took it up and opened it: his landlady then delivered him a letter,
which as soon as she was gone he opened, and found it to run in these
terms:

Dear Sir,

You must know that for about three years I have been an unfortunate
woman, that is, have conversed with many of your sex, as I have done
with you. I need not tell you that you made me a present of what
money you had about you last night, after the reckoning over the way
at The George was paid. I told my landlady when I went out this
morning that I was going to bring home some linen for shirts; you
had best say so too, and so you may go away without noise, for as I
owe her above three pound for lodging, 'tis odds but that as you
said last night you were my husband, she will put you in trouble,
and that I think would be hard, for to be sure you have paid dear
enough for your frolic. I hope you will forgive this presumption,
and I am yours next time you meet me.

Jane Johnson

Tom was not a little chagrined at this accident, especially when he
found that not only the remainder of the two guineas, but also his
mother's gold watch, and a gold chain and ring was gone into the
bargain. However, he thought it best to take the woman's word, and so
coming down and putting on the best air he could, he told his landlady
he hoped his wife would bring the linen home time enough to go to
breakfast, and that in the meanwhile he would go to the coffee-house,
and read the news. The woman said it was very well, and Tom getting to
the waterside, directed them to row to the stairs nearest to his lodging
by Bur Street, ruminating all the way he went on the accident which had
befallen him.

The rumours of Jonathan Wild, then in the zenith of his glory, had
somehow or other reached the ears of our North Briton. He thereupon
mentioned him to the watermen, who perceiving that he was a stranger,
and hoping to get a pot of drink for the relation, obliged him with the
best account they were able of Mr. Wild and his proceedings. As soon,
therefore, as Anderson came home, he put the other two guineas in his
pocket, and over he came in a coach to the Old Bailey, where Mr. Wild
had just then set up in his office, Mr. Anderson being introduced in
form, acquainted him in good blunt Scotch how he had lost his money and
his watch. Jonathan used him very civilly, and promised his utmost
diligence in recovering it. Tom being willing to save money, enquired of
him his way home by land on foot, and having received instructions he
set out accordingly. About the middle of Cheapside a well-dressed
gentleman came up to him. _Friend_, says he, _I have heard you ask five
or six people, as I followed you, your way to Bur Street. I am going
thither and so if you'll walk along with me, 'twill save you the labour
of asking further questions._

Tom readily accepted the gentleman's civility, and so on they trudged,
until they came within twenty yards of the place, and into Tom's
knowledge. _Young man_, then says the stranger, _since I have shown you
the way home you must not refuse drinking a pint with me at a tavern
hard by, of my acquaintance._ No sooner were they entered and sat down,
but a third person was introduced into their company, as an acquaintance
of the former. A good supper was provided, and when they had drunk about
a pint of wine apiece, says the gentleman who brought him thither to
Anderson, _You seem an understanding young fellow. I fancy your
circumstances are not of the best. Come, if you have a tolerable head
and any courage, I'll put you in a way to live as easy as you can wish._

Tom pricked up his ears upon this motion, and told him that truly, as to
his circumstances, he had guessed very right, but that he wished he
would be so good as to put him into any road of living like a gentleman.
_For to say the truth, sir_, says he, _it was with that view I left my
own country to come up to London._

_Well spoken, my lad_, says the other, _and like a gentleman thou shalt
live. But hark ye, are you well acquainted with the men of quality's
families about Aberdeen? Yes, sir_, says he. _Well then_, replied the
stranger, _do you know none of them who has a son about your age? Yes,
yes_, replied Tom, _My Lord J---- sent his eldest son to our college at
Aberdeen to be bred, and he and I an much alike, and not above ten days
difference in our ages. Why then_, replied the spark, _it will do, and
here's to your honour's health. Come, from this time forward, you are
the Honourable Mr. ----, son and heir apparent to the Right Honourable,
the Lord ----._

