with his parents, being apprentice to his brother a shoemaker. His
parents were very watchful over his behaviour and sought by every method
to prevent his taking to ill courses, or being guilty of any debauchery
whatever. The night before this unhappy accident fell out, as he and the
rest of the family were sleeping in their beds, Barber made a signal at
his chamber window, it being then about eleven o'clock. Upon this
Kingshell arose and got softly out of the window; Barber took him upon
his horse, and away they went to the Holt, twelve miles distant, calling
in their way upon Henry Marshall, Elliot and the rest of their
accomplices. He said it was eight o'clock in the morning before the
keepers attacked them, he owned they bid them retire, and that he
himself told them they would, provided the bound man (Elliot) was
released and delivered into their hands, but that proposition being
refused, the fight at once grew warm. Barber's thigh was broken, and
Marshall killed the keeper with a shot; being thereupon very hard
pressed, three of their companions ran away, leaving him and Marshall to
fight it out. Elliot being already taken, and Barber disabled, it was
not long before they were in the same unhappy condition with their
companions. From the time of their being apprehended, Kingshell laid
aside all hopes of life, and applied himself with great fervency and
devotion to enable him in what alone remained for him to do, viz., dying
decently.

Henry Marshall, about thirty-six years of age, the unfortunate person by
whose hand the murder was committed, seemed to be the least sensible of
any of the evils he had done, although such was the pleasure of Almighty
God that till the day before his execution, he neither had his senses,
nor the use of his speech. When he recovered it, and a clergyman
represented to him the horrid crime of which he had been guilty, he was
so far from showing any deep sense of that crime of shedding innocent
blood, that he made light of it, said he might stand upon his own
defence, and was not bound to run away and leave his companions in
danger. This was the language he talked for the space of twenty-four
hours before his death, in which he enjoyed the use of speech; and so
far was he from thanking those who charitably offered him their
admonitions, that he said he had not forgot himself, but had already
taken care of what he thought necessary for his soul. However, he did
not attempt in the least to prevaricate, but fairly acknowledged that he
committed the fact for which he died, though nothing could oblige him to
speak of it in any manner as if he was sorry for or repented of it,
farther than for having occasioned his own misfortunes; so strong is the
prejudice which vulgar minds acquire by often repeating to themselves
and in company certain positions, however ridiculous and false. And
sure, nothing could be more so than for a man to fancy he had a right to
imbrue his hands in the blood of another, who was in the execution of
his office, and endeavouring to hinder the commission of an illegal act.

These of whom I have last spoken were all concerned together in the
before-mentioned fact, which was attended with murder; but we are now to
speak of the rest who were concerned in the felony only, for which they
with the above-mentioned Parvin suffered. Of these were two brothers,
whose names were John and Edward Pink, carters in Portsmouth, and always
accounted honest and industrious fellows before this accident happened.
They did not, however, deny their being guilty, but on the contrary
ingenuously confessed the truth of what was sworn, and mentioned some
other circumstances that had been produced at the trial which attended
their committing it. They said they met Parvin's housekeeper upon that
road, that they forced her to cut the throat of a deer which they had
just taken upon Bear Forest, gave her a dagger which they forced her to
wear, and to ride cross-legged with pistols before her.

In this dress they brought her to Parvin's house upon the forest, where
they dined upon a haunch of venison, feasted merrily and after dinner
sent out two of their companions to kill more deer, not in the King's
Forest, but in Waltham Chase, belonging to the Bishop of Winchester. One
of these two persons they called their king, and the other they called
Lyon. Neither of these brothers objected anything, either to the truth
of the evidence given against them, or the justice of that sentence
which had passed upon them, only one insinuating that the evidence would
not have been so strong against him and Ansell, if it had not been for
running away with the witness's wife, which so provoked him that they
were sure they should not escape when he was admitted a witness.

These like the rest were hard to be persuaded that the things they had
committed were any crimes in the eyes of God. They said deer were wild
beasts, and they did not see why the poor had not as good a right to
them as the rich. However, as the Law condemned them to suffer, they
were bound to submit, and in consequence of that notion, behaved
themselves very orderly, decently and quietly, while under sentence.

