Education is often thought a trouble by persons in their junior years,
who heartily repent of their neglect of it in the more advanced seasons
of their lives. This person, John Barton, who is to be the subject of
our discourse, was born at London, of parents capable enough of
affording him tolerable education, which they were also willing to
bestow upon him, if he had been just enough to have applied himself
while at school. But he, instead of that, raked about with boys of his
own age, without the least consideration of the expense his parents were
at, idled away his time, and forgot what little he learned almost as
soon as he had acquired it.

It is a long time before parents perceive that in their children which
is evident to everyone else; however, Barton's father soon saw no good
was to be done with him at school; upon which he took him away, and
placed him apprentice with a butcher. There he continued for some time,
behaving to the well-liking of his master; yet even then he was so much
out of humour with work that he associated himself with some idle young
fellows who afterwards drew him into those illegal acts which proved
fatal to his reputation and his life. However, he did make a shift to
pass through the time of his apprenticeship with a tolerable character,
and was afterwards, through the kindness of his friends, set up as a
butcher; in which business he succeeded so well as to acquire money
enough thereby to have kept his family very well, if he could have been
contented with the fruits of his honest labour. But his old companions,
who by this time were become perfectly versed in those felonious arts by
which money is seemingly so easy to be attained, were continually
soliciting him to take their method of life, assuring him that there was
not half so much danger as was generally apprehended, and that if he had
but resolution enough to behave gallantly, he need not fear any
adventure whatsoever.

Barton was a fellow rather of too much than too little courage. He
wanted no encouragements of this sort to egg him to such proceedings;
the hopes of living idly and in the enjoyment of such lewd pleasures as
he had addicted himself to, were sufficient to carry him into an affair
of this sort. He therefore soon yielded to their suggestions, and went
into such measures as they had before followed, especially
housebreaking, which was the particular branch of villainy to which he
had addicted himself. At this he became a very dextrous fellow, and
thereby much in favour with his wicked associates, amongst whom to be
impious argues a great spirit, and to be ingenious in mischief is the
highest character to which persons in their miserable state can ever
attain.

Amongst the rest of Barton's acquaintance there was one Yorkshire Bob,
who was reckoned the most adroit housebreaker in town. This fellow one
day invited Barton to his house, which at that time was not far from Red
Lion Fields, and proposed to him two or three schemes by which some
houses in the neighbourhood might be broke open. Barton thought all the
attempts too hazardous to be made, but Bob, to convince him of the
possibility with which such things might be done, undertook to rob
without assistance a widow lady's house of some plate, which stood in
the butler's room at noon-day.

Accordingly thither he went dressed in the habit of a footman belonging
to a family which were well acquainted there; the servants conversed
with him very freely, as my Lady Such-a-one's new man, while he
entertained them with abundance of merry stories, until dinner was upon
the table. Then taking advantage of that clutter in which they were, he
slily lighted a fire-ball at the fire-side, clapped it into a closet on
the side of the stairs in which the foul clothes were kept, and then
perceiving the smoke, cried out with the utmost vehemence, _Fire, fire._
This naturally drew everybody downstairs, and created such a confusion
that he found little or no difficulty in laying hold of the silver plate
which he aimed at. He carried it away publicly, while the smoke
confounded all the spectators, and until the next morning nobody had the
least suspicion of him; but upon sending to the lady for the plate which
her new servant carried away the night before, and she denying that she
had any servant in the house that had not lived with her a twelvemonth,
they then discovered the cheat, though at a time too late to mend it.

Barton, however, did not like his master's method entirely, choosing
rather to strike out a new one of his own, which he fancied might as
little mischief him as that audacious impudence of the other did in his
several adventures. For which reason, he was very cautious of
associating with this fellow who was very dextrous in his art, but was
more ready in undertaking dangerous exploits than any of the crew at
that time about town. John's way was by a certain nack of shifting the
shutters, whereby he opened a speedy entrance for himself; and as he
knew in how great danger his life was from each of these attempts, so he
never made them but upon shops or houses where so large a booty might be
expected as might prevent his being under necessity of thieving again in
a week or two's time. Yet when he had in this manner got money, he was
so ready to throw it away on women and at play, that in a short space
his pocket was at as low an ebb as ever. When his cash was quite gone,
he associated himself sometimes with a crew of footpads, and in that
method got sufficient plunder to subsist until something offered in his
own way, to which he would willingly have kept.

At last, hearing of a goldsmith's not far from where he lodged, who had
a very considerable stock of fine snuff-boxes, gold chains, rings, etc.,
he fancied he had now an opportunity of getting provision for his
extravagancies for at least a twelvemonth. The thoughts of this
encouraged him so far that he immediately went about it, and succeeded
to his wish, obtaining two gold chains, five gold necklaces, seventy-two
silver spoons, and a numberless cargo of little things of value.