To make the story short, these sharpers equipped him like the person
they put him upon the town to be, and lodging him at the house of a
Scotch merchant who was in the secret, with no less than three footmen
all in proper livery to attend him. In the space of ten days' time, they
took up effect upon his credit to the amount of a thousand pounds. Tom
was cunning enough to lay his hands on a good diamond ring, two suits of
clothes, and a handsome watch, and improved mightily from a fortnight's
conversation with these gentlemen. He foresaw the storm would quickly
begin, the news of his arrival under the name he had assumed, having
been in the papers a week; so to prevent what might happen to himself,
he sends his three footmen on different errands, and making up his
clothes and some holland shirts into a bundle, called a coach and drove
off to Bur Street, where having taken the remainder of his things that
had been there ever since his coming to town, he bid the fellow drive
him to the house of a person near St. Catherine's, to whom he had known
his mother direct letters when in Scotland.

Yet recollecting in the coach that by this means he might be discovered
by his relations, he called to the coachman before he reached there, and
remembering an inn in Holborn, which he had heard spoken of by the
Scotch merchant, where he had lodged in his last adventure, bid the
fellow drive thither, saying he was afraid to be out late, and if he
made haste he would give him a shilling. When he came thither and had
had his two portmanteaus carried into the inn, pretending to be very
sick he went immediately upstairs to bed, having first ordered a pint of
wine to be burnt and brought upstairs.

Reflecting in the night on the condition he was in and the consequence
of the measures he was taking, he resolved with himself to abandon his
ill-courses at once and try to live honestly in some plantation of the
West Indies. These meditations kept him pretty much awake, so that it
was late in the morning before he arose. Having ordered coffee for his
breakfast, he gave the chamberlain a shilling to go and fetch the
newspapers, where the first thing he saw was an account of his own cheat
in the body of the paper, and at the end of it an advertisement with a
reward for apprehending him. This made him very uneasy, and the rather
because he had no clothes but those which he had taken up as aforesaid;
so he ordered the chamberlain to send for a tailor, and pretended to be
so much indisposed that he could not get out. When the tailor came, he
directed him to make him a riding suit with all the expedition he could.
The tailor promised it in two days' time. The next day, pretending to be
still worse, he sent the chamberlain to take a place for him in the
Bristol coach, which being done, he removed himself and his things early
in the morning to the inn where it lay, and set out the next day
undiscovered for Bristol.

Three days after his arrival he met with a captain bound for the West
Indies, with whom having agreed for a passage, he set sail for Jamaica.
But a fresh gale at sea accidentally damaging their rudder, they were
obliged to come to an anchor in Cork, where the captain himself and
several other passengers went on shore. Anderson accompanied him to the
coffee-house, where calling for the papers that last came in, he had
like to have swooned at the table on finding himself to have been
discovered at Bristol, and to have sailed in such a ship the day before
the persons came down to apprehend him in order to his being carried
back to London.

As soon as he came a little to himself, he stepped up to the man of the
house and asked him for the vault [privy], which being shown him, he
immediately threw the paper down; and as soon as he came out, finding
the captain ready to go, he accompanied him with great satisfaction on
board again, where things being set to rights, by the next day at ten
o'clock they sailed with a fair wind, and without any further cross
accident arrived safe at Jamaica. There Tom had the good luck to pick up
a woman with a tolerable fortune, and about three years later remitted
£300 home to the jeweller who had been defrauded of the watch and the
ring, and directed him to pay what was over, after deducting his own
debt, to the people who had trusted him with other things, and who upon
his going off had recovered most of them, and were by this means made a
tolerable satisfaction.

He resided in the West Indies for about five years in all, and in that
time, by his own industry acquired a very handsome fortune of his own,
and therewith returned to Scotland.

I should be very glad if this story would incline some people who have
got money in not such honest ways (though perhaps less dangerous) to
endeavour at extenuating the crimes they have been guilty of, by making
such reparation as in their power, by which at once they atone for their
fault, and regain their lost reputation; but I am afraid this advice may
prove both unsuccessful and unseasonable and therefore shall proceed in
my narrations as the course of these memoirs directs me.




