people, but finding himself too weak, he referred to a paper which he
delivered to Mr. Applebee, a printer, and which contained the substance
of what (if he had been able) he would have there spoken; and then,
after a few private ejaculations, he easily resigned up his breath at
the same time with the other malefactor, being then in the
one-and-twentieth year of his age. I thought proper to insert the copy
of that letter I have before spoken of, and it follows verbatim.

Good people,

I am to suffer by Law an ignominious death (God's will be done)
which untimely end I never expected. I am a youth and it's above
twelve months since I enlisted into his Majesty's Service. The
character of my behaviour in that time I will leave to my
acquaintance to declare; my character was sufficiently testified at
my trial, by gentlemen of worth and honour. I pray God bless them
for their Christian charity. I praise God my resolution to live
uprightly was no constraint; as for the cause I suffer, and the
horrid imputation I am charged with which is rendered murder (from
my soul I abhor) I now declare as I expect salvation, I am unjustly
accused, but I freely forgive my persecutors, as I hope to be
forgiven; for what I did was accidental, and in my own vindication.
The real truth is as follows:

The two soldiers that were my evidence desired my company to drink
with them. As we were returning home through the Park, passing by
two women, and being warm with liquor, I presumed to give one of
them a kiss; the other was a married woman, and resenting my
freedom, called out to her husband, Edward Perry deceased, and to
Toms that walked before, both entire strangers to me. They returned,
Toms advanced towards me speaking abruptly, and struck me over the
head and shoulders with a stick, which stunned me; likewise he urged
the deceased to quarrel with me. The deceitful Perry enraged, swore
he would see me out, and struck me with his sword in his scabbard
over the head. He drew his sword and made several passes at me, I
still retreated till provoked to draw my sword to preserve myself.
This affair was in the night. I received a wound in my right hand
thumb, and a thrust through my coat. This I declare to be the whole
truth, as I shall answer before my great God; though my persecutors,
Toms and the deceased man's wife, swore quite the reverse, which
took place to my ruin. I pray God forgive them their trespasses, as
I hope forgiveness for my own. I pray God bless my good colonel for
his care and endeavours for my safety; I pray God bless him with
length of days and prosperity in all his undertakings. I thank God,
I never wronged man, woman, or child, to my knowledge, nor was I
ever inclined to quarrel. I heartily beg of God pardon and
forgiveness for my sins, and I confide in the merits of my dear
Saviour, who died for the World. I was baptized and bred a member of
the Church of England (though an unworthy and unfortunate one) in
which Communion I hope for salvation through my blessed Redeemer.

Sunday, February the 12th, 1726.

Robert Haynes




The Lives of THOMAS TIMMS, THOMAS PERRY, and EDWARD BROWN, Footpads


This poor unhappy man, Thomas Timms, was the son of mean parents in the
country and as indifferently educated as he was born, so that his future
ill-deeds were capable of some little extenuation. With much to-do his
friends and parents raised money enough to put him out apprentice to a
chair-carver, with whom he lived easily and honestly during the space of
his apprenticeship, coming out of it with the character of an honest
religious young lad, which he maintained after he was set up and
married. He had probably continued to maintain it to the end of his life
if he had not fallen into unhappy circumstances, by being out of work.
This obliged him to come up to Town, where for a while he lived pretty
well upon his business; but at last it so far fell off that he was
obliged to list himself a soldier in the first regiment of Guards.
Notwithstanding this he worked still at his trade, as much as it was
possible for him to do, and to perform his duty; but misfortunes still
crowding upon him, he grew at first melancholy, and at last took to
drinking in the company of bad women, who soon drew him into thinking of
taking dishonest methods to obtain money for the support of their
debaucheries.

Amongst other of his acquaintance there was a woman who had formerly
lived with a very eminent lawyer in the City. It was said she had a
greater familiarity with her master than she ought to have had, from
whence she took the liberty to cheat him most egregiously, especially by
counterfeiting receipts from most of the tradesmen with whom her master
had any dealing, by which means she retained in her own hands the money
which she should have paid him. Some months after, however, the roguery
was discovered, and her master being newly married, he took this
opportunity to discharge her suddenly. However, he promised her, if she
went into any lodgings, and gave him notice, he would take care she
should not want, until she could get herself into some way of business
or other.