Yet this did not satisfy him. He ventured a few days afterwards having a
proper opportunity, on the house and shop of one Mrs. Higgs, from whence
he took an hundred pair of stockings, and other things to a large value.
But as is common with such persons, his imprudence betrayed him in the
disposing of them, and by the diligence of a constable employed for that
purpose, he was caught and committed to Newgate. At the next sessions he
was convicted for these facts, and as he had no friends, so it was not
in any degree probable that he should escape execution; and therefore it
is highly possible he might be the projector of that resistance which he
and the rest under sentence with him made in the condemned hold, and
which we shall give an exact account under the next life.

The peculiar humour of Barton was to appear equally gay and cheerful,
though in these sad circumstances, as he had ever done in the most
dissolute part of his foregoing life. In consequence of which foolish
notion he smiled on a person's telling him his name was included in the
death-warrant, and at chapel behaved in a manner very unbecoming one who
was so soon to answer at the Bar of the Almighty for a life led in open
defiance both of the laws of God and man. Yet that surprise which people
naturally express at behaviour of such a kind on such an occasion seemed
in the eyes of this poor wretch so high a testimony in favour of his
gallantry, that he could not be prevailed on, either by the advice of
the ministers, or the entreaties of his relations, to abate anything of
that levity which he put on when he attended at Divine Service. Though
he saw it disturbed some of his fellow sufferers at first, who were
inclined to apply themselves strictly to their duties, so fatal is evil
communication, even in the latest moments of our life, that his
ludicrous carriage corrupted the rest, and instead of reproving him as
they had formerly done, they now seemed careful only of imitating his
example; and in this disposition he continued, even to the last minute
of his life, which ended at Tyburn, on the 14th of March, 1725, he being
then hardly twenty-three years of age.




The Life of WILLIAM SWIFT, a Thief, etc.


Amongst the multitude of other reasons which ought to incline men to an
honest life, there is one very strong motive which hitherto has not, I
think, been touched upon at all, and that is the danger a man runs from
being known to be of ill-life and fame, of having himself accused from
his character, only of crimes which he, though guiltless of, in such a
case might find it difficult to get his innocence either proved or
credited if any unlucky circumstance should give the least weight to the
accusation.

The criminal whose life exercises our present care was a fellow of this
case. He was born of but mean parents, had little or no education, and
when he grew strong enough to labour, would apply himself to no way of
getting his bread but by driving a wheelbarrow with fruit about the
streets. This led him to the knowledge of abundance of wicked,
disorderly people, whose manners agreeing best with his own, he spent
most of his time in sotting with them at their haunts, when by bawling
about the streets, he had got just as much as would suffice to sot with.
There is no doubt, but that he now and then shared with them in what
amongst such folks, at least, pass for trivial offences, but that he
engaged in the great exploits of the road did not appear to any other
case than that for which he died, viz., taking four table cloths, eight
napkins, two shirts and other things, from Mary Cassell. The woman swore
positively to him upon his trial, and his course of life being such as I
have represented it, nobody appeared to his reputation so as to bring
the thing in to the least suspense with the jury; whereupon he was
convicted and received sentence of death.

The concern Swift was under when he found not the least hopes of life
remaining, he having no friends who were capable (had they been willing)
to have solicited a pardon or reprieve, shocked him so much that he
scarce appeared to have his senses; however, he persisted obstinately in
denying that he had the least hand in the robbery which was sworn
against him. And as he made no scruple of acknowledging a multitude of
other crimes, his denial of this gained some belief, more especially
when Barton confessed that himself with two or three others were the
persons who committed the robbery on the woman who swore against this
criminal. It must be acknowledged that there was no appearance of any
sinister motive, at least in Barton, to take upon himself a crime of
which otherwise he would never have been accused; and the behaviour of
Swift was at first of such a nature that it is not easy to conceive why,
when all hopes of safety were lost, and he was full of acknowledgment as
to the justice of his sentence for the many other evil deeds he had
done, he should yet obdurately persist in denying this, if there had
been no truth at all in his allegations.

As this fellow had neither natural courage, nor had acquired any
religious principles from his education, there is no wonder to be made
that he behaved himself so poorly in the last moments of his life; in
which terror, confusion, and self-condemnation wrought so strongly as to
make the ignominy of the halter the least dreadful part of his
execution.