James Ansell, _alias_ Stephen Philips, the seventh and last of these
unhappy persons, was a man addicted to a worse and more profligate life
than any of the rest had ever been; for he had held no settled
employment, but had been a loose disorderly person, concerned in all
sorts of wickedness for many years, both at Portsmouth, Guildford, and
other country towns, as well as at London. Deer were not the only things
that he had dealt in; stealing and robbing on the highway had been
formerly his employment, and in becoming a Black, he did not as the
others ascend in wickedness, but came down on the contrary, a step
lower. Yet this criminal as his offences were greater, so his sense of
them was much stronger than in any of the rest, excepting Kingshell, for
he gave over all manner of hopes of life and all concerns about it as
soon as he was taken.

Yet even he had no notion of making discoveries, unless they might be
beneficial to himself, and though he owned the knowledge of twenty
persons who were notorious offenders in the same kind, he absolutely
refused to name them, since such naming would not procure himself a
pardon; talking to him of the duty of doing justice was beating the air.
He said, he thought there was no justice in taking away other people's
lives, unless it was to save his own, yet no sooner was he taxed about
his own going on the highway than he confessed it, said he knew very
well bills would have been preferred against him at Guildford assizes,
in case he had got off at the King's Bench, but that he did not greatly
value them. Though formerly he had been guilty of some facts in that
way, yet they could not all now be proved, and he should have found it
no difficult matter to have demonstrated his innocence of those then
charged upon him, of which he was not really guilty, but owed his being
thought so to the profligate course of life he had for some time led,
and his aversion to all honest employments.

Bold as the whole gang of these fellows appeared, yet with what
sickness, what with the apprehension of death, they were so terrified
that not one of them but Ansell, _alias_ Philips, was able to stand up,
or speak at the place of execution, many who saw them affirming that
some of them were dead even before they were turned off.

As an appendix to the melancholy history of these seven miserable and
unhappy persons, I will add a letter written at that time by a gentleman
of the county of Essex, to his friend in London, containing a more
particular account of the transactions of these people, than I have seen
anywhere else. Wherefore, without any further preface, I shall leave it
to speak for itself.

A letter to Mr. C. D. in London.

Dear Sir,

Amongst the odd accidents which you know have happened to me in the
course of a very unsettled life, I don't know any which hath been
more extraordinary or surprising than one I met with in going down
to my own house when I left you last in town. You cannot but have
heard of the Waltham Blacks, as they are called, a set of whimsical
merry fellows, that are so mad to run the greatest hazards for the
sake of a haunch of venison, and passing a jolly evening together.

For my part, though the stories told of these people had reached my
ears, yet I confess I took most of them for fables, and I thought
that if there was truth in any of them it was much exaggerated. But
experience (the mistress of fools) has taught me the contrary, by
the adventure I am going to relate to you, which though it ended
well enough at last, I confess at first put me a good deal out of
humour. To begin, then; my horse got a stone in his foot, and
therewith went so lame just as I entered the forest, that I really
thought his shoulder slipped. Finding it however impossible to get
him along, I was even glad to take up at a little blind alehouse
which I perceived had a yard and a stable behind it.

The man of the house received me very civilly, but when he
perceived my horse was so lame as scarce to be able to stir a step,
I observed he grew uneasy. I asked him whether I could lodge there
that night, he told me no, he had no room, I desired him, then, to
put something to my horse's foot, and let me sit up all night; for I
was resolved not to spoil a horse which cost me twenty guineas by
riding him in such a condition in which he was at present. The man
made me no answer, and I proposed the same questions to the wife.
She dealt more roughly and freely with me, and told me that truly I
neither could, nor should stay there, and was for hurrying her
husband to get my horse out. However, on putting a crown into her
hand and promising another for my lodging, she began to consider a
little; and at last told me that there was indeed a little bed above
stairs, on which she should order a clean pair of sheets to be put,
for she was persuaded I was more of a gentleman than to take any
notice of what I saw passed there.

This made me more uneasy than I was before. I concluded now I was
got amongst a den of highwaymen, and expected nothing less than to
be robbed and my throat cut. However, finding there was no remedy, I
even set myself down and endeavoured to be as easy as I could. By
this time it was very dark, and I heard three or four horsemen
alight and lead their horses into the yard. As the men returned and
were coming into the room where I was, I overheard my landlord say,
_Indeed, brother, you need not be uneasy, I am positive the
gentleman's a man of honour_, to which I heard another voice reply,
_What could our death do to any stranger? Faith, I don't apprehend
half the danger you do. I dare say the gentleman would be glad of
our company, and we should be pleased with his. Come, hang fear,
I'll lead the way._ So said, so done, in they came, five of them,
all disguised so effectually that I declare, unless it were in the
same disguise, I should not be able to distinguish any one of them.