This gentleman had three clerks, all of good families and good fortunes.
The wench, after she was out of the house, first went into a
neighbourhood where the eldest of these clerks and his relations were
very well known. Here she took upon her to be his wife, and said that
they were privately married for fear of disobliging his relations. By
the help of this she got so far into credit that she took up near a
hundred and twenty pounds worth of things before the least apprehension
was had of her being a cheat; and then removing her lodgings, she fixed
herself in a first floor within a few doors of the guardian of her
master's second clerk. She gave it out there as she had done before,
that she was secretly married to this young gentleman; and on the credit
thereof she took up near a hundred pounds in silks and shifts. But just
as she was on the point of moving off and playing the same game with the
third, she was detected and committed to Bridewell. From thence she
found means of escape by wheedling one of the keeper's servants, and
afterwards took lodgings in the house where this Timms worked.

Whether she had any hand in persuading him to go out robbing or no, I
cannot take upon me to say, but soon after, he, with his companions,
Perry and Brown, on the 3rd of May, went out with a design to rob upon
Hounslow Heath. All that night they lay in the fields; the next morning
they met a poor old man, who telling them he had no money, they let him
go without misusing him. Not long after they stopped Samuel Sells
coming from Windsor, in his chair. He, it seems, kept a public-house
there. Him they commanded to deliver, whereupon he gave them three
half-crowns, but they toasting upon it that it was too little, he
thereupon gave them ten shillings more, which both he and his companions
averred was all that they took from him, though Sells at their trial,
swore to a much larger sum, and that one of them held a truncheon over
him, and threatened him with abundance of oaths in case he made any
resistance. All of them denied this part of the charge, even to death,
and said that though they had truncheons, yet they made no use of them,
but kept them either in their breasts or under their coats.

Thomas Perry, the second of these malefactors, was born of parents in
such wretched circumstances that when he was grown a good big lad, and
death suddenly snatched them away, he found himself destitute of money,
of business and even of clothes to cover him. He thereupon traveled up
to London, and put himself apprentice to a glass-grinder, with whom he
served his time very honestly and faithfully. Then he married and lived
by working very hard in a reputable manner for about a twelve month,
after which he listed in the first regiment of Foot Guards, in which he
served till the Peace of Utrecht and Flanders, after the conclusion of
which he returned to London in the same regiment, in which he continued
to serve till this misfortune overtook him. For the last year of his
life, he had, it seems, led a more loose and extravagant course than in
all his days before, contracting an acquaintance with several women of
the town, creatures who are the utter ruin of all such unhappy men,
especially of all unlettered unexperienced persons as fall into their
snares.

Some little time before he joined with Timms and his other companion in
this robbery, he had the misfortune of having his leg bit by a dog at
Windsor, where he was quartered. Having no friends, and but a small
allowance to subsist on, he fell under great miseries there, and on his
return to Town, those who had formerly employed him in glass-grinding,
taking distaste at his rude and wicked behaviour, refused to have
anything more to do with him. He readily gave way to the solicitations
of Timms, who, as he declared, first proposed their going upon the
highway, a crime which hitherto had not entered into Perry's head.
However, he yielded too readily thereto, and with the persons who had
shared in his crimes, came to share an ignominious and untimely death.

While under sentence, he applied himself with great seriousness and
attention both to the public devotions of the chapel and to what was
privately read to them in the place of their confinement, so that
though he was very illiterate, he was far from being obstinate, and
though he wanted the advantages of education, he was not deficient in
grace, so we may therefore hope he might obtain mercy.

Edward Brown, the last of these unfortunate criminals, drew his first
breath in the city of Oxford, and by the care of his parents, attained
to a tolerable degree of knowledge in the Christian faith, as also in
writing, reading and whatsoever was necessary in that station of life
which his parents designed for him. Being arrived at an age proper to be
put out an apprentice, they placed him with a glass-grinder, to whom he
served an apprenticeship faithfully, and to his good liking when out of
time. He worked hard as a journeyman, married a wife, and lived in
reputation and credit for some small space; but falling unluckily into
loose company, he gave himself up entirely to drinking, and running
after bad women, which soon ruined him in the country and obliged him to
come up to London for the sake of subsistance. How long he had been
there, or of what standing his acquaintance was with the other two
criminals, I cannot take upon me to say, only he in general was a fellow
of greater openness in his behaviour than any of the criminals before
mentioned. He said that they had all taken their cups pretty freely
together, and had spent every farthing that they had amongst them; it
was then resolved to go upon the highway for a supply, but he could not
say who was the proposer of the scheme; that he himself had a sword and
cane, and the rest truncheons, when they attacked Mr. Sells. He [Sells]
gave them at two several times, seventeen shillings, and when they
pressed for still more, said he had but eighteen pence about him, and
begged they would let him have that to come to town with, which he said
they agreed to, and did not offer him any ill-usage whatsoever.