[Illustration: A CONDEMNED MAN DRAWN ON A SLEDGE TO TYBURN

(_From the Newgate Calendar_)]

The day on which the three last-mentioned persons, together with Yates
or Gates, _alias_ Vulcan, a deer-stealer, and Benjamin Jones (for house
breaking) were to have been executed, these miserable persons framed to
themselves the most absurd project of preserving their lives that could
possibly have entered into the heads of men; for getting, by some means
or other, an iron crow into the hold, they therewith dug out a
prodigious quantity of rubbish and some stones, which it is hardly
credible could have been removed with so small assistance as they had.
With these they blocked up the door of the condemned hold so effectually
that there was no possibility of getting it open by any force whatsoever
on the outside. The keepers endeavoured to make them sensible of the
folly of their undertaking, in hopes they would thereby be induced to
prevent any firing upon them; which was all that those who had the
custody of them were now capable of doing, to bring them to submission.
The Ordinary also joined in dissuading them from thus misspending the
last moments of their lives, which were through the mercy of the Law
extended to them for a better purpose. But they were inexorable, and as
they knew their surrender would bring them immediately to a shameful
death, so they declared positively they were determined to kill or to be
killed in the position in which they were.

Sir Jeremiah Murden, one of the sheriffs for the time being, was so good
as to go down upon this occasion to Newgate. The keepers had opened a
sort of trap-door in the room over the hold, and from thence discharged
several pistols loaded with small shot, but to no purpose, the criminals
retiring to the farther end of the room, continuing there safe and out
of reach; though Barton and Yates received each of them a slight wound
in crowding backwards. Sir Jeremy went himself to this place, and talked
to them for a considerable space, and one of the fellows insisting to
see his gold chain, that they might be sure they were treating with the
sheriffs themselves, his condescension was so great as to put down part
of it through the hole, upon which they consulted together, and at last
agreed to surrender. Whereupon they began immediately to remove the
stones, and as soon as the door was at liberty, one of the keepers
entered. Just as he was within it, Barton snapped a steel tobacco-box in
his face, the noise of which resembling a pistol, made him start back,
upon which Barton said, _D----n you, you was afraid._

When they were brought out, Sir Jeremy ordered the Ordinary to be sent
for, and prayers to be said in the chapel, where he attended himself.
But whether the hurry of this affair, or that stench which is natural to
so filthy a place as the condemned hold, affected the sheriff's
constitution, is hard to say, but upon his return home, he was seized
with a violent fever, which in a very short space took away his life.

But to return to Swift. When they came to Tyburn, and the minister had
performed his last office towards them, this criminal made a shift in a
faint tone to cry out, _Good People, I die as innocent of the crime for
which I suffer, as the child unborn_; which Barton, with a loud voice,
confirmed saying, _I am the man who robbed the person for which this man
dies; he was not concerned with me, but one Capell and another were
companions with me therein._ Swift, at the time of his execution, was
about twenty-seven years of age, or a little over.




The lives of EDWARD BURNWORTH, _alias_ FRAZIER, WILLIAM BLEWIT, THOMAS
BERRY, EMANUEL DICKENSON, WILLIAM MARJORAM, JOHN HIGGS, etc., Robbers,
Footpads, Housebreakers and Murderers


As society intends the preservation of every man's person and property
from the injuries which might be offered unto him from others, so those
who in contempt of its laws go on to injure the one, and either by force
or fraud to take away the other are, in the greatest proprieties of
speech, enemies of mankind; and as such are reasonably rooted out, and
destroyed by every government under heaven. In some parts of Europe,
certain outlaws, _Banditti_, or whatever other appellation you'll please
to bestow on them, have endeavoured to preserve themselves by force from
the punishments which should have been executed upon them by justice,
and finding mankind, from a spirit of self preservation, were become
their enemies, they exerted themselves the utmost they were capable of
in order to render their bodies so formidable as still to carry on their
ravages with impunity, and in open defiance of the laws made against
them. But an attempt of this sort was scarce ever heard of in Britain,
even in the most early times, when, as in all other governments the
hands of the Law wanted strength most; so that from the days of Robin
Hood and Little John to those of the criminals of whom we are now
writing, there was never any scheme formed for an open resistance of
Justice, and carrying on a direct war against the lives and properties
of mankind.

Edward Burnworth, _alias_ Frazier, was the extraordinary person who
framed this project for bringing rapine into method, and bounding even
the practice of licentiousness with some kind of order. It may seem
reasonable therefore, to begin his life preferable to the rest, and in
so doing we must inform our readers that his father was by trade a
painter, though so low in his circumstances as to be able to afford his
son but a very mean education. However, he gave him as much as would
have been sufficient for him in that trade to which he bound him
apprentice, viz., to a buckle-maker in Grub Street, where for some time
Edward lived honestly and much in favour with his master. But his father
dying and his unhappy mother being reduced thereby into very narrow
circumstances, restraint grew uneasy to him, and the weight of a
parent's authority being now lost with him, he began to associate
himself with those loose incorrigible vagrants, who frequent the ring at
Moorfields, and from idleness and debauchery, go on in a very swift
progression to robbery and picking of pockets.