The Life of JOSEPH PICKEN, a Highwayman


There cannot, perhaps, be a greater misfortune to a man than his having
a woman of ill-principles about him, whether as a wife or otherwise.
When they once lay aside principles either of modesty or honesty, women
become commonly the most abandoned; and as their sex renders them
capable of seducing, so their vices tempt them not often to persuade men
to such crimes as otherwise, perhaps, they would never have thought of.
This was the case of the malefactor, the story of whose misfortunes we
are now to relate.

Joseph Picken was the son of a tailor in Clerkenwell, who worked hard at
his employment and took pleasure in nothing but providing for, and
bringing up his family. This unhappy son, Joseph, was his darling, and
nothing grieved him so much upon his death-bed, as the fears of what
might befall the boy, being then an infant of five years old. However,
his mother, though a widow, took so much care of his education, that he
was well enough instructed for the business she designed him, viz., that
of a vintner, to which profession he was bound at a noted tavern near
Billingsgate.

He served his time very faithfully and with great approbation, but
falling in love, or to speak more properly, taking a whim of marriage in
his head, he accepted of a young woman in the neighbourhood as his
partner for life. Soon after this, he removed to Windsor, where he took
the tap at a well-accustomed inn, and began the world in a very probable
way of doing well. However, partly through his own misfortunes, and
partly through the extravagance of his wife, in a little more than a
twelve months' time he found himself thirty pound in debt, and in no
likelihood from his trade of getting money to pay it. This made him very
melancholy, and nothing added so great a weight to his load of
affliction as the uneasiness he was under at the misfortunes which might
befall his wife, to whom as yet this fall in his circumstances was not
known.

However, fearing it would be soon discovered in another way, at last he
mentioned it to her, at the same time telling her that she must retrench
her expenses, for he was now so far from being able to support them that
he could hardly get him family bread. Her mother and she thereupon
removed to a lodging, where by the side of the bed, poor Picken used to
slumber upon the boards, heavily disconsolate with the weight of his
misfortunes. One day after talking of them to his wife, he said: _I am
now quite at my wits' end. I have no way left to get anything to support
us; what shall I do? Do_, answered she, _why, what should a man do that
wants money and has any courage, but go upon the highway._

The poor man, not knowing how else to gain anything, even took her
advice, and recollecting a certain companion of his who had once upon a
time offered the same expedient for relieving their joint misfortunes,
Picken thereupon found him out, and without saying it was his wife's
proposal, pretended that his sorrows had at last so prevailed upon him
that he was resolved to repair the injuries of Fortune by taking away
something from those she had used better than him. His comrade unhappily
addicted himself still to his old way of thinking, and instead of
dissuading him from his purpose, seemed pleased that he had taken such a
resolution. He told him that for his part he always thought danger
rather to be chosen than want, and that while soldiers hazarded their
lives in war for sixpence a day, he thought it was cowardice to make a
man starve, where he had a chance of getting so much more than those who
hazarded as much as they did.

Accordingly Picken and his companion provided themselves that week with
all necessaries for their expedition, and going upon it in the beginning
of the next, set out and had success, as they called it, in two or three
enterprises. But returning to London in the end of the week, they were
apprehended for a robbery committed on one Charles Cooper, on Finchley
Common, for which they were tried the next sessions, and both capitally
convicted.

Through fear of death and want of necessaries, Joseph Picken fell into a
low and languishing state of health, under which, however, he gave all
the signs of penitence and sorrow that could be expected for the crimes
he had committed. Yet though he loaded his wife with the weight of all
his crimes, he forebore any harsh or shocking reproaches against her,
saying only that as she had brought him into all the miseries he now
felt, so she had left him to bear the weight of them alone, without
either ever coming near him, or affording him any assistance. However,
he said he was so well satisfied of the multitude of his own sins, and
the need he had of forgiveness from God, that he thought it a small
condition to forgive her, which he did freely from his heart.