At the same time these unhappy men were under sentence of death,
Alexander Jones, John Platt, Mary Reynolds, Silvia Sherlock and Anne
Senior were also condemned for several offences, and as is but too
common with persons in their condition, all of them entertained strong
notions of reprieves or pardons, so that when the death warrant came
down, and these three found themselves ordered for execution, they were
not a little surprised. But as they had much natural courage they made
even that surprise turn to their advantage, and applied themselves with
greater earnestness than ever to the duties necessary to be practised by
people in their sad state.

When the day of their execution came, they were carried in one cart to
Tyburn, and as they had been companions in that single action which had
brought all of them to death, so there was nobody to share in that
unhappy fate with them, nor were they disturbed with the sorrows of
other criminals, which often distract one another's devotions at Tyburn.
On the contrary, their behaviour was grave and decent, their public
devotions were closed with a Psalm, and with many demonstrations of
repentance they resigned their lives, on the 11th of August, 1727; Timms
being about twenty-eight years of age, Perry near forty, and Brown
somewhat less than twenty-four years old, at the time of their
execution.




The Life of ALICE GREEN, a Cheat, Thief and Housebreaker


Amongst these melancholy relations of misery and death, I fancy it is
some ease to my readers, as well as to myself, when the course of my
memoirs leads me to mention a story as full of incidents, and followed
by a less tragic end than the rest. This woman, whose life I am about to
relate, was the daughter of an under-officer to one of the colleges at
Oxford. As the doctrine of making up small salaries by taking up large
perquisites prevails there as well as elsewhere, Alice's father made a
shift to keep himself, his wife and five children in a handsome manner
out of £60 a year, and what he made besides of his place.

An affectation of gentility had infected the whole family, the old man
had a good voice and played tolerably well on the fiddle. This drew
abundance of the young smart fellows of the university to his house, and
that of course engaged his three daughters to take all the pains they
were able to make themselves agreeable. The mother had great hopes that
fine clothes and a jaunty air might marry her daughters to some
gentlemen of tolerable fortunes, and that one of them, at least, might
have a chance of catching a fellow commoner with a thousand or two _per
annum_, for which reason Miss Molly, Miss Jenny, and Miss Alice were all
bred to the dancing school, taught to sing prettily, and to touch the
spinet with an agreeable air. In short, the house was a mansion of
politeness, and except the two brothers, one of which was put out
apprentice to a carpenter, and the other to a shoemaker, there was not a
person to be seen in it who looked, spoke or acted as became them in
their proper station of life. But it is necessary that we should come to
a more particular description.

Old Peter, their father, was a man of mean birth, and of a sort of
accidental education. From his youth up he had lived in Oxford, and from
the time he was able to know anything, within the purlieus of a college,
from whence he had gleaned up a few Latin sentences, scraps of poetry,
and as the masterpiece of his improvements, had acquired a good knack of
punning. All these mighty qualifications were bent to keep a good house,
and drinking two or three quarts of strong ale, accompanied with a song,
and two or three hours' scraping at night. The mother, again, was the
last remnant of a decayed family, who charged its ruin on the Civil
Wars. She was exceedingly puffed up with the notions of her birth, and
the respect that was due to a person not sprung from the vulgar. Her
education had extended no farther than the knowledge of preserving,
pickling and making fricasees, a pretty exact knowledge in the several
kinds of points and a judgment not to be despised in the choice of lace,
silks and ribbons. She affected extravagance that she might not appear
mean, and troublesomely ceremonious that she might not seem to want good
manners. Clothes for herself and her daughters, a good quantity of china
and some other exuberances of a fancy almost turned mad with the love of
finery, made up the circle of what took up her thoughts, the daughters
participating in their parents' tempers. But what was wonderful indeed,
the sons were honest, sober, industrious young men.

In the midst of all this mirth and splendour, the father died, and left
them all totally without support other than their own industry could
procure for them, slender provision indeed! Miss Molly, the eldest, was
about twenty-two at the time of her father's death, and her sisters were
each of them younger than her, and Alice a year younger than Jenny, and
about eighteen. The mother was at her wits' end to know how to procure a
living for herself and them, but an old gentleman in one of the
colleges, to whom Peter had been very useful, and who therefore retained
a grateful sense of his service, was so kind as to give fifty pounds
towards putting out the daughters, and took care to see the youngest
Alice placed with a mantua-maker in London. Molly fell into a
consumption, as was generally said, for the love of a young gentleman
who used to spend his evenings at her father's, and who marrying a young
lady of suitable birth and fortune to himself, was retired into
Shropshire. Jenny ran away with a servitor, and was lost to her mother
and her friends; so that Alice had it in her power to be tolerably
provided for, if she had inclined to have lived virtuously, and not to
have frustrated the offers of a good fortune. But she was wild and silly
from her cradle, born without capacity to do good to herself, and
indued only with such cunning as served her to ruin others.