Edward was a young fellow, active in his person and enterprising in his
genius; he soon distinguished himself in cudgel playing, and such other
Moorfields exercises as qualify a man first for the road and then for
the gallows. The mob who frequented this place, where one Frazier kept
the ring, were so highly pleased with Burnworth's performances that they
thought nothing could express their applause so much as conferring on
him the title of Young Frazier. This agreeing with the ferocity of his
disposition, made him so vain thereof, that, quitting his own name, he
chose to go by this, and accordingly was so called by all his
companions.

Burnworth's grand associates were these, William Blewit, Emanuel
Dickenson, Thomas Berry, John Levee, William Marjoram, John Higgs, John
Wilson, John Mason, Thomas Mekins, William Gillingham, John Barton,
William Swift, and some others that it is not material here to mention.
At first he and his associates contented themselves with picking
pockets, and such other exercises in the lowest class of thieving, in
which however they went on very assiduously for a considerable space,
and did more mischief that way than any gang which had been before them
for twenty years. They rose afterwards to exploits of a more hazardous
nature, viz., snatching women's pockets, swords, hats, etc.

The usual places for their carrying on such infamous practices were
about the Royal Exchange, Cheapside, St. Paul's Churchyard, Fleet
Street, the Strand and Charing Cross. Here they stuck a good while, nor
is it probable they would ever have risen higher if Burnworth, their
captain, had not been detected in an affair of this kind, and committed
thereupon to Bridewell, from whence, on some apprehension of the
keepers, he was removed to New Prison, where he had not continued long
before he projected an escape, which he afterwards put into execution.

During this imprisonment, instead of reflecting on the sorrows which his
evil course of life had brought upon him, he meditated only how to
engage his companions in attempts of a higher nature than they had
hitherto been concerned in; and remembering how large a circle he had of
wicked associates, he began to entertain notions of putting them in such
a posture as might prevent their falling easily into the hands of
justice, which many of them within a month or two last past had
done--though as they were sent thither on trivial offences, they quickly
got discharged again.

Full of such projects, and having once more regained his freedom, he
took much pains to find out Barton, Marjoram, Berry, Blewit and
Dickenson, in whose company he remained continually, never venturing
abroad in the day-time unless with his associates in the fields, where
they walked with strange boldness, considering warrants were out against
the greatest part of the gang. In the night time Burnworth strolled
about in such little bawdy-houses as he had formerly frequented, and
where he yet fancied he might be safe.

One evening having wandered from the rest, he was so bold as to go to a
house in the Old Bailey, where he heard the servants and successors of
the famous Jonathan Wild were in close pursuit of him, and that one of
them was in the inner room by himself. Burnworth loaded his pistol under
the table, and having primed it, goes with it ready cocked into the room
where Jonathan's foreman was, with a quartern of brandy and a glass
before him. _Hark ye_, says Edward, _you fellow, who have served your
time to a thief-taker; what business might you have with me or my
company? Do you think to gain a hundred or two by swearing our lives
away? If you do you are much mistaken; but that I may be some judge of
your talent that way, I must hear you curse a little, on a very
particular occasion._ Upon which, filling a large glass of brandy, and
putting a little gunpowder into it, he clapped it into the fellow's
hands, and then presenting his pistol to his breast, obliged him to wish
most horrid mischiefs upon himself, if ever he attempted to follow him
or his companions any more. No sooner had he done this, but Frazier
knocking him down, quitted the room, and went to acquaint his companions
with his notable adventure, which, as it undoubtedly frightened the new
thief-taker, so it highly exalted his reputation for undaunted bravery
amongst the rest of the gang, a thing not only agreeable to Burnworth's
vanity, but useful also to his design, which was to advance himself to a
sort of absolute authority amongst them from whence he might be capable
of making them subservient to him in such enterprises as he designed.
His associates were not cunning enough to penetrate his views, but
without knowing it suffered them to take effect; so that instead of
robbing as they used to do (as accident directed them, or they received
intelligence of any booty) they now submitted themselves to his
guidance, and did nothing but as he directed or commanded them.

