This malefactor was born in the midst of the City of London, in the
Parish of St. Dionis Back Church. His parents were persons in but mean
circumstances, who however strained them to the uttermost to give this
their son a tolerable education. They were especially careful to
instruct him in the principles of religion, and were therefore under an
excessive concern when they found that neglecting all other business, he
endeavoured only to qualify himself for the sea. However, finding this
inclinations so strong that way, they got him on board a man-of-war, and
procured such a recommendation to the captain that he was treated with
great civility during the voyage, and if he had had any inclinations to
have done well, he might in all probability have been much encouraged.
But after several voyages to sea, he took it as strongly in his head to
go no more as he had before to go, whether his parents would or no.

He then cried old clothes about the streets; but not finding any great
encouragement in that employment, he was easily drawn in by some wicked
people of his acquaintance, to take what they called the shortest method
of getting money, which was in plain English to go a-thieving. He had
very ill-luck in his new occupation, for in six weeks' time, after his
first setting out on the information of one of his companions, he was
apprehended, tried, convicted, and ordered for transportation.

It was his fortune to be delivered to a planter in South Carolina, who
employed him to labour in his plantations, afforded him good meat and
drink, and treated him rather better than our farmers treat their
servants here. Which leads me to say something concerning the usage such
people met with, when carried as the Law directs to our plantations, in
order to rectify certain gross mistakes; as if Englishmen abroad had
totally lost all humanity, and treated their fellow-creatures and
fellow-countrymen as slaves, or as brutes.

The Colonies on the Continent of America are those which now take off
the greatest part of those who are transported for felony from Britain,
most of the Island Colonies having long ago refused to receive them. The
countries into which they now go, trading chiefly in such kind of
commodities as are produced in England (unless it be tobacco), the
employment, therefore, of persons thus sent over, is either in attending
husbandry, or in the culture of the plant which we have before
mentioned. They are thereby exposed to no more hardships than they would
have been obliged to have undergone at home, in order to have got an
honest livelihood, so that unless their being obliged to work for their
living is to pass for great hardship, I do not conceive where else it
can lie, since the Law, rather than shed the blood of persons for small
offences, or where they appear not to have gone on for a length of time
in them, by its lenity changes the punishment of death into sending them
amongst their own countrymen at a distance from their ill-disposed
companions, who might probably seduce them to commit the same offences
again. It directs also, that this banishment shall be for such a length
of time as may be suitable to the guilt of the crime, and render it
impracticable for them on their return to meet with their old gangs and
acquaintance, making by this means a happy mixture both of justice and
clemency, dealing mildly with them for the offence already committed and
endeavouring to put it ever out of their own power by fresh offences, to
draw a heavier judgment upon themselves.

But to return to this Whalebone. The kind usage of his master, the
easiness of the life which he lived, and the certainty of death if he
attempted to return home, could not all of them prevail upon him to lay
aside the thoughts of coming back again to London, and there giving
himself up to those sensual delights which he had formerly enjoyed.
Opportunities are seldom wanting where men incline to make use of diem;
especially to one who had been bred as he was to the sea. So that in a
year and a half after ms being settled there, he took such ways of
recommending himself to a certain captain as induced him to bring him
home, and set him safe on shore near Harwich. He travelled on foot up to
London, and was in town but a very few days before being accidentally
taken notice of by a person who knew him, he caused him to be
apprehended, and at the next sessions at the Old Bailey, he was
convicted of such illegal return, and ordered for execution.

At first he pretended that he thought it no crime for a man to return to
his own country, and therefore did not think himself bound to repent of
that. Whatever arguments the Ordinary made use of to persuade him to
sense of his guilt I know not. But because this is an error into which
such people are very apt to fall; and as there want not some of the
vulgar who take it for a great hardship, also making it one of those
topics upon which they take occasion to harangue against the severity of
a Law that they do not understand, I think it will not, therefore, be
improper to explain it.

Transportation is a punishment whereby the British law commutes for
offences which would otherways be capital, and therefore a contract is
plainly presumed between every felon transported and the Court by whose
authority he is ordered for transportation, that the said felon shall
remain for such term of years as the Law directs, without returning into
any of the King's European dominions; and the Court plainly acquaints
the felon that if, in breach of his agreement, he shall so return, that
in such case the contract shall be deemed void, and the capital
punishment shall again take place. To say, then, that a person who
enters into an agreement like this, and is perfectly acquainted with its
conditions, knowing that no less than his life must be forfeited by the
breach of them, and yet wilfully breaks them, to say that such a person
as this is guilty of no offence, must in the opinion of every person of
common understanding be the greatest absurdity that can be asserted; and
to call that severity which only is the Law's taking its forfeit, is a
very great impropriety, and proceeds from a foolish and unreasonable
compassion. This I think so plain that nothing but prepossession or
stupidity can hinder people from comprehending it.

