed absolutely beneath their windows; and secondly, the even more\npractical necessity of ridding the public highway of the obstruction\ncaused by the permanent scaffold. The key to this question of removal\nis found in the _Gazetteer_, May 4th, 1771, which remarked that the\nDowager Lady Waldegrave was having a \"grand house built near Tyburn,\"\nand added that, \"Through the particular interest of her ladyship, the\nplace of execution will be removed to another spot.\"\n\nThe highwaymen who suffered so largely here had in their lives, been\na danger and a hindrance upon the highway, and they were now found,\noddly enough, in the circumstances of their taking off, to be an equal\nnuisance. The road at this point had begun to be enclosed on all sides,\nand traffic, no longer able to avoid that ominous timber framework,\nwould have actually been blocked by it. So, as with the passing of the\nyears it had been found that executions tended somewhat to decrease,\nthe permanent gallows was at last disestablished, and a new and movable\none was constructed. This was used practically all over the area\nbounded by Tyburn Gate, at the junction of roads already described;\nby Bryanston Street, Seymour Street, Connaught Square, Stanhope\nPlace, and so round by the Bayswater Road to Tyburn Gate again. The\nsite of No. 6, Connaught Place, has been particularly mentioned, and,\nmore particularly still, that of No. 49, Connaught Square, which the\noriginal lease from the freeholder, the Bishop of London, declares to\nhave been the place where the gallows stood.\n\nIt was in 1783 that Dr. Johnson, that revered philosopher, declaimed\nagainst the changes then being witnessed. Perhaps the novelty that most\nangered him was the proposed abolition of the degrading processions\nof condemned malefactors from Newgate to Tyburn. \"The age is running\nmad after innovation,\" he exclaimed to Sir William Scott, \"and all the\nbusiness of the world is to be done in a new way; men are to be hanged\nin a new way; Tyburn itself is not safe from the fury of innovation.\"\n\nIt was timorously remarked that this change would, at any rate, be\nan improvement upon the old order of things; but Johnson, like most\nelderly men, thoroughly believed in what has been styled, \"the gospel\nof things as they are,\" and he vehemently retorted, \"No, sir, it is\n_not_ an improvement; they object that the old method drew together a\nnumber of spectators. Sir, executions are intended to draw spectators.\nIf they do not draw spectators, they don't answer their purpose.\nThe old method was most satisfactory to all parties: the public was\ngratified by a procession; the criminal was supported by it. Why is all\nthis to be swept away?\"\n\nBut the age was more progressive than Dr. Johnson, and 1783 did\nactually witness the last execution at Tyburn. Unhappily, public\nexecutions did not come to an end at the same time; such dismal\nexhibitions continuing in London to draw huge and riotous crowds at\nthe Old Bailey until they were finally abolished in 1868. The old\nexcuse for public executions\u2014that they were valuable as deterrents from\ncrime\u2014had long been proved singularly ill-founded; and it was notorious\nthat these gruesome occasions, in some morbid fashion, attracted not\nonly a ruffianly and callous assemblage, but brought all the graduates\nin crime to the spot to witness a scene in which themselves would,\nin all probability, some day figure as chief actors. The last dying\nspeeches of the criminals were heard by few in the crowd, and were\naptly described as \"exhortations to shun a vicious life, addressed to\nthieves actually engaged in picking pockets.\" The hardened wretches\nwho looked on at these last scenes, and who had, many of them, already\nqualified for a place in the cart, had a kind of perverted professional\npride. They applauded when a malefactor, with a curse and a jest, \"died\ngame,\" and they howled disapproval when some poor nervous creature\nbroke down pitifully on the verge of eternity.\n\nWe observe in the rough but effective old woodcut which graces,\nor at any rate, occupies, if it does not grace, the end of this\nchapter, a criminal, not only dying game (in spite of the curious\nblack-faced, cheerful, parrot-like hangman above, who seems to be\nthoroughly enjoying himself), but apparently distributing handbills;\nvery much to the astonishment of the sheriff's bodyguard, whose faces\nexhibit a singular variety of emotions. Perhaps the criminal is so\nunconcerned because he knows it impossible to hang him on so short\na gallows as that shown here. The illustration is one of the curious\nseventeenth-century representations of current events that formed the\npictorial news of the age.\n\nThe last person actually to be executed at Tyburn was John Austin,\nhanged there November 7th, 1783.\n\n[Illustration: [++] MAN BEING HUNG.]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nTHE WAYSIDE GIBBETS\n\n     _The dead bodies of thy servants have they given to be meat unto\n     the fowls of the heaven, the flesh of thy saints unto the beasts\n     of the earth._\u2014PSALM lxxix. 2.\n\n\nThe highwaymen were not specifically servants of the Lord, and\ncertainly never numbered a saint in their ranks; but the point to be\nmade here is that, after all, they were human beings, who lived in\na supposedly civilised country, and were entitled to be turned off\nin a gentlemanly way; and, their crimes being thus expiated, to be\nburied decently and allowed to rest. For a murderer, it may readily be\nconceded, nothing could be too severe in the way of punishment. Let the\nbodies of those who profane God's temple be themselves profaned with\nevery offensive circumstance. But for mere robbery upon the highway the\nmethods of the law were too drastic.\n\nWhen it was considered more than usually desirable to convey a warning\nto evil-doers in general, and highwaymen in particular, that Justice\nwas still vigilant and ready to punish crime, the bodies of executed\nmalefactors were occasionally set up along the roads on tall gallows\nand hanged, or \"gibbeted,\" there in chains or in an especially\nconstructed iron framework, so that they might remain for a length of\ntime, to preach an eloquent sermon to some classes of the passers-by,\nand to disgust others.\n\nAmong the features of the country to which the old map-makers\nespecially devoted their attention, the gibbets and the beacons along\nthe roads are most prominent. Ogilby, in his _Britannia_ of 1675, shows\na startlingly large \"gallows,\" like a football goal, a mile and a half\non the London side of Croydon, and on the Tarporley-Chester Road shows\na \"Gibbit,\" two miles and a half from Chester.\n\n[Illustration: THE ROAD NEAR CHESTER, 1675.]\n\nThere was never any lack of subjects for gibbeting purposes, but\nit was generally desired to preserve the criminal's body as long as\npossible, to avoid the trouble and expense of replacing him with a\nfresh subject; and to that end the practice was either to place the\nbody in a copperful of boiling pitch, or to pour pitch over it. So\ntreated, it would last an almost incredibly long time: always supposing\nthe relatives of that public exhibit did not come by stealth and make\naway with it.\n\nThere are still a few gibbets to be found in England: but rarely, or\nnever, the original posts. A sentiment which we are not quite prepared\nto declare a perverted one, but which is certainly a sufficiently\ngruesome manifestation of antiquarian enthusiasm, has led to the old\ngibbet-posts being renewed from time to time in several places; and\nthere they stand, on hill-tops or by roadsides, reminders of those\nfearful old times when such things as these could be.\n\nIn these pages we are concerned only with those that bear upon the\nsubject of the highwaymen. Among these Caxton Gibbet is prominent,\nstanding as it does on the North Road, between Royston and Alconbury\nHill. The particular spot where the gibbet stands is an exceedingly\nlonely, and, to some minds dismal, stretch of road that winds in\nthe flat, featureless lands, with never a house in sight but the\nneighbouring wayside alehouse, the \"Gibbet\" Inn. Only one mile distant\nis the village of Caxton, but to all appearances the spot might be\nmany miles remote from even a hamlet.\n\nCaxton, according to Cobbett, resembles a Picardy village; \"certainly\nnothing English,\" he savagely continued, \"except some of the rascally\nrotten boroughs in Cornwall and Devonshire, on which a just Providence\nseems to have entailed its curse. The land just about here does seem to\nbe really bad. The face of the country is naked. The few scrubbed trees\nthat now and then meet the eye, and even the quick-sets, are covered\nwith a yellow moss. All is bleak and comfortless; and just on the most\ndreary part of this most dreary scene, stands almost opportunely,\n'Caxton Gibbet,' tendering its friendly one arm to the passers-by.\nIt has recently been fresh painted, and written on in conspicuous\ncharacters.\"\n\n[Illustration: CAXTON GIBBET.]\n\nAnd so it remains to-day.\n\nAmong the criminals gibbeted on the original Caxton Gibbet was George\nAtkins, who in 1671 had murdered Richard Foster and his wife and child\nin the adjoining parish of Bourne. He remained at large for seven\nyears, and was then captured and hanged; his body being afterwards\nexhibited here. But the most pitiful story connected with it is that\nof the younger of the two sons of Mrs. Gatward, a widow, who for many\nyears kept the \"Red Lion\" Inn at Royston. She was assisted by her two\nsons in the coaching and posting business attached to the inn; but the\nyounger took a sudden fancy to become a highwayman; probably from a\nmere love of excitement, or dared to do it by companions of his own\nage. Whatever the compelling cause, he went out and waylaid the postboy\ncarrying the mails between Royston and Huntingdon, and robbed the bags.\nHe was arrested, condemned to death, and hanged, and his body was\ngibbeted here.\n\nThe story of this amateur highwayman is to be met with in the\nmanuscript history of Cambridgeshire, written by Cole, a diligent\neighteenth-century antiquary: \"About 1753-54, the son of Mrs. Gatward,\nwho kept the 'Red Lion' at Royston, being convicted of robbing the\nmail, was hanged in chains on the Great Road. I saw him hanging in a\nscarlet coat, and after he had hung about two or three months it is\nsupposed that the screw was filed which supported him and that he fell\nin the first high wind after. Mr. Lord, of Trinity, passed by as he\nlay on the ground, and, trying to open his breast to see what state\nhis body was in, not being offensive but quite dry, a button of brass\ncame off, which he preserves to this day.... It was a great grief to\nhis mother, who bore a good character, and kept the inn for many years\nafter.\"\n\nThe story goes that the mother had the body secretly conveyed to the\ninn, and gave it decent, if unconsecrated, burial in the cellar.\n\nIt is easy to find the excuse that society had to be protected at all\ncosts, to condone the savagery of those who permitted gibbeting for\nwhat we in our own age would consider a minor crime; but if we pause a\nmoment, and strive to realise the feelings of the surviving relatives\nby imagining one of our own belongings so shamefully exposed like\ncarrion, for the ravens and the crows to feed upon, we shall not so\nreadily find excuse for that fearful procedure.\n\nThe story of Mrs. Gatward's son very nearly fits that which suggested\nto Tennyson his gloomy and pitiful poem, \"Rizpah\"; but the original\nmotive for that poem is usually said to have been a gibbet on the downs\nbetween Brighton and Worthing. In that case also, the victim was a lad\nwho had robbed the mail for a mere freak. There was no mercy for him.\n\n                They killed him, they\n    Kill'd him for robbing the mail,\n    They hanged him in chains for a show.\n\nThere was no consideration for amateurs in that dreadful eighteenth\ncentury in which many writers have found a specious glamour of\nromance, because men and women wore powder and patches and sported\nsilken clothes of amazing colours and styles. Who shall admire the\nembroidered waistcoat if no feeling heart beats beneath it, and what\nare manners or deportment if they but mask the tiger.\n\nRizpah, whose name forms the title of Tennyson's poem, was the\nconcubine of King Saul and mother of Armoni and Mephibosheth, who\nwere hanged and gibbeted, together with the five sons of Michal, on\nthe sacred hill of Gibeah. There they remained from the early days of\nbarley harvest until October. \"And Rizpah ... took sackcloth and spread\nit upon the rock, from the beginning of harvest until water dropped\nupon them out of heaven, and suffered neither the birds of the air to\nrest on them by day, nor the beasts of the field by night.\"\u20142 SAMUEL\nxxii. 10.\n\nThe poor old woman of the poem is a sadder figure than Rizpah, for\nshe is nearer, in time and place, to ourselves, and is represented as\ngathering up the bones of her only son, as they drop from the gibbet.\nHers is a figure of terror and for pity:\n\n    Wailing, wailing, wailing, the wind over land and sea\u2014\n    And Willy's voice in the wind, \"O mother, come out to me.\"\n    Why should he call me to-night, when he knows that I cannot go?\n    For the downs are as bright as day, and the full moon stares at\n          the snow.\n    We should be seen, my dear; they would spy us out of the town.\n    The loud black nights for us, and the storm rushing over the down,\n    When I cannot see my own hand, but am led by the creak of the chain,\n    And grovel and grope for my son, till I find myself drenched\n          with the rain.\n    Anything fallen again? Nay\u2014what was there left to fall?\n    I have taken them home, I have number'd the bones, I have hidden\n          them all.\n    They would scratch him up\u2014they would hang him again on the\n          cursed tree.\n    Sin? O yes\u2014we are sinners, I know\u2014let all that be,\n    And read me a Bible verse of the Lord's good-will towards men\u2014\n    \"Full of compassion and mercy, the Lord\"\u2014let me hear it again;\n    \"Full of compassion and mercy\u2014long-suffering.\" Yes, O yes!\n    For the lawyer is born but to murder\u2014the Saviour lives but\n          to bless.\n\nRobbers of His Majesty's mails had always been hanged on conviction,\nbut this severity had proved no deterrent, and it was not until the\nEarl of Leicester, Postmaster-General in 1753, prevailed upon the\nGovernment to have their bodies afterwards hung in chains, that any\ndiminution of mail-robberies took place. Highwaymen, it is curious to\nreflect, did not so much mind being hanged, but had the greatest horror\nof their bodies being afterwards exposed. It is a weakness not readily\nto be understood, this horror, not of death, but of the desecration of\nthe senseless body after death; but it was a very useful feeling to\nplay upon, by way of deterrent.\n\nThat the highwaymen and the murderers were not always dissuaded from\ntheir crimes by the prospect of this post-mortem indignity is of course\nto be readily supposed. There was always the chance of their not being\ndiscovered. Thus, although mail-robberies were probably much fewer than\nthey would have been, except for the gibbeting order, they still\nwere a feature of the highwaymen's enterprises: and the midnight roads\ncontinued to be awful with pendant bodies, creaking in the wind in\ntheir rusted irons.\n\nIt is not difficult to mentally reconstruct those times and those\nwayside incidents, and I can imagine the solitary highwayman proceeding\nto his shy business. There comes a horseman along the road; he can be\nheard half a mile away, in the hush of the night when, with the setting\nof the sun, the cattle have ceased lowing and a distant church clock\nalone helps to break the stillness. He is in no hurry, this belated\ncavalier, for the click-clock of his horse's hoofs is measured and he\nis long in passing.\n\nHe is gone, pacing slowly up the hill to where the great road goes by\nthe end of the lane, and as he goes we hear him, under his breath,\ncursing the rising moon for a false jade. By favour of her light we\nhave seen him as he goes, with a crape mask over his face and pistols\nin his holsters; and recognise him as Hotposset Dick, the highwayman,\nwhose nickname comes from his fondness for mulled port. They say he\nalways has a tankard for his mare as well as for himself when starting\nout to speak with the mail at Five-ways Cross.\n\nFive-ways Cross is not a cheerful place for Dick just now, and his\nmulled port is useful for other purposes than keeping out the cold. It\nis a spot which most people would find lonely, but Dick has company up\nthere; company of a silent kind, which is apt rather to get on the\nnerves, unless a man is well primed. It is a friend of Dick's, who used\nto go shares with him in the risks of robbing on the highway and in\nthe profits of their trade. He was caught ignominiously, when carrying\ntoo much liquor; hanged, and gibbeted at the Cross afterwards. There\nhe swings by the roadside in his cage, in a contemplative attitude,\nas though pondering on the mysteries of life and death. Six months'\nhanging there has not improved either his manly beauty or his clothes,\nand although the spot is generally shunned by the villagers, some one,\nfor purposes of evil sorcery, has made away with one of the dead man's\nhands and most of his hair, to make a Hand of Glory.\n\n[Illustration: \"THERE HE SWINGS BY THE ROADSIDE, IN HIS CAGE, IN A\nCONTEMPLATIVE ATTITUDE, AS THOUGH PONDERING ON THE MYSTERIES OF LIFE\nAND DEATH.\"]\n\nA complete set of gibbet irons is nowadays a somewhat rare and curious\nobject. Their pattern varied according to local taste and fancy. There\nexists a set in the museum at Warrington, Lancashire, which enclosed\nthe body of Edward Miles, who was executed in 1788 for robbing the\nmail and for murdering the postboy. He was gibbeted near the Twystes,\non the road to Manchester, and the iron frame in which he swung for\nyears was buried at the foot of the gibbet-post. When it was found, in\n1845, it had become an antiquity bearing upon the obsolete customs of\nour forefathers, and was carefully preserved. The shape of it quite\nclearly indicates the outline of a man's body, and there is even a kind\nof ghastly smartness about the framework that suggests a military\nbearing, which must have made the awful object a terribly dramatic\nsight.\n\n[Illustration: MILES'S IRONS.]\n\nIn the same neighbourhood in 1796 James Price and Thomas Brown were\ngibbeted together on Trafford Green, three miles from Chester, for\nrobbing the postboy of the mails; and a pamphlet recounting their trial\nand execution goes so far as to include a map of the road, and a neat\nlittle view of the double gibbet, with Messrs. Price and Brown dangling\nfrom it.\n\nThe execution of the two brothers, Robert and William Drewett, in 1799,\nfor robbing the Portsmouth mail near Midhurst, was a late example of\nPost-Office ferocity, and is saddened by the tradition that the younger\nprisoner was innocent, and that he refused to clear himself because by\nso doing he would incriminate his father. The bodies were gibbeted on\nNorth Heath Common.\n\nThe last person to be gibbeted in England was Cook, who had committed a\npeculiarly atrocious murder at Leicester[4] in 1832. Two years later,\nthe practice was abolished by statute.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\nTHE ROADS OUT OF LONDON\n\n\nI.\u2014THE DOVER ROAD\n\nIt would be difficult, if not impossible, to say which road out of\nLondon was the most infested with highwaymen, in all these centuries.\nWhere all were extremely dangerous for honest men, the bad eminence\nof any particular one is disputable. All the great highways were\nbordered by lonely wastes and commons until well on into the nineteenth\ncentury, and it is not saying too much to declare that the era of the\nhighwaymen did not really end until that of railways had begun. Edmund\nBurke, who died in 1797, might see fit to declare that the age of the\nhighwaymen was done, and that the age of cheats had succeeded, but he\nwas a little too sanguine, or too despondent, whichever way you feel\ninclined to look at it. To take Wiltshire alone: one man was hanged at\nFisherton gaol, Salisbury, in 1806, for highway robbery, one in 1816,\ntwo in 1817, and two in 1824; while in 1839, when the law had become\nless ferocious, three others were each sentenced to fifteen years'\ntransportation for a most determined highway robbery at Gore Cross, on\nSalisbury Plain, on the evening of October 21st, in that year.\n\nGad's Hill, on the Dover Road, had from the earliest times a peculiar\nprominence in these matters, and even obtained its name from the rogues\nwho lurked there. But, indeed, it is not going beyond the strictest\nbounds of truth to say that _all_ the hills on the Dover Road were of\nevil repute. There were the cut-throats and footpads who lurked in the\nwayside trees and rushed out from the leafy coverts of Shooter's Hill,\nwith terrifying cries. They were not politeful, those footpads, and the\ntitle of \"gentlemen of the road,\" which was accorded those exquisite\nthieves, Claude Du Vall and Captain Hind, must needs be withheld from\nthem. We read in the entertaining and instructive diary of Samuel Pepys\nhow on April 11th, 1661, with a lady, he rode along the Dover Road,\n\"under the man that hangs upon Shooter's Hill, and a filthy sight it is\nto see how his flesh is shrunk to his bones.\"\n\nSix men were hanged here, and their bodies exposed on gibbets, in times\nnot so very remote, for robbery with murder upon the highway. The\nremains of four of them decorated the summit of the hill, while the\nother two swung gracefully from tall posts beside the Eltham Road. The\nBull Inn, which stands on the crest of Shooter's Hill, was in coaching\ntimes the first post-house at which travellers stopped and changed\nhorses on their way from London to Dover. The Bull has been rebuilt of\nrecent years, but tradition says (and tradition is not always such a\nliar as some folk would have us believe) that Dick Turpin frequented\nthe road, and that it was at the old Bull he held the landlady over the\nfire, in order to make her confess where she had hoarded her money. The\nincident borrows a certain picturesqueness from lapse of time, but,\non the whole, it is not to be regretted that the days of barbecued\nlandladies are past.\n\nThe usual stories of highway encounters give the courage to the\nhighwaymen and abject cowardice to their victims, but the positions\nwere reversed in an affray that took place on this particularly bad\neminence in 1773. A Colonel Craige and his servant were attacked about\nten o'clock one Sunday night by two well-mounted highwaymen, who,\non the Colonel declaring he would not be robbed, immediately fired\nand shot the servant's horse in the shoulder. On this the servant\ndischarged a pistol, and, as a contemporary account has it, \"The\nassailants rode off with great precipitation.\" That they rode off with\nnothing else shows how effectually the Colonel and his man, by firmly\ngrasping the nettle, danger, plucked the flower, safety.\n\nDon Juan was equally bold and successful. He was stopped with \"Damn\nyour eyes! Your money or your life!\" by a party of footpads. He did\nnot comprehend the language: but the meaning of their actions was plain\nenough:\n\n    Juan yet quickly understood their gesture;\n      And, being somewhat choleric and sudden,\n    Drew forth a pocket pistol from his vesture,\n      And fired it into one assailant's pudding\u2014\n    Who fell, as rolls an ox o'er in his pasture,\n      And roar'd out, as he writhed his native mud in,\n    Unto his nearest follower or henchman,\n    \"O Jack! I'm floor'd by that 'ere bloody Frenchman!\"\n\n    On which Jack and his train set off at speed;\n      And Juan's suite, late scatter'd at a distance,\n    Came up, all marvelling at such a deed,\n      And offering, as usual, late assistance.\n    Juan, who saw the moon's late minion bleed\n      As if his veins would pour out his existence,\n    Stood, calling out for bandages and lint,\n    And wish'd he'd been less hasty with his flint.\n\n    \"Perhaps,\" thought he, \"it is the country's wont\n      To welcome foreigners in this way; now\n    I recollect some innkeepers who don't\n      Differ, except in robbing with a bow\n    In lieu of a bare blade and brazen front.\n      But what is to be done? I can't allow\n    The fellow to lie groaning on the road:\n    So take him up; I'll help you with the load.\"\n\n    But ere they could perform this pious duty,\n      The dying man cried, \"Hold! I've got my gruel;\n    Oh, for a glass of max! We've miss'd our booty;\n      Let me die where I am!\" And as the fuel\n    Of life shrunk in his heart, and thick and sooty\n      The drops fell from his death-wound, and he drew ill\n    His breath, he from his swelling throat untied\n    A kerchief, crying \"Give Sal that!\"\u2014and died.\n\nBut not all travellers went armed, nor were all robbers so timorous.\nRobberies on Shooter's Hill continued without intermission, and at the\nvery close of 1797\u2014the year in which Burke, the statesman, died, who\nhad some years earlier declared the age of the highwaymen to be past\u2014a\nrather daring one was committed. It was on the Sunday evening, December\n30th, and may be found reported in the _Times_ of January 2nd, 1798. It\nwas about six o'clock when highwaymen stopped a postchaise on Shooter's\nHill, in which were two lawyers, named Harrison and Lockhart, and a\nmidshipman of H.M.S. _Venerable_. They were travelling to London from\nSheerness. The highwaymen took the lawyers' purses and watches. \"The\nman on Mr. Harrison's side treated him with much personal violence, by\nforcing his pistol into his mouth, on opening the chaise-door.\" The men\ndid not ask the midshipman for money, but took his trunk, containing\nall his clothes. No one for a moment thought of so foolish a thing as\nresisting.\n\nBut Gad's Hill was the very worst spot on the Dover Road, and had\na very bad record for robbery and murders. When Shakespeare made\nGad's Hill the scene of that famous highway robbery, when Prince\nHal, Falstaff, Poins, and all the rest of them robbed the merchants,\nthe franklins, and the flea-bitten carriers who were journeying from\nRochester, he only made it so because of the ill repute the locality\nalready possessed. The place is not romantic to-day, and it is\nsomewhat difficult to realise that here, where Charles Dickens's\nhideous house of Gad's Hill Place stands, the valorous Falstaff, brave\namid so many confederates, bade the travellers stand, and added insult\nto injury by calling them \"gorbellied knaves\" and \"caterpillars.\"\n\n[Illustration: FALSTAFF ON GAD'S HILL.\n\n  \"_How the rogue roared!_\"]\n\nThere is, indeed, a beautiful view from the southern slope of the hill,\nlooking down upon Strood and Rochester; but to see Gad's Hill as it\nwas of old, we should have to sweep away Gad's Hill Place, and the\nrows of mean cottages that now form quite a hamlet here. The hedges\nand enclosures, too, did not exist until modern times, but, instead\nof them, dense woods and dark hiding-places came close up to, and\novershadowed, the highway, which was always full of ruts and liquid\nmud. These facts will give some idea of how terrible the hill could\nbe of nights, when the rogues who hid in the shadows sprang forth and\nrelieved travellers of their gold. The Danish Ambassador was set upon\nand plundered here in 1656, and it is quite evident that the knights of\nthe road who despoiled him were no illiterate rogues, because they sent\nhim a very whimsical letter of explanation, in which they said that:\n\"The same necessity that enforc't ye Tartars to breake ye wall of China\ncompelled them to wait upon him at Gad's Hill.