The morning before the murder of Thomas Ball, Burnworth, and Barton,
whom we have before mentioned, pitched upon the house of an old Justice
of the Peace of Clerkenwell, to whom they had a particular pique for
having formerly committed Burnworth, and proposed it to their companions
to break it open that night, or rather the next morning (for it was
about one of the clock). They put their design in execution and executed
it successfully, carrying off some things of real value, and a
considerable parcel of what they took to be silver plate. With this they
went into the fields above Islington, and from thence to Copenhagen
House, where they spent the greatest part of the day. On parting the
booty Burnworth perceived what they had taken for silver was nothing
more than a gilt metal, at which he in a rage would have thrown it away;
Barton opposed it, and said they should be able to sell it for
something, to which Burnworth replied that it was good for nothing but
to discover them, and therefore it should not be preserved at any rate.
Upon this they differed, and while they were debating, came Blewit,
Berry, Dickenson, Higgs, Wilson, Levee, and Marjoram, who joined the
company. Burnworth and Barton agreed to toss up at whose disposal the
silver ware should be, they did so, and it fell to Burnworth to dispose
of it as he thought fit, upon which he carried it immediately to the New
River side, and threw it in there, adding that he was sorry he had not
the old Justice himself there, to share the same fate, being really as
much out of humour at the thing as if the Justice had imposed upon them
in a fair sale of the commodity, so easy a thing is it for men to impose
upon themselves.

As it happened they were all present pretty full of money, and so under
no necessity of going upon any enterprise directly, wherefore they
loitered up and down the fields until towards evening, when they thought
they might venture unto town, and pass the time in their usual pleasures
of drinking, gaming, and whoring. While they were thus (as the French
say) murdering of time, a comrade of theirs came up puffing and blowing
as if ready to break his heart. As soon as he reached them, _Lads_,
says he, _beware of one thing; the constables have been all about Chick
Lane in search of folk of our profession, and if ye venture to the house
where we were to have met to-night, 'tis ten to one but we are all
taken._

This intelligence occasioned a deep consultation amongst them, what
method they had best take, in order to avoid the danger which threatened
them so nearly. Burnworth took this occasion to exhort them to keep
together, telling them that as they were armed with three or four
pistols apiece, and short daggers under their clothes, a small force
would not venture to attack them. This was approved by all the rest, and
when they had passed the afternoon in this manner, and had made a solemn
oath to stand by one another in case of danger, they resolved, as night
grew on, to draw towards town, Barton having at the beginning of these
consultations, quitted them and gone home.

As they came through Turnmill Street, they accidentally met the keeper
of New Prison, from whom Burnworth had escaped about six weeks before.
He desired Edward to step across the way with him, adding that he saw he
had no arms, and that he did not intend to do him any prejudice.
Burnworth replied that he was no way in fear of him, nor apprehensive of
any injury he was able to do him, and so concealing a pistol in his
hand, he stepped over to him, his companions waiting for him in the
street. But the neighbours having some suspicion of them, and of the
methods they followed to get money, began to gather about them; upon
which they called to their companion to come away, which he, after
making a low bow to the captain of New Prison, did. Finding the people
increase they thought it their most advisable method to retire back in a
body into the fields. This they did keeping very close together; and in
order to deter the people from making any attempts, turned several times
and presented their pistols in their faces, swearing they would murder
the first man who came near enough for them to touch him. And the people
being terrified to see such a gang of obdurate villains, dispersed as
they drew near the fields, and left them at liberty to go whither they
would.

As soon as they had dispersed their pursuers, they entered into a fresh
consultation as to what manner they would dispose of themselves.
Burnworth heard what every one proposed, and said at last, that he
thought the best thing they could do was to enter with as much privacy
as they could, the other quarter of the town, and so go directly to the
waterside. They approved his proposal, and accordingly getting down to
Blackfriars, crossed directly into Southwark; and retired at last into
St. George's Fields, where their last counsel was held to settle the
operation of the night. There Burnworth exerted himself in his proper
colours, informing them that there was no less danger of their being
apprehended there, than about Chick Lane; for that one Thomas Ball (who
kept a gin-shop in the Mint, and who was very well acquainted with most
of their persons) had taken it into his head to venture upon Jonathan
Wild's employment, and was for all that purpose indefatigable in
searching out all their haunts, that he might get a good penny to
himself apprehending them. He added that but a few nights ago, he
narrowly missed being caught by him, being obliged to clap a pistol to
his face, and threatened to shoot him dead if he offered to lay his
hands on him. _Therefore_, continued Burnworth, _the surest way for us
to procure safety, is to go to this rogue's house, and shoot him dead
upon the spot. His death will not only secure us from all fears of his
treachery, but it will likewise so terrify others that nobody will take
up the trade of thief-catching in haste; and if it were not for such
people who are acquainted with us and our houses of resort there would
hardly one of our profession in a hundred see the inside of Newgate._

Burnworth had scarce made an end of his bloody proposal, before they all
testified their assent to it with great alacrity, Higgs only excepted;
who seeming to disapprove thereof, it put the rest into such a passion
that they upbraided him in the most opprobious terms with being a coward
and a scoundrel, unworthy of being any longer the companion of such
brave fellows as themselves. When Frazier had sworn them all to stick
fast by one another, he put himself at their head, and away they went
directly to put their designed assassination into execution. Higgs
retreated under favour of the night, being apprehensive of himself when
their hands were in, since he, not being quite so wicked as the rest,
might share the fate of Ball upon the first dislike to him that took
them.