As to Whalebone, when death approached, he laid aside all these excuses
and applied himself to what was much more material, the making a proper
use of that little time which yet remained for repentance. He
acknowledged all the crimes which he had committed in the former part of
his life, and the justice of his sentence by which he had been condemned
to transportation; and having warned the people at his execution to
avoid of all things being led into ill company, he suffered with much
seeming penitence, together with the afore-mentioned malefactors, at
Tyburn, being then about thirty-eight years of age.




The Life of JAMES LITTLE, a Footpad and Highwayman


James Little was a person descended from parents very honest and
industrious, though of small fortune. They bred him up with all the care
they were able, and when he came to a fit age put him out to an honest
employment. But in his youth having taken peculiar fancy to his father's
profession of a painter, he thereto attained in so great a degree as to
be able to earn twelve or fifteen shillings in a week, when he thought
fit to work hard. But that was very seldom, and he soon contracted such
a hatred to working at all that associating with some wild young
fellows, he kept himself continually drunk and mad, not caring what he
did for money, so long as he supplied himself with enough to procure
himself liquor.

Amongst the rest of those debauched persons with whom he conversed there
was especially one Sandford, with whom he was peculiarly intimate. This
fellow was a soldier, of a rude, loose disposition, who took a
particular delight in making persons whom he conversed with as bad as
himself. Having one Sunday, therefore, got Little into his company and
drank him to such a pitch that he had scarce any sense, he next began to
open to him a new method of living, as he called it, which was neither
more than less than going on the highway. Little was so far gone in his
cups that be did not so much as know what he was saying; at last
Sandford rose up, and told him it was a good time now to go out upon
their attempts. Upon this Little got up, too, and went out with him.
They had not gone far before the soldier drew out a pair of pistols, and
robbed two or three persons, while Little stood by, so very drunk that
he was both unable to have hurt the persons, or to have defended
himself, he said.

He robbed no more with the soldier, who was soon after taken up and
hanged at the same time with Jonathan Wild, yet the sad fate of his
companion had very little effect upon this unhappy lad. He fell
afterwards into an acquaintance with some of John Shepherd's mistresses,
and they continually dinning in his ears what great exploits that famous
robber had committed, they unfortunately prevailed upon him to go again
into the same way. But it was just as fatal to him as it had been to his
companion; for Little having robbed one Lionel Mills in the open fields,
put him in fear, and taken from him a handkerchief, three keys and
sixteen shillings in money, not contented with this he pulled the
turnover off from his neck hastily, and thereby nearly strangled him.
For this offence the man pursued him with unwearied diligence, and he
being taken up thereupon was quickly after charged with another robbery
committed on one Mr. Evans, in the same month, who lost a cane, three
keys, and twenty pounds in money. On these two offences he was severally
convicted at the next sessions at the Old Bailey; and having no friends,
could therefore entertain little expectation of pardon; especially
considering how short a time it was since he received mercy before;
being under sentence at the same time with the soldier before-mentioned
and Jonathan Wild, and discharged then upon his making certain
discoveries.

He pretended to much penitence and sorrow, but it did not appear in his
behaviour, having been guilty of many levities when brought up to
chapel, to which perhaps the crowds of strangers, who from an
unaccountable humour desire to be present on these melancholy occasions,
did not a little contribute; for at other times, it must be owned, he
did not behave himself in any such manner, but seemed rather grave and
willing to be instructed, of which he had indeed sufficient want,
knowing very little, but of debauchery and vice. How ever, he reconciled
himself by degrees to the thoughts of death, and behaved with
tranquility enough during that small space that was left him to prepare
for it. At the place of execution, he looked less astonished though he
spoke much less to the people than the rest, and died seemingly
composed, at the same time with the other malefactors Snow, and
Whalebone, being at the time of his execution in his seventeenth year.