\" Once in a way, however,\ntravellers were more than equal for these gentry, as we may well see in\nthese extracts from Gravesend registers: \"1586, September 29th daye,\nwas a thiefe yt. was slayen, buryed\"; and again, \"1590, Marche the\n27th daie, was a theefe yt. was at Gad's Hill wounded to deathe, called\nRobert Writs, buried.\"\n\nIt would be an easy matter to write a long chapter on Gad's Hill\nand its terrors. We will conclude with a mention of the Duke of\nW\u00fcrtemberg's adventure. He and his suite were travelling along the\nroad, when a man with a drawn sword ran after them. The Duke promptly\ntold the coachman to drive as fast as he could; not, as he na\u00efvely\nadded, because he was afraid of one man, but he didn't know how many\nothers there might be. The Prince evidently had that discretion whose\nlack has been the death of many a bold, but ill-advised, fellow.\n\nShakespeare's scenes in _Henry the Fourth_, in which the travellers are\nrobbed and Falstaff afterwards fooled, were greatly appreciated in his\nown day, because such happenings to wayfarers were the merest ordinary\nincidents of travel, not only in the time of Henry the Fourth, but in\nthat of Elizabeth. The play touched life in one of its most familiar\nexperiences.\n\n\nII.\u2014THE BATH ROAD\n\nThe Bath Road was not far inferior to the old highway to Dover in\nrecords of highway robbery, although they are chiefly of a later date\nthan the Gad's Hill encounters; but the records of St. Mary Abbot's\nChurch, Kensington, afford us an interesting peep into a time when the\nboundary of that now metropolitan borough, towards Knightsbridge, was\nvery dangerous to honest folk. Thus we read, in the burial register,\nNovember 29th, 1687, of the interment of \"Thomas Ridge, of Portsmouth,\nwho was killed by thieves, almost at Knightsbridge.\"\n\nThis was no mere chance case. Some years earlier, John Evelyn recorded\nin his diary the ill-repute of the road at this point, and says\nrobberies took place even while the road was full of coaches and\ntravellers. The innkeepers of Knightsbridge shared the disfavour in\nwhich these first reaches of the Bath Road were held. When the Duke of\nBuckingham and the Earl of Rochester quarrelled, in the time of Charles\nthe Second, and agreed to fight a duel, the Duke and his second lay at\nan inn at Knightsbridge, the night before the encounter, in order to\navoid any suspicion of their intentions and any possible interruption.\nMuch to their surprise, they found themselves in some danger of being\narrested, not on any charge of breaking the King's peace over the\napproaching duel, but on the altogether unexpected suspicion of being\nhighwaymen, who purposed skulking at an inn for the night, the better\nto waylay travellers. \"But this,\" remarks the Duke, in his _Memoirs_,\n\"I suppose, the people of the house were used to, and so took no notice\nof us, but liked us the better.\"\n\nAnd so the neighbourhood remained, very little changed for the better,\nuntil the nineteenth century dawned.\n\nIt seems, looking upon the closeness of modern Knightsbridge to the\nvery centre of things, almost the language of extravagance to say as\nmuch, but the literature of the ensuing periods fully supports the\ntruth of it. Thus writes Lady Cowper, in her diary, October 1715: \"I\nwas at Kensington, where I intended to stay as long as the camp was in\nHyde Park, the roads being so secure by it, that we might come from\nLondon at any time in the night without danger, which I did very often.\"\n\nIn 1736, Lord Hervey wrote from Kensington: \"The road between this\nplace and London is grown so infamously bad that we live here in\nthe same solitude as we should do if cast on a rock in the middle\nof the ocean; and all the Londoners tell us there is between them\nand us a great impassable gulf of mud.\" Impassable roads\u2014through\nwhich, nevertheless, some wayfarers certainly did manage to pass\u2014and\nhighwaymen may always be bracketed together. Thus in April 1740, only\nfour years after Lord Hervey had written that doleful letter\u2014and we\nmay be quite sure the roads had not improved during the interval\u2014the\n_Gentleman's Magazine_ recorded that, \"The Bristol Mail from London\nwas robbed a little beyond Knightsbridge by a man on foot, who took\nthe Bath and Bristol bags, and, mounting the postboy's horse, rode off\ntowards London.\"\n\nOn June 3rd, 1752, a professional thief-taker named Norton was\ninstructed to repair to Knightsbridge, to see if he could apprehend a\nman who had on two or three occasions stopped and robbed the Devizes\nchaise. He proceeded in a chaise to a lonely inn, known as the \"Halfway\nHouse\"\u2014half-way between Knightsbridge and Kensington\u2014and as the vehicle\napproached, a man stopped it by threats from a pistol. Out jumped\nNorton and seized the man, a certain William Belchier, who was hanged,\na little later.\n\nOn July 1st, 1774, William Hawke was executed for a robbery here, and\ntwo others, for a like offence, on November 30th following. Three\nhighwaymen were thus accounted for, at short intervals, but others,\nequally daring, were evidently left, for on the 27th of the next month,\na Mr. Jackson, of the Court of Requests at Westminster, was attacked at\nKensington Gore, by four men on foot. He shot one, and the others fled.\n\nA Mr. Walker, a London police-magistrate, writing in 1835, said: \"At\nKensington, within the memory of man, on Sunday evenings a bell used\nto be rung at intervals, to muster the people returning to town. As\nsoon as a band was assembled, sufficiently numerous to ensure mutual\nprotection, it set off; and so on, till all had passed.\"\n\nSuch are the memories that belong to the very beginning of this road;\nbut they cluster most thickly, of course, around Hounslow Heath,\non which Du Vall very largely practised, in the reign of Charles\nthe Second. Du Vall is important enough to require a full biography\nelsewhere in these pages, and we pass on to others, who merely, so to\nsay, stride across the stage, and so disappear.\n\nHounslow Heath no longer exists as a heath. Enclosure Acts and\ncultivation have, during the last hundred years, wrought a remarkable\nchange upon the scene, and smiling market-gardens now spread for miles\nwhere once existed nothing more than a waste of furze-bushes, swampy\ngravel-pits, in which tall grasses and bulrushes grew, and grassy\nhillocks. This home of snipe and frogs, and haunt of the peewit, was\nnot without its highwaymen by day, and at night it swarmed with them.\n\nThere was excellent reason why it should be so particularly favoured.\nThrough its whole length ran, not only the Bath Road, from Hounslow\ntown to Colnbrook and Slough, but the Exeter Road, on to Staines. Both\nroads were largely travelled to and from the West of England, and the\nBath Road was, in addition, the road to Windsor; and was from that\ncircumstance travelled by some of the wealthiest and most important\npeople, who sorely tempted the daring spirits of the age. At a time\nwhen it was possible for a band of conspirators to assemble in Sutton\nLane, near Gunnersbury, for the purpose of waylaying and assassinating\nWilliam the Third, on his way from Richmond Park to Kensington Palace\n(February 10th, 1696), it was nothing out of the way for noblemen,\nreturning from a visit to the King at Windsor Castle, to be stopped\nand robbed in their carriage when crossing Hounslow Heath. Masked\nrobbers made no difficulty about endeavouring to halt Lord Ossulston's\ncarriage here, one day in 1698; and it was merely by good fortune that\nhe escaped with the loss of two of his horses, shot dead. The Duke of\nSt. Albans was also attacked; but, with the aid of the gentlemen with\nhim, beat off his assailants. The Duke of Northumberland, as Macaulay\ntells us, was not so fortunate, and fell into the hands of these\naudacious ruffians; with what result we do not learn.\n\n[Illustration: EXCHANGE OF COMPLIMENTS.]\n\nA silent reminder of those times still stands beside the Bath Road at\nGunnersbury, on the right-hand side of the way as you go from London,\nand between the modern church of St. James, and Gunnersbury Lane. This\nis an isolated square brick building, now covered with a tin roof, and\nquite commonplace in appearance. It has windows looking up and down\nthe road, and large doors facing it. Until a few years ago, it had an\nold pantile roof, whose striking red colour was the only remarkable\nfeature the building ever possessed. The neighbourhood has long been\nlargely built over, but it still stands in what remains of the once\nwide-spreading Gunnersbury orchards. Local traditions still survive\nwhich tell us that this was a building erected in the time of George\nthe Second, or Third, for the purpose of sheltering the horse-patrol\nthat guarded the road when the King passed this way, travelling between\nLondon and Windsor.\n\nHounslow Heath would seem often to have been the training-ground on\nwhich young and inexperienced highwaymen first tried their luck.\nGraduating here, they would with confidence take the road in distant\nshires. For example, we have the careers of Messrs. John and William\nHawkins, Wright, Sympson, and Wilson, whose doings are set forth at\ngreat length by the last of that brotherhood in crime, Ralph Wilson,\nwho turned King's evidence and so saved himself from the gallows,\nand at the same time firmly fixed the noose round the necks of his\nsurviving confederates. The story of the transactions of this firm was\ntold by Wilson in a pamphlet published at the modest price of sixpence,\nin 1722, shortly after John Hawkins and George Sympson had been turned\noff.\n\nHawkins was the son of a small farmer at Staines. At fourteen years of\nage he went into domestic service, then left it to become employed in\nthe tap at the \"Red Lion,\" Hounslow. From that situation he rose to be\na butler to a knight; one Sir Dennis \"Dulry,\" according to the rough\nand ill-spelled tract (perhaps really Daltry), but was dismissed on\nwhat would seem to have been the well-founded suspicion that he had\ntaken a hand in a robbery of his master's plate, shortly after entering\nhis service. 'Twas a way they had in the eighteenth century, which\nnobody will deny.\n\nIt may be shrewdly suspected that employment in the tap of the \"Red\nLion\" at Hounslow had gone a good way towards inclining John Hawkins\ntoward the road; for, not only would he be brought into contact with\ngamesters, but talk of how the bold highwaymen on the neighbouring\nheath netted handsome sums formed, doubtless, the staple conversation\nof the place. The only wonder is that John Hawkins first went into\nservice, and did not immediately go padding on the road. He must\nhave been a singularly youthful butler, for even when he got his\n_cong\u00e9_, and turned his attention to stopping the coaches, he was but\ntwenty-four years of age. His initial enterprise was carried through\nsingle-handed, and his gains totalled the not despicable sum of \u00a311.\nBut he returned to the town only to gamble with his plunder, and in\nthat way soon managed to dissipate it. Finding his solitary career\non the heath a little hazardous, in consequence of meeting a rare\nsuccession of exceptionally brave travellers who did not scruple to\nloose off their pistols at a single adventurer, he sought the moral and\nphysical support of companions of his own vocation.\n\nIt became a syndicate of five; himself, Eyles, Comerford, Reeves, and\nLennard. For two years they dared much in their speciality of robbing\nstage-coaches and postboys carrying the mail-bags: those being the days\nbefore mail-coaches, when the bags (or often enough merely a small\nwallet, the post being then a comparatively small affair) were carried\non horseback. In proportion to their daring, their takings increased,\nbut they were always lost in the usual dissipations that give such\na monotony to all accounts of highwaymen taking their ease after\nbusiness hours.\n\nLennard at last got into trouble and was arrested, and when Hawkins and\na recruit to the gang named Woldridge attempted a rescue, they too were\nseized. Three others were arrested, and appear, with Lennard, to have\nbeen hanged. Hawkins and Woldridge were discharged.\n\nA new confederacy was then planned, but soon broke up, upon a member\nnamed Pocock, who had been flung into gaol, turning informer. Another,\nwho acted as treasurer, at the same time absconding with their little\nearnings, the rest were reduced to poverty and to cursing the appalling\nlack of honesty in mankind.\n\nHawkins, desperately endeavouring to woo capricious fortune at the\ngaming-tables by staking his last coins, then met one Ralph Wilson, at\nthat time clerk to a barrister of the Middle Temple. He, too, fell from\nrespectability through gambling, and agreed to turn highwayman with\nthe new association Hawkins contemplated forming: \"The New Highways\nExploitation Company,\" it might well have been named. John Hawkins's\nbrother William joined, and George Sympson, and one Wright, among\nothers.\n\nThe sphere of operations was widened, and business was carried on\nwith the greatest energy: the Cirencester stage, and those for and\nfrom Gloucester, Worcester, Oxford, and Bristol, being all plundered\none morning. The next day they would be speaking to the Colchester\nand Ipswich stages, and on the next would be again in some totally\ndifferent direction.\n\nIn midst of this busy time, Wilson succeeded to some small property in\nYorkshire, and left to claim it, and shortly afterwards William Hawkins\nand Wright were arrested in the exercise of their adopted trade, and\nWilliam Hawkins, to save himself, impeached the others and earned his\nliberty by that treachery. Wright might have done so; but he was one\nof those rare chivalrous characters who oftener live in the pages of\nnovels than in real life, and he held his peace, for the sake of the\ntraitor Hawkins's wife and children. He died in his chivalry, too,\nfor he was convicted and hanged; while William Hawkins went free, and\npresently crossed to Holland with his brother and the brotherhood's\nmoney. They returned when this had all gone; and met Ralph Wilson in\nLondon, whither he had returned, after disposing of his inheritance in\nYorkshire for \u00a3350. He had already lost all this in gambling when his\nold friends found him. He, the Hawkins brothers, and George Sympson\nthen set about plans for robbing the Harwich mail, in April, 1722;\nbut as that mail, they declared, was \"as uncertain as the wind,\" they\ndecided they could not afford the time to wait on the road for it; and\nagreed to turn their attention to the Bristol postboys, or their mail,\ninstead.\n\n[Illustration: JOHN HAWKINS AND GEORGE SYMPSON ROBBING THE BRISTOL\nMAIL.]\n\nThey fixed upon Hounslow Heath as the most suitable spot for the\njob, April 16th and 18th. \"The meaning of taking the mail twice,\"\nexplains Wilson, in his \"Full and Impartial Account,\" \"was to get\nthe halves of some bank bills, the first halves whereof we took out of\nthe mail on Monday morning.\" In the pages of Captain Charles Johnson\nwe see Sympson and John Hawkins, represented in a large copper-plate\nengraving, engaged in robbing two postboys and binding them with rope.\nThe great size of the highwaymen and the diminutive character of the\npostboys seemed to make it an easy task.\n\nThe Post Office was roused to fury by this latest of many impudent\nmail-robberies; and Wilson, while taking his ease at the Moorgate\nCoffee House in the City, and listening to the gossip, a week later,\nheard of a great hue-and-cry undertaken. Seriously alarmed by this,\nhe contemplated taking a sea-passage to Newcastle, but was traced by\none of the stolen notes and arrested before he could get aboard. The\nofficers took him at once to the Post Office, where no less a personage\nthan the Postmaster-General himself examined him; but he disclaimed\nall knowledge of the affair, and repeated his denials when he was\nre-examined the following morning.\n\nMeanwhile the Post Office had also secured John Hawkins and Sympson,\nand had them detained in the Gatehouse. The Post Office officials then\nappear to have in the most Machiavellian way played off one against\nthe other. They knew well enough that criminals were usually too eager\nto save their own necks to care about anything in the way of loyalty\nto their companions, and that they were always ready to turn evidence\nagainst them. In this case there seems to have been keen competition to\nbe first with the confession; but Wilson's evidence was selected, and\nit convicted John Hawkins and Sympson, who were executed on May 21st,\n1722, their bodies being afterwards hanged in chains at the end of\nLongford Lane, three miles on the London side of Colnbrook.\n\nThere is a considerable literature, in the form of old chapbooks,\nabout these confederates: notably an account by William Hawkins, the\nsurviving brother of John. Although himself at an earlier period an\ninformer, having purchased his liberty at the price of his confederate,\nWright's, life, he is found vehemently attacking Wilson for the same\ndeed, in respect of his brother.\n\nA mysterious affair, which has never been properly cleared up, was the\ndeath of Twysden, Bishop of Raphoe, in 1752. An Irish Bishop, even\nalthough a Kentish man of ancient descent, did not perhaps rank very\nhigh upon the Episcopal bench, but he was sufficiently exalted to make\nthe innuendo that he had died from being shot on the Heath while taking\npurses at the pistol-muzzle a very startling one.\n\nGrantley Berkeley says: \"The Lord Bishop Twysden, of Raphoe, a member\nof the old Kentish family of that name, was found suspiciously out\nat night on Hounslow Heath, and was most unquestionably shot through\nthe body. A correspondent of the _Gentleman's Magazine_ asked, 'Was\nthis the bishop who was taken _ill_ on Hounslow Heath, and so carried\nback to his friend's house (? Osterley Park), where he died of an\ninflammation of the bowels?'\"\n\nTwysden was father of the then Lady Jersey, and great-grandfather of\nthe present Earl.\n\nIn the midst of this wild waste of Hounslow\u2014according to the Honble\nGrantley Berkeley, \"Houndslot\"\u2014Heath, the pretty village of Cranford\nstood; and there, too, was, and still is, Cranford Park, long a seat\nof the Fitzhardinge Berkeleys. Cranford was a favourite with the fifth\nEarl of Berkeley (died 1810), and he used frequently to stay there from\nSaturdays to Mondays, even although the journey between it and London\nwas not infrequently made hazardous by the enterprising gentlemen who\nfound the Heath a veritable \"Tom Tiddler's ground,\" where they were\nalways pretty sure to pick up gold and silver. Twice my lord's carriage\nhad been stopped between Cranford and the village of Hounslow, and\nrobbed: on the second occasion by a footpad dressed as a sailor, who\nwith trembling hand pointed a fully cocked pistol at him. While the\nEarl was collecting his loose change, the trigger was accidentally\npulled by this nervous footpad. Fortunately it missed fire, or else\nthere would have been another tragic episode to chronicle. \"I beg your\npardon, my lord,\" exclaimed the man, humbly deprecating his clumsiness;\nand, re-cocking his pistol, went off with the Earl's involuntary\ncontribution.\n\nThere are several variants of Lord Berkeley's adventures here.\nAccording to one, which rather discredits his having been actually\nrobbed here as well as stopped, he is said to have declared that, while\nit was no disgrace to be overpowered by numbers, he at any rate would\nnever consent to be robbed by a single highwayman. The high-toby gentry\n(this version continues) heard of his boast, and one was deputed to\ntry his mettle. He stopped my lord's carriage and said, \"You are Lord\nBerkeley, I think?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" replied his lordship.\n\n\"Then,\" rejoined the man, \"I am a single highwayman, and I demand your\nmoney or your life!\"\n\n\"You cowardly scoundrel!\" exclaimed the Earl, \"d'ye think I can't see\nyour confederate standing behind you?\"\n\nStartled by this, and hurriedly glancing over his shoulder, the\nhighwayman's attention was for the moment distracted, and Lord Berkeley\nshot him dead.\n\nIn the story told by the Earl's son, the Honble Grantley Berkeley, he\nsays his father, after the adventure with the sailor footpad, swore\nhe would never be robbed _again_; and thereafter always travelled\nat night with a short carriage-gun and a brace of pistols. It was a\nNovember night in 1774, and his carriage, or postchaise, was nearing\nHounslow, from Cranford, when a voice called upon the postboy to halt,\nand a man rode up, and, as Lord Berkeley let down the glass, thrust\nin the muzzle of a pistol. With his left hand Lord Berkeley seized\nit and turned it away, while with the other he pushed the short,\ndouble-barrelled carbine he had with him against the man's body and\nfired once. The man was mortally wounded and his clothes on fire, but\nhe rode away some fifty yards, and fell lifeless. Two accomplices who\nwere hovering about then fled, leaving the body of their comrade. The\n_Gentleman's Magazine_ of that date has an account of the affair in\nwhich it is said that the dead highwayman was traced by means of the\nhorse he rode, which he had that morning hired in London. His lodgings\nwere in Mercer Street, Long Acre, and the Bow Street officers had\nhardly entered them when a youth, booted and spurred, called and asked\nfor \"Cran Jones,\" which apparently was the name of the deceased. The\nyouth, who was an accomplice, was seized, and impeached two others:\none a clerk to a laceman in Bury Street, St. James's, who was traced\nalong the Portsmouth Road, and to Farnham, where, at three o'clock in\nthe morning, he was surprised in bed. He was then taken to London.\nThe other was also apprehended, and all three were brought before Sir\nJohn Fielding. Their names were Peter Houltum, John Richard Lane,\nand William Sampson. The last-named had \u00a350 due to him for wages. An\nevening newspaper later stated that there were in all seven youths\nin custody over this affair. They were from eighteen to twenty years\nof age, and the parents of some of them were in easy, and others in\naffluent, circumstances; all of them overwhelmed with sorrow by the\nsins of their unhappy sons.\"\n\nSir John Fielding, the Bow Street magistrate, had in 1773 written\nto Garrick asking him to suppress the _Beggar's Opera_, which he\nproduced. He said the exploits of Macheath, the highwayman hero, and\nthe glorification of the criminal life on the stage, were calculated to\nreinforce the ranks of the real highwaymen from the scatterbrain and\nstage-struck apprentices of town; and it would indeed appear from the\nforegoing account that he was correct.\n\nHounslow Heath was the scene of many tragedies. It was in November 1802\nthat a Mr. Steele, proprietor of a lavender warehouse in Catherine\nStreet, Strand, was murdered on that then lonely waste. He had gone on\na Friday to Bedfont, where he cultivated a large acreage of lavender,\nand intended to return home the following day. As he did not return\nat the appointed time, his family concluded he had been unexpectedly\ndetained on business matters, but when Monday came, and no news of him,\nthey not unnaturally grew alarmed, and sent a messenger to Bedfont. He\nlearned that Mr. Steele had only set out on his return on the Saturday\nevening, and, being unable to procure a conveyance, had resolved to\nreturn at least a part of the way on foot.\n\nHe was a bold man who, unarmed, should attempt such a journey across\nHounslow Heath in those days; and the unfortunate lavender merchant\npaid the penalty of his rashness with his life. His brother-in-law and\nother relatives, on receiving the news of his being missing, set out\nin search of him, and at last found his mangled body secreted beneath\nsome clods and turf, under a furze-bush. The first clue to a tragedy\nhaving been enacted was discovered, after many hours' searching over\nthe heath, in the sight of a piece of blue cloth. Pulling at this, they\nfound it to be the skirt of his greatcoat, buried in the sandy soil. At\na little distance away they saw a soldier's hat, lying near a bush, and\non the bush itself a great quantity of congealed blood.\n\n[Illustration: MURDER OF MR. STEELE ON HOUNSLOW HEATH.]\n\nMr. Steele had received several wounds on the back of the head, and a\npart of his forehead was entirely cut away; but a piece of leathern\nbelt tightly drawn round his neck showed that he had first been\nstrangled. This crime was traced to two men, Haggarty and Holloway,\none of them a soldier, who had planned it all beforehand, at the\n\"Turk's Head\" Inn, Dyot Street, Holborn. Evidence was adduced by which\nit appeared that a coach passed at a little distance along the road\nwhile they were robbing Mr. Steele, who cried out for help. Holloway\nexclaimed, with an oath, \"I'll silence him,\" and beat in his head with\ntwo blows of a bludgeon.\n\nIt is satisfactory to be able to say they were hanged. Both loudly\ndeclared their innocence, but no one believed them. The execution took\nplace at the Old Bailey, when no fewer than twenty-eight persons among\nthe immense crowds who had come to see the sight were crushed to death,\nand large numbers greatly injured.\n\nThe case attracted a great deal of attention at the time, and copies\nare still occasionally found of a terrific engraving representing\nthe ferocious pair polishing off the unhappy Mr. Steele, one of them\nwielding an immense club, fit for a Goliath.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\nTHE ROADS OUT OF LONDON (_continued_)\n\n\nIII.\u2014THE GREAT NORTH ROAD\n\nCould the gay highwaymen who, a hundred years ago, were gathered to\ntheir fathers at the end of a rope, down Tyburn way, revisit Finchley,\nthe poor fellows would sadly need a guide. Where, alas! is Finchley\nCommon, that wide-spreading expanse of evil omen on which those jovial\nspirits were so thoroughly at home? Finchley Common, has long since\nbeen divided up between the squatters who grabbed the public land when\nJustice winked the other eye, as Justice had a trick of doing years\nago, when the process of enclosing commons was in full swing. There\nstill exists a large oak-tree by the road at a place called Brown's\nWells, opposite the \"Green Man,\" and in the trunk of this last survival\nof the \"good old times\" there have been found, from time to time, quite\na number of pistol bullets; the said bullets supposed to have been\nfired at the trunk to frighten the highwaymen who might chance to be\nhiding behind it, under cover of the night. The tree itself has long\nborne the name of \"Turpin's Oak,\" no less celebrated a person than the\nredoubtable Dick himself having once frequented it. Turpin, of course,\nis the greatest of all the rascals who made the name of the Great\nNorth Road a name of dread. Before him, however, Jack Sheppard figured\nhere; but not, it is sad to relate, in an heroic manner. In fact,\nthat nimble-fingered youth who was no highwayman\u2014merely a pickpocket\nand housebreaker\u2014after escaping from the \"Stone Jug\" (by which piece\nof classic slang you are to understand Newgate is meant) had the\nhumiliation to be apprehended on Finchley Common, disguised in drink\nand a butcher's blue smock. That was the worst of those roystering\nblades. The drink was the undoing of them all. If only they had been\nGood Templars, or sported the blue ribbon, it is quite certain that\nthey had not been cut off untimely; and might, with reasonable luck,\nhave even retired with a modest competence in early years.