As for Burnworth and his party, when they came to Ball's house and
enquired of his wife for him, they were informed that he was gone to the
next door, a public house, and that she would step and call him, and
went accordingly. Burnworth immediately followed her and meeting Ball at
the door, took him fast by the collar, and dragged him into his own
house, and began to expostulate with him as to the reason why he had
attempted to take him, and how ungenerous it was for him to seek to
betray his old friends and acquaintances. Ball, apprehending their
mischievous intentions, addressed himself to Blewit, and begged of him
to be an intercessor for him, and that they would not murder him; but
Burnworth with an oath replied, he would put it out of the power of Ball
ever to do him any further injury, that he should never get a penny by
betraying him, and thereupon immediately shot him.

Having thus done, they all went out of doors again, and that the
neighbourhood might suppose the firing of the pistol to have been done
without any ill-intention, and only to discharge the same, Blewitt fired
another in the street over the tops of the houses, saying aloud, they
were got safe into town and there was no danger of meeting any rogues
there. Ball attempted to get as far as the door, but in vain, for he
dropped immediately, and died in a few minutes afterwards.

Having this executed their barbarous design, they went down from Ball's
house directly towards the Falcon,[73] intending to cross the water back
again. By the way they accidentally met with Higgs, who was making to
the waterside likewise. Him they fell upon and rated for a pusilanimous
cowardly dog (as Burnworth called him) that would desert them in an
affair of such consequence, and then questioned whether Higgs himself
would not betray them. Burnworth proposed it to the company to shoot
their old comrade Higgs, because he had deserted them in their late
expedition; which it is believed, in the humour Burnworth was then in,
he would have done, had not Marjoram interposed and pleaded for sparing
his life. From the Falcon stairs they crossed the water to Trig
Stairs[74]; and then consulting how to spend the evening, they resolved
to go to the Boar's Head Tavern, in Smithfield, as not being at a
distance from the waterside, in case any pursuit should be made after
them, on account of the murder by them committed. At which place they
continued until near ten of the clock, when they separated themselves
into parties for that night, viz., one party towards the Royal Exchange,
the second to St. Paul's Churchyard, the third to Temple Bar, in pursuit
of their old trade of diving.

This murder made them more cautious of appearing in public, and Blewit,
Berry and Dickenson soon after set out for Harwich, and went over in a
packet boat from thence for Helveot-Sluys. Higgs also being daily in
fear of a discovery, shipped himself on board the _Monmouth_ man-of-war,
at Spithead, where he thought himself safe, and began to be a little at
ease; but Justice quickly overtook him, when he thought himself safest
from its blow; for his brother who lived in town, having wrote a letter
to him, and given it to a ship's mate of his to carry to him at
Spithead, this man accidentally fell into company with one Arthur, a
watchman belonging to St. Sepulchre's Parish, and pulling the letters by
chance out of his pocket, the watchman saw the direction, and
recollected that Higgs was a companion of Frazier's. Upon this he sent
word to Mr. Delasay, Under-Secretary of State, and being examined as to
the circumstances of the thing, proper persons were immediately
dispatched to Spithead, who seized and brought him up in custody.
Wilson, another of the confederates, withdrew about the same time, and
had so much cunning as to preserve himself from being heard of for a
considerable time.

Burnworth, in the meanwhile, with some companions of his, continued to
carry on their rapacious plunderings in almost all parts of the town;
and as they kept pretty well united, and were resolute fellows, they did
a vast deal of mischief, and yet were too strong to be apprehended.
Amongst the rest of their pranks they were so audacious as to stop the
Earl of Scarborough, in Piccadilly, but the chairmen having courage
enough to draw their poles and knock one of the robbers down, the earl
at the same time coming out of the chair, and putting himself upon his
defence, after a smart dispute in which Burnworth shot one of the
chairmen in the shoulder and thereby prevented any pursuit, they raised
their wounded companion and withdrew in great confusion.