Down they sat, and he who I suppose was constituted their captain
_pro hac vice_, accosted me with great civility, and asked me if I
would honour them with my company to supper. I acknowledge I did not
yet guess the profession of my new acquaintances, but supposing my
landlord would be cautious of suffering either a robbery or a murder
in his own house, I know not how, but by degrees my mind grew
perfectly easy. About ten o'clock I heard a very great noise of
horses, and soon after men's feet tramping in a room over my head.
Then my landlord came down and informed us supper was just ready to
go upon the table.

Upon this we were all desired to walk up, and he whom I before
called the captain, presented me, with a humorous kind of ceremony,
to a man more dignified than the rest who sat at the end of the
table, telling me at the same time, he hoped I would not refuse to
pay my respects to Prince Oroonoko, King of the Blacks. It then
immediately struck into my head who those worthy persons were, into
whose company I was thus accidentally fallen. I called myself a
thousand blockheads for not finding out before, but the hurry of
things, or to speak the truth, the fear I was in, prevented my
judging even from the most evident signs.

As soon as our awkward ceremony was over, supper was brought in; it
consisted of eighteen dishes of venison in every shape, roasted,
boiled with broth, hashed collops, pasties, umble pies, and a large
haunch in the middle, larded. I easily saw that of three ordinary
rooms of which the first floor of the house consisted, ours (by
taking down the partitions) was very large, and the company in all
twenty-one persons. At each of our elbows there was set a bottle of
claret, and the man and woman of the house sat down at the lower
end. Two or three of the fellows had good natural voices, and so the
evening was spent as merrily as the rakes pass theirs in the King's
Arms, or the City apprentices with their master's maids at Sadler's
Wells. About two the company seemed inclined to break up, having
first assured me that they should take my company as a favour any
Thursday evening, if I came that way.

I confess I did not sleep all night with reflecting on what had
passed, and could not resolve with myself whether these humorous
gentlemen in masquerade were to be ranked under the denomination of
knight-errants, or plain robbers. This I must tell you, by the by,
that with respect both to honesty and hardship, their life resembles
much that of the hussars, since drinking is all their delight, and
plundering their employment.

Before I conclude my epistle, it is fit I should inform you that
they did me the honour (with a design perhaps to have received me
into their order) of acquainting me with those rules by which their
society was governed.

In the first place their Black Prince assured me that their
government was perfectly monarchial, and that when upon expeditions
he had an absolute command; _but in the time of peace_, continued
he, _and at the table, government being no longer necessary, I
condescend to eat and drink familiarly with my subjects as friends.
We admit no man_, continued he, _into our society until he has been
twice drunk with us, that we may be perfectly acquainted with his
temper, in compliance with the old proverb--women, children and
drunken folks speak truth. But if the person who sues to be
admitted, declares solemnly he was never drunk in his life, and it
plainly appears to the society in such case, this rule is dispensed
with, and the person before admission is only bound to converse with
us a month. As soon as we have determined to admit him, he is then
to equip himself with a good mare or gelding, a brace of pistols,
and a gun of the size of this, to lie on the saddle bow. Then he is
sworn upon the horns over the chimney, and having a new name
conferred by the society, is thereby entered upon the roll, and from
that day forward, considered as a lawful member._

He went on with abundance more of their wise institutions, which I
think are not of consequence enough to tell you, and shall only
remark one thing more, which is the phrase they make use of in
speaking of one another, viz., _He is a very honest fellow and one
of us._ For you must know it is the first article in their creed
that there's no sin in deer-stealing.

In the morning, having given my landlady the other crown piece, I
found her temper so much altered for the better, that in my
conscience I believe she was not in the humour to have refused me
anything, no, not even the last favour; and so walking down the yard
and finding my horse in pretty tolerable order, I speeded directly
home, much in amaze at the new people I had discovered. You see I
have taken a great deal of pains in my letter; pray, in return, let
me have as long a one from you, and let me see if all your London
rambles can produce such another adventure.

I am, yours, etc.