\n\nOne of the most savagely dramatic encounters on Finchley Common was\nthat which was enacted on July 11th, 1699, with \"Captain\" Edmund Tooll,\n_alias_ Tooley, prominent on one side, and an unfortunate gentleman,\nMr. Robert Leader, on the other. Mr. Leader was travelling from London\nacross this waste, in company with his servant, when he was set upon\nby Tooll and some companions (one of whom afterwards turned King's\nevidence). They stripped Mr. Leader and his man, and, knocking the\nunlucky gentleman down, brutally stamped on his face and stomach,\nuntil, fearing he was to be killed, he begged pitifully for his life to\nbe spared. He then attempted to run away, and the blood-thirsty Tooll\nshot him in the back, and wounded him so seriously that he died on the\nfollowing day. When Tooll was at length arrested, at the \"Blue Ball,\"\nin Jermyn Street, he was wearing some of the murdered man's clothes. He\nviolently resisted, fired upon the officers, and, shortening a sword\nhe held, attempted to stab one of them. He retained this spirit even\nin the dock, for when his resistance of arrest was mentioned, he said\nhe was only sorry he had not stabbed the officer to the heart. He was\nexecuted, impenitent to the last, on February 2nd, 1700, and afterwards\nhanged in chains on Finchley Common.\n\nIt was in 1724 that Jack Sheppard was arrested by Bow Street runners\non the Common, and the fact somewhat staggers one's belief in the wild\nlawlessness of that place. One might just as soon expect to hear of the\nChief Commissioner of Police being kidnapped from Scotland Yard. And\nyet it is quite certain Finchley was no safe place for a good young man\nwith five pounds in his pocket and a mere walking-stick in his hand,\nwhether he proposed to cross it by night or day. Even sixty-six years\nlater this evil reputation existed; for, in 1790, the Earl of Minto,\ntravelling to London, wrote to his wife that, instead of pushing on to\ntown at night, he would defer his entry until morning, \"for I shall not\ntrust my throat on Finchley Common in the dark.\" Think of it! And Dick\nTurpin had been duly executed fifty years before!\n\nBetween 1700 and 1800, in fact, this was a parlous place, and not one\nof the better-known highwaymen but had tried his hand at \"touching\nthe mails\" as they went across this waste; or patrolled the darkest\nside of the road, ready to spring upon the solitary traveller. Indeed,\nthe childlike simplicity of the lonely travellers of those days is\nabsolutely contemptible, considering the well-known dangers of the\nroads. For instance, on the night of August 28th, 1720, a horseman\nmight have been observed in the act of crossing Finchley Common. He had\nfifteen guineas in his pocket, and ambled along as though he had been\nin Pall Mall, instead of on perhaps the most dangerous road in England.\nAt a respectable distance behind him came his servant, and, just in\nfront of him, midway of this howling wilderness, stood three figures.\n\"There is an eye that notes our coming,\" says the poet, and three pairs\nof eyes had perceived this wayfarer. They belonged to an enterprising\nindividual named Spiggott and to two other ruffians whose names have\nnot been handed down to posterity. The weirdly named Spiggott was\napparently above disguising himself; his companions, however, might\nhave taken the parts of stage brigands, for one of them had the cape\nof his coat buttoned over his chin, and the other wore a slouched hat\nover his eyes. In addition to this, he kept the ends of his long wig in\nhis mouth\u2014which seems rather a comic-opera touch than serious business.\nIt was, however, a favourite and effectual way with highwaymen of\ndisguising themselves. It is to be hoped, rather than expected, that\nthe traveller with the guineas saw the humour of it.\n\nIn the twinkling of an eye one brigand had seized his horse and made\nhim dismount, while the others covered him with their pistols. The\nservant also was secured, the guineas transferred with the dexterity\nof a practised conjurer, the horses turned loose, and then the three\nrode away, leaving the traveller and his servant to get on as best\nthey could. Spiggott, in 1720, eventually paid the penalty of his\nrashness in not disguising himself in accordance with the canons of\nhis high-toby craft, as taught on the stage, and in novels of the\neighteenth century, in which crape-masks are essential. When he was\ncaught, with some others, in an attempt on the Wendover waggon at\nTyburn, he was identified by the Finchley traveller. The end of him\nwas the end of all his kind, but it was not accomplished without\nconsiderable trouble. He, with another prisoner named Thomas Phillips,\nwas in due form, and on several counts, indicted for highway robbery.\nBoth refused to plead, and stood silent in the dock. There was in those\ntimes a fearful penalty for refusing to plead to an indictment: the\npenalty known to legal jurisprudence as _peine forte et dure_, which\nwas, rendered into ordinary English, \"pressing to death.\" The space at\nNewgate long known as the Press Yard took its name from being the place\nwhere this savage penalty was inflicted.\n\nThere was every inducement in those times for a criminal to refuse\nto plead to his indictment. If he pleaded, and was eventually found\nguilty, his property was, under the law as it then stood, forfeited to\nthe Crown, and his relations, even his wife and children, were deprived\nof their very livelihood. A man might at one and the same time be an\nunmitigated scoundrel, and yet have the very tenderest feelings for his\nown, and many such an one endured the fearful martyrdom of pressing\nto death in order to preserve his belongings to those who had been\ndependent on him. For by enduring so much he could save everything, and\nwill it as he would.\n\nThe official sentence passed upon those who thus \"stood mute of\nmalice,\" as the phrase ran, was \"That the prisoner shall be remanded to\nthe place from whence he came, and put in a low, dark room, and there\nlaid on his back, without any manner of covering except a cloth round\nhis middle; and that as many weights shall be laid upon him as he can\nbear, and more; and that he shall have no more sustenance but of the\nworst bread and water, and that he shall not eat on the same day on\nwhich he drinks, nor drink on the same day on which he eats; and he\nshall so continue until he die.\" A refinement of this torture, more\nworthy of a demon than a human being, was to place a sharp stone under\nthe prisoner's body.\n\nSpiggott and Phillips were both sentenced to this ordeal, and Phillips\nwas taken in hand first. His courage, however, was not sufficient,\nand he asked pitifully to be allowed to stand again in the dock and\nplead. This was granted him, rather by way of a favour than as a right,\nand he pleaded not guilty, but was convicted and in course of events\nhanged.\n\nWilliam Spiggott was made of somewhat sterner stuff, and elected to\nbe pressed rather than plead. He was then, as the old picture shows,\nstretched out upon the floor, his hands and feet secured, a board\nplaced upon his chest, and weights up to 350 lbs. gradually added. He\nendured half an hour of this, but on another 50-lb. weight being added,\ngasped out that he would plead. Such were the Chinese-like methods of\ndealing with criminals in Merry England in the Good Old Days. Exactly\nwho those old days were good for, except the privileged classes, we may\nlong seek to discover; not with any very great hope of success.\n\n[Illustration: SPIGGOTT PRESSED AT NEWGATE.]\n\nSpiggott, being then graciously permitted to plead, was in his turn\ntried, found guilty, and hanged at Tyburn. He is notable as having been\nthe last criminal to suffer this penalty.\n\nNathaniel Hawes, who practised on Finchley Common about the same time\nas Spiggott and his friends, was taken in 1721 in an unsuccessful\nattempt to rob a gentleman on that wild spot. Not only was his attempt\na failure, but he was himself taken prisoner and handed over to justice\nby his intended victim. He also refused to plead. He would die, he\ndeclared, as he had lived, a gentleman. The reason for his refusing to\nplead was that the brave clothes in which he had been seized were taken\noff his back. Like most of his contemporaries, he had a mind, if he\nmust make the journey to Tyburn, to go there respectably, and to cut a\ndash to the last. He would plead if they were returned, but not unless.\n\"No one shall say I was hanged in a dirty shirt and a ragged coat.\"\n\nSo they pressed this most particular fellow up to 250 lbs. After a few\nminutes he declared himself ready, nay anxious, to plead, and he was\naccordingly put back, tried, and found guilty: going those three miles\nto Tyburn after all, it is melancholy to relate, in the grimy shirt and\ntattered duds of his very proper aversion.\n\nOf the other names in the long and distinguished roll of road-agents\nwho figure on Finchley Common at some time or another in their\nmeteoric careers, it is not possible here to say much. There were the\nresourceful and courageous Captain Hind, the whimsically named \"Old\nMob,\" burly Tom Cox, Neddy Wicks, and Claude Du Vall. They have, most\nof them, their separate niches in these pages.\n\nRoom, however, by your leave, for those thoroughly business-like\nmen, Messrs. Everett and Williams, who entered into a duly drawn and\nproperly attested deed of partnership, by which it was agreed that they\nshould work together on Finchley Common and elsewhere, and divide the\nprofits of their labours into equal shares. Their industry prospered,\nand the common fund soon reached the very respectable total of \u00a32,000.\nBut when required to render accounts, and to pay over half this amount,\nMr. Williams, treasurer of this precious firm, refused. The old proverb\nof \"Honour among thieves\" was therefore proved a fallacy. Everett\nthereupon brought an action at law against his defaulting partner,\nand a verdict for \u00a320 was actually obtained, and appealed against by\nthe defendant. The court then very properly found the whole matter\nscandalous, bad in law, and contrary to public policy. Everett was\nsentenced to pay costs, and the lawyers engaged on either side were\nfined \u00a350 each for their part in this discreditable affair.\n\n\nIV.\u2014THE OXFORD ROAD\n\nThe way through Uxbridge and High Wycombe to Oxford is largely\nillustrated elsewhere in these pages, in the biographies of \"Old Mob,\"\nand of Withers, in which Uxbridge and the neighbourhood of Hillingdon\nfigure largely. Having once passed Hillingdon, travellers were\ncomparatively unmolested until they came to Shotover Hill, near Oxford.\n\nShotover Hill was the scene of the barber's encounter with a knight\nof the road. The barber, travelling afoot with a sum of money, had\nbeen foolish enough to explain, in the parlour of an inn, how he had\ncunningly hidden his store among the implements of his trade he was\ncarrying with him. Arrived on the hill-top, he was accosted by the\nfigure of a road-agent who had, \"from information received,\" a very\naccurate knowledge of how much money the barber was carrying, and where\nhe carried it.\n\n\"Wer\u2014what do you wer\u2014want?\" asked the trembling barber.\n\n\"Only a sher\u2014shave,\" rejoined the knight of the road, mocking the man's\nfrightened speech; \"so out with your shaving-pot and razor, and fall\nto't!\" And he sat himself down on the grassy bank.\n\nWith fumbling hands the barber undid his bag, and brought forth the\nshaving tackle, whereupon the highwayman, stretching his legs as though\nby accident, managed to upset the pot. Over it went, and smashed upon a\nstone, displaying that store of golden guineas.\n\n\"Ho, ho, my friend!\" said the highwayman. \"You're not so poor as you\nthought. 'Tis treasure-trove, indeed, and of right belongs to the\nKing. God bless him! But since His Majesty has small need of a matter\nof twenty guineas, and I a very pressing one, I'll e'en pouch them\nmyself!\" And, so doing, and vaulting into the saddle, he was gone.\n\nAlong this same route, in the woodland road between West Wycombe and\nStokenchurch, Jack Shrimpton, the highwayman, met a barrister who\ngreatly admired the horse Shrimpton was riding, and offered him \u00a330 for\nit. Needless to say, the coin promptly changed hands, but the horse did\nnot.\n\nShrimpton was a native of Buckinghamshire, and was born at Penn, near\nBeaconsfield. He had been in his youth apprenticed to the soap-making\ntrade, and was afterwards in the army.\n\nOne day he happened in a roadside inn upon a traveller who chanced to\nbe the common hangman. He took a glass of wine with him, and, talking\nover his profession, he asked the hangman, \"What is the reason, when\nyou perform your office, that you put the knot just under the ear? In\nmy opinion, if you were to fix it in the nape of the neck, it would be\neasier for the sufferer.\"\n\nThe hangman said, \"I have hanged a great many in my time, sir; but,\nupon my word, I have never yet had any complaint. However, if it should\nbe your good luck to make use of me, I will, to oblige you, hang you\nafter your own way.\"\n\n\"I want none of your favours,\" replied Shrimpton heatedly, for the joke\nhad struck nearer home than the hangman could have imagined.\n\nIn yet another incident, Shrimpton does not figure to advantage; and,\none way and another, we shall not perhaps be ungenerous if we think him\nto have been something of an ass.\n\nMeeting a miller who had failed in business, and, losing his all,\nhad taken to the high-toby profession, he was summoned to \"Stand!\"\nShrimpton was mounted and armed; the miller was on foot, and had only a\ncudgel, and when the practised highwayman produced his pistol, abjectly\nsurrendered.\n\n\"Surely,\" said Shrimpton, disgusted with such an amateurish method,\n\"you are but a young highwayman, or you would have knocked me down\nfirst and bade me to stand afterwards.\"\n\nHe then confided to the miller that he had recently robbed a neighbour\nof \u00a3150, and was now waiting for a traveller who was coming with\nsix-score guineas. \"Assist me,\" he said, \"and you shall have half the\nbooty.\"\n\nThe miller agreed, but presently, taking Shrimpton off his guard,\nknocked him down from behind with his cudgel. As the unfortunate\nhighwayman lay in the road, slowly regaining consciousness, he saw the\ntreacherous and villainous miller pouching his gold, and preparing to\nhastily depart with his horse.\n\n\"Good-bye,\" said the miller, \"and, harkye, be off as soon as you\ncan, or I'll have you hanged for robbing your neighbour, by your own\nconfession.\"\n\n\"Thus,\" says the old historian of these things, \"the Biter was bit,\nand Shrimpton swore he would nevermore take upon himself to learn\nstrangers how to rob upon the highway.\" Excellent resolution! But he\nhad little time wherein to put it into practice, for he was presently\nhanged, while his career was yet young, on St. Michael's Hill, Bristol,\nSeptember 4th, 1713.\n\nOf later travellers, by coach or by postchaise, who, fully aware of\nthe risks they ran on all these great roads running out of London, hid\ntheir valuables carefully in their boots and other places of which they\nimagined the highwaymen could have no suspicion, there is not much\nspace left here to tell. Let it, however, be said that those highwaymen\nwere as well-informed as are modern Customs officers of likely places\nfor secreting property; and when the coaches and chaises were stopped,\nand the travellers bidden hand over their money and watches, it was no\nuse for them to declare that they had nothing. At the pistol-muzzle\nthey were bidden take off their boots or other articles of dress. This\nwas humorously known among the highwaymen as \"shelling the peas.\"\n\n[Illustration: \"SHELLING THE PEAS.\"]\n\n\n\n\nMOLL CUTPURSE: THE \"ROARING GIRL\"\n\n\n[Illustration:\n\nMOLL CUTPURSE.]\n\nMoll Cutpurse must needs have a place here, by right of her intimate\nassociation with the highwaymen, rather than her own exploits. She was\nnot, in fact, a highway robber at all; nor, of course, was her name\nCutpurse, but Mary Frith. The daughter of a shoemaker, whose name,\nas a reporter of the old school might say, does not \"transpire,\" she\nwas born in Barbican, City of London, in 1592. Tradition tells how\nshe was born with clenched fists: sure sign of a wild and adventurous\nnature. Her muscles and her spirit alike were mannish. As a girl, she\nwas, in the obsolete language of the seventeenth century, a \"tom-rig\"\nand \"rump-scuttle\"; and a \"quarter-staff\" was more agreeable to her\nthan a distaff. And not only more agreeable, but more natural, and she\nworsted many a pretty fellow in fair fight with that weapon, with which\nonly the strong and the active could prevail. Her father proposed to\napprentice her to a saddler, but she refused, and she was put aboard\na ship bound for Virginia, to be sold into the plantations. It seems\na drastic way with a rebellious daughter; but it failed, for Moll\nescaped before even the ship had left the Port of London. Love never\nentered into the career of Moll, and as she had the strength of a man\nand a masculine voice that procured her the name of the \"Roaring Girl,\"\nshe early concluded to wear masculine attire. In Middleton's comedy,\nwritten about her when she was still young, he makes a character\ndeclare: \"She has the spirit of four great parishes, and a voice\nthat will drown all the city.\" It will thus be seen that she was at\nan early age well known to those who lived their life in London. And\nfor excellent reasons. She had not only become a member of a gang of\nthieves and pickpockets, who frequented the Bear Garden in Southwark\nand other popular resorts, but had graduated with amazing ease and\nswiftness in the art of slitting pockets and extracting purses, and\nfrom that had by force of an organising brain elevated herself into the\nposition of a plotter of robberies and high directress of clyfakers\nand bung-snatchers. So well was the destination known of most of the\nwatches and trinkets that were continually disappearing, that the\nowners of them were often knocking at her door in Fleet Street, ready\nto ransom their property for a well-recognised percentage of its value,\nbefore the thieves had returned with it; and they had to be politely\nrequested to call again. In those halcyon days of the receivers of\nstolen property, before the evil career of Jonathan Wild had caused an\nAct of Parliament to be passed, dealing with them on the same footing\nas the actual thieves, much was done in this way of ransom and ready\nbrokerage, and, so long as it was done with discretion, with advantage\nto all concerned. The owners got their own again, with the expenditure\nof a comparatively trifling sum, the gang carried on their operations\nwith a large degree of security, and the wily Moll made an excellent\nincome. She was witty and original, and\u2014such was the spirit of the\nage\u2014she became rather the fashion among the riotous young blades of\ntown, who were then \"seeing life.\" The highwaymen knew her well, and\nresorted to her house when they had taken watches and jewellery they\ncould not themselves, without the gravest risk, endeavour to sell. They\ntrusted her, and the public, coming to redeem the articles, did the\nsame; and indeed, as intermediary between losers and finders, she was\nhonesty itself: absolutely beyond suspicion.\n\nThus wagged the merry days until the Civil War altered the complexion\nof things. The times had been growing, for some few years before,\ncuriously out of joint. The people, once taken with the mad pranks and\noutrageous humours of the society in which she moved, had grown more\nserious-minded, and the gay gallants who still continued to \"see life\"\nwere no longer regarded with indulgence. The ripple of Puritanism that\nhad arisen in the time of James the First and had then been little more\nthan a religious expression, had increased in the time of his son to\nan overwhelming wave of politico-religious fury. It swept on, blotting\nout the theatres, frowning down all levity and finally breaking into\nwarfare between the two different ideals cherished by Roundheads and\nRoyalists.\n\nThe gallants naturally became Cavaliers, and went warring for their\nKing over the country; but in the City there was a strict, stern way\nof regarding things that did Moll's business no good. Like all her\nassociates, she was a Royalist. The alliance perhaps does that cause no\nservice in the pages of history; but we must take it as we find it, and\nmake the best or the worst of the fact, just as our own partisanship\ndictates.\n\nShe detailed trusty members of her organisation to persecute, in their\nown particular way, leading members of the detested party that had\nacquired political ascendency. On one occasion, while they robbed Lady\nFairfax on her way to church, the \"Roaring Girl\" herself set out,\naccording to the legend, to rob the husband, Fairfax, the Parliamentary\ngeneral, with her own hands, on Hounslow Heath. It seems beyond belief,\nbut the tale is at any rate a very old one, to be traced back almost as\nfar as her own day. The story tells how she shot Fairfax in the arm,\nkilled two horses ridden by the servants attending him, and secured all\nthe money the general had with him. We may go so far as to concede that\nthis was what the \"Roaring Girl\" would have rejoiced to do, had it been\npossible; but imagination refuses to carry us further.\n\nMoll's fortune declined during the long years of the Commonwealth,\nwhich fact is, at any rate, something for Cromwellians to plume\nthemselves upon. That she should live to see the Restoration and\nCharles the Second upon the throne, was one of her most ardent desires.\nShe never doubted that he would be restored, and was careful to leave\na sum of twenty pounds, by will, to celebrate the event, if it should\nhappen to be deferred beyond her time. She died of dropsy, just one\nyear before the Restoration took place.\n\n\n\n\nCAPTAIN PHILIP STAFFORD\n\n\nI do not think, if the highwaymen were with us again, that they would\nbe treated by their victims with the extraordinary lenience shown\nthem in those (in that respect) easy-going seventeenth and eighteenth\ncenturies. It was commonly sufficient for a \"knight of the road\" who\nhad been good enough to refrain from abuse or personal violence to say\nat parting, \"God bless you,\" and then to shake hands with his victim,\nfor that victim to go his way and never think of laying an information.\nAnd that is one of the reasons why the high-toby trade flourished so\nbravely in times when to be convicted of highway robbery meant death.\nThe law, in fact, overreached itself, and the awful extremity of the\npenalty, so far from discouraging highwaymen, really encouraged their\nkind; for those were, after all, not the heartless periods we are\ntaught to think them, and comparatively few were prepared to swear away\nthe life of a fellow-creature in revenge for the loss of guineas or\njewellery. Had the penalty been less tragic there would have been more\ninformations.\n\nBut it was in the years following the Civil War, ending with the\nexecution of Charles the First, that the roads in general, and\nMaidenhead Thicket in particular, attained their greatest notoriety.\nThe whole country, indeed, swarmed with the adventurers who had\nattached themselves to the fortunes of the Cavalier party, and with\ngentlemen ruined in the cause of the King; their property sequestrated\nby Parliament and their persons subject to arrest. When the fighting\nwas done, many of them became brigands and preyed upon honest men. If\ntheir victims chanced to be of the opposite faction, well and good;\nbut it really mattered little to them of whom they levied unlawful\ntribute upon the road, and in short, the broken Cavaliers turned\nhighwaymen, of whom we read in the classic pages of Smith and Johnson,\nwere no favourable advertisement of their defeated party. Captain\nAlexander Smith, to whose diligence we owe the accounts of these\nseventeenth-century highwaymen, was himself of Royalist sympathies:\nthe fact peeps out from almost every page of his work; but he had not\nthe wit to see that the careers of his sorry heroes, as told by him,\nshow them in general to be bullies, ready at a moment's notice, with a\ngush of cant, to justify their acts, fully as revolting as any of the\ncant that ever proceeded from what we are taught to believe was the\ncanting party. They were a scoundrelly crew, whose highway work was but\nan incident, and that a comparatively venial one, in lives compact of\nalmost incredible viciousness.\n\nA prominent figure was that of Philip Stafford, a desperate fellow who,\nborn about 1622, and originally the son of a gentleman-farmer in the\nneighbourhood of Newbury, had seen some fighting for the King, and,\nlike many another highwayman of that period, was known as \"captain.\"\nMaidenhead Thicket was a favourite lurk of his. Here it was he met a\nclergyman, shot his horse, robbed him of forty guineas, and bound him\nto a tree.\n\nWe read that Stafford soon grew successful in his profession and\namassed a considerable sum of money; and then thought it well to\nretreat to a village in the north of England, and live there in a\nretired and frugal manner. It does not seem a characteristic resolution\nfor a highwayman to take. The quiet life, it might be supposed, would\nnot suit such an one. But such is the story told of him.\n\nThe more to avoid suspicion, he assumed the appearance of sanctity, and\nattended the village church and the parish meetings, and soon acquired\ngreat popularity as a speaker among the simple country people. After he\nhad continued there about a year the minister died, and we are expected\nto believe the fantastic story that Stafford was elected in his stead,\nand that he \"acquitted himself to the entire satisfaction\" of the\npeople; until, indeed, he went off with the plate.\n\nHe then, tired of the simple life, resumed his evil courses. Near\nReading he waylaid a farmer, jogging home from market, and, worming\nhimself into the unsuspecting man's confidence, found he had with\nhim \u00a333, the price of two loads of wheat just sold. He relieved\nthe unfortunate man of that sum; but this was his last exploit.\nAccording to Johnson, he had scarcely taken leave of the farmer when\ntwo gentlemen, well mounted, came up, and, being informed of what\nhad happened, rode after Stafford, and, in the space of an hour,\novertook and dismounted him, seized the money, and carried him before\na Justice of the Peace, who committed him to prison. At the ensuing\nAssizes he was tried and condemned. During his imprisonment he lived\nin a sumptuous manner, and, after the lax customs of the time, was\neven visited by many of his own profession, who formed a plan for his\nescape. But rumours of this being noised about, the day of execution\nwas changed, and the scheme for his rescue was foiled.\n\nHe made the customary brave show at that last scene. Dressed in \"a\nfine light suit of clothes, with a nosegay in his breast,\" he at first\nappeared perfectly unconcerned, and seems to have been the first of a\nlong line of bold fellows who, given a last drink at a tavern on the\nway, promised to pay for it when they returned: an excellent jest.\nBut, arriving at the place of execution at Reading, looking wistfully\naround, and seeking to prolong the preliminaries, in hope of that\npromised rescue, he faltered and trembled when the looked-for friends\nmade no appearance. Presenting the sheriff with a paper containing a\nshort account of his adventures, he was duly hanged.\n\n\"By his particular desire,\" the sheriff had him buried under the tower\nof St. Mary's Church.\n\n\n\n\nCAPTAIN JAMES HIND, THE \"PRINCE OF PRIGS\"\n\n\nBy a general consensus of the opinions current in his age, Captain\nJames Hind was incomparable among his fellow-highwaymen for courage,\nfor resource, and for courtesy, and succeeding ages, although prolific\nin highwaymen, failed to produce the like of him.