About this time their robberies and villainies having made so much noise
as to deserve the notice of the Government, a proclamation was published
for the apprehending Burnworth, Blewit, etc., it being justly supposed
that none but those who were guilty of these outrages could be the
persons concerned in the cruel murder of Ball. A gentleman who by
accident had brought one of these papers, came into the alehouse at
Whitecross Street, and read it publicly. The discourse of the company
turning thereupon, and the impossibility of the persons concerned making
their escape, and the likelihood there was that they would immediately
impeach one another. Marjoram, one of the gang, was there, though known
to nobody in the room; weighing the thing with himself, he retired
immediately from the house into the fields, where loitering about till
evening came on, he then stole with the utmost caution into Smithfield,
and going to a constable there, surrendered himself in a way of
obtaining a pardon, and the reward promised by the proclamation.

That night he was confined in the Wood Street Compter, his Lordship not
being at leisure to examine him. The next day, as he was going to his
examination, the noise of his surrender being already spread all over
the town, many of his companions changed their lodgings and provided for
their safety; but Barton thought of another method of securing himself
from Marjoram's impeachment, and therefore planting himself in the way
as Marjoram was carrying to Goldsmiths' Hall, he popped out upon him at
once, though the constable had him by the arm, and presenting a pistol
to him, said, _D----n ye, I'll kill you._ Marjoram, at the sound of his
voice, ducked his head, and he immediately firing, the ball grazed only
on his back, without doing him any hurt. The surprise with which all who
were assisting the constable in the execution of his office were all
struck upon this occasion gave an opportunity for Barton to retire,
after his committing such an insult on public justice, as perhaps was
never heard of. However, Marjoram proceeded to his examination, and made
a very full discovery of all the transactions in which he had been
concerned. Levee being taken that night by his directions in White Cross
Street, and after examination committed to Newgate.

Burnworth was now perfectly deprived of his old associates, yet he went
on at his old rate, even by himself; for a few nights after, he broke
open the shop and house of Mr. Beezely, a great distiller near Clare
Market, and took away from thence notes to a great value, with a
quantity of plate, which mistaking for white metal he threw away. One
Benjamin Jones picked it up and was thereupon hanged, being one of the
number under sentence when the Condemned Hold was shut up, and the
criminals refused to submit to the keepers. Burnworth was particularly
described in the proclamation, and three hundred pounds offered to any
who would apprehend him; yet so audacious was he as to come directly to
a house in Holborn, where he was known, and laying a loaded pistol down
on the table, called for a pint of beer, which he drank and paid for,
defying anybody to touch him, though they knew him to be the person
mentioned in the proclamation. It would be needless to particularise any
other bravadoes of his, which were so numerous that it gave no little
uneasiness to the magistrates, who perceived the evil consequences that
would show if such things should become frequent; they therefore doubled
their diligence in endeavouring to apprehend him, yet all their attempts
were to little purpose, and it is possible he might have gone on much
longer if he had not betrayed the natural consequence of one rogue's
trusting another.

It happened at this time, that one Christopher Leonard was in prison for
some such feats as Burnworth had been guilty of, who lodged at the same
time with the wife and sister of the fellow. Kit Leonard, knowing in
what state he himself was, and supposing nothing could so effectually
recommend to him the mercy and favour of the Government as the procuring
Frazier to be apprehended, who had so long defied all the measures they
had taken for that purpose, he accordingly made the proposal by his
wife to persons in authority. And the project being approved they
appointed a sufficient force to assist in seizing him, who were placed
at an adjoining alehouse, where Kate, the wife of Kit Leonard, was to
give them the signal.

About six of the clock in the evening of Shrove Tuesday, Kate Leonard
and her sister and Burnworth being all together (it not being late
enough for him to go out upon his nightly enterprises) Kate Leonard
proposed they should fry some pancakes for supper, which the other two
approved of, accordingly her sister set about them. Burnworth took off
his surtout coat, in the pocket of the lining whereof he had several
pistols. There was a little back door to the house, which Burnworth
usually kept upon the latch, in order to make his escape if he should be
surprised or discovered to be in that house. Unperceived by Burnworth,
and whilst her sister was frying the pancakes, Kate went to the alehouse
for a pot of drink, when having given the men who were there waiting for
him the signal, she returned, and closed the door after her, but
designedly missed the staple. The door being thus upon the jar only, as
she gave the drink to Burnworth, the six persons rushed into the room.
Burnworth hearing the noise and fearing the surprise, jumped up,
thinking to have made his escape at the back door, not knowing it to be
bolted; but they were upon him before he could get it open, and holding
his hands behind him, one of them tied them, whilst another, to
intimidate him, fired a pistol over his head. Having thus secured him,
they immediately carried him before a Justice of the Peace, who after a
long examination committed him to Newgate.