In these sentiments he took the Holy Sacrament, and continued with great
calmness to wait the execution of his sentence. In the passage to
execution and even at the fatal tree, he behaved himself with amazing
circumstances of quietness and resignation, and though he appeared much
less fearful than any of those who died with him, yet he parted with
life almost as soon as the cart was drawn away. He was about twenty-two
years of age, or somewhat more, at the time he suffered, which was on
the 24th of February, 1724-5, much pitied by the spectators, and much
lamented by those that knew him.




The Life of THOMAS PACKER, a Highwayman


Thomas Packer, the companion of the last-named criminal both in his
crimes and in his punishment, was the son of very honest and reputable
parents, not far from Newgate Street. His father gave him a competent
education, designing always to put him in a trade, and as soon as he was
fit for it placed him accordingly with a vintner at Greenwich. There he
served for some years, but growing out of humour with the place, be made
continual instances to his friends to be removed. They, willing and
desirous to comply with the young man's honours, at length after
repeated solicitation prevailed with his master to consent, and then he
was removed to another tavern in town. There he completed his time, but
ever after being of a rambling disposition, was continually changing
places and never settled.

Amongst those in which he had lived, there was a tavern where he resided
as a drawer for about six weeks. Here he got into acquaintance of a
woman, handsome, indeed, but of no fortune, and little reputation. His
affection for this woman and the money he spent on her, was the chief
occasion of those wants which prevailed upon him to join with Picken in
those attempts which were fatal to them both. It cannot, indeed, be said
that the woman in any degree excited him to such practices. On the
contrary, the poor creature really endeavoured by every method she could
to procure money for their support, and did all that in her lay (while
Packer was under his misfortunes) to prevent the necessities of life
from hindering him in that just care which was necessary to secure his
interest in that which was to come.

Packer was in himself a lad of very great good nature, and not without
just principles if he had been well improved, but the rambling life he
had led, and his too tender affection for the before-mentioned woman,
led him into great crimes rather than he would see her sustain great
wants. The reflection which he conceived his death would bring upon his
parents, and the miseries which he dreaded it would draw upon his wife
and child, seemed to press him heavier than any apprehension for
himself to his own sufferings, which from the time of his commitment he
bore with the greatest patience, and improved to the utmost of his
power. As he was sensible there was no hopes of remaining in this world,
so he immediately removed his thought, his wishes and his hopes from
thence, applied himself seriously to his devotions, and never suffered
even the woman whom he so much loved to interfere or hinder them in any
degree.

As it had been his first week of robbing, and his last too, he had
little confession to make in that respect. He acknowledged, however, the
fact which they had done in that space, and seemed to be heartily
penitent, ashamed and sorry for his offences. At the place of execution
he behaved with the same decency which accompanied him through all the
sorrowful stations of his sad condition. He was asked whether he would
say anything to the people, but he declined it, though he had a paper in
his hand which he had designed to read, which for the satisfaction of
the public, I have thought fit to annex.

The paper left by Thomas Packer.

Good People,

I see a large number of you assembled here, to behold a miserable
end of us whom the Law condemns to death for our offence, and for
the sake of giving you warning, makes us in our last moments, public
spectacles. I submit with the utmost resignation to the stroke of
the Law, and I heartily pray Almighty God that the sight of my
shameful death, may inspire every one of you with lasting
resolutions of leading an honest life. The facts for which both
Picken and I die were really committed by us, and consequently the
sentence under which we suffer, is very just. Let me then press ye
again that the warnings of our deaths may not be in vain, but that
you will remember our fate, and by urging that against your depraved
wishes, prevent following our steps; which is all I have to say.

Thomas Packer

He was about twenty years of age at the time he suffered, which was with
the afore-mentioned malefactor at Tyburn, much pitied by all the
spectators.




The Life of THOMAS BRADLEY, a Street-Robber


One must want humanity and be totally void of that tenderness which
denominates both a man and a Christian if we feel not some pity for
those who are brought to a violent and shameful death from a sudden and
rash act, excited either by necessity or through the frailty of human
nature sinking under misfortune or hurried into mischief by a sudden
transport of passion. I am persuaded, therefore, that the greater part,
if not all of my readers will feel the same emotions of tenderness and
compassion for the miserable youth of whom I am now going to speak.