\n\nJames Hind was born in 1616 at Chipping Norton, the son of a saddler,\nand began life as apprentice to a butcher of that town. The lives\nof celebrated men, as told in popular biographies, afford many\ncontradictions, and the career of Hind, set forth in the innumerable\nchapbooks of his own period, of the era of the Catnach press, and in\na robustious kind of juvenile gutter-literature, that has survived\neven to our own day, is told in a variety of ways. His course was\nsufficiently adventurous, but his biographers have not condescended to\nthe critical attitude; and thus, among the tales of wonder in which\nhe moves, there are doubtless many that have simply accrued, just\nas the house-flies of summer are attracted to fly-papers. Indeed,\nas the highwaymen have ever been something (and generally a good\ndeal) of heroes, so legends inevitably have gathered round them. If\ntheir exploits have not found a Homer to do for them what the Greek\npoet performed for the heroes of the _Iliad_, that is merely their\nmisfortune, and they have had to be content with a Smith, a Johnson,\nand the trivial production of scribblers fortunate in anonymity.\n\nAmong the earliest of the chapbooks dealing with the short life and\nmerry of Captain Hind is that scarce and curious print entitled _No\nJest like a True Jest_, which presents us with what is quaintly styled\n\"the true Protracture\" of him, reproduced here. Observe his gallant\nbearing, the bravery of his dress, his winning smile, his lady-like\nfeet! He carries a formidable pistol, it is true, but as you note him\nstanding so debonair beside his gallant charger, you perceive, as it\nwere, the courtesy and consideration that unfailingly accompanied his\nactions, shining out behind the rude methods of the old wood-engraver\nwho seems to have hewed the portrait out of the wood with a billhook.\n\n[Illustration: THE \"TRUE PROTRACTURE\" OF CAPTAIN HIND.]\n\nAccording to _No Jest like a True Jest_, which is but indifferently\ntruthful in many of its details, and does not strike one as being a\njest-book, Hind's father, before apprenticing him to a butcher, \"put\nhim to school, intending to make him a Scholar, but he minded his\nwagish Pastimes more than his Book,\" and so all ideas of a liberal\neducation were cut off. Nor was the apprenticeship to the butchering\nmore successful, for he, \"having a Running Pate, soon grew weary\nof that also, and in conclusion ran away from his Master.\" Excusing\nhimself, by complaining of the rough and quarrelsome character of the\nmaster, he borrowed two pounds from his mother, and fled to London.\nHe was fifteen years of age at this time, and, if we may believe the\nbiographers\u2014a difficult enough exercise\u2014\"he soon contracted a relish\nfor the pleasures of the town. A bottle and a female companion became\nhis principal delight, and occupied the greater part of his time. So\nprecocious were the 'prentice-boys of the early seventeenth century,\nand so far did forty shillings go!\"\n\nEre long this youthful adventurer found his way into the society\nof highwaymen. It was in the Poultry Compter, whither he had been\nconsigned for his part in a drunken riot, that he first made the\nacquaintance of Robert Allen, who was expert in most thievish arts.\nOver a bottle they struck up a friendship, and Allen presently\nintroduced him to the gang he himself captained. They were mounted men,\nand the first test of the young recruit was the choice of a horse.\nHe chose, with the unerring judgment in horseflesh that was one of\nhis distinguishing characteristics through life, the best animal in\nthe stable. Taken then to Shooter's Hill, and set to bid the first\ntraveller \"Stand and deliver!\" he acquitted himself in so finished a\nmanner as to win the respect of his new comrades, who, witnessing the\nexploit from the leafy coverts beside the road, could not withhold\ntheir admiration.\n\n[Illustration:\n\n    Here now thou seest me as a Butcher's Boy,\n      And sporting with a Dog in Merriment;\n    Hereafter, thou wilt read the Tricks I play,\n      Which may afford Thee pleasure and content.\n    For there's no Robb'ry yet I ere did doe,\n    But doth contain at least a jest or two.]\n\nThe horseman whom he thus robbed instantly handed over the ten guineas\nhe was possessed of, and was no doubt bitterly wondering how he was\nto get home in a penniless state, when Hind courteously returned him\none guinea. \"This,\" said he, \"is for handsel sake.\" The watching band\nof highwaymen marvelled greatly. Here was an intrepid youngster, the\ncoolest hand at robbery, courteously giving back a percentage of his\nhonest earnings. They were witnessing the foundation of a new school\nin an old art, a school that, although its fit pupils were few and\nfar between, did at least establish a tradition that, while it did\nnot greatly advantage the travelling world, did at least serve to\nwin a long line of highwaymen an amount of forbearance that seems to\nus moderns almost incredible. The law visited highway robbery with\nsentences of the utmost ferocity, but individuals, as a general rule,\ntook their losses, not only with an astonishing philosophy, but with a\nremarkable display of good-nature.\n\n    Insult a man, and he may brook it,\n    But keep your hands out of his breeches pocket,\n\nsays a well-known couplet; but here we have the strange spectacle of\ncourtesy disarming the resentment caused by the turning out of those\npockets! Hind was not yet the holder of a commission, but he was\nevidently already captain of himself.\n\nThose were successful years, in which Hind scoured the roads with\nAllen's band. They robbed by wholesale, but never did the gentlemanly\nHind omit the courteous formula of raising his hat on requesting a\ndelivery. Your tax-gatherer and rate-collector of modern times do not\ndo so much, in the presentation of their \"Demand Notes.\"\n\nNot only did Allen's gang pervade the country upon horseback: they\nconducted operations in lordly style, travelling often in carriages, or\nsetting forth, some equipped as noblemen and others as their servants,\nall the better to conduct their campaign of robbery. Allen, of course,\nlike most highwaymen of that time, was of Royalist sympathies. He\nconceived the magnificent idea of waylaying the travelling coach of\nno less a personage than His Highness, the Lord Protector of the Realm,\nOliver Cromwell himself, on the way from Huntingdon. Unfortunately,\nthe coach was guarded by seven servants, unusually full of fight, and\nso the attack not merely failed, but several of the highwaymen were\ncaptured, among them their leader, Allen, who, a short time later,\nsuffered at Tyburn for his error of judgment. Hind was fortunate enough\nto escape, by dint of a good horse and excellent horsemanship.\n\n[Illustration: ALLEN AND HIND ATTACK OLIVER CROMWELL'S CARRIAGE.]\n\nWe are told, however, that Hind's horse was killed by the exhausting\nefforts of this escape. Having no money to purchase another (how\non earth did the highwaymen manage to dissipate all the money they\nstole?), he was under the necessity of trying his fortune on foot\nuntil he should find means to procure another. It was not long before\nhe espied a horse tied to a hedge, with a saddle on, and a brace of\npistols in the holsters.\n\n\"This is my horse,\" cried Hind to the owner, whom he observed on the\nother side of the hedge, and forthwith he vaulted into the saddle.\n\n\"The horse is mine, you rascal!\" roared the owner, making a dash for it.\n\n\"Sir,\" rejoined Hind, \"you may consider yourself well off, that I have\nleft you with all your money in your pocket to buy another, which you\nhad best lay out before I meet you again, lest you should be worse\nused.\" So saying, he rode off in search of new booty.\n\nTo rob the rich, to act as special providence to the poor, to\nsuccour the distressed, and to plague the existence of their\npolitical opponents seem to have been as much the attributes of the\nseventeenth-century highwaymen as they were of that merry outlaw,\nRobin Hood. It is thus that, in the vilely printed pamphlets written\nby illiterates, composed of blunted type, struck off upon incredibly\nbad paper by the aid of rickety hand-presses, and sold at the old\ncountry fairs, the highwaymen have always had a niche in the affections\nof the rustics, who had no purse nor gear to lose. Hind was of this\ntype, whether actually or as the creature of legend it is now no use\nto inquire. We learn, for instance, how, riding through the town of\nWarwick, and hearing a commotion in a side street, he drew rein to\ndiscover the cause. An innkeeper, he was told, had been arrested at\nthe suit of a rascally old usurer, for a debt of twenty pounds. It\nwas the work of a few minutes for Hind to leap from his horse, to pay\nthe money, and thus to release the innkeeper. \"Generosity!\" you will\nexclaim. Well, no; or, at any rate, merely a generous impulse that\ncost him nothing but a little physical exertion, for what was easier\nto Hind than recovering again those twenty sovereigns! He followed the\nmoney-lender out of the town, and, overtaking him in a lonely place,\nsaid, with his forceful politeness, \"My good friend, I lent you, of\nlate, a sum of twenty pounds. Repay at once, or I take your miserable\nlife!\"\n\nTwenty sovereigns were with fear and trembling handed over, together\nwith another twenty, \"for interest,\" and when this ill-used man sought\nto recover his due from the innkeeper under legal plea of \"duress,\" or\nwhat not technical terms, he was not only defeated on the innkeeper\nproducing his signed discharge, but was soundly flogged into the\nbargain.\n\nThe fanciful book of Hind's exploits called _The English Gusman_,\npublished in 1652, contains some marvellous stories, notably that in\nwhich a witch gives him a talisman protecting him for three years. He\nhad been staying the night at the \"George\" inn, Hatfield, and leaving\nearly the next morning, encountered an ill-favoured old woman who\nbegged alms of him.\n\n\"His horse presently staid, and would go no further. 'Sir,' said the\nold woman, 'I have something to say to you, and then you shall be gone.'\n\n\"Hind, not liking her Countenance, puld out five shillings and gave\nher, thinking she would but like a Gipsee, tell his fortune, said,\n'Good woman, I am in haste.'\n\n\"'Sir,' said she, 'I have staid all this morning to speak to you; and\nwould you have me lose my labour?'\n\n\"'Speak your mind,' said Hind.\n\n\"The old woman began thus: 'Captain Hind, you ride and go in many\ndangers; wherefore, by my poor skill, I have thought of a way to\npreserve you for the space of three years; but, that time being past,\nyou are no more than an ordinary man, and a mischance may fall on you,\nas well as another; but if you be in England, come to me, and I will\nrenew the Verteu of this Charm again.'\n\n[Illustration: CAPTAIN HIND, THE CAVALIER HERO.]\n\n\"In saying these words, she puld out of her bosom a little box, almost\nlike a Sun-Dyal, and gave it to Captain Hind, and said to him, 'When\nyou are in any distress, open this, and which way you see the Star\nturns, ride or go that way, and you shall escape all dangers.'\n\n\"So she switched him with a white Rod that was in her hand, and strook\nthe horse on the buttocks, and bid him farewell. The horse presently\nleaped forward with such courage that Hind could not turn to give her\nthanks; but, guessing her will it should be so, rode on his way.\"\n\n[Illustration:\n\n    Next; here am I presented to thy view,\n      Mounted aloft upon a gallant Nagg:\n    And then behinde me doth appear to you,\n      How I'm enchanted by an ugly Hagg.\n    For Three years' space: A little time I wot;\n    Yet many Pranks I plai'd, and Purses got.]\n\nThe talisman, according to the author of these marvels, lasted him\nuntil the time when he was present at the siege of Youghal, and its\nexpiry was marked by his being wounded there.\n\nHe was a wide traveller, our gallant \"Captain.\" We hear of him as a\n\"true Royalist,\" receiving a commission from Sir William Compton, and\nfind him at the desperate two-months' siege of Colchester, where the\nbeleaguered Royalists made a last stand for Charles the First. On the\nsurrender of that town, August 27th, 1648, to Fairfax, he managed to\nescape in woman's, or, according to another account, sailor's clothes.\n\nThe scene now shifts to Enfield, and we perceive Hind and the regicide,\nHugh Peters, encountering in the green rides of the Chase. Politely\nHind requests his purse, yet discloses a not altogether inopportune\npistol. To this Peters replies with a defensive volley of texts. \"Thou\nshalt not steal; let him that stole steal no more,\" and the like,\ntogether with a variety of paraphrases of the eighth commandment.\n\nHind, anxious to answer Peters in his own vein, finds himself a little\nfloored at first, from want of practice, but presently he begins,\n\"Verily,\" says he, imitating the sanctimonious tones of the Puritan,\n\"if thou hadst regarded the Divine principles, as thou oughtest to\nhave done, thou wouldst not have wrested them to such an abominable\nand wicked sense as thou didst the words of the Prophet, when he said,\n'Bind their Kings with chains, and their nobles with fetters of iron.'\nDidst thou not then, detestable hypocrite, endeavour from these words\nto aggravate the misfortunes of thy Royal master, whom thy cursed\nrepublican party unjustly murdered before the gate of his own palace?\"\n\n[Illustration:\n\n    Stand and Deliver! Next in order comes;\n      Quickly your Money. Make no stay at all,\n    For my aim's high, and at those greater sums,\n      The lesser lead to Tyburn's funeral.\n    Here's all the difference, as 'tis manifest,\n    I got their money: they received a jest.]\n\nHere Peters began to extenuate the action of the regicides, and to\nquote Scriptural authority; with an excursus upon the sinfulness of\nrobbery.\n\n\"Pray, sir,\" replies Hind, Doctor of Divinity, _pro tem._, \"make no\nreflection against men of my profession, for Solomon plainly said,\n'Do not despise a thief.' But it is to little purpose for us to\ndispute: the substance of what I have to say is this: Deliver thy money\npresently, or else I shall send thee out of the world to thy master,\nthe Devil, in an instant.\"\n\n\"These terrible words of the Captain,\" we are told, \"so terrified the\nold Presbyterian that he gave him thirty broad pieces of gold, and then\ndeparted.\"\n\nBut Hind must needs still further humiliate the enemy. He accordingly\nrode after him at full speed, and, overtaking him, addressed him in\nthis wise: \"Sir, now I think of it, I am convinced this misfortune has\nhappened to you because you did not obey the words of the Scripture,\nwhich says, expressly, 'Provide neither gold, nor silver, nor brass,\nin your purses for your journey,' whereas it is evident that you had\nprovided a pretty decent quantity of gold. However, as it is now in my\npower to make you fulfil another commandment, I would by no means slip\nthe opportunity; therefore, pray, give me your cloak. You know, sir, it\nis commanded that, if any man take away thy cloak, thou must not refuse\nthy coat also.\"\n\n[Illustration: HIND ROBS DR. PETERS.]\n\nThe old Puritan shrugged his shoulders uncomfortably before he\nproceeded to uncloak them, but on Hind assuring him he must needs be\nobeyed, he surrendered the garment, and off went the highwayman with it.\n\nThe next Sunday, ascending his pulpit, Peters held forth, with a\nnatural warmth of feeling, upon the crime of highway robbery, taking\nas his text, \"I have put off my coat, how shall I put it on?\" when an\nhonest plain man present, who had heard of the incident, exclaimed,\n\"Upon my word, sir, I believe there is nobody here can tell you,\nunless Captain Hind were here.\" The which put the congregation into\nsuch an excessive fit of laughter that the parson was made to blush,\nand descended from his prattling-box without further prosecuting the\nsubject.\n\nIt was upon the road between Sherborne and Shaftesbury that Hind\nfell in with Serjeant Bradshaw, prominent among those who had sat in\njudgment upon the King. Bradshaw was in his travelling chariot, and,\nprogressing with a considerable degree of state, declined to be robbed;\nmentioning his name.\n\n\"Pooh!\" exclaimed Hind, \"I fear neither you nor any king-killing\nvillain alive. I have now as much power over you as you lately had over\nthe King, and I should do God and my country good service if I made\nthe same use of it; but live, villain, to suffer the pangs of thine\nown conscience, till Justice shall lay her iron hand upon thee, and\nrequire an answer for thy crimes, who are unworthy to die by any hands\nbut those of the common hangman, or at any other place than Tyburn.\nNevertheless, though I spare thy life, deliver up thy money, or die for\nthine obstinacy.\"\n\nTo save a miserable life, he put his trembling hand into his pocket,\nand drew out about forty shillings in silver, which he presented to the\nCaptain, who swore he would that minute shoot him through the heart,\nunless he found him coin of another species. The Serjeant was then\ncompelled to present Hind with a purse full of Jacobuses.\n\nWhat a devil of talk possessed Hind. To be robbed and insulted, that\nwas perhaps endurable; but to be lectured\u2014oh, horrible!\n\n\"_This_, sir,\" says he, receiving the purse, \"is the metal that wins\nmy heart for ever! O precious gold! I admire and adore thee, as much\nas either Bradshaw, Prynne, or any other villain of the same stamp.\nThis is that incomparable medicament which the republican physicians\ncall the wonder-working plaster. It is truly Catholic in operation,\nand somewhat akin to the Jesuit's powder, but more effectual. The\nvirtues of it are strange and various; it maketh justice deaf, as well\nas blind; and takes out spots of the deepest treasons, as easily as\nCastile soap does common stains. It alters a man's constitution in\ntwo or three days, more than the virtuoso's transfusion of blood can\ndo in seven years. 'Tis a great alexiopharmick, and helps poisonous\nprinciples of rebellion, and those that use them. It miraculously\nexalts and purifies the eyesight, and makes traitors behold nothing\nbut innocence in the blackest malefactors. It is a mighty cordial for\na declining cause: it stifles faction and schism, as certainly as the\nitch is destroyed by butter and brimstone. In a word, it makes fools\nwise men, and wise men fools, and both of them knaves. The very colour\nof this precious balm is bright and dazzling. If it be properly applied\nto the fist, that is, in a decent manner, and in a competent dose, it\ninfallibly performs all the above-mentioned cures, and many others, too\nnumerous to be here mentioned.\"\n\nWith this, probably having quite exhausted himself, he haughtily\npistolled the six horses that drew Bradshaw's carriage, and so left the\nunfortunate regicide, stripped of his money, deprived of all means of\nlocomotion, and stunned by his flow of verbiage.\n\nThis, like the most of Hind's exploits, was robbing on the grand\nscale. To be sure, he rarely stooped to little larcenies, for he was\na practical philosopher among the \"skilful surveyors of highways\nand hedges\" that he and his kind were pleased to style themselves.\n\"Remember what I tell you,\" he would say; \"disgrace not yourselves for\nsmall sums, but aim high, and for great ones; the least will bring you\nto the gallows.\"\n\nThere spoke the \"Prince of Prigs,\" who was indeed so notable in his own\nlifetime that he had the honour accorded him of a play written around\nhis exploits while yet he survived to add to them. It is not a good\nplay, but that is no fault of our \"gentleman\" highwayman: the thing\nis that it should have been written and printed at all. Thus runs the\ntitle-page, that he himself may have read:\n\n  An Excellent Comedy\n  called, The\n  PRINCE OF PRIGGS\n  Revels:\n  or\n  The Practises of that grand Thief Captain\n  JAMES HIND\n  Relating\n  Divers of his Pranks and Exploits, never\n  heretofore published by any.\n  Repleat with various Conceits, and Tarltonian Mirth,\n  suitable to the Subject\n\n  Written by J. S.\n\n  London, Printed for G. Horton, 1651.\n\nSeventy pounds he took from Colonel Harrison, another of the regicides,\non the Bath Road, at Maidenhead Thicket; and so at one and the same\ntime avenged his King and full-lined his pockets. A hue-and-cry was\nraised immediately, and the \"Captain\" was in danger long before he\nsuspected it. It was an innkeeper who warned him\u2014for the taverners and\ntapsters of that, of earlier, and of succeeding ages were ower sib to\nthe gentlemen of the high-toby trade, and stood them in good stead\nwhenever possible.\n\nIn this situation, it seems, Hind experienced an unwonted access of\nnervousness, and was apprehensive of every person he met upon the road.\nHe had reached Knowl Hill, some four miles only from the spot where\nhe had held up Harrison in his carriage, when a gentleman's servant,\nGeorge Symson by name, riding at full speed after his master, came\ndashing by. With his mind full of the hue-and-cry raised after him,\nHind, supposing this to be one of his pursuers, turned about, and\nraising his pistol, shot the unfortunate man dead: the only occasion of\nhis taking life.\n\nIn May 1649, he was at The Hague, in the councils of Charles the\nSecond. Thence, after a three days' stay, he crossed to Ireland and was\nmade a corporal in the Duke of Ormonde's Life Guards. Wounded in action\nwith Cromwell's troopers before Youghal, he escaped to Dungannon, but\nplague raged there, and he sailed for Scilly, which had a clean bill of\nhealth, and was, moreover, the safest place in which a hunted Royalist,\nhighwayman or not, could at that time find himself. For, when all else\nhad failed, even in the staunch and long-enduring West, the Scilly\nIsles still held out for the cause. The King was dead, but his son\nreigned in the hearts of the Cavaliers, and a faithful band, captained\nby Sir John Grenville, retired to that remote archipelago, fortified\nthe islands, and made them a privateering base. It was not until June\n1651, that Blake's flotilla forced them to surrender.\n\nMeanwhile, so famous had Hind become, that rumour posted him everywhere\nwhere highway robberies were reported. He was already in his lifetime a\nkind of bogey, or will-o'-wisp sort of a fellow, who could miraculously\nbe in at least two places at one and the same time. Thus, while he was\ncertainly in Scilly, _The Perfect Weekly Account_ of September 13th,\n1649, reports from Bedford: \"Last night was brought into this gaol,\ntwo prisoners taken up upon pursuit by the county, for robbing some\nsoldiers of about \u00a3300 upon the way, in the day-time: there were five\nin the fact, and are very handsome gentlemen: they will not confess\ntheir names, and therefore are supposed to be gentlemen of quality, and\n'tis conceived they are of the knot of Captain Hind, that grand thief\nof England, that hath his associates upon all roads. They strewed at\nleast \u00a3100 upon the way, to keep the pursuers doing, that they might\nnot follow them.\"\n\nNo doubt this would have been an enterprise entirely after Hind's own\nheart; but he was not there, nor were the highwaymen of his company.\n\nAgain, September 20th: \"Yesterday about 20 horse of Hind's party (the\ngrand highway thief) in the space of two hours robbed about 40 persons\nbetween Barnet and Wellin. They let none pass, to carry news while they\nstaid about this work, by which means they all escaped before the\ncounty could be raised, but the Lord General's horse are diligent in\nseeking after them.\"\n\nHind remained in the sanctuary afforded by the Scilly Isles for eight\nmonths, and then travelled to the Isle of Man, where he sojourned\nthirteen weeks. There had been little scope for his peculiar activities\non Scilly, but he found more opportunities on the Isle of Man, the\nkingdom at that time of my lord the Earl of Derby, to whom he obtained\nan introduction. He even became what modern diplomats would describe\nas a _persona grata_ in that island Court. Robbery had been unknown\nin this most fortunate of the Fortunate Isles before ever Hind set\nfoot there; but with his advent a perfect epidemic of highway robbery\nprevailed. The Manxmen would have been of the densest had they not\nconnected the coming of Hind with these disasters, and they laid\ntheir suspicions before the Governor, Sir Philip Musgrave, who,\nwith Hind by his side, in good-fellowship thought the insinuation\nabsurdly ungenerous. Hind declared his innocence, but protested his\nwillingness to suffer the extremest penalty of the island laws, if\nhe were recognised for the thief. This offer was not so impetuously\ningenuous as it looked, for, naturally, if he were so recognised, he\nwould perforce, in the usual course of affairs, be made to suffer; and\nsecondly, he had already taken the precaution of robbing in disguise.\nThe Manxmen had come to the Governor with tales of an aged, hairy\nman, with long hair and beard; and confronted with the youthful\nCavalier-like Hind, protested with apologies, that this was not the\nman. And then, when they were gone, what must our tricksy Captain do\nbut produce, for the Governor's amusement, the shameless wigs and\ncostumes in which he had masqueraded. There must have been a deal\nof fellow-feeling in that Governor, and little humour. Your true\nhumorist could not possibly have resisted the obvious conclusion to the\nscreaming farce, and would have had Hind fettered and sent off at once\nto the deepest dungeon available.\n\n[Illustration: HIND SHOWS HIS DISGUISE.]\n\nHind then went across the Border into Scotland, where preparations\nwere afoot for an armed invasion of England on behalf of Charles\nthe Second. At Stirling he loyally kissed the hand of His Majesty\nand offered his services, not in taking purses on the road, but\nin fighting for the cause. The King commended him to the Duke of\nBuccleuch, and he came south and fought for Charles (the \"King of\nScots,\" as the Republicans were pleased to call him) at the disastrous\nBattle of Worcester. Escaping in the headlong flight, he hid himself\nin London. Near the close of that year, 1651, lodging in the name of\nJames Brown, in the house of one Denzys, who exercised the trade of\na barber over against St. Dunstan's-in-the-West, in Fleet Street, he\nwas betrayed to the Republican party and carried before the Speaker of\nthe House of Commons, who, after a lengthy examination \"in regard to\nhis late engagement with Charles Stewart, and whether he was the man\nthat accompanied the Scots king for the furtherance of his escape,\"\ncommitted him in irons to the Gatehouse. There was a choice before\nhis captors of the charge to be preferred. At first he was removed to\nNewgate, and tried at the sessions for highway robbery. A rude woodcut\nin a biography shows him, visited by his wife and father, at this stage\nof affairs, with a pitiful verse beneath.\n\nThe charges not being sustained by sufficient evidence, he was sent\nunder a strong guard to Reading, there to be tried, March 1st, 1652,\nfor the murder of George Symson at Knowl Hill. Convicted of this,\nhe would forthwith have been hanged, had it not been for an Act\nof Oblivion that had been passed, securing an indemnity for \"all\npast offences.\" This, apparently, did not include the offence of\nhigh treason; and so reduced, much against their will, to making a\npolitical martyr of Hind, the high personages of the Commonwealth,\nafter endeavouring to dispose of him on the ignoble charges of highway\nrobbery and murder, removed him by Order in Council to Worcester gaol,\nwhere he was condemned for high treason.