Notwithstanding his confinement in that place, he was still director of
such of his companions as remained at liberty, and communicating to them
the suspicions he had of Kate Leonard's betraying him, and the dangers
there were of her detecting some of the rest, they were easily induced
to treat her as they had done Ball. One of them fired a pistol at her,
just as she was entering her own house, but that missing, they made two
or three other attempts of the same nature, until the Justice of the
Peace placed a guard thereabouts, in order to secure her from being
killed, and if possible to seize those who should attempt it, after
which they heard no more of these sorts of attacks. In Newgate they
confined Burnworth to the Condemned Hold, and took what other necessary
precautions they thought proper in order to secure so dangerous a
person, and who they were well enough aware meditated nothing but how to
escape.

He was in this condition when the malefactors before-mentioned, viz.,
Barton, Swift, etc., were under sentence, and it was shrewdly suspected
that he put them upon that attempt of breaking out, of which we have
given an account before. There were two things which more immediately
contributed to the defeating their design; the one was, that though five
of them were to die the next day, yet four of them were so drunk that
they were not able to work; the other was that they were so negligent in
providing candles that two hours after they were locked up they were
forced to lie-by for want of light.

As we have already related the particulars of this story, we shall not
take up our reader's time in mentioning them again, but go on with the
story of Burnworth. Upon suspicion of his being the projector of that
enterprise the keepers removed him into the Bilbow Room, and there
loaded him with irons, leaving him by himself to lament the miseries of
his misspent life in the solitude of his wretched confinement; yet
nothing could break the wicked stubbornness of his temper, which, as it
had led him to those practices justly punished with so strait a
confinement, so it now urged him continually to force his way through
all opposition, and thereby regain his liberty, in order to practice
more villainies of the same sort, with those in which he had hitherto
spent his time.

It is impossible to say how, but by some method or other he had procured
saws, files, and other instruments for this purpose; with these he first
released himself from his irons, then broke through the wall of the room
in which he was lodged, and thereby got into the women's apartment, the
window of which was fortified with three tier of iron bars. Upon these
he went immediately to work, and in a little time forced one of them;
while he was filing the next, one of the women, to ingratiate herself
with the keepers, gave notice, whereupon they came immediately and
dragged him back to the Condemned Hold and there stapled him down to the
ground.

The course of our memoirs leads us now to say something of the rest of
his companions, who in a very short space came most of them to be
collected to share that punishment which the Law had so justly appointed
for their crimes. We will begin, then, with William Blewit, who, next to
Frazier, was the chief person in the gang. He was one of St. Giles's
breed, his father a porter, and his mother, at the time of his execution
selling greens in the same parish. They were both of them unable to give
their son education or otherwise provide for him, which occasioned his
being put out by the parish to a perfumer of gloves; but his temper from
his childhood inclining him to wicked practices, he soon got himself
into a gang of young pickpockets, with whom he practised several years
with impunity. But being at last apprehended in the very act, he was
committed to Newgate, and on plain proof convicted the next sessions,
and ordered for transportation. Being shipped on board the vessel with
other wretches in the same condition, he was quickly let into the secret
of their having provided for an escape by procuring saws, files, and
other implements, put up in a little barrel, which they pretended
contained gingerbread, and such other little presents which were given
them by relations. Blewitt immediately foresaw abundance of difficulties
in their design, and therefore resolved to make a sure use of it for his
own advantage. This he did by communicating all he knew to the captain,
who thereupon immediately seized their tools, and thereby prevented the
loss of his ship, which otherwise in all probability would have been
effected by the conspirators.

In return for this service, Blewit obtained his freedom, which did not
serve him for any better purpose than his return to London as soon as be
was able. Whether he went again upon his old practices before he was
apprehended, we cannot determine, but before he had continued two months
in town, somebody seized him, and committed him to Newgate. At the next
sessions he was tried and convicted for returning from transportation,
but pleading, when he received sentence of death, the service he had
done in preventing the attempt of the other malefactors, execution was
respited until the return of the captain, and on his report the sentence
was changed into a new transportation, and leave given him also to go to
what foreign port he would. But he no sooner regained his liberty than
he put it to the same use as before, and took up the trade of snatching
hats, wigs, etc., until he got into acquaintance with Burnworth and his
gang, who taught him other methods of robbing than he had hitherto
practised. Like most of the unhappy people of his sort, he had to his
other crimes added the marriage of several wives, of which the first was
reputed a very honest and modest woman, and it seems had so great a love
for him, notwithstanding the wickedness of his behaviour, that upon her
visiting him at Newgate, the day before they set out for Kingston, she
was oppressed with so violent a grief as to fall down dead in the lodge.
Another of his wives married Emanuel Dickenson and survived them both.

His meeting Burnworth that afternoon before Ball's murder was
accidental, but the savageness of his temper led him to a quick