The first intrigue she had after her coming up to London was with a
young fellow who was clerk to a Justice of the Peace in the
neighbourhood. Before be saw Alice he had been a careful, industrious
young man, and through his master's kindness had picked up some money;
but from the time that his master had a suit of clothes made up with
Alice's mistress, and which occasioned her first coming about the house,
poor Mr. Philip became the victim of her charms, and moped up and down
like a hen that had lost her chickens. It was not long before the
Justice's daughters found out his passion, and having communicated their
discovery to the maids, exposed him to be the laughing stock of the
whole house. Never was a poor young fellow so pestered! One asked him
whether he liked the wife with three trades? Another was enquiring
whether he had cast up the amount of remnants of silk, shreds of lace,
and the savings that might be made out of linings, facings, and robings?
The Justice took notice that Philip had left off reading the news, and
the old lady wondered whether he had forgotten playing upon the organ in
her husband's study. But all this served rather to increase than to
abate his passion, so that he neglected no opportunity of meeting and
paying his addresses to his mistress.

Alice was no less careful on her side, and in a short space it was
agreed that she should run away from her mistress, of whom she was grown
heartily weary, and that Philip should counterfeit most excessive grief
at his loss, in order to prevent the least suspicion of his being privy
thereto. Having adjusted this, it was not long before they put their
design into execution, and Philip first having provided a lodging for
her in Brewer Street, she, on a Sunday in the evening, when all the rest
of the family were out, removed from her mistress's house in a court
near the Strand, taking all that belonged to her in a hackney-coach,
leaving the key at an alehouse. Philip had so good a character that the
grief he affected on this occasion passed for reality upon all the
house, and the flight of Alice had no other effect than to excite a new
spring of railery on the loss of his mistress. He laid out the greatest
part of what he had saved during five years' service in furnishing out
two rooms for her very neatly, passing himself, where she lodged, for
the son of a gentleman of fortune in the country, who had married
against his friends' consent, and was therefore obliged to keep his wife
in a place of privacy until things at home could be made easy.

For some time the lovers lived mighty happily together, and nothing was
wanting to complete Philip's wishes than that they were married, for
Alice never making such a proposal, now and then disturbed his thoughts,
and put him a little out of humour. Things remained in this state with a
little alteration for about five months, until an Irish captain coming
to lodge pretty near where Philip had placed Alice, he found a way to
see her twice or thrice, and being a fellow of a smooth tongue, a
handsome person and an immoderate assurance, it was not long before he
became master of her affections. The temper of Philip having been always
too grave for her, in about three weeks' time she let the captain into
the truth of the whole story, and at his persuasion, during the time
Philip was at Surrey assizes, sold off the furniture of her lodgings,
and directing a letter to be left for him at his master's house by the
Penny Post, moved off with her new gallant.

It would be impossible, should I attempt to describe it, to describe the
agony the poor young fellow was in at the receipt of Alice's epistle, in
which she told him flatly she was weary of him and had got another
gallant; and saying that if he tried to look after her or give her any
other uneasiness, she would send a full account of all things to his
master. The jilt was sensible this would keep him quiet, for as he
depended solely upon his favour, so a story of this sort would have
inevitably deprived him of it for ever. It answered her intent, and the
force he put upon his passions cost him a severe fit of sickness.

Alice, in the meanwhile, indulged for about a week with her Irish
captain, at the end of which he beat her and turned her out of doors. It
was in vain for her to talk of her goods and her clothes; the captain
had carried her amongst a set of his acquaintance, who on the first
quarrel called her a thousand foolish English whores, and bid her go
back to her Justice's clerk again. In the midst of her affliction, with
nothing on but a linen gown, and about three shillings in her pocket,
the watchman coming his rounds, found her sitting on the steps at the
door where the captain lodged. He asked her what she did there, she said
her husband and she had quarrelled and he had shut her out. The watchman
was going away, satisfied with the answer, when the captain called out
at the window, told him she was a street-walker, and bid him take her
away. The landlady confirmed this, and the fellow laying fast hold of
her shoulder, compelled her to go with him to the watch-house. However,
a shilling procured her liberty and a favourable report to the constable
that she was an honest young woman, who had the misfortune to be married
to a bad husband, who turned her into the street, and she was afraid
would not suffer her to come in again that night. Upon hearing this, the
constable bid her sit down by the fire, gave her a glass of brandy and
promised her she should be as safe and as easy as the place would allow
her for that night.