\n\n[Illustration:\n\n    Behold! at last, the saddest sight of all;\n      Poor Hind! Now in the hole at Newgate lies,\n    His wife and father both lament his thrall\n      And are much troubled at his miseries.\n    His book and candle his companions be;\n    Though now in chains, he hopes for liberty.]\n\nThe book published at this period, entitled _The English Gusman_, one\nof those purporting to give an authentic life of Hind, narrates a\nconversation in his cell, here or at Newgate. Hind says: \"I had not\nbeen here now if there had not been a Judas abroad, for indeed I was\nbetrayed by one who formerly served the King, but now he is for you\n(pointing to a Captain who was present), but God forgive him.\"\n\nThe keeper of the prison then called him from the fireside to the\nwindow, to see if the iron shackles upon his legs were in order.\n\n\"Well,\" said Hind, \"all this I value not threepence. I owe a debt to\nGod, and a debt I must pay. Blessed be His name, that He hath kept\nme from shedding blood unjustly, which is now a great comfort to me.\nNeither have I wronged any poor man of the worth of a penny, but I must\nconfess that I have (when I have been necessitated to) made bold with\na rich bumpkin, or a lying lawyer, whose full-fed fees from the rich\nfarmer doth too much impoverish the poor cottage-keeper.\"\n\nThe many \"witty jingles\" he put forth occasioned much laughter, but a\ngentleman standing by said, \"Captain, you are not brought hither for\nrobbing, but for treason.\"\n\n\"Treason,\" replied Hind; \"I am not guilty in the least.\"\n\n\"Yes, sir,\" replied the gentleman, \"you are, for complying with Charles\nStuart, and engaging against the Commonwealth of England.\"\n\n\"Alas! sir, it seems that is enough to hang one.\"\n\n\"I am afraid you will find it so,\" answered the gentleman.\n\n\"Well, God's will be done,\" replied Hind; \"I value it not threepence\nto lose my life in so good a cause; and if it were to do again, I\nprotest,\" said he, laying his hand on his breast, \"I would do the\nlike.\"\n\n\"Come,\" said the keeper, \"no more of this discourse; clear the room.\"\n\nHind in due course suffered the hateful penalty for high treason at\nWorcester. He maintained a light and frolicsome demeanour to the last.\n\"These are filthy, jingling spurs,\" he remarked with a laugh, pointing\nto the fetters that clanked about his legs as he walked from the bar,\n\"but I hope to exchange them ere long.\"\n\nHe was drawn to the scene of execution, then hanged, and afterwards\nquartered: his head being placed midway on the Severn bridge, and the\nother portions of him over the several gates of the city, September\n24th, 1652.\n\n\n\n\nJOHN CLAVEL, \"GENTLEMAN\"\n\n\nOne of the really notable highwaymen of the early years of the\nseventeenth century was John Clavel, who came from an ancient, if\nperhaps not particularly distinguished, family, tracing their descent\nback to Walter de Clavile, in the reign of William the Conqueror. For\nmore than seven hundred years the Clavel, or Clavell, family flourished\nin a modest way upon their manor of Smedmore, on the Dorset coast, in\nthe neighbourhood of Kimmeridge, and finally ended with the death,\n_s.p._, as genealogists would say, of George Clavel in 1774. The only\nClavel who fully emerges from the obscurity in which the family were\ncontent to remain, from the days of the original Walter until those of\nthe ultimate George, is John Clavel, whose vocation was robbery under\narms upon the highway. What laid this calling upon him, the personal\nhistory of John Clavel does not inform us; but probably, when we\nconsider that he was merely a nephew of Sir William Clavel, the head of\nthe family, we shall be correct in placing him among those younger sons\nand expectant heirs who, however great were their expectations in some\nmore or less remote future, were generally, in the present tense, not\nonly poor, but head over ears in debt. As the history of the highwaymen\nhas already shown us, their ranks were very largely recruited from\nthose youthful members of reputable families, whose family name was\nbetter than their personal credit. Confound the law of primogeniture,\nand pity the sorrows of a younger son with an excellent ancestry and an\nempty purse!\n\nOur present hero, John Clavel, who was born in 1603, was\nheir-presumptive to his uncle, the Dorset squire. Whether that uncle\nkept him shorter of money than an heir should be, or whether he was\na gamester who sought to repair his losses at cards or dice by the\nhazard of the road, who shall say? Not I. Perhaps he even robbed on the\nhighway for sheer joy of it: such sportsmen were not unknown. But, by\nall accounts and just inferences, he had been no mere amateur, out for\na solitary adventure, when he was laid by the heels and cast into the\nKing's Bench Prison. He had made an occupation of highway robbery.\n\nThus we read, in one of the _News Letters_ written by Joseph Mead,\nthat purveyor of London intelligence to country gentlemen in 1626:\n\"February 11th, Mr. Clavell, a gentleman, a knight's eldest son (?), a\ngreat highway robber, and of posts, was, together with a soldier, his\ncompanion, arraigned and condemned, on Monday last, at the King's Bench\nbar. He pleaded for himself that he had never struck or wounded\nany man, had never taken anything from their bodies, as rings, etc.,\nnever cut their girths or saddles, or done them, when he robbed, any\ncorporeal violence. He was, with his companion, reprieved. He sent the\nfollowing verses to the King, for mercy:\n\n    I that have robb'd so oft, am now bid stand;\n    Death and the law assault me, and demand\n    My life and means. I never used men so;\n    But having ta'en their money, let them go.\n    Yet must I die! And is there no reliefe?\n    The King of Kings had mercy on a thiefe!\n    So may our gracious King too, if he please,\n    Without his council, grant me a release.\n    God is his precedent, and men shall see\n    His mercy goe beyond severity.\"\n\n[Illustration: JOHN CLAVEL.\n\n    That I may neither brave another's blame\n    Through wronge suspicions, nor yet act ye same\n    At any time hereafter, but prove true:\u2014\n    Loe! to be knowne, you have my face at viewe.]\n\nHe was reprieved, as the newsmonger tells us, but that was not\nsufficient. He must not merely escape the death-sentence, but be set\nfree. To that end he wrote in October 1627, in prison, the curious\npamphlet, largely in verse, styled the _Recantation of an Ill-led\nLife_, and published in the following year. He does not forget to style\nhimself, on the title-page, \"Gentleman,\" and has even a Latin tag;\nperhaps, you know, as evidence of his gentility. Yet he grovels through\nmany pages in so abject a style no man of spirit could endure. Whether\nhe was so thorough-paced a highwayman as he tearfully declares himself\nto have been is, of course, not to be resolved by us, at this interval\nof time; but, according to his own showing, he was not only an adept,\nbut deep in the counsels of the high-toby gloaks and a past-master\nin all their devices. These, with the hope of a pardon, he proceeds\nto betray, at much length, in his \"recantation,\" which he describes\nas \"A discouerie of the Highway Law. With Vehement dissuasions to\nall (in that kind) offenders. As also Many cautelous Admonitions\nand full Instructions, how to know, shun, and apprehend a Theefe.\nMost Necessarie for all honest Trauellers to per'use, obserue, and\nPractise.\" This travellers' handy handbook was \"Approued by the King's\nmost Excellent Maiestie, and published by his expresse Command,\" by one\nRobert Meighen.\n\nThe _Recantation_ sets out with an extraordinary number of rhymed\ndedications addressed to the King, the Queen, the Ladies of the Court,\n\"the Right Honourable the Lords of His Maiestie's most Honourable\nPriuie Counsaile and Counsail of Warre,\" the Judges of the King's\nBench, and others; ending with an appeal to the \"Right Worshipful, his\neuer dear and well-approued good Uncle, Sir William Clavell, Knight\nBanneret,\" whom he requests:\n\n                    ... if againe\n    I euer take a course what shall be vaine,\n    Or if of any ill I faultie be,\n    O then for ever disinherit me.\n\nBut Sir William did even better than that. To be on the safer side, he\ndisinherited him at once, without waiting for his nephew to prove the\nsincerity of his professions, and bequeathed his estates to a distant\nrelative.\n\nIn the meanwhile, however, John Clavel did at any rate manage to\nproduce a popular book. Three editions of it are known; but whether\nthe book was purchased as a curiosity, or as a practical guide to safe\ntravelling upon the highways, there is nothing to show. The heads of\nhis counsel are interesting:\n\n\"Acknowledgement and Confession.\n\n\"Absolute Defiance of those that follow my late course of life, living\nvpon the spoile.\n\n\"The highway law.\n\n\"How soon they spend what unlawfully they get.\n\n\"Instruction for the honest traueller: What he is to take heed vnto,\nbefore he take his journey.\n\n\"How to carry himself in his inn.\n\n\"The danger of trauelling on the Sabbath Day.\n\n\"How as he rides he shall know a thief from an honest man.\n\n\"An instance how dangerous it is to grow familiar with any stranger\nupon the way.\n\n\"When to ride.\n\n\"Where to ride.\n\n\"How to ride.\n\n\"What is best to be done if he is beset.\n\n\"If by chance he is surprised, how to behave himself.\n\n\"Being robbed, how to follow, which way to set forth the Hue and Cry,\nhow to coast, and where to find the thieves,\" etc., etc.\n\nHe appears to have largely favoured the Dover Road, in his professional\nexploits:\n\n        ... Though I oft have seen Gad's Hill and those\n    Red tops of mountains, where good people lose\n    Their ill-kept purses, I did never climb\n    Parnassus Hill, or could adventure time\n    To tread the Muse's Mazes, or their floor,\n    Because I knew that they are lightly poor,\n    And Shooter's Hill was fitter far for me,\n    When pass'd releases for my own poverty.\n\nHe then proceeds to tell in verse how the inns are often kept by\nlandlords in league with highwaymen, who not infrequently spend thrice\nas much as honest travellers, or whose servants are either placed there\nby the knights of the road, or are bribed by them to investigate the\ncontents of travellers' saddle-bags and valises.\n\nHaving done this, the hints he next gives to innkeepers, on how to\ndistinguish between highwaymen and decent travellers, seem rather\nsuperfluous. As to the stigmata of the highwaymen themselves, besides\nthose\n\n                  vizards, hoods, disguise,\n    Masks, muzzles, mufflers, patches on their eyes;\n    Those beards, those heads of hair, and that great wen,\n    Which is not natural.\n\nthere are the following simpler devices:\n\n    Next of a theefe, the vsuall markes be these,\n    (Which as you ride you may observe with ease)\n    They muffle with their cloakes, or else their coate\n    Hides all their clothes, that so you may not note\n    What sutes they haue, a handkercher they were\n    About their neckes, or Cipresse, which they reare\n    Ouer their mouthes, and noses, with their hand\n    Iust at the time when as they bid you stand;\n    Perhaps since here I haue discouered this,\n    They will now leaue them off, that you may misse\n    Your obseruation, be you therefore sure\n    As soone as they come riding somewhat neere,\n    To gaze full at their faces, you shall see\n    Them turn their heads away, as if so bee\n    They had spide something on the tother side,\n    Which if they doe, then keepe your distance wide.\n\nObviously, the better course for the highway robber who loved his\nprofession, and not only meant to rob successfully, but to live long in\nthe enjoyment of his gains, was to carefully dress the part. To muffle\nthemselves up in cloaks, like conspirators, would be to send even the\nleast prudent traveller off in hurried flight. Such methods were mere\ndanger-signals, and no security against subsequent recognition. But\nwith an artificial nose, or a bushy beard, and little transforming\ntouches of that sort, a careful road-agent might reckon on a long and\nlucrative practice; always supposing he kept his own counsel and held\naloof from bad company. This, however, judging from the careers of most\nof their kind, seems to have been asking too much.\n\nBut to return to the strange fortunes of John Clavel. His piteous\nappeal from prison (or perhaps rather the family influence brought to\nbear) at length procured him release. He promised in his book, if set\nat liberty, to fight for his King:\n\n                    ... I do intend\n    Whilst these your wars endure, even there to spend\n    My time in that brave service.\n\nBut there is nothing to show how he occupied himself when once again\nhe was restored to society; there is, however, a curious little notice\nadded to the third edition of the _Recantation_, by the publisher, by\nwhich it would seem gossip had been doing an injustice to our sinner\nrepentant. Thus it reads:\n\n     \"The late and general false report of his relapse and untoward\n     death, made me most willing again to publish this work of his,\n     to let you know he not only lives, but hath also made good all\n     these his promises and strict resolutions: insomuch that it has\n     become very disputable amongst wise men, whether they should most\n     admire his former ill-ways, or his now most singular reformation,\n     whereat no man outjoys his friend and yours.\u2014RICHARD MEIGHEN.\"\n\nThis brand plucked from the burning appears to have died in 1642.\n\n\n\n\nWILLIAM DAVIS, THE GOLDEN FARMER\n\n\nThere stands on the summit of the steep hill as you go westward out\nof Bagshot, along the Exeter Road, a commonplace inn at the fork of\nthe roads leading respectively to Camberley and to Frimley. The \"Jolly\nFarmer\"\u2014for that is the name of the inn\u2014looks squarely eastward, down\nthe hill, and seems no doubt, to most who pass this way, not worth\neven a glance. Nor, indeed, is it beautiful or interesting. Its former\nsign, however,\u2014the sign of the \"Golden Farmer\"\u2014enshrined an interesting\nstory of the road. The forerunner of the present house stood on the\nright-hand side of the way, and was named the \"Golden Farmer,\" in\nallusion to a highwayman, once only too well known in the neighbourhood.\n\nWilliam Davis flourished in the seventeenth century. Born at Wrexham,\nhe was early taken to Sudbury, in Gloucestershire, where he eventually\nmarried the daughter of a wealthy innkeeper. He had eighteen children,\nand it would almost seem, by the tone of his early biographers, that\nthis unfortunate fact went some way towards excusing his career. He\nwas, to the day of his death, a farmer, and for a good many years\ncultivated land in the neighbourhood of Bagshot; a district remarkable\nin those times rather for wild heaths than for agricultural value. And\nlong it remained of this character, and infested with highwaymen, for\nwe find the poet Gay in 1715, in his fine narrative poem, _A Journey to\nExeter_, writing:\n\n    Prepared for war, now Bagshot heath we cross,\n    Where broken gamesters oft repair their loss.\n\nMr. William Davis was a man very greatly respected for his singular\nhabit of always paying his debts in gold. Paper money\u2014whether notes,\nbills, or cheques\u2014never passed from him to his creditors. Good, honest\nguineas, of red, minted gold\u2014tender no man refused\u2014were his only\nmedium. Those who did business with him thought this an eccentricity,\nbut an amiable one; and as the years went on, he accumulated more and\nmore respect.\n\nBut in all those years he was in reality a busy highwayman. Many\nstories are told of him, and by them it appears that he did by no means\nconfine his activities to the neighbourhood of Bagshot. Prudence now\nand again sent him further afield, to till\u2014to adopt a formula that\nwould have appealed to him as a farmer\u2014comparatively uncropped ground.\nThus we find him once ranging so far as Salisbury Plain, and there\nbidding the coachman, who was driving the Duchess of Albemarle, to\nrein in his horses, or\u2014presenting a pistol\u2014take the consequences. He\nhad \"a long engagement\" with postilion, coachman, and two footmen, and\nwounded them all. He does not appear to have suffered; which does not\nsay much for the marksmanship, the courage, or the resource of the\nDuchess's guard, whose guardianship was thus proved so ineffectual.\nBut it is a hero-worshipping biographer of highwaymen, who tells the\nstory. The \"Golden Farmer\" seems on this occasion to have departed from\nhis almost invariable custom, and to have torn the Duchess's diamond\nrings from her fingers. Probably he would have had her watch also,\nonly the appearance of some other travellers made him prudently fly:\nfollowed by a torrent of bad language from Her Grace, who could hold\nher own with the best, or worst, in that line, having been, before she\nmarried General Monk, none other than Nan Clarges, washerwoman, and the\ndaughter of a blacksmith, and well versed in abuse.\n\nAnon, we have the \"Golden Farmer\" on Finchley Common. He had waited\nthere one day, riding back and forth between four and five hours,\nhoping for some likely traveller, and none had come. Imagine him,\nshivering in the bitter blast, and angrily wondering what had become of\nevery one. At last a young gentleman came riding along, unconscious of\ndanger. Up rode the highwayman to him, and gave him a flap across his\nshoulders with the flat of his hanger.\n\n\"How slow you are!\" he exclaimed. \"A plague on you, to make a man wait\non you all the morning! Come, deliver what you have, and be curst, and\nthen go to Hell for orders.\"\n\nThe traveller declared he had nothing about him, but that, the\nhighwayman remarked, was nonsense.\n\nThen, searching the unresisting young gentleman's pockets and taking\na gold watch and about one hundred guineas, he gave him three parting\nstrokes on the back, and, telling him in future \"not to give his mind\nto telling lies when an honest gentleman required a small boon of him,\"\ncantered away.\n\nOne day, having paid his landlord \u00a380, he carefully disguised himself,\nand in a solitary situation met him with the command to \"stand and\ndeliver!\"\n\n\"Come, Mr. Gravity from Head to Foot, but from neither Head nor Foot to\nthe Heart,\" said he, \"deliver what you have, in a trice.\"\n\nThe \"old, grave gentleman\" heaved a deep sigh, to the hazard of losing\nseveral buttons off his waistcoat. \"All I have is two shillings. You\nwould not take that from a poor man.\"\n\n\"Pooh!\" rejoined the \"Golden Farmer,\" \"I have not the faith to believe\nyou, for you seem by your manner and habit to be a man of better\ncircumstances than you pretend; therefore, open your budget, or else I\nshall fall foul about your house.\"\n\n\"Dear sir,\" wailed the old gentleman, \"you can't be so barbarous as to\nrob an old man. What! have you no pity, religion, or compassion in you?\nHave you no conscience? You can have no respect for your own body and\nsoul, which must certainly be in a miserable case, if you follow these\nunlawful courses.\"\n\n\"D\u2014\u2014n you,\" rejoined Davis, \"don't talk of age or barbarity to me, for\nI show neither pity nor compassion to any. What! talk of conscience\nto me! I have no more of that dull commodity than you have; nor do I\nallow my soul and body to be governed by religion, but by interest;\ntherefore, deliver what you have, before this pistol makes you repent\nyour obstinacy.\"\n\nThere was no help for it, and the rent found its way back from landlord\nto tenant.\n\nAgain the \"Golden Farmer\" is found in a new setting; this time upon the\nOxford Road. The particularly evil character of this road was enlarged\nupon in 1671 by Richard Brockenden, writing to Sir Richard Paston, and\ndescribing what he called \"a new set of highwaymen,\" who robbed every\nnight, unlike the old hands, who evidently rested frequently from\ntheir labours to enjoy the fruits of their shy industry, and must have\nresembled Sir W. S. Gilbert's lawless but light-hearted gang, who sang:\n\n    We spend our nights on damp straw and squalid hay\n      When trade is not particularly brisk;\n    But now and then we take a little holiday,\n      And spend our honest earnings in a frisk.\n\nThe infamous \"new set,\" who robbed every night, cannot command our\nsympathy; they were too pushful. William Davis, however, belonged to no\nset. He was complete in himself; and if he too robbed without ceasing,\nhe had those eighteen children of his to support. It was near the\nLondon end of the Oxford Road that the following adventure took place:\nat none other than the village of Hillingdon, near Uxbridge.\n\nIt seems, then, that the \"Golden Farmer,\" dressed in appropriately\nrustic style, overtook near Gerrard's Cross a certain Squire Broughton,\na barrister of the Middle Temple, and entered into conversation with\nhim. When he learned the profession of this chance acquaintance, he\npretended to be on his way to London to advise with a solicitor,\nand, expressing himself as fortunate in meeting one learned in the\nlaw, asked him if he could recommend counsel. Broughton, scenting\nbusiness, bespoke for himself, and the \"Golden Farmer,\" spinning a\ncock-and-a-bull story of some neighbour's cattle breaking into his\nfields and doing a vast amount of mischief, sought his opinion.\n\n\"It is very actionable,\" said the lawyer, \"being Damage Fesant.\"\n\n\"Damage Fesant?\" asked the highwayman. \"What's that, pray, sir?\"\n\nThe lawyer, with much show of learning, duly expounded the matter;\nand so, as evening drew in, they came to the \"Red Lion,\" Hillingdon,\ndiscussing the Law of Trespass, the extent to which the farmer was\nprobably damnified, and the pros and cons of the whole bogus affair.\n\nPassing a very pleasant night at the \"Red Lion,\" they set out together\nthe next morning, still talking law.\n\n\"If I may be so bold as to ask you, sir,\" said the Golden Farmer, \"what\nis that you call Trover and Conversion?\"\n\n\"Why,\" said the lawyer, \"that is easily explained. It is an action\nagainst one who has found any property, and, refusing to deliver on\ndemand, converts it to his own use.\"\n\nThey were now on Hillingdon Heath, a lonely place, not yet lined with\nmean houses and paltry shops, and still to wait a matter of two hundred\nyears before Mr. Whiteley's factory and stable-yards were built beside\nthe road.\n\n\"Very well,\" said the Golden Farmer, \"and if I should find any money\nabout you, and converted it to my own use, that would be merely\nactionable?\"\n\n\"That would be highway robbery,\" rejoined the man of law, \"and would\nrequire no less satisfaction than a man's life.\"\n\n\"A robbery!\" exclaimed the highwayman. \"Why, then, I must e'en commit\none for once; therefore deliver your money, or this pistol shall\nprevent you reading Coke upon Littleton any more!\"\n\n\"You must be joking!\" exclaimed the lawyer, edging away.\n\nBut the Golden Farmer, presenting the pistol to his breast, advised\nhim to \"down with the rhino, or he would get his mittimus by summary\nprocess.\" The man of law still hesitated.\n\n\"Do you think,\" said he, \"there is neither heaven nor hell?\"\n\n\"Why,\" rejoined the highwayman, \"thy impudence is surely very great to\ntalk of heaven or hell to me! D'ye think there's no other way to heaven\nbut through Westminster Hall? Come, come, down with your rhino this\nminute, for I have other customers to mind than to wait on you all day!\"\n\nThus adjured, the lawyer reluctantly handed over \"thirty guineas and\neleven broad pieces of gold,\" besides some silver and a gold watch.\n\nThe \"Red Lion,\" Hillingdon, is standing to this day, and the crowds who\nfrequent it in these times when the electric trams pass its door, may\nfeel a romantic thrill as they connect the house with this story.\n\nHillingdon Heath figures also in the next adventure.\n\n\"Well overtaken, brother tinker!\" exclaimed the \"Golden Farmer,\" as one\nday he came up with an itinerant mender of pots and kettles; \"methinks\nyou seem very devout, for your life is a continual pilgrimage, and in\nhumility you go about barefoot, thereby making necessity a virtue.\"\n\n\"Ay, master,\" replied the tinker, \"needs must when the Devil drives,\nand had you no more than I, you, too, might go without boots and shoes.\"\n\n\"That might be,\" quoth the \"Golden Farmer\"; \"but as for yourself;\nyou, I suppose, march all over England with your bag and baggage?\"\n\n[Illustration: THE GOLDEN FARMER AND THE TINKER.]\n\n\"Yes,\" said the tinker, \"I go a great deal of ground, but not so much\nas you horsemen, and I take a great deal of pains for a livelihood.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" rejoined the highwayman, \"I know thou art such a strong enemy to\nidleness that, mending one hole, you make three.\"\n\n\"That's as you say,\" retorted the tinker; \"however, sir, I wish you and\nI were farther asunder, for i'faith I don't like your company, and have\na great suspicion of you.\"\n\n\"Have you so?\" said the highwayman; \"then it shall not be without a\ncause: come, open your wallet forthwith, and deliver that parcel of\nmoney that's in it.\"\n\nThe unhappy tinker begged he would not rob him. If he did, he said, he\nmust needs be forced to beg his way home, over a hundred miles.\n\nBut the \"Golden Farmer\" had no mercy. \"D\u2014\u2014n you,\" said he, \"I don't\ncare if you have to beg your way _two_ hundred miles, for, if a tinker\nescape Tyburn and Banbury, it is his fate to die a beggar.\"\n\nSo saying he made off with the tinker's money and wallet too.\n\nAt last the \"Golden Farmer\" met his long-deferred doom, and in his\nown district. The Exeter Road, in the neighbourhood of Bagshot, had\nlong been haunted by a highwayman, who robbed impartially the early\ncoaches of that age, or the travelling chariots of the great. This\nhighwayman had his peculiarities. Others might risk stealing notes\nand jewellery, but he refused all trinkets, and took coin only. The\nstrange thing is that no one in Bagshot or round about seems to have\nexercised the simple art of putting two and two together and making\na total sum of four; or, in other and less metaphorical phrase, of\ndeducing the \"Golden Farmer,\" who paid only in gold from the unnamed,\nmasked highwayman who took only gold. The two were, of course, one, and\nso much was discovered one night when, the highwayman having as usual\nstopped and plundered a coach, a traveller who had secreted a pistol\nshot him in the back as he was making off.\n\nBound hand and foot, the wounded man was taken to the \"King's Arms,\"\nwhere, to the astonishment of all, he was recognised as the \"Golden\nFarmer.\"\n\nFact and fiction are so intermingled in these stories of the \"Golden\nFarmer's\" exploits, that it would be almost as easy to unravel the\nreal history of Robin Hood himself, as to present a biography of him\nthat should have much pretence to truth in detail. It seems we are\nnot even on sure ground when we set his name down as William Davis,\nfor in a collection of old printed trials at the British Museum we\nfind a William Davis, identified with the \"Golden Farmer,\" executed\nin September, 1685, for being the principal figure in a burglary and\nfelony committed in company with one John Holland and Agnes Wearing at\nthe house of a minister, one Lionel Gatford, in Lime Street, City of\nLondon. Agnes Wearing suffered with him, but Holland was reprieved.\n\nYet, although this Davis was turned off in 1685, we find, by the\n_London Gazette_ of September 9th, 1689, that there were then in\ncustody at Newgate two persons suspected of being housebreakers and\nrobbers, several instruments for breaking into houses having been taken\nwith them: \"one calling himself William Freeman, whose right name is\nWilliam Hill, commonly called the 'Golden Farmer,' an indifferent,\ntall, black Man, well set, with black hair, has a shaking in his Head,\nand is between 50 and 60 years of age.