Before I leave these people, I think it proper to acquaint my readers
that their folly was not to be extinguished by a single execution. There
were a great many young fellows of the same stamp, who were fools enough
to forfeit their lives upon the same occasion. However, the humour did
not run very long, though some of them were impudent enough to murder a
keeper or two afterwards. Yet in the space of a twelvemonth, the whole
nation of Blacks was extinguished, and these country rakes were
contented to play the fool upon easier terms. The last blood that was
shed on either side was that of a keeper's son at Old Windsor, whom some
of these wise people fired at as he looked out of the window, by which
means they drew on their own ruin and that of several numerous families
by which the country was put in such terror that we have heard nothing
of them since, though this Act of Parliament[44] as I shall tell you,
has been by construction extended to some other criminals, who were not
strictly speaking of the same kind as the Waltham Blacks.

FOOTNOTES:

[44] The Black Act (9 Geo. I, cap. 2) was repealed so late as 1827.




The Life of JULIAN, a Black Boy and Incendiary


From speaking of artificial blacks, I come now to relate the unhappy
death of one who was naturally of that colour. This poor creature's
Julian. At the time of his execution he seemed to be about sixteen years
of age, he had been stolen while young from his parents at Madras. He
still retained his pagan ignorance both in respect to religion and our
language.

He was brought over by one Captain Dawes, who presented him to Mrs.
Elizabeth Turner, where he was used with the greatest tenderness and
kindness, she often calling him to dance and sing after his manner
before company; and he himself acknowledged that he had never been so
happy in his life as he was there. Yet, on a sudden, he stole about
twenty or thirty guineas, and then placing a candle under the sheets
left it burning to fire the house, and consume the inhabitants in it. Of
this, upon proof and his own confession made before Sir Francis Forbes
and Mr. Turner, he was convicted.

While he remained under sentence, he was often heard to mumble in
reproach and revengeful terms to himself. However, before his death he
learned the Lord's Prayer, and when it was demanded whether he would be
a Christian, he assented with great joy, which arose, it seems, from his
having heard the common foolish opinion that when christened Blacks are
to be set free. However, christened he was, and received at his baptism
the name of John.

The place in which he was confined being very damp, the boy having
nothing to lie on but a coat, caught so great a cold in his limbs that
he almost lost the use of them before his death, and continued in a
state of great pain and weakness; insomuch that when he was told he
must prepare for his execution, he determined with himself to forestall
it, and for that purpose desired one of the prisoners to lend him a
penknife, but the man, it seems, had more grace than to grant his
request, and he ended his life at Tyburn, according to his sentence.




The Life of ABRAHAM DEVAL, a Lottery Ticket Forger


Abraham Deval, who had been a clerk to the Lottery Office, at last took
it into his head to coin tickets for himself, and had such good luck
therein that he at one time counterfeited a certificate for £52 12s.
0d., for seven blank lottery tickets, in the year 1723. Two or three
other facts of the same nature he perpetrated with the like success, but
happening to counterfeit two blank tickets of the lottery in the year in
which he died, they were discovered, and he thereupon apprehended and
tried at the Old Bailey. On the first indictment, for want of evidence
he was acquitted, upon which he behaved himself with great insolence,
lolled out his tongue at the Court, and told them he did not value the
second indictment. But herein he happened to be mistaken, for the jury
found him guilty of that indictment and thereupon he received sentence
of death accordingly.

Notwithstanding that impudence with which he had treated the Court at
his trial, he complained very loudly of their not showing him favour;
nay, he even pretended that he had not justice done him. This he
grounded upon the score that the ticket he was indicted for was No. 39,
in the 651st course of payment. Now it seems that in searching of his
brother-in-law Parson's room, the original ticket was found, though very
much torn, from whence Deval would have had it taken to be no more than
a duplicate, and much blamed his counsel for not insisting long enough
upon this point, which if he had done, Deval entertained a strong
opinion that he could not have been convicted.

The apprehension of this and the uneasiness he was under with his irons
made him pass his last moments with great unquietness and discontent. He
said it was against the law to put men in irons, that fettering English
subjects (except they attempted to break prisons) was altogether
illegal. But after having raved at this rate for a small space, when he
found it did him no good, and that there were no hopes of a reprieve, he
even began to settle himself to the performance of those duties which
became a man in his sad condition and when he did apply himself
thereto, nobody could appear to have a juster sense than he of that
miserable and sad condition into which the folly and wickedness of his
life had brought him.