But unluckily for Alice, as she went to take the glass out of the
constable's hand, he knew her face, and happening to be the baker who
served the mantua-maker with bread, where she lived, the next morning he
conducted Mrs. Alice, much against her will, home to her mistress. One
of her fellow-apprentices ran with the news to the Justice's, and one of
the daughters whispered it in Philip's ears, as he was writing a
recognizance in the Justice's book. Philip no sooner heard it but he
fell down in a swoon, and about half an hour was spent before they could
bring him again to himself. The young lady who had played him the trick,
immediately quitted the room, and he opening his eyes, and perceiving
her gone, pretended it was a sudden fit, and that he had been used to
them when a child.

Much as he had suffered by this ungrateful woman, he took the first
opportunity to go to a coffee-house within a door or two of her
mistress, in order to learn what had become of her. There was but one
person who had been trusted with his ever having visited her at all, and
they too, were ignorant that she had ever run away with him. Philip
therefore sent for his confidant, from whom he received information,
that after snivelling and crying for a hour or two, she took advantage
of being left alone in a parlour (although the door was locked), and
getting out at the window into the backyard, made a shift to scramble
over the top of the house of office into the court, and so made her
escape to the waterside, where her mistress found she had taken a pair
of oars. But though they followed her to Falcon Stairs, yet they were
not able to retrieve her. Philip at this news was exceedingly grieved,
and returned home again very disconsolate on this occasion.

Alice, in the meantime, lurked about in St. George's Fields till
evening, and then crossing the bridge, walked on towards St. James's.
However dirty and despicable her dress, yet as she had a very pretty
face and a very engaging manner of speaking at first sight, she drew in
a merchant's book-keeper, as she walked down Cornhill, to carry her to a
certain tavern at the corner of Bishopsgate Street; where, after a good
supper and a bottle or two of wine, she engaged him to take her to a
lodging, and by degrees to give her a great deal of fine clothes, in
return for which she flattered him so greatly that he grew as fond of
her and as much a fool as ever Philip had been.

In the meantime her sister, who was much of her disposition, had been
turned off by a young fellow she had run away with from Oxford, and in
a miserable condition had trotted up to town, in order to see whether
she could have better luck with another gallant. One night, as she was
strolling through Leadenhall Street in her vocation, she saw her sister
Alice and the book-keeper who kept her, walking home with a servant, and
a candle and lanthorn before them. Jenny did not think fit to speak to
them, but dogging them privately home, called upon her sister the next
day and was mighty well received. The couple now took every opportunity
(notwithstanding the allowance of the book-keeper) to enable Alice to
stroll out with her together, and wandered about nightly in quest of
adventures, till it began to grow towards ten o'clock, and the fear of a
visit from her keeper drove Alice to her lodgings.

This trade, without any remarkable accident, was practised for about
three months, when on a sudden the book-keeper vanished, and for three
weeks' time Alice heard not a word of him. This threw both the sisters
into a heavy peck of troubles, and the more because he had always kept
it a secret in whose family he lived and went to the people where Alice
lodged by another name than his own. However they got money enough by
sparks they picked up to live pretty easily together, and that no
misfortune might go too near their hearts, they fell to drinking a quart
of brandy a day. It seems the woman at whose house they lodged was
herself given to drinking, and so by treating her they fell into the
same vice. The landlady in return was mighty civil to them, and every
now and then invited them downstairs to drink with her.

One evening when they were below stairs, there happened to be some
discourse about a trial at the Sessions House, whereupon Alice expressed
her desire of seeing the trials, and her sister agreeing in the request,
their landlady agreed to carry them the next morning. Accordingly they
were at Sessions House by the time the Court was set, and the two young
sluts were exceedingly merry at the wretched appearances the poor
creatures made at the bar. In the midst of their mirth, a man was
brought up to plead to his indictment, who had only a blanket wrapped
over his shirt to keep him from the weather; they were laughing and
talking to some of the people behind them, when Jenny patted her sister
to take notice of what the man was charged with. Alice listened and
heard the indictment read, which was for breaking open an escritoire and
taking out of it ninety guineas, two diamond rings and a good tweezer.
When the clerk had done reading, the criminal answered with a low voice,
_Not Guilty_, and the keeper thereupon took him from the bar. As he
turned, his face being towards them, Alice saw that it was the
book-keeper who had lived with her, and in a low voice whispered her
sister, _As I hope to live, it is our Tom._ They did not stay much
longer, but began to consider as soon as they got home what was to be
done. Alice was sensible that the tweezer-case mentioned in the
indictment had been given her, and was under a thousand frights and
fears that it should be discovered and was above all wondrous careful of
her landlady, that she did not go any more to the trials that Sessions.