Thomas Bradley was the son of an officer in the Custom-House at
Liverpool. The father took care of his education, and having qualified
him for a seafaring business in reading and writing, placed him therein.
He came up accordingly with the master of a vessel to London, where some
misfortunes befalling the said master, Thomas was turned out of his
employment and left to shift for himself. Want pinched him. He had no
friends, nor anybody to whom be might apply for relief, and in the
anguish with which his sufferings oppressed him, he unfortunately
resolved to steal rather than submit to starving or to begging. One fact
he committed, but could never be prevailed on to mention the time, the
person or the place.

The robbery for which he was condemned was upon a woman carrying home
another woman's riding-hood which she had borrowed; and he assaulting
her on the highway took it from her, which was valued at 25s. Upon this
he was capitally convicted at the next sessions at the Old Bailey, nor
could never be prevailed on by a person to apply for a pardon. On the
contrary, he said it was his greatest grief that notwithstanding all he
could do to stifle it, the news would reach his father, and break his
heart. He was told that such thoughts were better omitted than suffered
to disturb him, when he was on the point of going to another (and if he
repented thoroughly) to a better life; at which he sighed and said their
reasoning was very right, and he would comply with it if he could. From
that time he appeared more composed and cheerful, and resigned to his
fate. This temper he preserved to the time of his execution, and died
with as much courage and penitence as is ever seen in any of those
unhappy persons who suffer at the same place.

At the time of his death he was not quite nineteen years of age. He died
between the last mentioned malefactor and him whose life we are next to
relate.




The Life of WILLIAM LIPSAT, a Thief


William Lipsat was the son of a person at Dublin, in very tolerable
circumstances, which he strained to the utmost to give this lad a
tolerable education. When he had acquired this he sent him over to an
uncle of his at Stockden, in Worcestershire, where he lived with more
indulgence than even when at home, his uncle having no children, and
behaving to him with all the tenderness of a parent. However, on some
little difference (the boy having long had an inclination to see this
great City of London) he took that occasion to go away from his uncle,
and accordingly came up to town, and was employed in the service of one
Mr. Kelway. He had not been long there before he received a letter from
his father, entreating him to return to Dublin with all the speed he was
able. This letter was soon followed by another, which not only desired,
but commanded him to come back to Ireland. He was not troubled at
thinking of the voyage and going home to his friends, but he was very
desirous of carrying money over with him to make a figure amongst his
relations, which not knowing how to get, he at last bethought himself of
stealing it from a place in which he knew it lay. After several
struggles with himself, vanity prevailed, and he accordingly went and
took away the things, viz., 57 guineas and a half, 25 Caroluses,[51] 5
Jacobuses, 3 Moidores, six piece of silver, two purses valued at twelve
pence. These, as he said, would have made his journey pleasant and his
reception welcome, which was the reason he took them. The evidence was
very dear and direct against him, so that the jury found him guilty
without hesitation.

From the time of his condemnation to the day he died, he neither
affected to extenuate his crime, nor reflect, as some are apt to do, on
the cruelty of the prosecutors, witnesses, or the Court that condemned
him. So far from it, that he always acknowledged the justice of his
sentence, seemed grieved only for the greatness of his sin and the
affliction of the punishment of it would bring upon his relations, who
had hitherto always born the best of characters, though by his failing
they were now like to be stigmatised with the most infamous crimes.
However, since his grief came now too late, he resolved as much as he
was able to keep such thoughts out of his head, and apply himself to
what more nearly concerned him, and for which all the little time he had
was rather too short. In a word, in his condition, none behaved with
more gravity, or to outward appearance with more penitence than this
criminal did.

He suffered with the same resignation which had appeared in everything
he did from the time of his condemnation, on the 1st of February,
1724-5, with the before-mentioned malefactors, being then scarce
eighteen years of age.

FOOTNOTES:

[51] Carolus was a gold coin of Charles I, worth 20s.-23s.; a
Jacobus, coined by James I, was of the same value; the moidore
was worth about 27s.