It is certain the man did not want parts, though sometimes he applied
them to the worst of purposes, and was cursed with an insolent and
overbearing temper which hindered him from being loved or respected
anywhere, and which never did him any service but in the last moments of
his life, where if it had not been for the severity of his behaviour,
Julian, the black boy, would have been very troublesome, both to him and
to the other person who was under sentence at the same time.

At the place of execution Deval owned the fact, but wished the
spectators to consider whether for all that he was legally convicted,
and so suffered in the thirtieth year of his age.




The Life of JOSEPH BLAKE, _alias_ BLUESKIN, a Footpad and Highwayman


As there is impudence and wickedness enough in the lives of most
malefactors to make persons of a sober education and behaviour wonder at
the depravity of human nature, so there are sometimes superlative rogues
who, in the infamous boldness of their behaviour, as far exceed the
ordinary class of rogues as they do honest people; and whenever such a
monster as this appears in the world, there are enough fools to gape at
him, and to make such a noise and outcry about his conduct as is sure to
invite others of the gang to imitate the obstinacy of his deportment,
through that false love of fame, which seems inherent to human nature.
Amongst the number of these, Joseph Blake, better known by his nickname
of Blueskin, always deserves to be remembered as one who thought
wickedness the greatest achievement, and studiously took the paths of
infamy in order to become famous.

By birth he was a native of this City of London. His parents being
persons in tolerable circumstances kept him six years at school, where
he did not learn half as much good from his master as he did evil from
his schoolfellow, William Blewitt, from whose lessons he copied so well
that all his education signified nothing. When he came from school he
absolutely refused to go to any employment, but on the contrary set up
for a robber when he was scarce seventeen, but from that time to the day
of his death was unsuccessful in all his undertakings, hardly ever
committing the most trivial fact but he experienced for it, either the
humanity of the mob, or of the keepers of Bridewell, out of which or
some other prison, he could hardly keep his feet for a month together.

He fell into the gang of Lock, Wilkinson, Carrick[45] Lincoln and Daniel
Carroll, which last having so often been mentioned, perhaps my readers
may be desirous to know what became of him. I shall therefore inform
them that after Carrick and Molony were executed for robbing Mr. Young,
as has been before related, he fled home to his own native country of
Ireland, where for a while making a great figure till he had exhausted
what little wealth he had brought over with him from England, he was
obliged to go again upon the old method to supply him. But
street-robbing being a very new thing at Dublin, it so alarmed that city
that they never ceased pursuing him, and one or two more who joined with
him, till catching them one night at their employment, they pursued
Carrol so closely that he was obliged to come to a close engagement with
a thief-taker, so he was killed upon the spot.

But to return to Blake, _alias_ Blueskin. Being one night out with his
gang, they robbed one Mr. Clark of eight shillings and a silver hilted
sword, just as candles were going to be lighted, and a woman looking
accidentally out of a window, perceived it, and cried out, _Thieves._
Wilkinson fired a pistol at her which, very luckily, upon her drawing in
her head, grazed upon the stone of the window, and did no other
mischief. Blake was also in the company of the same gang when they
attacked Captain Langley, at the corner of Hyde Park Road, as he was
going to the Camp[46]; but the Captain behaved himself so well that
notwithstanding they shot several times through and through his coat,
yet they were not able to rob him.

Not long after this Wilkinson being apprehended impeached a large number
of persons, and with them Joseph Blake and William Lock. Blake hereupon
made a fuller discovery than the other before Justice Blackerby; in
which information there was contained no less than seventy robberies,
upon which he also was admitted a witness. And having named Wilkinson,
Lincoln, Carrick, Carrol, and himself to have been the five persons who
murdered Peter Martin the Chelsea pensioner, by the Park wall, Wilkinson
was apprehended, tried and convicted, notwithstanding the information he
had before given (which was thereby totally set aside); so that Blake
himself became now an evidence against the rest of his companions, and
discovered about a dozen robberies which they had committed.