The day they heard that sentence was passed, Jenny went to one of the
runners at Newgate, and giving him a shilling, asked what had become of
such a person. The fellow answered that he was to be transported. Jenny
came immediately home with the news to her sister. She shed a few tears
and said, what if he should want in Newgate? _Nay_, says Jenny, _let him
want what he will, I'm sure you shall not be fool enough to pawn your
things to relieve him_; and as her fit of compassion was soon over, so
they determined to remove their lodgings for fear that if he were under
necessity, as they could not well doubt he was, considering the figure
he made at his trial, he might send to her. But they needed not to have
been under any apprehensions of that sort, for shame and grief had
brought him so low that the gaol distemper seizing on him, he died the
same week he had been tried, and the runner to whom Jenny had given the
shilling, remembering her face, stopped her in the street, and told her
the news. When Alice heard it, she pretended to fall into fits, and
express abundance of sorrow and concern. The sorrows were not, however,
so deep but that brandy and two days' time effaced them so well that she
dressed in the best manner she was able, in order to go out and look for
a spark.

Unfortunately for her, her amours produced the usual consequence, a
loathsome distemper, which seizing about the same both her sister and
herself, through want of proper care, ruined both their constitutions;
and the ill consequence being increased by the use of improper food,
they were soon after in such a condition that their infamous trade of
prostitution fell off, and they were in danger of starving and rotting.
In this distress they knew not what to do, till at last advising with an
old woman whom they had scraped acquaintance with, she readily offered
them the use of her house, and to engage for them a surgeon, who should
complete their cure. The sisters were overjoyed at this, and in a hurry
accepted her offer, removing themselves and what little valuable
movables they had the next week.

They were received with great courtesy and kindness, and the old woman,
from an acquaintance of three weeks, assured them that they were no less
dear to her than if they had been her own daughters. This treatment
continued until they were in the height of a salivation, and then they
were acquainted with usage of another sort. This distemper was very
expensive, their course of physic very troublesome, it required much
attendance, they were strangers to her, and so by degrees the old woman
got from them most of the trinkets they brought with them. So that when
they were come a little to themselves, and nourishing food was proper to
restore them to perfect soundness, they had no way left to procure it
but by pawning or selling their clothes, which being quickly done and
the money spent, nakedness and poverty became their companions.

Thus plunged in misery, they were exposed to the daily insults of the
bawd, who treated them with great cruelty now she had them absolutely in
her power. Alice was so very uneasy under it, that having one night got
a few clean things about her, she resolved to venture out in a thin
linen gown, to see what might be done to free them from these
difficulties. She had not got lower than Southampton Street, in the
Strand, before a gentleman well dressed, though much in liquor, invited
her to go with him to his chambers. He carried her as far as Essex
Street, and then turning down to the Temple, brought her into rooms up
two pair of stairs, richly furnished. She saw nobody that he had to
attend him, but everything seemed in very exact order, and so without
further ceremony to bed they went. His weight of liquor soon forced him
to sleep, but Alice, whose head was full of the miseries she had so long
gone through, arose, put on her clothes and searching his pockets, found
a gold watch, nineteen guineas and a large gold medal. She was so much
surprised with the richness of this booty, and yet this being her first
fact, so confounded within herself, that she knew not well what to do.
At last, with great difficulty she forced open the chamber door, which
he had locked (and laid the key where she could not find it). Next she
came to the outer doors of the chambers, in which the key was, and so
there was no difficulty in getting out; but then finding it impossible
to shut the door after her without locking it, she even did so, and
carried away the key.

She made all the haste she could home to her landlady, and without
considering the consequence, paid her six pounds which she demanded, and
got some clothes out of her hands, which she had retained as a security
for the money. Then she removed with her sister, as secretly as she
could, to an inn in Smithfield, and from thence, the next day, they
removed to a little lodging in narrow lane by St. John's, where
downright fear made them keep so much within doors that they had almost
spent all their money in six weeks' time, without thinking of any method
to get more.