The Life of JOHN HAMP, Footpad and Highwayman


This unhappy person, John Hamp, was born of both honest and reputable
parents in the parish of St. Giles-without-Cripplegate. They took
abundance of pains in his education, and the lad seemed in his juvenile
years to deserve it; he was a boy of abundance of spirit, and his
friends at his own request put him out apprentice to a man whose trade
it was to lath houses. He did not stay out his time with him, but being
one evening with some drunken companions at an alehouse near the Iron
Gate by the Tower, three of them sailors on board a man-of-war (there
being at that time a great want of men, a squadron being fitted out for
the Baltic), these sailors, therefore, observing all the company very
drunk, put into their heard to make an agreement for their going
altogether this voyage to the North. Drink wrought powerfully in their
favour, and in less than two hours time, Hamp and two other of his
companions fell in with the sailors' motion, and talked of nothing but
braving the Czar, and seeing the rarities of Copenhagen. The fourth man
of Hamp's company stood out a little, but half an hour's rhodomantade
and another bowl of punch brought him to a sailor, upon which one of the
seamen stepped out, and gave notice to his lieutenant, who was drinking
not far off, of the great service he had performed, the lieutenant was
mightily pleased with Jack Tar's diligence, promised to pay the
reckoning, and give each of them a guinea besides. A quarter of an hour
after, the Lieutenant came in. The fellows were all so very drunk that
he was forced to send for more hands belonging to the ship, who carried
them to the long-boat, and there laying them down and covering them with
men's coats, carried them on board that night.

There is no doubt that Hamp was very surprised when he found the
situation he was in next morning, but as there was no remedy, he
acquiesced without making any words, and so began the voyage cheerfully.
Everybody knows that there was no fighting in these Baltic expeditions,
so that all the hardships they had to combat with were those of the sea
and the weather, which was indeed bad enough to people of an English
constitution, who were very unfit to bear the extremity of cold.

While they by before Copenhagen, an accident happened to one of Hamp's
great acquaintance, which much affected him at that time, and it would
have certainly have been happy for him if he had retained a just sense
of it always. There was one Scrimgeour, a very merry debonair fellow,
who used to make not only the men, but sometimes the officers merry on
board the ship. He was particularly remarkable for being always full of
money, of which he was no niggard, but ready to do anybody a service,
and consequently was very far from being ill-beloved. This man being one
day on shore and going to purchase some fresh provisions to make merry
with amongst his companions, somebody took notice of a dollar that was
in his hand, and Scrimgeour wanting change, the man readily offered to
give smaller money. Scrimgeour thereupon gave him the dollar, and having
afterwards bargained for what he wanted, was just going on board when a
Danish officer with a file of men, came to apprehend him for a coiner.
The fellow, conscious of his guilt, and suspicious of their intent,
seeing the man amongst them who had changed the dollar, took to his
heels, and springing into the boat, the men rowed him on board
immediately, where as soon as he was got, Scrimgeour fancied himself out
of all danger.

But in this he was terribly mistaken, for early the next morning three
Danish commissaries came on board the admiral, and acquainted him that a
seaman on board his fleet had counterfeited their coin to a very
considerable value, and was yesterday detected in putting off a dollar;
that thereupon an officer had been ordered to seize him, but that he had
made his escape by jumping into the long-boat of such a ship, on board
of which they were informed he was; they therefore desired he might be
given up in order to be punished. The admiral declined that, but assured
them that, upon due proof, he would punish him with the greatest
severity on board; and having in the meanwhile dispatched a lieutenant
and twenty men on board Scrimgeour's ship, with the Dane who detected
him in putting off false money, he was secured immediately. Upon
searching his trunk they found there near a hundred false dollars, so
excellently made that none of the ship's crew could have distinguished
them from the true.

He was immediately carried on board the admiral, who ordered him to be
confined. Soon after a court-martial condemned him to be whipped from
ship to ship, which was performed in the view of the Danish
commissaries, with so much rigour that instead of expressing any notion
of the Englishmen showing favour to their countryman upon any such
occasion, they interposed to mitigate the fellow's sufferings, and
humbly besought the admiral to omit lashing him on board three of the
last ships. But in this request they were civilly refused, and the
sentence which had been pronounced against him was executed upon him
with the utmost severity; and it happening that Hamp was one of the
persons who rowed him from ship to ship, it filled him with so much
terror that he was scarce able to perform his duty; the wretch, himself,
being made such a terrible spectacle of misery that not only Hamp, but
all the rest who saw him after his last lashing, were shocked at the
sight. And though it was shrewdly suspected that some others had been
concerned with him, yet this example had such an effect that there were
no more instances of any false money uttered from that time.