Amongst these there was one very remarkable one. Two gentlemen in
hunting caps were together in a chariot on the Hampstead Road, and they
took from them two gold watches, rings, seals and other things to a
considerable value. Junks, _alias_ Levee, laid his pistol down by the
gentleman all the while he searched him, yet he wanted either the
courage or the presence of mind to seize and prevent their losing things
of so great value. Not long after this, Oakey, Junks and this Blake,
stopped a single man with a link before him in Fig Lane; and he not
surrendering so easily as they expected, Junks and Oakey beat him over
the head with their pistols, and then left him wounded in a terrible
condition, taking from him one guinea and one penny. A very short time
after this, Junks, Oakey and Flood were apprehended and executed for
robbing Colonel Cope and Mr. Young of that very watch for which Carrick
and Molony had been before executed, Joseph Blake being the evidence
against them.

After this hanging work of his companions, he thought himself not only
entitled to liberty but reward. Herein, however, he was mightily
mistaken, for not having surrendered willingly and quietly, but being
taken after long resistance and when he was much wounded, there did not
seem to be the least foundation for this confident demand, he still
remaining a prisoner in the Wood Street Compter, obstinately refusing to
be transported for seven years, but insisting that as he had given
evidence he ought to have his liberty. However, the magistrates were of
another opinion, until at last by procuring two men to be bound for his
good behaviour, he was carried before a wealthy alderman of the City and
there discharged. At which time, somebody there present asking how long
time might be given him before they should see him again at the Old
Bailey, a gentleman made answer in about three sessions, in which time
it seems he guessed very right, for the third session from thence, Blake
was indeed brought to the Bar.

For no sooner were his feet at liberty but his hands were employed in
robbing, and having picked up Jack Shepherd for a companion, they went
out together to search for prey in the fields. Near the half-way house
to Hampstead they met with one Pargiter, a man pretty much in liquor,
whom immediately Blake knocked down into the ditch, where he must have
inevitably perished if John Shepherd had not kept his head above the mud
with great difficulty. For this fact, the next sessions after it
happened the two brothers Brightwell in the Guards were tried, and if a
number of men had not sworn them to have been upon duty at the time the
robbery was committed, they had certainly been convicted, the evidence
of the prosecutor being direct and full. Through the grief of this the
elder Brightwell died a week after he was released from his confinement,
and so did not live to see his innocence fully cleared by the confession
of Blake.

A very short space after this, Blake and his companion Shepherd
committed the burglary together in the house of Mr. Kneebone, where
Shepherd getting into the house, let in Blake at the back door and
stripped the house of a considerable value. For this, both Shepherd and
he were apprehended, and the sessions before Blake was convicted his
companion received sentence of death; but at the time Blake was taken
up, he had made his escape out of the condemned hold.

He behaved with great impudence at his trial, and when he found nothing
would save him, he took the advantage of Jonathan Wild coming to speak
with him, to cut the said Wild's throat, making a large gash from the
ear beyond the windpipe.[47] Of this wound Wild languished a long time,
and happy had it been for him if Blake's wound had proved fatal, for
then Jonathan had escaped death by a more dishonourable wound in the
throat than that of a penknife; but the number of his crimes and the
spleen of his enemies procured him a worse fate. Whatever Wild might
deserve of others, he seems to have merited better usage from this
Blake, for while he continued a prisoner in the Compter, Jonathan was at
the expense of curing his wound, allowing him three shillings and
sixpence a week, and after his last misfortune promised him a good
coffin, actually furnishing him with money to support him in Newgate,
and several good books, if he would have made any use of them; but
because he freely declared to Blueskin that there was no hopes of
getting him transported, the bloody villain determined to take away his
life, and was so far from showing any signs of remorse when he was
brought up again to Newgate, that he declared if he had thought of it
before, he would have provided such a knife as should have cut his head
off.

At the time that he received sentence there was a woman also condemned,
and they being placed as usual in what is called the Bail Dock at the
Old Bailey, Blake offered such rudeness to the woman that she cried out
and alarmed the whole Bench. All the time he lay under condemnation he
appeared utterly thoughtless and insensible of his approaching fate.
Though from the cutting of Wild's throat, and some other barbarities of
the same nature, he acquired amongst the mob the character of a brave
fellow, yet he was in himself but a mean-spirited timorous wretch, and
never exerted himself but either through fury and despair. His cowardice
appealed manifestly in his behaviour at his death; he wept much at the
chapel in the morning he was to die, and though he drank deeply to drive
away fear, yet at the place of execution he wept again, trembled and
showed all the signs of a timorous confusion, as well he might, who had
lived wickedly and trifled with his repentance to the grave.