At last, Jenny, as being least in danger, equipped herself as well as
she could, and ventured about nine o'clock one evening into the streets.
She walked about half an hour without meeting with any adventure, but at
last picked up an innocent country lad. They had not gone far towards a
tavern before the constable and his body-guard of watchmen surprised and
hurried them away to the Wood Street Compter. There she remained until
the next day, when it was intimated to her that if she could produce a
couple of guineas they would be looked upon as good bail. She sent for
her sister Alice, who not having so much money, foolishly offered the
gold medal as a security. Some of the limbs of the Law thereabouts, were
acquainted with the gentleman of the Temple who lost it, and it being
shown up and down to know its value, they declared it was stolen, and
Alice, instead of procuring her sister's liberty, was forced into the
same prison, and confined with her. As it was about three weeks to
sessions, they were permitted to remain at the Compter during that time.

This was a deeper plunge into misfortune than they had ever yet known,
and the fear of hanging was so strong that Alice, in order to avoid it,
resolved upon making an application to a person to whom otherwise she
would never have made herself known. Who should this be but Philip, who
was lately married, but still did the business of his old master the
Justice, and therefore was always to be met with at his house, though he
had now got a little place upon which he was capable of living pretty
handsomely. Alice's letter reached him just as he was sitting down to
dinner. The surprise he was in was so great that it could not be hid
from the company. However, to cover the cause of it, he pretended that
it brought him news of a person being gone off for whom he was bail, and
which obliged him not to lose a minute in going to see what might be
done. So putting on his hat, and entreating some gentlemen who were at
the table with him not to disturb themselves, for he should be back in
half an hour, away he went directly to the Compter. And having influence
over the people in power there, he prevailed to have her let out to an
adjacent tavern.

The affliction she had gone through had altered but not impaired her
beauty. Philip, ill-used as he had been by her, could not forbear
bursting into tears at the sight of the miserable condition in which she
was. As soon as his surprise was a little over, she acquainted him with
the true state of the case, and begged his assistance in prevailing on
the injured gentleman to soften the prosecution. He promised her all
that was in his power, but desired to know after what manner she
intended to live, in case her liberty could ever be regained. She cried
and promised to work hard for her living rather than fall into that
miserable plight again, and then told him how unfortunately it happened
that her sister also was involved in the same calamity. At parting,
Philip presented her with a guinea, and told her she should have the
same every week while she remained there, assuring her also that he
would not fail coming to her the next day at noon, and informing her of
the temper in which he found her antagonist.

It happened that the Templar was Philip's intimate acquaintance, and had
a seat near his father's house in the country. Philip told him the truth
of the story, and how he came to interest himself so far in the affair.
The gentleman was not hard to be prevailed on, and said he did not
conceive it would be of any service to the women to let them be set at
liberty, considering the course of life they would be obliged
immediately to fall into for bread; that for his part, he inclined
rather to procure them liberty to transport themselves, and that they
might not be destitute in a strange country, he was not averse,
notwithstanding his loss, to give them something towards putting them in
a condition of getting their livelihood when they got over. Philip
readily agreed to this, though he was fearful of its proving an
expedient little agreeable to the women. However, the next day, when he
went, he sent for them both to the tavern, and proposed it. Alice said
it was the most agreeable thing that could have befallen her. She was
sensible of the manner in which she had lived in her native country, and
of the difficulty there would be of her amending here, and though her
sister Jenny was at first very averse, yet she quickly brought her to be
as complying as herself and to wish nothing more than the possibility of
living honest in any of the plantations.

Philip carried this news at night to the Temple and the gentleman there,
who was a great humorist, was so much taken with the temper and spirit
of Alice, that he would needs see her again, and thereupon accompanied
Philip the next day to the place of her confinement. There everything
was soon settled, the Templar procured their discharge, put them to
board at a house which he could command, and bargained with a captain of
a New England vessel for their passage thither; not as for persons who
had been guilty of any misdeeds here, but as of young women of good
families, who were unwilling to go to service here, and had therefore
got their friends to raise as much money as would send them over there,
where perhaps they might meet with better fortune.

[Illustration: JOSEPH BLAKE ATTEMPTING THE LIFE OF JONATHAN WILD

(_From the Newgate Calendar_)]

In short, their two benefactors furnished then with things to the amount
of two hundred pounds, accompanied them themselves on board the
vessel, and recommended them to the captain with as much earnestness as
if they had been near relations. Coming in this light into the abroad,
they were received with great hospitality, and treated with much
kindness and respect; and in fine, after remaining here about a year,
Jenny married a gentleman of as good fortune as any in the country, and
her sister, not long after, had the same luck. Jenny did not indeed
survive it long, but Alice outlived her first husband, and marrying a
second, returned into England where she is still living in as much
respect and esteem as any gentlewoman in the county where she inhabits.




An Account of the horrid murder of MR. WIDDINGTON DARBY, committed in
his chambers in the Temple, on the 11th of April, 1727, for which one
HENRY FISHER was apprehended and committed to Newgate, from whence he
escaped.