\" This advertisement proceeds to\nnotify that \"those robbed may have a sight of them at Newgate.\"[5]\n\n[Illustration: EXECUTION OF THE GOLDEN FARMER.\n\n  _From a contemporary woodcut._]\n\nAnother story tells how he was pursued in Whitefriars, London, the\nold-time Alsatia of rogues and vagabonds behind Fleet Street. He shot\ndead a butcher who tried to stop him, but was tripped up and secured,\nat the corner of Salisbury Court and Fleet Street, where he was\nafterwards hanged, December 20th, 1689, in his sixty-fourth year: or,\nby another account, December 20th, 1690. His body was afterwards hanged\nin chains on the threshold of his own house at Bagshot.\n\nOn a broadsheet ballad, published on the occasion of his execution,\nentitled _The Golden Farmer's Last Farewell_, a rude woodcut appears\nat the head of the verses, in which you see a very small figure\nhanging most comfortably from a gallows-tree, with a thoroughly\nhappy expression upon his face, while a small crowd (assorted sizes)\ncontemplates his sad end with a variety of emotions, ranging from\namusement to contempt. The verses are typical of the penny literature\nof the age, and do not necessarily follow his career with any slavish\nregard to truth:\n\n    Unto you all this day,\n      my faults I do declare,\n    Alas! I have not long to stay,\n      I must for Death prepare;\n    A most notorious Wretch,\n      I many years have been,\n    For which I now at length must stretch,\n      a just Reward for Sin:\n          No Tongue nor Pen can tell\n            what sorrows I conceive;\n          Your Golden Farmer's last Farewell,\n            unto the World I leave.\n\n    A Gang of Robbers then\n      my self did entertain;\n    Notorious hardy Highwaymen,\n      Who did like Ruffians reign:\n    We'd rob, we'd laugh, and joke,\n      and revel night and day;\n    But now the knot of us is broke,\n      'tis I that leads the way:\n          No Tongue nor Pen can tell, etc.\n\n    We houses did beset,\n      and robb'd them night and day,\n    Making all Fish that came to Net,\n      for still we clear'd the way;\n    Five Hundred Pounds and more,\n      in Money, Gold, and Plate,\n    From the right Owner we have bore,\n      but now my wretched State,\n          No Tongue nor Pen can tell, etc.\n\n    We always gagg'd and bound\n      most of the Family,\n    That we might search until we found\n      their hidden Treasury;\n    A sword-point at their throat,\n      a Pistol cock'd straightway,\n    Presented at their Breast, to make\n      them show us where it lay:\n          No Tongue nor Pen can tell, etc.\n\n    I having run my Race,\n      I now at last do see,\n    That in much shame and sad disgrace,\n      my Life will ended be:\n    I took delight to rob,\n      and rifle rich and poor,\n    But now at last, my Friend, Old Mob,\n      I ne'er shall see thee more:\n          No Tongue nor Pen can tell, etc,\n\n    The Blood which I have spilt\n      now on my Conscience lies,\n    The heavy, dreadfull thought of Guilt,\n      my Senses do's surprize;\n    The thoughts of Death I fear,\n      although a just Reward,\n    As knowing that I must appear,\n      before the living Lord.\n          No Tongue nor Pen can tell, etc.\n\n    I solemnly declare,\n      who am to Justice brought,\n    All kind of wicked Sins that are,\n      I eagerly have wrought;\n    No Villains are more rife\n      than those which I have bred,\n    And thus a most perfidious Life\n      I in this World have led:\n          No Tongue nor Pen can tell, etc.\n\n    Long have I liv'd, you see,\n      by this unlawful Trade,\n    And at the length am brought to be,\n      a just Example made;\n    Good God, my Sins forgive,\n      whose Laws I did offend,\n    For here I may no longer live,\n      my Life is at an end.\n          No Tongue nor Pen can tell, etc.\n\n\n\n\nTHOMAS SIMPSON: \"OLD MOB\"\n\n\nThe name of Thomas Simpson arouses no emotions of love or hate,\nof fear or of admiration. He is just \"Thomas Simpson,\" plebeian,\nundistinguished amid the other hundreds of Thomas Simpsons who have\nworn a commonplace name throughout a commonplace career, and so ended;\nthe world appreciably no better for their existence, and certainly\nnot noticeably worse. There have been perhaps thousands of Thomas\nSimpsons, but there has been only one \"Old Mob.\" The Thomas Simpson,\nwho rose to fame with that picturesque nickname, was born at Romsey, in\nthe New Forest, in the first half of the seventeenth century. We are\ntold little of his early life, and merely learn that he continued to\nlive at Romsey as his only home, \"until he had five children and some\ngrandchildren.\" His education, we further learn, without surprise\u2014for\nit was the seventeenth century, you know\u2014\"appears to have been greatly\nneglected.\" It was impudence, however, more than anything, more even\nthan courage, that ever made the successful highwayman: the 'ologies\nwere useless on the hard high road, under stars, when a carriage worth\nrobbing drew nigh; nor even would the elementary three R's help a man\nany the better to thrust a pistol through a window and cry \"Stand!\"\n\nOld Mob had little education and less manners. Your Du Valls and\nCaptain Hinds might bring the manners of society and the refinements\nof the ball-room into the keen air of the highway; for him there was\nbut the rasping tongue of command and the contact of the cold muzzle of\nhis pistol with your nose. He ranged the south and west of England very\nfreely, and is found on one occasion in the Eastern Counties.\n\nAccounts of his career generally open with his encountering a certain\nSir Bartholomew Shower, between Honiton and Exeter. The road in the\nneighbourhood of Honiton Clyst is still little frequented, and at that\ntime must have been singularly lonely. Old Mob called upon the knight\nto \"stand and deliver,\" and Sir Bartholomew delivered accordingly, and\nwith a pleasing readiness because he had the merest trifle on him, and\nthought to have thus escaped easily. But Old Mob was disappointed, and\nproportionably wroth: \"My demands, sir, are very large and pressing,\"\nhe said, \"and therefore you must instantly draw a bill for one hundred\nand fifty pounds and remain in the next field for security till I have\nreceived the money.\"\n\nThe knight vainly protested that there was no one in Exeter who had\nso large a sum by him, but Old Mob would take no denial and led him a\nlong distance away from the road, tied him to a tree, and compelled\nhim to draw a bill for the amount on a goldsmith in the city. Then he\nrode into Exeter, duly cashed it and, returning, released his prisoner.\n\"Sir,\" his biographer reports him as saying, \"I am come with a _habeas\ncorpus_ to remove you out of your present captivity\"; which he did,\nleaving him to walk home the distance of three miles.\n\nThis last remark attributed to Old Mob, the uneducated, is no doubt\na biographical frill, inserted to fitly round off the incident. What\nshould he know of _habeas corpus_? This was a vice of which the\nbiographer of the knights of the road could by no means rid themselves.\n\nIt was upon the road between Newmarket and London that Old Mob halted\nthe carriage of no less a personage than Louise de la K\u00e9rouaille, the\nnotorious Frenchwoman, favourite of Charles the Second, whom that\nmonarch had created Duchess of Portsmouth.\n\n[Illustration: \"OLD MOB\" ROBS THE DUCHESS OF PORTSMOUTH.]\n\n\"Do you know who I am, fellow?\" demanded that haughty lady, indignant\nat being stopped by so mean-looking an object.\n\nNow, for such as the Duchess of Portsmouth and her kind to ask such a\nquestion of a highwayman was singularly rash. Captain Alexander Smith\nand \"Captain\" Charles Johnson, in their folio volumes of the _Lives of\nthe Highwaymen_, published in 1719 and 1742, respectively, describe Old\nMob's reply, either in his own words, or excogitated out of their own\ninner consciousness, according to their own ideas of probability; but\nthese present pages are in octavo volumes and this is the twentieth\ncentury, and for one of these reasons, or both\u2014as you please\u2014it is\nreally not possible to reprint the vigorous reply of Old Mob to the\nDuchess's request. He not only told her who she was, but also, in the\nsheerest unornamental language, _what_ she was, as well. Among other\nthings: \"You are maintained at the public expense. I know that all\nthe courtiers depend upon your smiles, and that even the King is your\nslave. But what of all that? A gentleman-collector upon the road is a\ngreater man, and more absolute than His Majesty is at Court. You may\nnow say, madam, that a single highwayman has exercised his authority\nwhere Charles the Second of England has often begged a favour.\"\n\nHer grace continued to gaze upon him with a lofty air, and told him he\nwas a very insolent fellow: that she would give him nothing, and that\nhe should certainly suffer for his insolence. \"Touch me if you dare!\"\nshe exclaimed.\n\n\"Madame,\" rejoined the highwayman, \"that haughty French spirit will do\nyou no good here. I am an English freebooter, and I insist upon it, as\nmy native right, to seize all foreign commodities! Your money is indeed\nEnglish, but it is forfeited, as being the fruit of English folly. All\nyou possess is confiscated, as being bestowed upon one so worthless.\n_I_ am King _here_, madame! I have use for money, as well as he. The\npublic pay for his follies, and so they must for mine.\" And Old Mob\nthereupon gathered in two hundred pounds in gold, \"a very rich necklace\nwhich her Royal paramour had lately given her,\" a gold watch, and two\ndiamond rings.\n\nYou will observe an intolerable tendency in Old Mob to moral\nreflections: as though he were one who had missed his vocation, and\nwould have been more legitimately employed in improving the occasion\nfrom the pulpit. And not only Old Mob held forth in this manner. His\ncontemporaries\u2014if we may believe Messrs. Smith and Johnson\u2014did the\nlike: in very unclerical fashion, it is true, for they sandwiched\ntheir preaching with the most horrible oaths and blasphemies: all duly\nprinted at length by those authorities, without the decent veil of the\nblushing \"\u2014\u2014,\" or the discreet \"*.\" It was a singularly mixed method;\nbut the preachments are all of so singular a likeness that we may\nshrewdly suspect them to be the inventions of their biographers. The\ncursings and revilings we may take as being the highwayman's very own.\nThey were instinctively employed to strike terror into the hearts of\nunfortunate wayfarers, just as in olden Chinese warfare the pig-tailed\nwarriors came on with grimaces and with shields pictured with hideous\nmasks.\n\n\"Old Mob\" then met \"Old Gadbury, the Astrologer,\" and stopping him and\ndemanding his money, \"the Starry Prophet began to plead Poverty, but\nthis did not move him at all to Compassion.\"\n\n\"You lying Rogue,\" quoth he, \"can you that possess all the Seven\nPlanets of Free-hold, and let them out on Lease to the Stationers'\nCompany, plead Poverty to me. No, no, you must not sham Poverty to me;\ncome, come, your Money presently, or this Pistol, shall be worse to\nyou than the raging Dog Star that threatens Death and Diseases to a\nCountry.\"\n\nAnd \"Old Gadbury\" had thereupon to make a speedy delivery.\n\nThe next most outstanding enterprise of Old Mob was the halting\nof Judge Jeffreys in his coach, some time later than that Judge's\nassize of blood in the West. The highwayman, setting suddenly upon\nthe equipage, disabled the two servants who accompanied it, and then\ndemanded his lordship's money.\n\n\"I am Sir George Jeffreys,\" quietly remarked the judge, with a world of\nmeaning, as he severely eyed the pistol presented at him. That plain\nstatement was designed to send a pang of apprehension through the\naggressor; and, indeed, the lowering presence of the judge had made\nmany a prisoner brought before him quail; but Old Mob, by the best\naccounts, does not appear to have been greatly impressed. He was ready\nas ever with his moral remarks.\n\nJeffreys reminding him that a Providence existed which governed the\nworld, and that he might therefore expect to be duly punished for his\niniquities, he held forth in his best pulpit style: \"When justice has\novertaken us both, I hope to stand as good a chance as your lordship,\nyou, who have written your name in indelible characters of blood and\ndeprived many thousands of their lives, for no other reason than their\nappearing in defence of their just rights and liberties. It is enough\nfor you to preach morality upon the Bench, when no person can venture\nto contradict you; but your words can have no effect upon me. I know\nyou too well not to perceive that they are only lavished upon me to\nsave your ill-gotten wealth.\" Then, his eloquence in this vein being\nexhausted, thundering forth a volley of oaths, and presenting a pistol\nto his breast, he threatened the judge with instant death, unless\nhe surrendered his money. Perceiving that his authority was of no\nconsequence to him upon the road, Judge Jeffreys thereupon handed over\nthe gold he had about him, amounting to fifty-six guineas.\n\nTo recount the many improbable stories told of Old Mob, singly, or in\nconjunction with his sometime ally, the \"Golden Farmer,\" would be to\ntell many stupid tales, and to convict oneself of credulity. He was\ncaught at last, and, being convicted on thirty-four out of thirty-six\nindictments, was duly hanged, with nine others, September 12th, 1691.\nHe declared, on the scaffold, that \"while he continued to Rob on the\nHighway, he pray'd at the same Time that God would forgive it, and that\nit eas'd his mind something.\" It was added that \"though he had wounded\nseveral Persons, yet he affirm'd he never murder'd any; which, to be\nsure, was very forbearing and obliging of him.\"\n\n\n\n\nCLAUDE DU VALL\n\n\nClaude Du Vall ranks among his brother highwaymen as high as Rembrandt\nor Raphael among artists. He was, indeed, no less an artist in his own\nprofession than they. He might not, and probably did not, acquire as\nmuch of other people's property on the road as did Hind or Whitney; but\nartists are not necessarily money-makers. Such as were his takings, he\ntook them with a finished grace and a considerate courtesy, that not\neven the Prince of Prigs, in his best moment, ever quite attained. We\ndo not learn, for example, that Hind, the \"Gentleman Thief,\" footed it\non the heath in a graceful dance with one of his victims, as did Du\nVall; but Hind had not the advantage of that foreign blood which made\nClaude skip for gladness in the midst of alarms.\n\nIn the _Memoires of Monsieur Du Vall_, published in 1670, only a few\ndays after the hero's death from the effect of a hempen cravat, we have\nthe sole authority for the merry tales told of him. It is a curious\nproduction. From it we learn that:\n\n\"Claude Du Vall was born Anno 1643 at Domfront, in Normandy, a place\nvery famous for the excellency and beautifulness of the air, and for\nthe production of mercurial wits. At the time of his birth there\nwas a conjunction of Venus and Mercury, certain presages of very\ngood fortune, but of a very short continuance. His father was Pierre\nDu Vall, a miller, his mother, Marguerite De la Roche, a tailor's\ndaughter.\"\n\nThe author of these remarkable memoirs then proceeds to say, in surely\na very cynical manner: \"They lived in as much reputation and honesty\nas their conditions and occupations would permit.\" This, of course, is\na sly fling at both the business of a miller and that of a tailor; for\nhonest millers have from the earliest times been proverbially as scarce\nas honest lawyers; while for tailors to \"cabbage\" the cloth entrusted\nto them has always been expected.\n\nDu Vall's biographer then ranges from sarcasm to an indignant defence\nof his birth and parentage.\n\n\"There are some,\" he says, \"that confidently aver he was born in Smock\nAlley, without Bishopsgate, that his father was a cook, and sold boiled\nbeef and porridge; but their report is as false as it is defamatory and\nmalicious.\"\n\n\"It was easy,\" he continues, \"to disprove this in several ways, but the\nchief argument against it was this: If he had been born in Smock Alley,\nhe would not have been a Frenchman, but if he had not been a Frenchman,\nit was quite impossible he should have been so much beloved in life\nand lamented in death by the English ladies.\"\n\nEarly in life, a wandering priest who happened upon his parents'\nhumble dwelling, found a mark upon his head as of two crowns: a sure\nsign, said the priest, that he was to be a traveller. Then, adopting\nsomething of the _r\u00f4le_ of a fortune-teller, he declared the boy would\nnever be long without money; and, wherever he went, \"he would always\nhave the exceeding favour of women of the highest condition.\"\n\nThe rustic miller and his wife looked upon the priest as an oracle,\nbut wondered how such fortune would come to pass. Nothing visible\non the horizon of their lives warranted any such expectations. They\nwere miserably poor, and kept themselves but little warmed by that\ncomparative honesty of which we have already read. So when Claude grew\nto the age of thirteen or fourteen, he was turned adrift from the old\nhome, to fend for himself. His parents did what they could, but that\ndid not amount to much. A little less unexpected honesty on their part\nwould have enabled him, no doubt, to enter upon the world under better\ncircumstances: but as it was, the best they could do was to buy him\nshoes and stockings\u2014things he had never before known\u2014and a second-hand\nsuit of clothes. This outfit, and twenty sous given him at parting, was\nall his property. As he went they threw an old shoe after him for luck,\nand bid him go seek his fortune.\n\nThe boy made his way to Rouen in the first instance. There he was\npromised a ride to Paris on one of the post-horses he saw in the\ncourtyard of an inn, if he would earn that lift by helping stable\nthem for the night. He willingly agreed, and was fortunate to meet at\nthe same inn a number of English youths, who, with their tutors, were\nreturning by way of Paris to England. In return for such use as he\ncould be to them in practising their insufficient French, they employed\nand fed him for the few days they remained in the country.\n\nIn Paris, according to our admiring but discriminating biographer, \"he\nlived unblameably during this time, unless you esteem it a fault to\nbe scabby, and a little given to filching; qualities very frequent in\npersons of his nation and condition.\" So, employed about stables and\ninn-yards in Paris, he continued until the Restoration of the monarchy\nin England in 1660 brought about the return of many exiles. In the\nservice of one of the many \"persons of Quality\" who then crossed the\nChannel, went Claude Du Vall, who by this time was seventeen years of\nage.\n\nThe joy that expressed itself all over England at the return of\nCharles the Second degenerated into riotous excess. Dissipation and\nevery species of profligacy abounded among upper and middle classes,\nand the servants of the wealthy were apt pupils of their masters in\nthese excesses. Highwaymen, whose profession had languished miserably\nunder the Commonwealth's later rule, reappeared on every road, and\nwere drawn from all classes. Footmen and lackeys found a singular\nfascination in the occupation of the high-toby crack, and early among\nthem was Du Vall, who in a short time became so dexterous in his new\nemployment, that he had the honour of being the first named in a long\nlist of highwaymen proclaimed in the _London Gazette_.\n\nIt has already been acknowledged that violence had no part in the\nmethods of this artist, and he would have scorned, you may be sure,\nthe ruffianly, and even murderous acts of a later generation of the\ncraft, who not only despoiled travellers of their goods, but rendered\nthe roads dangerous to life and limb. His chief exploit, upon Hampstead\nHeath, is classical, and is set forth so eloquently, and with such\nan engaging profusion of capital letters, in the _Memoires_ that one\ncannot do better than quote it. By this account it would appear that he\nwas the captain of a gang:\n\n\"He, with his Squadron, overtakes a Coach, which they had set over\nNight, having Intelligence of a Booty of four hundred Pounds in it.\nIn the Coach was a Knight, his Lady, and only one Serving-maid, who,\nperceiving five Horsemen making up to them, presently imagined that\nthey were beset; and they were confirmed in this Apprehension by seeing\nthem whisper to one another, and ride backwards and forwards. The Lady,\nto shew that she was not afraid, takes a Flageolet out of her pocket\nand plays. Du Vall takes the Hint, plays also, and excellently well,\nupon a Flageolet of his own, and in this Posture he rides up to the\nCoachside. 'Sir,' says he to the Person in the Coach, 'your Lady plays\nexcellently, and I doubt not but that she dances as well. Will you\nplease to walk out of the Coach and let me have the Honour to dance one\nCurrant with her upon the Heath? 'Sir,' said the Person in the Coach,\n'I dare not deny anything to one of your Quality and good Mind. You\nseem a Gentleman, and your Request is very reasonable.' Which said the\nLacquey opens the Boot, out comes the knight, Du Vall leaps lightly off\nhis horse and hands the Lady out of the Coach. They danced, and here it\nwas that Du Vall performed Marvels; the best Masters in London, except\nthose that are French, not being able to shew such footing as he did\nin his great French Riding Boots. The Dancing being over (there being\nno violins, Du Vall sung the Currant himself) he waits on the Lady to\nher Coach. As the knight was going in, says Du Vall to him, 'Sir, you\nhave forgot to pay the Musick.' 'No, I have not,' replied the knight,\nand, putting his Hand under the Seat of the Coach, pulls out a hundred\nPounds in a Bag, and delivers it to him, which Du Vall took with a very\ngood grace, and courteously answered, 'Sir, you are liberal, and shall\nhave no cause to repent your being so; this Liberality of yours shall\nexcuse you the other Three Hundred Pounds,' and giving the Word, that\nif he met with any more of the Crew, he might pass undisturbed, he\ncivilly takes his leave of him. He manifested his agility of body by\nlightly dismounting off his horse, and with Ease and Freedom getting\nup again when he took his Leave; his excellent Deportment by his\nincomparable Dancing and his graceful manner of taking the hundred\npounds.\"\n\n[Illustration: CLAUDE DU VALL DANCING THE CORANTO ON HOUNSLOW HEATH.]\n\nOur own times are more sordid, and it is to be feared that not the\nextremest display of grace in the robber would find any one ready to\nexcuse the loss of a hundred sovereigns.\n\nAs the old priest had foretold, years before, Du Vall became the\nladies' favourite. \"Maids, widows, and wives,\" we learn, \"the rich,\nthe poor, the noble, the vulgar, all submitted to him,\" and he led the\ngayest of lives in London.\n\nHe knew Blackheath as well as Hounslow, and there, with his companions,\nmet a coach full of ladies and a child with a feeding-bottle. Rudely,\none of the gang rode up, violently robbed the ladies of their watches\nand rings, and did not scruple even to steal the child's silver bottle.\nThe air resounded with the shrieks of the cheated infant and the cries\nof the ladies. Up rode our gallant hero, with threats to instantly\nshoot the man unless he returned the bottle. \"Sirrah!\" he exclaimed,\n\"cannot you behave like a gentleman and raise a contribution without\nstripping people. But perhaps you yourself have some occasion for the\nsucking bottle, for by your actions one would imagine you were hardly\nweaned.\"\n\nSoon after this Du Vall thought it politic to retire for a while to\nFrance. A humorous story was told of his fooling an eminent Jesuit\nconfessor, known less for his piety than for his political meddling and\nhis avariciousness. He was a very wealthy man, and Du Vall, hearing\nof his hoards, was anxious to have a share in them. He made the\nconfessor's acquaintance in the guise of a scholar, and said he was one\nwho had studied the sciences and only wanted a patron as eminent as\nhimself, through whose introductions he desired to serve his country by\napplying the knowledge he had acquired.\n\n\"And of what special branch does your knowledge consist?\" asked\nthe Jesuit. \"If you can and will communicate anything that may be\nbeneficial to France, I assure you no proper encouragement shall be\nwanting on my side.\"\n\nDu Vall, growing bolder, said: \"Sir, I have spent most of my time in\nthe study of alchemy, or the transmutation of base metals into gold,\nand have profited so greatly at Rome and Venice, from association with\nmen learned in that science, that I can change several metals into\ngold by the help of a philosophical powder, which I can prepare very\nspeedily.\"\n\nThe prospect of immense riches that might be his, if only he cultivated\nthe acquaintance of this man of science, dazzled the confessor.\n\"Friend,\" he said, \"such a thing as this will indeed be a service to\nthe State, and particularly grateful to His Majesty the King, who,\nas his affairs stand at present, is in great need of such a curious\ninvention. But,\" he added, with some remains of cunning criticism,\n\"before I credit what you say, so far as to communicate it to His\nMajesty, I must see some proof of your skill.\"\n\nDu Vall agreed; but said, as only a poor student of these things,\nhe had not the appliances necessary. These the confessor agreed\nto provide, and fitted up a laboratory for him in his own house.\nEverything being complete, Du Vall gave a demonstration of his alchemic\nscience. He took several metals of the baser sort, and put them into a\ncrucible, the confessor watching him the while. Du Vall had prepared\na hollow stick, into which he had introduced several inlays of real\ngold; and with this stick he stirred the white-hot crucible, until the\nbase metals were in a flux, and the stick itself was almost entirely\nconsumed. On the crucible being cooled, and its contents examined, it\nwas duly found that a considerable amount of gold was mixed with what\nhad been base metals.\n\nThe Jesuit was delighted with the success of the experiment, and a\nseries of equally satisfactory tests was entered upon. Du Vall at last\nfully acquired his confidence, and a complete knowledge of where his\ntreasure was deposited, and, finding him one evening in a heavy sleep\n(to which he had perhaps contributed by drugging his wine), gently\nstole his reverence's keys, earned off as much of his hoarded wealth as\nhe conveniently could, and hastened to England.\n\nIt was, for several reasons, high time he returned to our shores. There\nwas, his biographer tells us, no room in France for a highwayman. \"In\ntruth, the air of France is not good for persons of his constitution,\nit being the custom there to travel in great companies, well armed,\nand with little money. The danger of being resisted, and the danger of\nbeing taken, are much greater there; and the quarry much lesser than\nin England. And if, by chance, a dapper fellow, with fine black eyes,\nand a white peruke be taken there, and found guilty of robbing, all the\nwomen in the town don't presently take the alarm, and run to the King\nto beg his life.\"\n\nSo we see that the narrator of Du Vall's life, certainly did not\napprove of the hero-worship accorded him.