There was nothing in his person extraordinary. A dapper, well-set fellow
of great strength, and great cruelty, equally detested by the sober part
of the world for his audacious wickedness of his behaviour, and despised
by his companions for the villainies he committed even against them. He
was executed in the twenty-eighth year of his age, on the 11th of
November, 1724.

FOOTNOTES:

[45] See page 85.

[46] An encampment was formed in Hyde Park, about 1714. Writing
to Martha Blount, Pope says "The tents are carried there this
morning, new regiments with new clothes and furniture, far
exceeding the late cloth and linen designed by his Grace (the
Duke of Marlborough) for the soldiery."

[47] See also the Life of Jonathan Wild, subsequently related.




The Life of the Famous JOHN SHEPHERD, Footpad, Housebreaker and
Prison-breaker


Amongst the prodigies of ingenious wickedness and artful mischief which
have surprised the world in our time, perhaps none has made so great a
noise as John Shepherd, the malefactor of whom we are now to speak. His
father's name was Thomas Shepherd, who was by trade a carpenter, and
lived in Spitalfields, a man of an extraordinary good character, and who
took all the care his narrow circumstances would allow, that his family
might be brought up in the fear of God, and in just notions of their
duty towards their neighbour. Yet he was so unhappy in his children that
both his son John and another took to evil courses, and both in their
turns have been convicted at the bar at the Old Bailey.

After the father's death, his widow did all she could to get this
unfortunate son of hers admitted into Christ's Hospital, but failing of
that, she got him bred up at a school in Bishopsgate Street, where he
learned to read. He might in all probability have got a good education
if he had not been too soon removed, being put out to a trade, viz.,
that of a cane-chair-maker, who used him very well, and with whom
probably he might have lived honestly. But his mother dying a short time
afterwards, he was put to another, a much younger man, who used him so
harshly that in a little time he ran away from him, and was put to
another master, one Mr. Wood in Wych Street. From his kindness and that
of Mr. Kneebone (whom he robbed) he was taught to write and had many
other favours done by that gentleman whom he so ungratefully treated.
But good usage or bad, it was grown all alike to him now; he had given
himself up to all the sensual pleasures of low life. Drinking all day,
and getting to some impudent and notorious strumpet at night, was the
whole course of his life for a considerable space, without the least
reflection on what a miserable fate it might bring upon him here, much
less the judgment that might be passed upon him hereafter.

Amongst the chief of his mistresses there was one Elizabeth Lion,
commonly called Edgeworth Bess, the impudence of whose behaviour was
shocking even to the greatest part of Shepherd's companions, but it
charmed him so much that he suffered her for a while to direct him in
every thing, and she was the first who engaged him in taking base
methods to obtain money wherewith to purchase baser pleasures. This Lion
was a large masculine woman, and Shepherd a very little slight-limbed
lad, so that whenever he had been drinking and came to her quarrelsome,
Bess often beat him into better temper, though Shepherd upon other
occasions manifested his wanting neither courage nor strength. Repeated
quarrels, however, between Shepherd and his mistress, as it does often
with people of better rank, created such coldness that they spoke not
together sometimes for a month. But our robber could not be so long
without some fair one to take up his time, and drive his thoughts from
the consideration of his crimes and the punishment which might one day
befall them.

The creature he picked out to supply the place of Betty Lion was one
Mrs. Maggott, a woman somewhat less boisterous in her temper, but full
as wicked. She had a very great contempt for Shepherd, and only made use
of him to go and steal money, or what might yield money, for her to
spend in company that she liked better. One night when Shepherd came to
her and told her he had pawned the last thing he had for half a crown,
_Prithee_, says she, _don't tell me such melancholy stories but think
how you may get more money. I have been in Whitehorse Yard this
afternoon. There's a piece-broker there worth a great deal of money; he
keeps his cash in a drawer under the counter, and there's abundance of
good things in his shop that would be fit for me to wear. A word, you
know, to the wise is enough, let me see now how soon you'll put me in
possession of them._ This had the effect she desired; Shepherd left her
about one o'clock in the morning, went to the house she talked of, took
up the cellar window bars, and from thence entered the shop, which he
plundered of money and goods, to the amount of £22. He brought it to his
doxy the same day before she was stirring, who thereupon appeared very
satisfied with his diligence, and helped him in a short time to squander
what he had so dearly earned.