The Life of JOHN HEWLET, a Murderer


There are several facts which have happened in the world, the
circumstances attending which, if we compare them as they are related by
one or other, we can hardly fix in our own mind any certainty of belief
concerning them, such an equality is there in the weight of evidence of
one side and of the other. Such, at the time it happened, was the case
of the malefactor before us.

John Hewlet was born in Warwickshire, the son of Richard Hewlet, a
butcher, and though not bred up with his father, he was yet bred to the
same employment at Leicester, from which, malicious people said he
acquired a bloody and barbarous disposition. However, he did not serve
his time out with his master, but being a strong, sturdy young fellow,
and hoping some extraordinary preferment in the army, with that view he
engaged himself in the First Regiment of the Guards, during the reign of
the late King William.

In the war he gained the reputation of a very brave, but a very cruel
and very rough fellow, and therefore was relied on by his officers, yet
never liked by them. Persons of a similar disposition generally live on
good terms with one another. Hewlet found out a corporal, one Blunt,
much of the same humour with himself, never pleased when in safety, nor
afraid though in the midst of danger.

At the siege of Namur, in Flanders, these fellows happened to be both in
the trenches when the French made a desperate sally and were beaten off
at last with much loss and in such confusion that their pursuers lodged
themselves in one of the outworks, and had like to have gained another,
in the attack on which a young cadet of the regiment in which Blunt
served was killed. Blunt observing it, went to the commanding officer
and told him that the cadet had nineteen pistoles in his pocket, and it
was a shame the French should have them. _Why, that's true, corporal_,
said the Colonel, _but I don't see at present how we can help it. No_,
replied Blunt, _give me but leave to go and search his pockets, and I'll
answer for bringing the money back. Why, fool_, said the Colonel, _dost
thou not see the place covered with French? Should a man stir from hence
they would pour a whole shower of small shot upon him. I'll venture
that_, says Blunt. _But how will you know the body?_ added the Colonel.
_I am afraid we have left a score besides him behind us. Why, look ye,
sir_, said the Corporal, _let me have no more objections, and I'll
answer that, he was clapped, good Colonel, do you see, and that to some
purpose; so that if I can't know him by his face, I may know him by
somewhat else. Well_, said the Colonel, _if you have a mind to be
knocked on the head, and take it ill to be denied, you must go, I
think._

On which Blunt, waiting for no further orders, marched directly in the
midst of the enemy's fire to the dead bodies, which law within ten yards
of the muzzle of their pieces, and turning over several of the dead
bodies, he distinguished that of the cadet, and brought away the prize
for which he had so fairly ventured.

This action put Hewlet on his mettle. He resolved to do something that
might equal it, and an opportunity offered some time after, of
performing such a service as no man in the army would have undertaken.
It happened thus: the engineer who was to set fire to the train of a
mine which had been made under a bastion of the enemy's, happened to
have drank very hard over night, and mistaking the hour, laid the match
an hour sooner than he ought. A sentinel immediately came out, called
out aloud, _What, have you clapped fire to the train? There's twenty
people in the mine who will be all blown up; it should not have been
fired till 12 o'clock._

On hearing this Hewlet ran in with his sword drawn, and therewith cut
off the train the moment before it would have given fire to all the
barrels of powder that were within, by which he saved the lives of all
the pioneers who were carrying the mines still forward at the time the
wild fire was unseasonably lighted by the engineer.

At the battle of Landau he had his skull broken open by a blow from the
butt end of a musket. This occasioned his going through the operation
called trepanning, which is performed by an engine like a coffee-mill,
which being fixed on the bruised part of the bone, is turned round, and
cuts out all the black till the edges appear white and sound. After this
cure had been performed upon him, he never had his senses in the same
manner as he had before, but upon the least drinking fell into a passion
which was but very little removed from madness.

He returned into England after the Peace of Ryswick, and being taken
into a gentleman's service, he there married a wife, by whom he had nine
children. Happy was it for them that they were all dead before his
disastrous end.