It was near five years after Hamp went first to sea that he began to
think of returning home and working at his trade again; and after this
thought had once got into his head, as is usual with such fellows, he
was never easy until he had accomplished it. An opportunity offered soon
after, the ship he belonged to being recalled and paid off. John had,
however, very little to receive, the great delight he took in drinking
made him so constant a customer to a certain officer in the ship that
all was near spent by the time he came home. That, however, would have
been no great misfortune had he stuck close to his employment and
avoided those excesses of which he been formerly guilty. But alas! this
was by no means in his power; he drank rather harder after his return
than he had done before, and if he might be credited at that time when
the Law allows what is said to pass for evidence, viz., in the agony of
death, it was this love of drink that brought him, without any other
crime, to his shameful end. The manner of which, I shall next fully
relate.

Hamp, passing one night very drunk through the street, a woman, as is
usual enough for common street-walkers to do, took him by the sleeve,
and after some immodest discourse, asked him if he would not go into her
mother's and take a pot with her. To this motion Hamp readily agreed,
and had not been long in the house before he fell fast asleep in the
company of James Bird (who was hanged with him), the woman who brought
him into the house, and an old woman, whom she called her mother. By and
by certain persons came who apprehended him and James Bird for being in
a disorderly house; and having carried them to the watch house, they
were there both charged with robbing and beating, in a most cruel and
barbarous manner, a poor old woman near Rag Fair.[72]

At the next Old Bailey sessions they were both tried for the fact, and
the woman's evidence being positive against them, they were likewise
convicted. Hamp behaved himself with great serenity while under
sentence, declaring always that he had not the least knowledge of Bird
until the time they were taken up; that in all his life time he had
never acquired a halfpenny in a dishonest manner, and that although he
had so much abandoned himself to drinking and other debaucheries, yet he
constantly worked hard at his employment, in order to get money to
support them. As to the robbery, he knew no more of it than the child
unborn, that he readily believed all that the woman swore to be true,
except her mistake in the persons; and that as to Bird, he could not
take upon himself to say that he was concerned in it.

A divine of eminency in the Church, being so charitable as to visit him,
spoke to him very particularly on this head; he told him that a jury of
his countrymen on their oaths had unanimously found him guilty; that the
Law upon such a conviction had appointed him to death, and that there
appeared not the least hopes of his being anyways able to prevent it;
that the denying of his guilt therefore, could not possibly be of any
use to him here, but might probably ruin him for ever hereafter; that he
would act wisely in this unfortunate situation into which his vices had
brought him, if he would make an ample acknowledgment of the crime he
had committed, and own the justice of Providence in bringing him to
condemnation, instead of leaving the world in the assertion of a
falsehood, and rushing into the presence of Almighty God with a lie in
his mouth.

This exhortation was made publicly, and Hamp after having heard it with
great attention, answered it in the following terms. _I am very
sensible, sir, of your goodness in affording me this visit and am no
less obliged to you for your pressing instances to induce me confession.
But as I know the matter of fact, so I am sure, you would not press me
to own it if it be not true; I aver that the charge against me is
utterly false in every particular. I freely acknowledge that I have led
a most dissolute life, and abandoned myself in working all kind of
wickedness; but should I so satisfy some persons' importunities as to
own also the justice of my present sentence, as arising from the truth
of the fact, I should thereby become guilty of the very crime you warn
me of, and go out of the world, indeed, in the very act of telling an
untruth. Besides, of what use would it be to me, who have not the least
hopes of pardon, to persist in a lie, merely for the sake of deceiving
others, who may take my miserable death as a piece of news, and at the
same time cheat myself in what is my last and greatest concern? I beg,
therefore, to be troubled no more on this head, but to be left to make
my peace with God for those sins which I have really committed, without
being pressed to offend Him yet more, by taking upon me that which I
really know nothing of._

The Ordinary of Newgate hereupon went into the hold to examine Bird, who
lay there in a sick and lamentable condition. He confirmed all that Hamp
had said, declared he never saw him in his life before the night in
which they were taken up, acknowledged himself to be a great sinner, and
an old offender, that he had been often taken up before for thefts; but
as to the present case, he peremptorily insisted on his innocence, and
that he knew nothing of it.