\n\nBut Du Vall's career was now fast drawing to a close. His exploits as\na highway chevalier had grown too notorious for him to be allowed to\nrange any longer at will on the roads around London. At times, perhaps\nfully informed of his exceeding danger, he would employ himself in\nanother art, in which he was an expert\u2014the art of cheating at cards, in\nwhich an exceptional sleight-of-hand served him in good stead. Apart\nfrom these qualities, a handsome personal appearance, and a skill in\ndancing and playing the flageolet, he seems to have been as ignorant\nas any other ex-stable-boy, or page-boy of his era; for in a curious\nnotice of him in the _London Gazette_ of January 1670, he is described\nas a man \"of singular parts and learning, though he could neither read\nnor write.\" The different clauses of this eulogy seem at first sight\nquite irreconcileable; but the \"learning,\" no doubt, refers rather to\nsocial graces, than to ordinary education.\n\nHe was captured when the worse for drink, at a tavern called the \"Hole\nin the Wall,\" in Chandos Street, Covent Garden. He had three pistols in\nhis pocket at the time, one of them \"which would shoot twice,\" and had\na sword at his side. \"If he'd been sober, it was impossible he could\nhave killed less than ten,\" says the author of the _Memoires_; adding,\n\"He would have been cut as small as herbs for the pot, before he would\nhave yielded to the bailey of Westminster,\" only the drink he had taken\ndid not permit him the use of his legs.\n\nHe was executed at Tyburn, on January 21st, 1670, in spite of the many\nefforts made to secure a reprieve. After the hanging, he was given a\nlying-in-state at the \"Tangier\" tavern, St. Giles's, the room being\ndraped in black, relieved with escutcheons. Eight candles burnt around\nhim, and eight tall gentlemen in long cloaks kept watch. Many ladies of\nfashion and beauty went, masked, with tear-stained faces, to see him; a\nthing which seems incredible to ourselves, and was in fact considered\nextraordinary at the time. The author of the _Memoires_ himself\nrealised this, for we find him declaring the truth of it; although he\nsays he expected to be accounted by his readers \"A Notorious Lyer.\"\n\nThe Judge who had tried Du Vall regarded the exhibition as scandalous,\nand caused the room to be cleared; but the highwayman was given a\nsplendid funeral in St. Paul's church, Covent Garden. He was but\ntwenty-seven years of age at his death. A handsome stone, decorated\nwith heraldic achievements (not his own, for he boasted none), was\nplaced over his grave, and on it this epitaph:\n\n    Here lies Du Vall: Reader, if Male thou art,\n    Look to thy purse; if Female, to thy heart.\n    Much havoc has he made of both; for all\n    Men he made stand, and woman he made fall.\n    The second Conqueror of the Norman race,\n    Knights to his arms did yield, and Ladies to his face.\n    Old Tyburn's Glory; England's illustrious thief,\n    Du Vall, the Ladies' Joy; Du Vall, the Ladies' grief.\n\nThis was destroyed when the original church was burnt in 1759.\n\n\n\n\nFRANCIS JACKSON, AND HIS \"RECANTATION\"\n\n\nWe know little of this highwayman, however notorious he may have been\nat the time of his execution, April 14th, 1674. The exceedingly rare\ntract entitled _Jackson's Recantation_, gives no trace of his Christian\nname; nor does it, although professing to be a \"Life,\" tell us when or\nwhere he was born, or the position his parents occupied. The tract is\nby way of an autobiography, but it is couched in such general terms\nthat very few facts are to be extracted from it. It is in this, and\nin some other particulars, not unlike John Clavel's \"Recantation\" of\nforty-seven years earlier; only Jackson writes in ambiguous prose,\nwhile the other exercises himself in verse.\n\nThe title-page of Jackson's repudiation of his wicked ways may with\nadvantage be given here, as a specimen of the type of chapbook then in\nvogue.\n\nBut although Jackson's own autobiography affords no satisfaction to the\nenquirer, hungry for facts, and although the Old Bailey Sessions Papers\nof the period are not preserved, a clue is found to\n\n  Jackson's Recantation\n\n  OR, THE\n\n  LIFE & DEATH\n\n  OF THE\n\n  NOTORIOUS HIGHWAYMAN\n\n  NOW\n\n  HANGING in CHAINS\n\n  AT\n\n  HAMPSTEAD\n\n  DELIVERED\n\n  To a Friend, a little before Execution; Wherein\n  is truly discovered the whole Mystery of\n  that Wicked and Fatal Profession\n  Of PADDING on the ROAD\n\n  [Illustration: [++] Printer's Mark.]\n\n  _LONDON_,\n\n  Printed for I. B. in the Year 1674\n\nthe last adventure of himself and his associates in another tract\nentitled as under:\n\n  The\n  CONFESSION\n  Of the Four\n  HIGH-WAY-MEN\n\n  As it was Written by One of them, and\n  Allowed by the Rest the 14th of this\n  Instant _April_ (being the Day before\n  their Appointed Execution).\n\n        { John Williams, alias Tho Matchet\n        { Francis Jackson, alias Dixie\n   Viz:\u2014{ John White, alias Fowler\n        { Walter Parkhurst.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n     This being desired to be made Publick by the Persons themselves,\n     to prevent false reports of them when they are Dead.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n     With Allowance\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n     London. Printed for D. M. 1674.\n\nBy this it appears that Jackson's Christian name was Francis, and\nthat the robbery, in which he and his associates (so anxious that\ntheir reputations should not be fouled by false reports) were finally\nsurprised and taken, was committed on the Exeter Road, between\nHounslow and Staines, early in the morning of March 18th. The gang had\nalready, on March 16th, impudently robbed the Windsor coach in broad\ndaylight, between Cranford and Hounslow, and actually in sight of about\na dozen gentlemen, well armed and mounted, who pursued them for five or\nsix miles before they were lost sight of.\n\nThe country was thoroughly aroused, and the hue-and-cry out for them;\nand it therefore argues great rashness, or impudence, that they should,\ntwo days later, and in the same neighbourhood, rob other coaches.\n\nThe gang engaged that day comprised James Slader, Walter Parkhurst,\nJohn Williams, John White, and Francis Jackson. After robbing two\ncoaches in Bedfont Lane, supposing themselves observed by a gentleman's\nservant out hunting in a green livery, they struck off across country\nfor Acton; the liveried servant hurrying after them. They then made\nin the direction of Harrow-on-the-Hill, suspecting themselves pursued\nall the way, but seeing no one until they reached that little town,\nwhere they found forty or fifty men, ready to receive them with guns,\npitchforks, and all sorts of weapons.\n\nThe inference at this point is that the gang had made much slower\nprogress across country than the hue-and-cry had done.\n\nTurning from this embattled front, they made their way down the hill\nand at the bottom found \"a great number\" of horse and foot ready to\nreceive them. Although these horse and foot were so numerous, the\nhighwaymen, in their \"Confession,\" claim to have compelled them to\nfly into the houses for shelter; and so rode on to Paddington, and\nthence to Kilburn and Hendon, and from Hendon to Hampstead Heath, hotly\nengaged all the way. It was between ten and eleven o'clock in the\nmorning when they had reached Harrow, and six o'clock by the time they\nwere come upon Hampstead Heath, and the daylight was then fading out of\nthe March evening. Their powder and shot had nearly all been expended\nabout two o'clock, and some of their swords lost or broken, and most of\nthem sorely wounded or bruised. Prominent among the combatants in this\nextraordinary running fight was a Lifeguardsman, \"who fought with a\ngreat deal of courage most part of that day.\"\n\nOn Hampstead Heath there were two hundred men arrayed against these\nfive exhausted highwaymen, who stood at bay in the grim hollow road at\nNorth End as night fell, and fought the contest out to the inevitable\nend. They fought an hour there, some with swords, and others with\npistols. Slader, with a last shot, killed one Edward Kemp, and was then\nhimself mortally wounded; and Jackson ran one Henry Miller through the\nleft side with his rapier, so that he died immediately.\n\n[Illustration: THE FIGHT IN THE HOLLOW ROAD.]\n\nAt last, overpowered, four of the defeated highwaymen were conveyed to\nNewgate. Slader soon afterwards died of his many wounds, and the others\nwere found guilty on various counts at their trial at the Old Bailey\non April 10th and 11th, and hanged with remarkable despatch on the\n15th; Jackson being gibbeted on the scene of that last stand, opposite\nthe spot now occupied by the house called \"Wildwoods.\"\n\nHis body long swung and gyrated in the wind, suspended there from a\nbeam stretched between two elms: the \"Gibbet Elms,\" as they were long\nknown. One was blown down in 1850, and the other survived until so\nrecently as March 1907, when it, too, was uprooted in a storm. The\ntrunk, at this time of writing, still lies on the ground.\n\nThis, then, is the short story of Jackson's life. Let us now see of\nwhat his \"Recantation\" consists. It affords curious reading, but cannot\nbe more than paraphrased here. It is, however, in spite of its breadth\nand freedom of language, extremely moral in its teaching.\n\nHow vain, he moralises, are the thoughts of those who, while they\nenjoy youth and strength, never consider they are mere statues of\ndust, kneaded with tears and moved by the hidden engines of restless\npassions; clods of earth, which the shortest fever can burn to ashes,\nor a complication of miseries dissolve into nothingness!\n\nHe had once thought himself one of Heaven's favourites, and had\npersuaded himself that the machinations of his brain were able to\nunhinge the poles. (Any reader conversant with twentieth-century slang\nphrases will at this point consider the youthful seventeenth-century\nJackson himself at that time \"up the pole.\")\n\nBut Heaven, continued Jackson, thought fit to deliver him into\nthe terrestrial hell of the condemned cell at Newgate, where, in\nimagination surrounded by the howls and hollow groans of damned souls,\nconscience started out of her dead sleep, and he was thrown into the\ngreatest agony imaginable. At this time a charitable physician for his\nsin-sick soul came to visit him, and to that pious man he laid open the\nwhole course of his life, much to his amazement and wonder. This wonder\nwas soon changed to pity and commiseration that one so young should be\nthus weeded out of the world just as he had entered into the blooming\nspringtime of his age. He then acquainted him with the benefit of true\nrepentance, so that the obduracy of his heart was able to hold out no\nlonger, and, melting into tears, he was willing to have its flintiness\nbroken by the hammer of sacred Scripture.\n\nThen, to give the holy man some real testimony of his unfeigned\nrepentance, he produced an abstract of his life, which, he tells us, he\nhad prepared before his apprehension, intending to have published it\nand then to have abandoned his evil courses. But a reformed highwayman\nwas so very rare a thing, if even not altogether so unheard-of a\ncuriosity, that we may take leave to doubt that detail. He probably\nwrote his life in prison, and there occasionally peep out such\ntell-tale passages of real enjoyment in the telling of his misdeeds,\nthat the flowery moral passages wear a strong suspicion of insincerity.\n\nThe \"holy man\" of the foregoing remarks was apparently none other\nthan the Ordinary of Newgate, the Reverend Samuel Smith, for the\n\"Recantation\" is followed by a postscript, signed \"S. S.,\" which says:\n\"Reader, let me assure thee this is no fiction, but a true relation\nof Mr. Jackson's life and conversation. Penned by his own hand, and\ndelivered unto mine to be made public for his countrymen's good, in\ncompensation of the many injuries he hath done them. The introduction\nhe made in Newgate, after sentence of condemnation, and desired me\nto apologise for it, fearing he had neither wrote large enough for\nhis true penitence, nor had laid down sufficient exhortations from\nthe commission of the like offences; the disorder he was in, lying\nunder the horror of a speedy and more than common execution, may\nplead his excuse: the plainness of his style may admit of this plea,\nthat he aimed at (as he confessed to me) nothing but the good of his\ncountrymen, and that as he had picked their pockets, he thought it\nneedless to tickle their ears with the gilded straws of rhetorical\nexpressions. God, I hope, hath forgiven him his sins, and may we all\namend by his errors, for which he now hangs in chains at Hamstead,\na sad and dreadful spectacle to all beholders, and hoping you will\npass by the faults of his writing and the press, I subscribe myself a\nwell-willer to all.\"\n\n                                        \"S. S.\"\n\n\nJackson's own method of telling his story is of the parabolic moral\nkind, in which the facts lie hidden amid a mass of verbiage. He said\nlittle of his parents, except that they were too indulgent to him,\nsupplying his youthful extravagances with so much money that he was\noften puzzled to find ways to spend it. As a result, these prodigal\nparents impoverished themselves, and then died, and their hopeful\nson had already so distinguished himself by his wild and extravagant\ncourses, that none of his relatives would help, and refused even to see\nhim. He at once sank from plenty into poverty and rags, his backside\nhung in tatters, and his coat had as many holes as a colander.\n\nAlthough so miserable an object, no one would help him. He thought\nhimself unfit for one of the plantations, and such a scarecrow that not\neven a kidnapper would take any notice of him.\n\nAt last, walking the streets of London in this miserable condition, he\nfound a purse lying in the street. Trembling with excitement at his\ngood fortune, he hastily slipped it into his pocket, forgetting that\nall his pockets were so full of holes, that they would contain nothing.\nIt fell to the ground again, but he snatched it up, and hurried with\nbeating heart into the fields, and there found the purse contained ten\npounds in silver, and fifty guineas. He cautiously buried all this\nmoney but fifty shillings in the hedgeside, and then went and bought an\nordinary ready-made suit of clothes, being afraid to at once purchase\nbetter, in case awkward questions might be asked, as to how so shabby a\nwretch became possessed of such means.\n\nThus decently attired, he thought he might venture to remove from the\nsqualid lodging he occupied, and, taking rooms at a cautious distance,\nhe gave out that he was the son of a country gentleman, come to London\non law business. For a time he lived quietly, but growing discontented\nwith the dulness of his quiet life, went and bespoke a fine suit\nof clothes and all necessary appurtenances befitting a person of\nquality, such as a silver-hilted sword, etc., saying he had received a\nconsiderable sum of money on account of the affairs that had brought\nhim to town.\n\nBeing thus gallantly equipped, he soon made acquaintances, who were\nintimately versed in the ways of town, but more especially in cards and\ndice, at which they laboured with greater pains than a seven-years'\nstudent with the classics. With one of these he established a close\nfriendship; and this new-found friend, undertaking to be his tutor in\ngambling and sharping, he was soon on the direct way to becoming a\nrogue, fully equipped in all the arts and subterfuges of those who live\non their wits. At playhouses, ordinaries, cockpits, and bowling-greens,\nhe was soon on the track of dupes whose pockets were to be dipped into,\nand he tells us how his tackling was so good and his hooks so well\nbarbed that, after he had struck a gudgeon, he was sure to hold him,\nthough he suffered him to play a little in the stream.\n\nWhen at any time they fell into the company of any young country\ngentleman, sent up by his father to learn something of the polished\nways of London, they fastened themselves upon him, introduced him into\nthe fast life of town, and in the end plundered him and used his credit\nto obtain goods from confiding tradespeople. These two associates\nshared their fortunes in this manner for a year, varying their evil\npractices by now and then robbing a coach. They were unlucky enough to\nbe several times flung into gaol and Jackson came near to losing his\nlife for robbing a coach near Barnet; but he was fortunate in being\nable to get in touch with the person whom he had robbed, and to appease\nhim by restoring the greater part of what he had taken, on condition\nthat he should bring no evidence against him. He was accordingly\nacquitted. So easy was it, he says, to buy acquittals that it had\nbecome a proverbial saying that no man, unless he had committed treason\nor murder, need be hanged while he had five hundred pounds at command.\n\nSoon after he was so triumphantly enlarged from prison his companion\ndied, leaving behind him little but his wench, whom he bequeathed,\nenjoining him to have a special care of her whom he had so highly\nprized. It was a pity, continues Jackson, she was a whore, for he might\nimpartially declare her beauty to be scarcely paralleled.\n\nTo supply her extravagances was a difficult matter, and he grew so\nbusy at rooking people in the coffee-houses that his face became too\nwell known, and folk fought shy of him. He accordingly bethought him\nof a way of noting those who had won heavily, and then following them\nin the dark and robbing them. Although this was for some time a highly\nremunerative plan, it also was worn threadbare, all too soon, and he\nwas now such a marked man that he was obliged, like a bat, never to\nstir abroad until dusk; except with the greatest caution imaginable.\nHis woman, seeing what straits he was put to, deserted him.\n\nHe then met with three or four old acquaintances, knights of the road,\nwith whom he adjourned to a tavern. They asked him how he had spent his\ntime since his first gaol-delivery, and when he told them, declared no\nbold, generous soul would stoop to such petty pilfering. They condemned\nhim further, not for keeping his woman, but for not keeping her more\nunder. \"It is laudable,\" said one, \"to have a Miss, even though he had\na very handsome wife of his own, and it is agreeable to the custom and\nhonour of the times, and if we were to throw any opprobrium upon it, it\nwould reflect upon ourselves.\"\n\n\"Come,\" said another, \"we trifle away time. Let us fall to business. It\nis a good while since we shared a booty: let us no longer lie idle, and\nif our brother will accompany us, instead of picking up here and there\ncrowns and angels\u2014a thing beneath us\u2014let us resolve to 'Have at all.' A\nfive hours' adventure may make us possessors of five hundred pounds.\"\n\nHe told them he was not provided with a horse and other things\nnecessary, but they promised to supply him, and soon did so, and he was\nthen as well-equipped as any.\n\nFour of them then set out for Maidenhead, reconnoitring for plunder.\nAt Maidenhead they dined, and then, in the summer afternoon, went on\ntowards Reading, halting an hour or so at Maidenhead Thicket, expecting\nsome prize; but to no purpose. They then planned to distribute\nthemselves and to ride into Reading singly: two to lie at one inn, and\ntwo at another.\n\nJackson's other two comrades lay at an inn where they were well known,\nand their occupation winked at by host and servants; who gave them to\nunderstand that there was a gentleman in the house, who, with his man,\nwould next morning set out for Marlborough. It was thought, they added,\nby the weight of his small portmanteau, that it must be filled with\nmoney.\n\nJackson and one other found an attorney at the inn of their choice, who\nsaid he was on his way to London, for the opening of term. He asked the\nlandlord if he could serve him in any way in London.\n\n\"I am sorry I have not the happiness to have your company to-morrow,\"\nsaid Jackson; \"I have to go a contrary way, to Bristol.\"\n\n\"You seem a civil gentleman,\" returned the attorney, \"and I am\nsorry too. Have a care as you go by Marlborough Downs: a parcel of\nwhipper-snappers have been very busy there of late.\"\n\nJackson affected to be very much concerned at this news, and the\nattorney, noticing his apparent alarm, told him if he carried any\nconsiderable sum he must conceal it, or he would certainly lose all.\n\nJackson then pretended to thank him coldly, as if suspecting him of\nbeing some subtle insinuating spy; whereupon, the lawyer, to prove\nhis own good faith, put his hand in his pocket and drew out a bag\ncontaining a hundred and fifty guineas. \"These,\" said he, \"I will so\nconceal in the saddle I ride upon that I will defy all the damned\nhighwaymen in England to find them out. I have passed them several\ntimes in this manner, with good sums about me, and, for your further\nbelief, I will show you in what way.\"\n\nHe then exhibited his hiding-place in the saddle, for which Jackson\nthanked him more genuinely than he suspected.\n\nAt that moment there came a note from his confederates at the other\ninn, to meet them at a certain place, and so, pretending he had\nbusiness in the town, he left, and, meeting them, arranged that he and\nhis fellow should change places with the other couple: that he should\ngo forward and rob the traveller bound for Marlborough, while the\nothers should turn about and relieve the attorney journeying to London.\n\nThe cunning scheme was neatly performed; but Jackson and his associate\ndid not come off quite so well, the Marlborough traveller and his man\nmaking a stout resistance. Jackson was shot in the arm, and had the\ngentleman's horse not then been shot dead, they had very likely been\ntaken prisoners. As it was, they captured a hundred and twenty guineas.\n\nThe next adventure entailed a great deal of work, and they were\nshamefully robbed of all their spoils, at the end of it, to the tune of\nover \u00a3180.\n\nHearing that a ship was to be paid off at Chatham on such a day, and\nwell aware that the sailors would then be coming, post-haste, to\nLondon, to spend their money, they went to Shooter's Hill and hovered\nabout there until evening, with very poor results. Next day they picked\nup a great many stragglers, and robbed them of their all; but always\navoiding groups of travellers. A parson with very shabby clothes, and\nriding a sorry horse, then came on the hill. He looked so poor that\nthey judged him to be worth hardly an attorney's retaining-fee; but,\nwith time hanging heavy on their hands, they thought to have some sport\nwith him, and stopped him and began to search his pockets for fun.\nBut when he roared out, like a town bull, that he was undone, they\nsuspected he carried more than they had thought, and searched more\nthoroughly; with the result that his pockets yielded fifteen pounds.\n\nThey were good enough to return him twenty shillings, on his swearing\nhe would not set the hue-and-cry upon them, or inform any person he\nmight meet upon the road, and then let him proceed; but it so chanced\nthat he fell in with a sailor and advised him, if he had any money\nabout him, to turn back, for there was a parcel of rogues up yonder on\nthe hill who had but now robbed him and would do the like to any one\nelse.\n\nThe sailor, however, would not believe the parson, or thought himself a\nmatch for any highwaymen he was likely to meet, and so continued on his\nway. Presently he was bidden \"Stand!\"\n\n\"What do you want?\" he asked.\n\n\"What do we want?\" we in imagination hear those highwaymen repeating,\nin tones of contempt: \"what do you think we want, you\u2014\u2014, * * *, you:\nto ask after your health, or to know the time o' day? No, we want your\nmoney.\"\n\n\"Alas! gentlemen,\" said the sailor, \"it is true I have some, which I\nreceived for my pay in His Majesty's service. It is a pity to take that\nfrom me which I am carrying home for the maintenance of my wife and\nchildren.\"\n\nBut if he had engaged an angel to plead for him it would have been\nuseless, for they would have had his money, anyway; and so, seeing\nthere was no remedy, he delivered all he had, which was sixty-five\npounds.\n\n\"Now, gentlemen,\" said he, \"let me beg one favour of you, and that is,\nas I dare not go home to my wife with empty pockets, and at present\nknow not what course to steer, pray admit me into your company. You see\nI am strong-limbed, and I have courage enough to qualify me for your\noccupation.\"\n\nThey asked if he were in earnest, and he swore a hundred sailor oaths\nthat he was, and ready to be put to the proof that instant: declaring\nhimself to be greatly in love with a trade that could in six minutes\nget as much money as he could in three years.\n\nJackson was at that time treasurer, and was given charge of the day's\ntakings; and then, finding they had done sufficient for the day, they\nagreed to separate, and to meet at a given rendezvous the next day.\nJackson was also detailed to take charge of the new recruit, who was\nwretchedly mounted. As they rode along, he bound the sailor, over and\nover again, by many oaths, to stand to his new resolution. At length,\nin a solitary lane, while Jackson was innocently discoursing upon the\nnew life that lay before him, the sailor pulled his miserable horse\nsuddenly against the other, and, as suddenly drawing a pistol and\nseizing his companion's bridle, clapped the ugly brass-barrelled weapon\nagainst his breast, and swore as bloodily as if he had been one of the\ntrade for more than twenty years that he would send a bullet into his\nheart if he did not instantly dismount.\n\nJackson saw by his companion's frightful countenance that there was\nno dallying possible, so he dismounted and was obliged to give up his\nhorse in exchange for the sorry nag that was hardly able to carry him,\nand, in addition, to hand over all the day's takings of the fraternity.\n\n\"Should I enumerate all the rogueries and robberies I committed,\"\ncontinues our autobiographer, \"either singly, or with others, relating\nin what manner they were done, I should waste too much time, and miss\nthat design which I purposed to myself, which is the general good of\nmy countrymen; wherefore I shall pass them all by, not so much as\nmentioning the last robbery I was guilty of, near Colnbrook, when\npursued by the country, opposed and apprehended by them, to the loss\nof our own, and the blood of some of them, the manner whereof is too\ngenerally known to be again repeated.\"\n\nThat is exceedingly disappointing: for what was then \"generally known\"\nis now almost forgotten, and only to be recovered with much trouble.\n\nHe then, omitting all reference to the killing for which he was hanged\nand gibbeted, proceeds to enlarge upon the ways, manners, and customs\nof the highwaymen, \"those devouring caterpillars of a corrupt and\npolluted nation,\" as he styles them.\n\n\"I shall insist upon what is more profitable,\" he declares, \"and\ndiscover, first, what a highwayman is; how bound by oath; what order\nis prescribed; in what manner they assault; and how they behave\nthemselves, in and after the action. In the next place my best\nendeavour shall be to dissuade these desperadoes to desist robbing on\nthe highway, by showing them the certainty of their apprehension one\ntime or other; and though they may a long time prosper in that vile\ncourse of life, spending high and faring deliciously, yet every bit is\nattended with fear; neither is their sleep less unquiet, starting ever\nand anon by some horrid dream; so that I cannot say when they go to bed\nthey go to take their rest, but only to slumber out the tedious minutes\nof the gloomy night in horror and affrightment. I shall insist on\nother dissuasions, by showing them the misery of a prison; by putting\nthem in mind of their wretched and cursed ends, which they vainly jest\nat, by presuming on some examples of grace; and the reward of their\nwickedness in the world to come. Lastly, instructions, not only for the\nhonest traveller that he may pass in safety, but for the innkeeper to\ndistinguish highwaymen from guests that are honest; all these I shall\nwith sincerity run over particularly.