How Hewlet came to be employed as a watchman a little before his death,
the papers I have give me no account of, only that he was in that
station at the time of the death of Joseph Candy, for whose murder he
was indicted for giving him a mortal bruise on the head with his staff.

On the 26th of December, 1724, upon full evidences of eye-witnesses, the
jury found him guilty, he making no other defence than great
asservations of his innocence, and an obstinate denial of the fact.
After his conviction, being visited in the condemned hold, instead of
showing any marks of penitence or contrition, he raved against the
witnesses who had been produced to destroy him, called them all
perjured, and prayed God to inflict some dreadful judgment on them. Nay,
he went so far as to desire that he ought himself have the executing
thereof, wishing that after his death his apparition might come and
terrify them to their graves. When it was represented to him how odd
this behaviour was, and how far distant from that calmness and
tranquillity of mind with which it became him to clothe himself before
he went into the presence of his Maker, these representations had no
effect; he still continued to rave against his accusers, and against the
witnesses who had sworn at his trial. As death grew nearer he appeared
not a bit terrified, nor seemed uneasy at all at leaving this life, only
at leaving his wife, and as he phrased it, some old acquaintance in
Warwickshire. However, he desired to receive the Sacrament, and said he
would prepare himself for it as well as he could.

He went to the place of execution in the same manner in which he had
passed the days of his confinement till that time. At Tyburn he was not
satisfied with protesting his innocence to the people, but designing to
have one of the Prayer Books which was made use of in the cart, he
kissed it as people do when they take oath, and then again turning to
the mob, declared as he was a dying man, he never gave Candy a blow in
his life. Thus with many ejaculations he gave way to fate in an advanced
age at Tyburn, at the same time with the malefactors last mentioned.




The Lives of JAMES CAMMEL and WILLIAM MARSHAL, Thieves and Footpads


James Cammel was born of parents in very low circumstances, and the
misfortunes arising therefrom were much increased by his father dying
while he was an infant, and leaving him to the care of a widow in the
lowest circumstances of life. The consequence was what might be easily
foreseen, for he forgot what little he had learned in his youngest days,
loitering away his time about Islington, Hoxton, Moorfield, and such
places, being continually drinking there, and playing at cudgels,
skittles, and such like. He never applied himself to labour or honest
working for his bread, but either got it from his mother or a few other
friends, or by methods of a more scandalous nature--I mean pilfering and
stealing from others, for which after he had long practised it, he came
at last to an untimely death.

He was a fellow of a froward disposition, hasty and yet revengeful, and
made up of almost all the vices that go to forming a debauchee in low
life. He had had a long acquaintance with the person that suffered with
him for their offences, but what made him appear in the worst light was
that he had endeavoured to commit acts of cruelty at the time he did the
robbery. Notwithstanding he insisted not only that he was innocent of
the latter part of the offence but that he never committed the robbery
at all, though Marshal his associate did not deny it.

They had been together in these exploits for some time, and once
particularly coming from Sadlers Wells, they took from a gentlewoman a
basket full of bed-child linen to a very great value, which offering to
sell to a woman in Monmouth Street, she privately sent for a constable
to apprehend them. One of their companions who went with them observing
this, he tipped them the wink to be gone, which the old woman of the
house perceiving, caught hold of Marshal by the coat; and while they
struggled, the third man whipped off a gold watch, a silver collar and
bells, and a silver plate for holding snuffers, and pretending to
interpose in the quarrel slipped through them, and out at the door, as
Cammel and Marshal did immediately after him.

Once upon a time it happened that Marshal had no money, and his credit
being at a par, and a warrant out to take him for a great debt, and
another to take him for picking of pockets, he was in a great quandary
how to escape both. He strolled into St. James's Park, and walking there
pretty late behind the trees, a woman came up to the seat directly
before him, when she fell to roaring and crying. Marshal being unseen,
clapped himself down behind the seat, and listened with great attention.
He perceived the woman had her pocket in her hand, and heard her
distinctly say that a rogue not to be contented with cutting one pocket
and taking it away, but he must cut the other and let it drop at her
foot. Then she wiped her eyes and laying down her pocket by her, began
to shake her petticoats to see if the other pocket had not lodged
between them as the former had done. So Marshal took the opportunity and
secretly conveyed that away, thinking one lamentation might serve for
both. Upon turning the pocket out, he found only a thread paper, a
housewife and a crown piece. Upon this crown piece he lived a fortnight
at a milk-house, coming twice a day for milk, and hiding himself at
nights in some of the grass plots, it being summer.