At the place of execution, Hamp appeared very composed and with a
cheerfulness that is seldom seen in the countenances of persons when
they come to the tree, and are on the very verge of death. He spoke for
a few moments to the people saying that he been a grievous sinner, much
addicted to women, and much more to drinking; that for these crimes, he
thought the Justice of God righteous in bringing him to a shameful
death; but as to assaulting the woman in Rag Fair, he again protested
his innocence, and declared he never committed any robbery whatsoever,
desired the prayers of the people in his last moments, and then applied
himself to some short private devotions. He resigned himself with much
calmness to his fate, on Wednesday, the 22nd of December, 1725, at
Tyburn, being then in the twenty-fifth year of his age. Bird confirmed,
as well as the craziness of his distempered head would give him leave,
the truth of what Hamp had said.

FOOTNOTES:

[72] This was in Rosemary Lane, Wellclose Square,
Whitechapel--"a place near the Tower of London where old clothes
and frippery are sold"--according to Pope.




The Lives of JOHN AUSTIN, a Footpad, JOHN FOSTER, a Housebreaker, and
RICHARD SCURRIER, a Shoplifter


Amongst the number of those extraordinary events which may be remarked
in the course of these melancholy memoirs of those who have fallen
martyrs to sin, and victims to justice, there is scarce anything more
remarkable than the finding a man who hath led an honest and reputable
life, till he hath attained the summit of life, and then, without
abandoning himself to any notorious vices that may be supposed to lead
him into rapine and stealth in order to support him, to take himself on
a sudden to robbing on the highway, and to finish a painful and
industrious life by a violent and shameful death. Yet this is exactly
the case before us.

The criminal of whom we are first to speak, viz., John Austin, was the
son of very honest people, having not only been bred up in good
principles, but seeming also to retain them. He was put out young to a
gardener, in which employment being brought up, he became afterwards a
master for himself, and lived, as all his neighbours report it, with as
fair character as any man thereabout. On a sudden he was taken up for
assaulting and knocking down a man in Stepney Fields, with a short,
round, heavy club, and taking from him his coat, in the beginning of
November, 1725, about seven o'clock in the morning. The evidence being
very clear and direct, the jury, notwithstanding the persons he called
to his character, found him guilty. He received sentence of death
accordingly, and after a report had been made to his Majesty he was
ordered for execution.

During the space he lay under conviction, he at first denied, then
endeavoured to extenuate his crime, by saying he did indeed knock the
man down, but that the man struck him first with an iron rod he had in
his hand; and in this story for some time he firmly persisted. But when
death made a nearer approach he acknowledged the falsity of these
pretences, and owned the robbery in the manner in which he had been
charged therewith. Being asked how a man in his circumstances, being
under no necessities, but on the contrary, in a way very likely to do
well, came to be guilty of so unaccountable an act as the knocking down
a poor man and taking away his coat, he said that though he was in a
fair way of living, and had a very careful and industrious wife, yet for
some time past, he had been disturbed in his mind, and that the morning
he committed the robbery he took the club out of his own house, being an
instrument made use of by his wife in the trade of a silk-throwster, and
from a sudden impulse of mind attacked the man in the manner which had
been sworn against him.

He appeared to be a person of no vicious principles, had been guilty of
very few enormous crimes, except drinking to excess sometimes, and that
but seldom. The sin which most troubled him was (his ordinary practice)
as a gardener, in spending the Lord's day mostly in hard work, viz., in
packing up things for Monday's market. He was very penitent for the
offence which he had committed; he attended the service of chapel daily,
prayed constantly and fervently in the place of his confinement, and
suffered death with much serenity and resolution; averring with his last
breath, that it was the first and last act which he had ever committed,
being at the time of death about thirty-seven years old.

The second of these malefactors, John Foster, was the son of a very poor
man, who yet did his utmost to give his son all the education that was
in his power; and finding he was resolved to do nothing else, sent him
with a very honest gentleman to sea. He continued there about seven
years, and as he met with no remarkable accidents in the voyages he made
himself, my readers may perhaps not be displeased if I mention a very
singular one which befell his master. His ship having the misfortune to
fall into the hands of the French, they plundered it of everything that
was in the least degree valuable, and then left him, with thirty-five
men, to the mercy of the waves. In this distressed condition, he with
much difficulty made the shore of Newfoundland, and had nothing to
subsist on but biscuit and a little water. Knowing it was no purpose to
ask those who were settled there for provisions without money or
effects, he landed himself and eighteen men, and carried off a dozen
sheep and eight pigs. They were scarce returned on board, before it
sprung up a brisk gale, which driving them from their anchors, obliged
them to be put to sea. It blew hard all that day and the next night; the
morning following the wind abated and they discovered a little vessel
before them which, by crowding all the sails she was able, endeavoured
to bear away. The captain thereupon gave her chase, and coming at last
up with her, perceived she was French, upon which he gave her a
broadside, and the master knowing it was impossible to defend her,
immediately struck. They found in her a large quantity of provisions and
in the master's cabin a bag with seven hundred pistoles. No sooner had
the English taken out the booty, but they gave the captain and his crew
liberty to sail where they pleased, leaving them sufficient provisions
for a subsistance, themselves standing in again for Newfoundland, where
the captain paid the person who was owner of the sheep and hogs he had
taken as much as he demanded, making him also a handsome present
besides; thereby giving Foster a remarkable example of integrity and
justice, if he had had grace enough to have followed it.