However, he still retained some affection for his old favourite, Bess
Lion, who being taken up for some of her tricks, was committed to St.
Giles's Round-house. Shepherd going to see her there, broke the doors
open, beat the keeper, and like a true knight-errant, set his distressed
paramour at liberty. This heroic act got him so much reputation amongst
the fair ladies in Drury Lane that there was nobody of his profession so
much esteemed by them as John Shepherd, with his brother Thomas, who had
taken to the same trade. Observing and being in himself in tolerable
estimation with that debauched part of the sex, he importuned some of
them to speak to his brother John to lend him a little money, and for
the future to allow him to go out robbing with him. To both these
propositions Jack (being a kind brother as he himself said) consented at
the first word, and from thence forward the two brothers were always of
one party: Jack having, as he impudently phrased it, lent him forty
shillings to put himself in a proper plight, and soon after their being
together having broke open an alehouse, where they got a tolerable
booty, in a high fit of generosity, John presented it all to his
brother, as, soon after, he did clothes to a very considerable extent,
so that the young man might not appear among the damsels of Drury
unbecoming Mr. Shepherd's brother.

About three weeks after their coming together, they broke open a
linen-draper's shop, near Clare Market, where the brothers made good use
of their time; for they were not in the house above a quarter of an hour
before they made a shift to strip it of £50. But the younger brother
acting imprudently in disposing of some of the goods, he was detected
and apprehended, upon which the first thing he did was to make a full
discovery to impeach his brother and as many of his confederates as he
could. Jack was very quickly apprehended upon his brother's information,
and was committed by Justice Parry to the Round-house, for further
examination. But instead of waiting for that, Jack began to examine as
well as he could the strength of the place of his confinement, which
being much too weak for a fellow of his capacity, he marched off before
night, and committed a robbery into the bargain, but vowed to be
revenged on Tom who had so basely behaved himself (as Jack phrased it)
towards so good a brother. However, that information going off, Jack
went on in his old way as usual.

One day in May he and F. Benson being in Leicester Fields, Benson
attempted to get a gentleman's watch, but missing his pull, the
gentleman perceived it and raised a mob. Shepherd passing briskly to
save his companion, was apprehended in his stead, and being carried
before Justice Walters, was committed to New Prison, where the first
sight he saw was his old companion, Bess Lion, who had found her way
thither upon a like errand. Jack, who now saw himself beset with danger,
began to exert all his little cunning, which was indeed his masterpiece.
For this purpose he applied first to Benson's friends, who were in good
circumstances, hoping by their mediation to make the matter up, but in
this he miscarried. Then he attempted a slight information, but the
Justice to whom he sent it, perceiving how trivial a thing it was, and
guessing well at the drift thereof, refused it. Whereupon Shepherd, when
driven to his last shift, communicated his resolution to Bess Lion. They
laid their heads together the fore part of the night, and then went to
work to break out, which they effected by force, and got safe off to one
of Bess Lion's old lodgings, where she kept him secret for some time,
frightening him with stories of great searches being made after him, in
order to detain him from conversing with any other woman.

But Jack being not naturally timorous, and having a strong inclination
to be out again in his old way with his companions, it was not long
before he gave her the slip, and lodged himself with another of his
female acquaintances, in a little by-court near the Strand. Here one
Charles Grace desired to become an associate with him. Jack was very
ready to take any young fellow in as a partner of his villainies, and
Grace told him that his reason for doing such things was to keep a
beautiful woman without the knowledge of his relations. Shepherd and he
therefore getting into the acquaintance of one Anthony Lamb, an
apprentice of Mr. Carter, near St. Clement's Church, they inveigled the
young man to consent to let them in to rob his master's house. He
accordingly performed it, and they took from Mr. Barton, who lodged
there, to a very considerable value. But Grace and Shepherd quarrelling
about the division, Shepherd wounded Grace in a violent manner, and on
this quarrel betraying one another, they were all taken, Shepherd only
escaping. But the misfortune of poor Lamb who had been drawn in, being
so very young, so far prevailed upon several gentlemen who knew him,
that they not only prevailed to have his sentence mitigated to
transportation, but also furnished him with all necessaries, and
procured an order that on his arrival there he should not be sold as the
other felons were, but that he should be left at liberty to provide for
himself as well as he could.

It seems that Shepherd's gang (which consisted of himself, his brother