The deceased Mr. Darby was a young gentleman who made an extraordinary
good appearance in the world. He generally wore fine rings, rich snuff
boxes, and an extraordinary gold watch about him. These things possibly
tempted a needy person of his acquaintance to be guilty of that
barbarous murder which was committed upon him. He lived in the chambers
belonging to Sir George Cook's office in the Temple. His servant lived
in another place, and went home every night. It happened the night
before, or rather in that wherein he was murdered, that Mr. Darby had a
good deal of company with him, who supping late, they did not go away
until eleven o'clock, when Mr. Darby's servant also retired to his
lodgings. The next morning, being Tuesday, about nine o'clock, Mr. Darby
was found dead in the said office, his skull penetrated with a pistol
ball, his ear and hand cut, his rings, watch and other valuables taken
away, besides his escritoire broken open, and his money and linen taken
from thence.

The next day the coroner's inquest sat thereon, but being able to make
no discovery of the murder, they thought fit to adjourn _sine die_, as
soon as the coroner had made an order for the interment of his corpse
which was done accordingly in a vault in the church of St. Andrew's,
Holborn.

Some time passed before any light was got into this affair. At length,
Mr. Moody, who had been upon the coroner's inquest who had sat on the
body of Mr. Darby, received information that one Fisher, who had been
in very bad circumstances, and as an acquaintance had been relieved
under him by the deceased Mr. Darby, was all on a sudden, since the
committing of that murder, observed to have a great deal of money. He
had paid some debts which had been troublesome to him and was observed
to have some valuable things about him which had never been seen before.
These circumstances appearing altogether very suspicious, Mr. Moody
acquainted Mr. York with it, who had been very assiduous in taking all
measures possible for the discover of this horrid assassination. He
falling readily into Mr. Moody's opinion, they agreed together that the
likeliest method to find out the truth was to go to Mr. Willoughby, who
was Fisher's landlord, and known to be a very honest man. Accordingly
they went to him in a tavern in Southampton Street, where they
understood he was, and falling into discourse about Mr. Darby's murder,
they insinuated to him the suspicions they had of his lodger.

Returning to his house, Fisher being away, Mr. Willoughby went to his
room and broke open a box, and found in it the top and bottom of a
snuff-box, a vizard mask, and a pair of laced ruffles. The remains of
the snuff-box Mr. York knew to have belonged to the deceased, and had
reason to suspect the ruffles also to have been his, so that it was
immediately agreed to go before the Honourable Sir William Thompson,[77]
in order to procure a warrant. There they made an affidavit of the
several circumstances attending their discovery, and Sir William upon
the examination also of a lady (who produced a piece of lace before she
had seen the ruffle, and declared that if it were Mr. Darby's it must
tally therewith, which on a comparison it did exactly) granted a
warrant. It appeared also at the same time, upon the oath of Mr.
Willoughby, that the day Mr. Darby was murdered, Fisher borrowed
half-a-crown of him to pay his washerwoman, and was in the utmost
necessity for money.

A woman swore that a person very like Fisher was hovering about Mr.
Darby's chambers the night the murder was committed, and it was proved
by the oath of another person that Fisher came not to his lodgings till
two o'clock on Tuesday morning, on which Mr. Darby was murdered. About
eight o'clock a porter came and informed Fisher of Mr. Darby's being
murdered, at which he shewed little concern and locked himself up for
some hours.

Things being thus over at Sir William Thompson's, Mr. Willoughby, Mr.
York, and Mr. Moody, returned to Fisher's lodgings. About two o'clock
in the morning he came in, and they seized him, having a constable and
proper assistance for that purpose. On Sunday noon, he was carried
before Sir William Thompson in order to be examined, where he said:

That about the latter end of the week in which Mr. Darby was murdered,
as he was passing through Lincoln's Inn Fields, about four in the
afternoon, be took up under the wall of Lincoln's Inn Gardens, a white
paper parcel in which were contained several things of great value
belonging to the deceased; some of the diamonds he acknowledged he sold
to a jeweller in Paternoster Row for ten guineas, the watch he pawned
for nine guineas to a person at a brazier's in Bond Street, and sold the
gold chain and swivels to a person in Lombard Street. He absolutely
denied all knowledge of the murder, and said that at the time it
happened he was at a billiard table in Duke Street, by St. James's. When
taken there was found upon him two of Mr. Darby's rings with the stones
taken out, wrapped up in a paper, with his seal the arms of which were
taken out, and in these circumstances he was committed to Newgate.