When the ship came home, and its crew were paid off, Foster betook
himself to loose company, loved drinking and idling about, especially
with ill women. At last he was drawn in by some of his companions to
assist in breaking open the house of Captain Tolson, and stealing thence
linen and other things to a very great value. For this offence being
apprehended, some promises were made him in case of discoveries, which,
as he said, he made accordingly, and therefore thought it a great
hardship that they were not performed. But the gentleman, whoever he
was, that made him those promises, took no further notice of him, so
that Foster being tried thereupon, the evidence was very dear against
him, and the jury, after a very short consideration, found him guilty.

Under sentence he behaved with very great sorrow for his offence; he
wept whenever any exhortations were made to him, confessed himself one
of the greatest of sinners, and with many heavy expressions of grief,
seemed to doubt whether even from the mercy of God he could expect
forgiveness. Those whose duty it was to instruct him how to prepare
himself for death, did all they could to convince him that the greatest
danger of not being forgiven arose from such doubtings, and persuaded
him to allay the fears of death by a settled faith and hope in Jesus
Christ. When he had a while reflected on the promises made in Scripture
on the nature of repentance itself, and the relation there is between
creatures and their Creator, he became at last better satisfied, and
bore the approach of death with tolerable cheerfulness.

When the day of execution came, he received the Sacrament, as is usual
for persons in his condition. He declared, then, that he heartily
forgave him who had injured him, and particularly the person who, by
giving him hopes of life, had endangered his eternal safety. He
submitted cheerfully to the decrees of Providence and the Law of the
land; being at the time he suffered about thirty-seven years of age.

Richard Scurrier was the son of a blacksmith of the same name, at
Kingston-upon-Thames. He followed for a time his father's business, but
growing totally weary of working honestly for his bread, he left his
relations, and without any just motive or expectation came up to London.
He here betook himself to driving a hackney-coach, which, as he himself
acknowledged, was the first inlet into all his misfortunes, for thereby
he got into loose and extravagant company, living in a continued series
of vice, unenlightened by the grace of God, or any intervals of a
virtuous practice.

Such a road of wickedness soon induced him to take illegal methods for
money to support it. The papers which I have in my hands concerning him,
do not say whether the fact he committed was done at the persuasion of
others, or merely out of his own wicked inclinations; nay, I cannot be
so much as positive whether he had any associates or no; but in the
beginning of his thievish practices, he committed _petit_ larceny, which
was immediately discovered. He thereupon was apprehended and committed
to Newgate. At the next sessions he was tried, and the fact being plain,
he was convicted; but being very young, the Court, through its usual
tenderness, determined to soften his punishment into a private
whipping. But before that was done, he joined with some other desperate
fellows, forced the outward door of the prison as the keeper was going
in and escaped.

He was no sooner at liberty but he fell to his old trade, and was just
as unlucky as he was before; for taking it into his head to rub off with
a firkin of butter, which he saw standing in a cheesemonger's shop, he
was again taken in the fact, and in the space of a few weeks recommitted
to his old lodging. At first he apprehended the crime to be so trivial
that he was not in the least afraid of death, and therefore his
amazement was the greater when he was capitally convicted. During the
first day after sentence had been pronounced, the extremity of grief and
fear made him behave like one distracted; as he came a little to
himself, and was instructed by those who charitably visited him, he
owned the justice of his sentence, which had been passed upon him, and
the notorious wickedness of his misspent life. He behaved with great
decency at chapel, and as well as a mean capacity and a small education
would give him leave, prayed in the place of his confinement.