But his creditor dying, and the person whose pocket he had picked going
to Denmark, he came abroad again, and soon after engaged with Cammel in
the fact for which they were both hanged. It was committed upon a man
and a woman coming through the fields from Islington, and the things
they took did not amount to above 30 shillings. After they were
convicted and had received sentence of death, Cammel sent for _The
Practice of Piety, The Whole Duty of Man_, and such other good books as
he thought might assist him in the performance of their duty. Yet
notwithstanding all the outward appearance of resignation to the Divine
Will, the Sunday before his execution, upon the coming in to the chapel
of a person whom he took to be his prosecutor, he flew into a very great
passion, and expressed his uneasiness that he had no instrument there to
murder him with; and notwithstanding all that could be said to him to
abate his passion, he continued restless and uneasy until the person was
obliged to withdraw, and then with great attention applied himself to
hear the prayers, and discourse that was made proper for that occasion.

Marshal in the meanwhile continued very sick, but though he could not
attend the chapel, did all that could be expected from a true penitent.
In this condition they both continued until the time of their death,
when Marshal truly acknowledged the fact, but Cammel prevaricated about
it, and at last peremptorily denied it. They suffered on the 30th of
April, 1725, Cammel appearing with an extraordinary carelessness and
unconcern, desired them to put him out of the world quickly, and was
very angry that they did not do it in less time.




The Life of JOHN GUY, a Deer-stealer


One would have thought that the numerous executions which had happened
upon the appearance of those called the Waltham Blacks,[52] and the
severity of that Act of Parliament which their folly had occasioned,
would effectually have prevented any outrages for the future upon either
the forests belonging to the Crown, or the parks of private gentlemen;
but it seems there were still fools capable of undertaking such mad
exploits.

It is said that Guy being at a public house with a young woman whom, as
the country people phrase it, was his sweetheart, a discourse arose at
supper concerning the expeditions of the deer-stealers, which Guy's
mistress took occasion to express great admiration of, and to regard
them as so many heroes, who had behaved with courage enough to win the
most obdurate heart, adding that she was very fond of venison, and she
wished she had known some of them. This silly accident proved fatal to
the poor fellow, who engaging with one Biddisford, an old deer-stealer,
they broke into such forests and parks and carried off abundance of deer
with impunity. But the keepers at last getting a number of stout young
fellows to their assistance, waylaid them one night, when they were
informed by the keeper of an alehouse that Guy and Biddisford intended
to come for deer.

I must inform my reader that the method these young men took in
deer-stealing was this. They went into the park on foot, sometimes with
a crossbow, and sometimes with a couple of dogs, being armed always,
however, with pistols for their own defence. When they had killed a
buck, they trussed him up and put him upon their backs and so walked
off, neither of them being able to procure horses for such service.

On the night that the keepers were acquainted with their coming, they
sent to a neighbouring gentleman for the assistance of two of his
grooms; the fellows came about 11 o'clock at night, and tying their
horses in a little copse went to the place where the keepers had
appointed to keep guard. This was on a little rising ground, planted
with a star grove, through the avenues of which they could see all round
them without being discerned themselves. No sooner, therefore, had Guy
and his companion passed into the forest, but suffering them to pass by
one of the entries of the grove where they were, they immediately issued
out upon them, and pursued them so closely that they were within a few
yards of them when they entered the coppice, where the two grooms had
left their horses. They did not stay so much as to untie them, but
cutting the bridles, mounted them and rode off as hard as they could,
turning them loose as soon as they were in safety, and got home secure,
because the keepers could not say they had done anything but walk across
the forest.

This escape of theirs and some others of the same nature, made them so