\"\n\n\"Highwaymen for the most part are such that were never acquainted with\nan honest trade, whom either want of money or employment prompted them\nto undertake these dangerous designs; and to make their persons appear\nmore formidable, and to gain respect, they dub one another 'colonel,'\n'major,' or at least a captain, who never arrived to a greater height\nthan a trooper disbanded, or at the utmost a lifeguards-man cashiered\nfor misdemeanour.\n\n\"Having made up a party, ere they proceed to act their villainies, they\nmake a solemn vow to each other, that, if by misfortune any one should\nbe apprehended, he shall not discover his complices: and that if he\nbe pressed hard to particularise his companions, he must then devise\nnames for men that never were, describing their persons, features, and\ndiscovering their habitations, but so remote one from another, that the\ndanger of the trial may be over ere sufficient inquiry can be made.\n\n\"And further, to procure mercy from the bench, there must be a\nplausible account given, how you fell into this course of life:\nfetching a deep sigh, saying that you were well born, but by reason\nof your family falling to decay you were exposed to great want, and\nrather than shamefully beg (for you knew not how to labour), you were\nconstrained to take this course as a subsistence; that it is your first\nfault, which you are heartily sorry for, and will never attempt the\nlike again.\n\n\"Having taken a solemn oath to be true one to another, their next\nbusiness is to acquaint themselves, by means of the tapsters, ostlers,\nchamberlains, or others, what booties are stirring, how contained,\nand whither bound. But before they attempt the seizure, if there be\nany novices in the company, then they are instructed by the more\nexperienced, as I was at first, after this manner.\n\n\"In the first place, you must have a variety of periwigs in your\nlodgings, and the like you must carry with you, if occasion require\nthe necessity of changing the colour of the hair: neither must you be\nwithout your false beards of several colours. For want of them, you may\ncross your locks athwart your mouth, which is a good disguise: patches\nalso contribute much thereto. And lest your voice should be known\nanother time by him that is robbed, put into your mouth a pebble, or\nany suchlike thing, which will alter your tone advantageously to your\npurpose.\n\n\"Being thus provided, a watchword must be framed, wrapped up in some\ncommon question, as 'What's o'clock?' or 'Jack, what shall we have\nfor supper?' As soon as these words are used, you must instantly fall\nto work, seizing with your left hand the traveller's bridle, and with\nyour right presenting a pistol. This so terrifies that he delivers\ninstantly, for who will trust a pistol at his breast loaded with a\nbrace of bullets, and a mouth discharging at the same time volleys of\noaths, that if he deliver not instantly he is a dead man? But here\nyou may please yourself whether you believe him, for a highwayman\nwill be very cautious of murder, for fear of provoking the law to an\nimplacability, unless it be when he is beset, when, rather than run the\nrisk of being seized, he will endeavour to escape by killing one or\nmore of his assailants.\n\n\"Having o'ermastered them you set upon, do you carry them into some\ncovert, where you search so severely that nothing can be hidden from\nyou. If in this strict enquiry, gold be found privily quilted in a\ndoublet, or in the waistband of his breeches, I can hardly forbear\nsmiling when I think in what manner the rogues will rate the poor man\nwith 'villain,' or 'cheating rascal,' for endeavouring to preserve\nhis own, whilst he has nothing else to say but that he is 'undone,'\nwhich they regard as little as the hangman will them at the place of\nexecution. Having then changed your horse for theirs, if better than\nyour own, the next thing to do is to make them swear neither to follow\nyou, nor to raise the country with a hue-and-cry upon you. Thus,\nleaving the poor traveller forlorn, you ride to some strange place, or\nelse where you are known and winked at, and there you share that which\nyou unlawfully have got, not without cheating one another.\n\n\"Now here, by the way, give me leave to descant on their prodigality,\nafter a successful attempt. London, the more is the pity, is their\nbest sanctuary, and therefore, after any robbery, they commonly repair\nthither; having as many names as lodgings. Their next care is to buy\na variety of splendid apparel, and, having bought their wenches new\ngowns, and furnished their pockets with guineas, they then prosecute\nall manner of debaucheries. Their hosts must also participate in their\ngains, else all the fat's in the fire; for the vintners, innkeepers,\netc., knowing very well what they are, and how easily they get their\nmoney, will be sure to enlarge their reckoning and make it swell\nprodigiously; neither must this be complained of, lest they refuse to\nkeep their own counsel any longer.\n\n\"All the time they can spare from robbing and undoing poor men is spent\nin wine and women; so that the sunshine of their prosperity lasts but\na moment, not so long as to warm their hands by the blazing fire of\ntheir prodigality, before cold death comes and seizeth them. And how\ncan it be otherwise expected? the pitcher goes not so often to the well\nbut it comes broken home at last.\n\n\"But before death takes them from this, to carry them before a higher\ntribunal, there to answer for all they have enacted here on earth,\nthere is a punishment preceding this: it is a prison wherein are\ncontained so many tortures, woes, and pains that I do think were enough\nto punish, without death, the greatest of offences.\n\n\"Having thus endeavoured to fright highwaymen, by showing them\nthe intolerable torments of a prison, besides the certainty and\nshamefulness of hanging, and hazard of eternal death hereafter, I shall\nhere take another course to scare them, if possible, and therefore in\nthe first place I shall lay down directions how to know them as they\nride on the road, with rules how to shun them, or, if robbed, how to\npursue and apprehend them when they think themselves most secure.\n\n\"In the first place, when at any time you intend to travel, and cannot\navoid carrying a sum of money with you, let no person know what charge\nyou have, or when you will set forward. It is the custom, I confess\n(but let me assure you, it is dangerous), for men the day before they\nbegin their journey, to take leave of their relations and friends,\ndrinking healths round to the happy return of the traveller, who\nsuspects not the least harm in all this; whereas, it hath been known\nthat a father hath this way been betrayed by his own son; a brother by\na brother; nay, one pretendedly dear friend by another, by discovering\nto highwaymen when and which way he rides; and so for the plot he goes\nhis share.\n\n\"Another way they have. The gang shall ride in advance, out of sight,\nleaving one lusty fellow of their company behind, who shall ride very\nslowly, expecting some one or other will overtake him. If overtaken by\nthree or four, he will single out the one he thinks hath most money;\nand, pretending much friendliness, will whisper, he likes not those\nother men, and ask if he knows them. If not, he adviseth him to slacken\nhis pace, for certainly they are dangerous fellows. The timorous\nand credulous traveller will thank him for his advice; and not long\nafterwards, by parting company with honest men, he will be brought\nalone to the place where the confederates lie in ambuscade. The decoy\nwill then draw his weapon, bidding the traveller do the like, and now\nbegins a dangerous fight, as the traveller imagines. Fearing bloodshed,\nhe delivers his money, and persuades his champion to do the like, who,\nwith much ado, at length condescends thereunto. The gang, having given\nhim a private indication of the way they intend to ride, then set spurs\nto their horses, and are out of sight in an instant.\n\n\"Hereupon, this pretender to honesty will straight persuade you to\nassist him in making a hue-and-cry, in the carrying on of which he\nwill seemingly be foremost, but to no other end than to lead you\nquite another way, till his brethren be out of all danger. I knew\none notorious rogue, who by his sly and crafty deportment was looked\nupon to be a very honest gentleman, who suffered himself to be robbed\nwith three more, by his own confederates. The robbery being committed\nbetween sun and sun, he, with those three honest men, sued the county,\nand recovered the money they had lost.\n\n\"Whensoever the traveller designs a journey, let him consider that\nthe Sabbath day is a time not only unlawful, but more dangerous for\nrobbing than any other. I need not expatiate on the illegality of the\nact, since there is a special command forbidding the breach of that\nholy day of rest, the violation whereof hath been frequently punished\nby being robbed; for, to speak the truth, that day hath been, and still\nis, chosen by highwaymen for the best and fittest time to commit their\nrobberies; first because they are sensible that few travel then, except\nthose who ride on some important concern, and who they suppose carry a\nconsiderable sum about them.\n\n\"In the next place, on that day the roads are most quiet, being\nundisturbed with great quantities of people, and therefore they rob\nwith more ease and greater security. Lastly, they know the county will\nnot be so forward to pursue them with a hue-and-cry, and are quite\nconvinced that a judge will hardly be induced to make the county pay\nthe reparation of a loss sustained by him who ought to have stayed at\nhome, to perform those duties required from him, proper to the day; and\nnot wander abroad and leave his Creator's business undone, that he may\ndo his own. If you must needs travel, you have days enough in the week\nto follow your urgent and important affairs, and with more security,\nthe roads being then full of good company, if you will but make choice\nof a convenient time, and be cautious whom you entertain into your\nsociety.\n\n\"The first caution is this: be shy of those who are ever prone of\npressing into your company. It is more safe to entertain such as\nare unwilling to associate themselves with you. Now, that you may\ndistinguish an honest man from a thief, take these informations and\ndirections: first, if you suspect your company, halt a little, and in\nyour halting observe whether they still hold on their course, or slack\ntheir pace, or, it may be, alight and walk with their horses in their\nhands. If you observe any of these, you may conclude them the justly\nsuspected marks of a highwayman.\"\n\nTravellers were also warned of men dressed like countrymen, with\nhay-bands round their legs, and rough, russet clothes, who might\nperhaps even carry a goad instead of a whip, as they rode on horseback.\nThese were often merely highwaymen in disguise, and although they might\naffect a country brogue and ask silly questions, they were to be\nsuspected. In fact, it appears that every one was to be eyed askance;\nand it seems likely that, with this advice duly digested, over-cautious\nor nervous travellers occasionally turned upon quite innocent and\ninoffensive people and shot them in mere squittering terror.\n\n\"It is now high time,\" continues Jackson, \"to inform the innkeeper how\nhe shall distinguish highwaymen from honest travellers. In the first\nplace, observe their curiosity about their horses, in dressing and\nfeeding them: next you will find them asking questions; such as, \"Who\nowns that horse?\" and who the other; what their masters are; whither\ntravelling; and when they will set out. These are infallible signs of\na highwayman. Nor must I omit this remark: let the ostler lift their\ncloak-bags, and he will find them empty; for they carry them only for\nshow, and not to burden their horses.\n\n\"Next, let the chamberlain take notice when he shows them to a room,\nthat they will soon dismiss him, and after that, let him listen awhile\nand he shall hear the jingling of money; and if he can but get a\npeep-hole for his eyes, he shall see them sharing their booty.\n\n\"It will be very requisite to enquire severally each one's particular\nname, and let your servants do the like. By this means you will find\nthem tripping, for they may easily forget a name they borrowed that\nvery day.\n\n\"At supper-time let some one knock furiously and hastily at the gate;\nthen mark them well, and you shall see them start, their countenances\nchange, and nothing but fear and amazement appearing on each face; by\nwhich you may positively conclude them to be what you did before but\nimagine and suspect.\n\n\"If in the day-time they come into your inn, you may guess what they\nare by their trifling away their time, and staying somewhat longer than\nis necessary for baiting. You shall observe them sometimes looking out\nof the window, sometimes standing at the gate, for no other purpose but\nto mark what passengers ride by. If they see any person of quality ride\nthat way, or the costume hints at the likelihood of a booty, you shall\nhave them to horse and mount in all haste, as if some dear friend or\nnear relation was just rid by, whom they must endeavour to overtake.\n\n\"At night they will come dropping into an inn severally, in divided\ncompanies, thereby to falsify the number given in the hue-and-cry; and\nwill, when met, artfully take no notice of one another; nay, they will\neven, to allay suspicion, enquire of the host what 'country gentleman'\ntheir own companions are; whether he knows them or not, and if it be\nconvenient to join in company with them. They will, like strangers,\nwhile they are under observation, compliment one another; but withdraw,\nand watch them well, and you shall find them fall into their usual\nfamiliarity.\n\n\"Much more might be written on this subject, but since it is impossible\nto discover the whole art and mystery of the highway trade, let this\nsuffice; for, according to the proverb, new lords, new laws; so all new\ngangs have new orders, plots and designs, to rob and purloin from the\nhonest traveller.\"\n\n\n\n\nCAPTAIN RICHARD DUDLEY\n\n\nRichard Dudley, born in 1635, was, says Alexander Smith, \"a gentleman\nof old descent in Northamptonshire.\" His father, a man of considerable\nestate in that shire of squires, spires, pride, and poverty, was ruined\nin the war between King and Parliament, and his son Robert was glad to\naccept the help that Charles the Second gave him, in presenting him\nwith a commission in a foot regiment that was presently ordered to\nTangier. It was a poor return for the loyalty in which his father was\nbrought so low.\n\nCaptain Dudley soon earned the reputation of a martinet with his\nregiment; and perhaps something over and above that, if the story\nof his horrible treatment of a soldier on parade be true. It seems\nthat one of the men stood a little in advance of his comrades as they\nwere drawn up on the parade-ground, and this annoyed our Captain, who\ndesired a sergeant to knock him down. The sergeant was not so violent\nabout it as Dudley wished, and, in a fury he exclaimed, \"When I command\nyou to knock a man down, knock him down thus.\" Suiting the action to\nthe word, he snatched the sergeant's halberd, and, striking the man\non the head with it, cleft his skull in two; \"of which,\" adds Smith,\nrather unnecessarily, \"he immediately died.\"\n\nWe are not surprised, after this, to learn that Dudley's military\ncareer was not successful, and that it shortly came to an end.\nReturning to England, his unbridled extravagance left him no choice\nbut to work or take to the road; and what gentleman of the merry and\ninglorious reign of Charles the Second would hesitate a moment in such\na pass, before choosing the road as the better and more gentlemanly\nway? Work! Perish the thought!\n\n[Illustration: CAPTAIN DUDLEY ON HOUNSLOW HEATH.]\n\nSo he resorted to Hounslow Heath, where he robbed the Duke of Monmouth,\nand was captured in so doing and was conveyed to the prison then called\nthe Poultry Compter, from which mansion of sorrow and tribulation he\nbroke out; and, resuming the road, met the Earl of Rochester coming\nfrom his seat at Woodstock, accompanied by his chaplain, two footmen,\nand a groom. The association of the riotous Earl of Rochester, the\nwittiest and most dissolute nobleman of the age, with a chaplain is a\ndistinctly humorous touch. Dudley robbed my lord of a hundred guineas.\nWhat the footman and the groom\u2014to say nothing of the chaplain\u2014were\ndoing while he committed the robbery, we do not learn. They appear, for\nall we know to the contrary, to have looked on. But the chaplain, at\nany rate, improved the occasion by soundly rating him. \"I don't think I\ncommit any sin in robbing a person of quality,\" said Dudley, \"because\nI keep generally pretty close to the text, 'Feed the hungry, and\nsend the rich empty away.'\" To which Captain Alexander Smith, Dudley's\nbiographer, adds, \"This was pretty true in the main, for whenever\nhe had got any considerable booty from great people, he would very\ngenerously extend his charity to such whom he really knew to be poor.\"\n\nAfter this adventure, Dudley had the impudence to rob Captain\nRichardson, the Governor of Newgate prison, whom he met on the road to\nTonbridge. He had already been in the Governor's clutches on three or\nfour occasions, and so felt a glow of satisfaction when he robbed him.\nBut he did not succeed in doing so without considerable trouble, and\nthe Governor told him pretty plainly that he would fare ill if ever he\ncame again within the walls of Newgate, which would not be long hence,\nhe suspected.\n\nDudley had his ready answer. \"I expect,\" he said, \"no favour from the\nhands of a gaoler, who comes of the race of those angels that fell with\nLucifer from Heaven, whither _you'll_ never return again. Of all your\nbunches of keys, not one hath wards to open that door, for a gaoler's\nsoul stands not upon those two pillars that support Heaven: Justice\nand Mercy. It rather sits upon those two footstools of Hell, Wrong\nand Cruelty So\"\u2014changing his didactic manner for a more business-like\nattitude\u2014\"make no more words about your purse, for have it I will, or\nelse your life.\"\n\nThere was no help for it, and \"Richardson was obliged to grant his\nrequest, and between Dudley and taking the waters at Tonbridge, went\nhome as well purged and cleansed as a man could desire.\"\n\nDudley often robbed, it appears, with Swiftnicks, but their joint\nadventures are not recorded. With some other companions, he on one\noccasion robbed a clergyman travelling on the Exeter Road, near Hartley\nRow, but his pocket was not well-lined, and Dudley made him preach a\nsermon in praise of thieving, swearing to shoot him if he did not. This\nhe performed with such humour and eloquence that Dudley assured him Old\nNick would certainly soon make him Archbishop: \"Meanwhile,\" said he,\n\"here is your money back, and if you will take up a collection, my fine\nfellows here shall contribute to it.\"\n\n[Illustration: CAPTAIN DUDLEY AND THE CLERGYMAN.]\n\nIt may, however, be suspected that the congregation of \"fine fellows\"\nwere not quite so satisfied with the sermon as their Captain, or\nperhaps did not appreciate their leader's humour; for the collection\nwhen taken up did not amount to more than four shillings. It was not a\nprofitable day for the band.\n\nThe accounts, given severally by Smith and Johnson, of Dudley's\nadventures differ very widely. According to Johnson, Dudley's earliest\neffort was in a different line altogether, and was a burglary committed\nat Blackheath, where he broke into a house and carried off a large\nquantity of plate. The story well illustrates the peculiar ideas of\nhonesty these seventeenth-century scoundrels pretended to hold. It\nseems he had sold most of the plate he had taken at Blackheath to a\nrefiner, but was shortly afterwards apprehended and committed to\nNewgate. While there, he sent for the refiner who had bought of him,\nand angrily reproached him. \"It is a hard thing,\" he said, \"to find\nan honest man or a fair dealer. You cursed rogue, there was, among\nthe plate you bought of me, a cup with a cover. You told me it was\nonly silver-gilt, and bought it at the same price with the rest; but\nit plainly appears, by the advertisement in the _Gazette_, that it\nwas a gold cup and cover. I see you are a rogue, and that there is no\ntrusting anybody.\"\n\nAfter robbing General Monk, under impudent circumstances, Dudley found\nhis native land dangerous, and so crossed the Channel, and by easy\nstages traversed France and arrived at Rome, where he appeared in the\ngarb of a pilgrim. He afterwards travelled to Jerusalem and returned to\nRome, and endeavoured to obtain audience of the Pope.\n\nBut His Holiness would not receive him, said the Cardinal he\napproached, unless he came with a relic. Dudley then procured a very\nsingular one, cut from the dead body of a criminal who had just been\nexecuted, and, returning to the Vatican, pretended he had come with\nno less a relic than the beard of St. Peter, which he said he had\npurchased at a great price from the fathers at the Holy Sepulchre. The\nCardinal to whom he first showed the \"relic\" admired it, said that, if\ntrue, it was a jewel worth a kingdom, and admitted Dudley to audience\nwith the Pope, who, kissing the object, said they had the skull of St.\nPeter already, but he had no idea his beard was preserved. What he\ncould not understand, however, was why there should be so much hair on\none side, and so little on the other.\n\n\"Oh,\" said our sham pilgrim, \"your Holiness well knows St. Peter was a\nJew by birth, and used to play much on the Jews' Harp, so that by often\nrubbing and twanging it with his fingers, he rubbed off the hair from\nthe right side of his face.\"\n\nThis explanation being deemed satisfactory, the \"beard of St.\nPeter\"\u2014that priceless relic\u2014was purchased for one hundred ducats: a\nbargain, and if the story be true, it is probably in the Vatican still.\n\nSoon after his return, Dudley met a Justice of the Peace on the road to\nHorsham, and requested his purse. But the courageous magistrate made\na very stout resistance, and shot Dudley's horse under him, being, in\nreturn, wounded in the arm. Obliged at last to surrender, his pockets\nyielded twenty-eight guineas, a gold watch, and a silver tobacco-box.\nDudley, then securing his horse, said, \"Since your Worship has\ngrievously broken the peace, in committing a most horrid and barbarous\nmurder on my prancer, which with my assistance was able to get his\nliving in any ground in England, I must make bold to take your horse,\nby way of reprisal. However, I'll not be so uncivil as to let a man\nof your character go home on foot. I'll make one Justice of the Peace\ncarry another.\"\n\nSo, stepping into a field where an ass was grazing, he brought the\nanimal into the road, and seated the Justice on his back, tying his\nlegs under.\n\n\"I know I offend against the laws of heraldry,\" he said, \"in putting\nmetal upon metal, but as there is no general rule without an exception,\nI doubt not but all the heralds will excuse this solecism committed\nin their art, which I look upon to be as great a bite and cheat as\nastrology.\"\n\nHe then whipped up the animal, and it carried the magistrate into the\nstreets of Petworth, where his worship attracted as much attention as\nthough he had been a royal procession.\n\nAt last, Dick Dudley, as he is familiarly styled by Alexander Smith,\nattempting to rob the Duke of Lauderdale, as he was riding over\nHounslow Heath, was captured instead, and committed to Newgate. No\nfewer than eighty indictments were preferred against him, and, being\nfound guilty on some of these, he was executed at Tyburn, February\n22nd, 1681, aged forty-six.\n\n[Illustration: Pistol and Mask.]\n\n\n\n\n  PRINTED AND BOUND BY\n  HAZELL, WATSON AND VINEY, LD.,\n  LONDON AND AYLESBURY.\n\n\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[1] See the _Exeter Road_, pp. 215-233.\n\n[2] Historians of Paddington and Bayswater contend that \"Elms Lane,\"\nexisting until about 1840, adjoining Lancaster Gate, marked the spot:\nso there is a choice of three \"Elms.\"\n\n[3] Probably John Dudley, Duke of Norfolk, who was granted the old\nhospital property in 1553.\n\n[4] See the _Manchester and Glasgow Road_, Vol. I., pp. 236-238.\n\n[5] His name at the Old Bailey trial was stated to be \"John Bennet,\nalias Freeman.\"\n\n\n\n\n  \u250c\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2510\n  \u2502 Transcriber's Note:                                               \u2502\n  \u2502                                                                   \u2502\n  \u2502 Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note.      \u2502\n  \u2502                                                                   \u2502\n  \u2502 Ambiguous hyphens at the ends of lines were retained.             \u2502\n  \u2502                                                                   \u2502\n  \u2502 Punctuation and spelling were made consistent when a predominant  \u2502\n  \u2502 form was found in this book; otherwise they were not changed.     \u2502\n  \u2502                                                                   \u2502\n  \u2502 Mid-paragraph illustrations have been moved between paragraphs    \u2502\n  \u2502 and some illustrations have been moved closer to the text that    \u2502\n  \u2502 references them. The List of Illustrations was changed            \u2502\n  \u2502 accordingly.                                                      \u2502\n  \u2502                                                                   \u2502\n  \u2502 [++] indicates a caption added by the transcriber.                \u2502\n  \u2502                                                                   \u2502\n  \u2502 Italicized words are surrounded by underline characters, _like    \u2502\n  \u2502 this_.  Words in bold characters are surrounded by equal signs,   \u2502\n  \u2502 =like this=.                                                      \u2502\n  \u2502                                                                   \u2502\n  \u2502 Footnotes were moved to the end of chapters and numbered in one   \u2502\n  \u2502 continuous sequence.                                              \u2502\n  \u2502                                                                   \u2502\n  \u2502 Other corrections                                                 \u2502\n  \u2502   p. 77: \"... looking out of window...\" changed to \"...looking    \u2502\n  \u2502   out of a window...\"                                             \u2502\n  \u2502                                                                   \u2502\n  \u2502   p. 88: \"...worthy the name...\" changed to \"...worthy of the     \u2502\n  \u2502   name...\"                                                        \u2502\n  \u2502                                                                   \u2502\n  \u2502   p. 115: \"...the usual broadstreet price...\" changed to \"...the  \u2502\n  \u2502   usual broadsheet price...\"                                      \u2502\n  \u2514\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2500\u2518","title":"Half-hours with the Highwaymen - Vol 1: Picturesque Biographies and Traditions of the \"Knights of the Road\"","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":77593}