As there is little remarkable in this malefactor's life, permit me to
add an observation or two concerning the nature of crimes punished with
death in England, and the reasonableness of any project which would
answer the same end as death, viz., securing the public from any of
their future rapines, without sending the poor wretches to the gallows,
and pushing them headlong into the other world for every little offence.
The galleys in other nations serve for this purpose and the punishment
seems very well suited to the crime; for his life is preserved, and he,
notwithstanding, effectually deprived of all means of doing further
mischief. We have no galleys, it is true, in the service of the crown of
Britain, but there are many other laborious works to which they might be
put so as to be useful to their country. As to transportation, though it
may at first sight seem intended for their purpose, yet if we look into
it with ever so little attention, we shall see that it does not at all
answer the end; for we find by experience that in a year's time, many of
them are here again, and are ten times more dangerous rogues than they
were before; and in the plantations they generally behave themselves so
ill that many of them have refused to receive them, and have even laid
penalties on the captains who shall land them within the bounds of their
jurisdiction. It were certainly therefore, more advantageous to the
public that they worked hard here, than either forced upon the planters
abroad, or left in a capacity to return to their villainies at home,
where the punishment being capital, serves only to make them less
merciful and more resolute. This I propose only, and pretend not to
dictate.

But it is now time we return to the last mentioned criminal, Richard
Scurrier, and inform ye that at the time he suffered, he was scarce
eighteen years of age, dying with the malefactors Hamp, Bird, Austin and
Foster, before-mentioned, on the 22nd of December, 1725, at Tyburn.




The Life of FRANCIS BAILEY, a notorious Highwayman


That bad company and an habitual course of indulging vicious
inclinations, though of a nature not punishable by human laws, should at
last lead men to the commission of such crimes as from the injury done
to society require capital sufferings to be inflicted, is a thing we so
often meet with, that its frequency alone is sufficient to instruct men
of the danger there is in becoming acquainted, much more of conversing
familiarly, with wicked and debauched persons.

This criminal, Francis Bailey, was one of the number of those examples
from whence this observation arises. He was born of parents of the
lowest degree, in Worcestershire, who were either incapable of giving
him any education, or took so little care about it that at the time he
went out into the world he could neither read or write. However, they
bound him apprentice to a baker, and his master took so much care of him
that he was in a fair way of doing well if he would have been
industrious; but instead of that he quitted his employment to fall into
that sink of vice and laziness, the entering into a regiment as a common
soldier. However, it were, he behaved himself in this state so well that
he became a corporal and serjeant, which last, though a preferment of
small value, is seldom given to persons of no education. But it seems
Bailey had address enough to get that passed by, and lived with a good
reputation in the army near twenty years. During this space, with
whatever cover of honesty he appeared abroad, yet he failed not to make
up whatever deficiencies the irregular course of life might occasion, by
robbing upon the highway, though he had the good luck never to be
apprehended, or indeed suspected till the fact which brought him to his
end.

His first attempt in this kind happened thus. The regiment in which he
served was quartered at a great road town; Bailey having no employment
for the greatest part of his time, and being incapable of diverting
himself by reading or innocent conversation, knew not therefore how to
employ his hours. It happened one evening, that among his idle
companions there was one who had been formerly intimate with a famous
highwayman. This fellow entertained the company with the relation of
abundance of adventures which had befallen the robber on the road, till
he had saved about seven hundred pounds, wherewith he retired (as this
man said) to Jamaica, and lived there in great splendour, having set up
a tavern, and by his facetious conversation, acquired more custom
thereto than any other public house had in the Island.

As Bailey listened with great attention to this story, so it ran in his
head that night that this was the easiest method of obtaining money, and
that with prudence there was no great danger of being detected. Money at
that time ran low, and he resolved the next day to make the experiment.
Accordingly he procured a horse and arms in the evening and at dusk
sallied out, with an intent of stopping the first passenger he should
meet. A country clergyman happened to be the man. No sooner had Bailey
approached him with the usual salutation of _Stand and Deliver_, but
putting his hand in his pocket, and taking out some silver, he, in a
great fright, and as it were trembling, put it into Bailey's hat, who
thereupon carelessly let go the reins of his horse, and went to put the
money up in his own pocket. The parson upon seeing that, clapped spurs
to his horse, and thrust his right elbow with all his force under
Bailey's left breast, and gave him such a blow as made him tumble
backwards off his horse, the parson riding off as hard as he could with
a good watch and near forty pounds in gold in his purse.

So ill a setting out might have marred a highwayman of less courage than
him of whom we are speaking; but Frank was not to be frightened either
from danger or wickedness, when he once got it into his head. So that as
soon as he came a little to himself, and had caught his horse, he
resolved, by looking more carefully after the next prize, to make up
what he fancied he had lost by the parson. With this intent he rode on
about a mile, when he met with a waggon, in which were three or four
young wenches, who had been at service in London and were going to
several places in the country to see their relations. Bailey,
notwithstanding there were three men belonging to the waggon, stopped
it, and rifled it of seven pounds, and then very contentedly retired to
his quarters.

Flushed with this success, he never wanted money but he took this method
of supplying himself, managing, after the affair of the parson, with so
much caution that though he robbed on the greatest road, he was never
so much as once in danger of a pursuit. Perhaps he owed his security to
the newer taking any partner in the commission of his villainies to
which he was once inclined, though diverted from it by an accident which
to a less obstinate person might have proved a sufficient warning to
have quitted such exploits for good and all.

Bailey being one day at an alehouse, not far from Moorfields, fell into
the conversation of an Irishman, of a very gay alert temper perfectly
suited to the humour of our knight of the road. They talked together
with mutual satisfaction for about two hours, and then the Stranger
whispered Bailey that if he would step to such a tavern, he would give
part of a bottle and fowl. Thither, accordingly, he walked; his
companion came in soon after; to supper they went and parted about
twelve in high good humour, appointing to meet the next evening but one.
Bailey, the day after, was upon the Barnet Road, following his usual
occupation, when looking by chance over the hedge, he perceived the
person he parted with the night before, slop a chariot with two ladies
in it, and as soon as he had robbed them, ride down a cross lane.
Bailey, hereupon, after taking nine guineas from a nobleman's steward,
whom he met about a quarter of an hour after, returned to his lodgings
at a little blind brandy-shop in Piccadilly, resolving the next day to
make a proposal to his new acquaintance of joining their forces. With
this view he staid at home all day, and went very punctually in the
evening to the place of their appointment; but to his great
mortification the other never came, and Bailey, after waiting some
hours, went away.

As he was going home, he happened to step into an alehouse in Fore
Street, where recollecting that the house in which he had first seen
this person, was not far off, it came into his head that if he went
thither, he might possibly hear some news of him. Accordingly he goes to
the place, where he had hardly called for a mug of drink and a pipe of
tobacco, but the woman saluted him with, _O lack, sir! Don't you
remember a gentleman in red you spoke to here the other day? Yes_,
replied Bailey, _does he live hereabouts? I don't know, says the woman,
where he lives, but he was brought to a surgeon's hard by, about three
hours ago, terribly wounded. My husband is just going to see him._

Though Bailey could not but perceive that there might be danger in his
going thither, yet his curiosity was so strong that he could not
forbear. As soon as he entered the room the wounded man, who was just
dressed, beckoned to him, and desired to speak with him. He went near
enough not to have anything overheard, when the man in a low voice, told
him that he was mortally wounded in riding off after robbing a
gentleman's coach, and advised him to be cautious of himself, _For_,
says the dying man, _I knew you to be a brother of the road as soon as I
saw you; and if ever you trust any man with that secret, you may even
prepare yourself for the hands of justice._ In half an hour he fell into
fainting fits, and then became speechless, and died in the evening, to
the no little concern of his new acquaintance Bailey.

Some months after this, Frank was apprehended for breaking open a house
in Piccadilly and stealing pewter, table-linen, and other household
stuff to a very considerable value. He was convicted at the ensuing
sessions at the Old Bailey for this crime, upon the oath of a woman who
had no very good character; though he acknowledged abundance of crimes
of which there was no proof against him, yet he absolutely denied that
for which he was condemned, and persisted in that denial to his death,
notwithstanding that the Ordinary and other ministers represented to him
how great a folly, as well as sin, it was for him to go out of the world
with a lie in his mouth. He said, indeed, he had been guilty of a
multitude of heinous sins and offences for which God did with great
justice bring him unto that ignominious end. Yet he persisted in his
declaration of innocence as to housebreaking, in which he affirmed he
had never been at all concerned; and with the strongest asservations to
this purpose, he suffered death at Tyburn, the fourteenth of March,
1725, being then about thirty-nine years old, in company with Jones,
Barton, Gates and Swift, of whose behaviour under sentence we shall have
occasion to speak by and by.




The Life of JOHN BARTON, a Robber, Highwayman and Housebreaker