Soon after this the coroner granted his warrant, and an order being

thereupon obtained from the Commons, Mr. Darby's body was taken up and
in the presence of several persons, his head opened by an eminent
surgeon, who found a large lacerated wound near the left ear, the
temporal bone on that side being very much fractured, several pieces of
which stuck in the brain on the same side. He found, likewise, the
temporal bone on the other side, exactly opposite, broken; the pieces
thereof were not removed from their places, but easily removed upon his
attempting to take them away. He took out the brain and the bullet
dropped upon the pillow which lay upon the ground under his head. It
appeared, upon comparing the said bullet taken out of the head, with
some other bullets found in custody of Henry Fisher (at that time in
Newgate on suspicion of the murder) that it seemed to have been cast in
the same mould; and when weighing it with one of these bullets, it was
very little lighter, and it fitted the bore of one of the pistols which
was found in Fisher's custody, even that pistol which by some signs were
looked on to have been discharged, though afterwards loaded again.

This Fisher was the son of a very eminent clothier in the West of
England, who had sent him to London, and put him out clerk to an
attorney, and had done everything in his power which he was able, and
which was reasonable for him to do. But he being extravagant, lived far
beyond the rate which was consistent with the supplies he received from
his father; so that when pressed by his necessities, he had often
applied to Mr. Darby for relief. When in Newgate he affected a most
unreasonable gaiety and unconcernedness in his behaviour, although the
circumstances were so strong against him as occasioned it to prevail as
the general opinion that he would be convicted. However, he and the
famous Roger Johnson took the advantage of the workmen labouring on the
cells which were then building, and by breaking a hole through a place
done up only with lath and plaster, they got down one of the workmen's
ladders, and so made their escape. Johnson was afterwards retaken and
tried for breaking prison, but alleging it was done by Fisher, he was
acquitted, and this Henry Fisher, the supposed murderer of Mr. Darby,
was never heard of since.

FOOTNOTES:

[77] Sir William Thompson (1678-1739) was Recorder of London in
1715, Solicitor General two years later, and in 1729 became
baron of the Exchequer.




The Life of JOSHUA CORNWALL, a Thief and Housebreaker


Though vices are undoubtedly the chief instruments that bring unhappy
persons to that ignominious death which the Law hath appointed for
enormous offences, yet it very often happens that folly rather than
wickedness brings them first into the road of ruin; in which, led on by
delusive hopes, they continue to run until a disastrous fate overtakes
them, and puts an end at once to their vicious race, and to their lives.
The criminal whose memoirs at present employ our pen is such an example
as I hope, while it entertains, may also instruct my readers to avoid
his errors.

This unfortunate man was the son of reputable and honest parents in the
town of Brigg in the county of Lincoln. Their circumstances were such as
enabled them to give him an education; and the desire they had of doing
everything that was possible for their son inclined them not to be
wanting in this particular. His mother, was fond of him to a fault, and
being permitted by her indulgence to run up and down amongst young
people of his own age, riding across the country to friends and other
diversions of a like nature, he lost all liking to things of a serious
nature, and without thinking how to procure the necessaries of life, was
altogether taken up in enjoying those pleasures to which he had the
greatest inclination. In the midst of this pleasant situation of things
(at least as it appeared to him at that time) the prospect was darkened
by the death of his mother. His friends retained for him a due paternal
affection, but had no notion of permitting him to go on the life he
led, and therefore to break him of that as well as to make him
acquainted with an honest method of getting his living, his father put
him out apprentice to a baker in Hull.

But as kindness seemed of all things the most fatal to this unhappy man,
so the acquaintance and friendship which his master had for Cornwall's
family became a new means of leading him into misfortune, for treating
the young man rather with a tenderness due to a son than that severity
which is usually practised towards apprentices and servants, it gave him
an opportunity of renewing his old course of life. Instead of inclining
him to behave in a manner which might deserve such lenity, it gave him,
on the contrary, occasion frequently to abuse it by running from one
dancing bout and merry-making to another, without the least care of his
master's business, who out of downright affection forbore to restrain
his follies with that harshness which they deserved, and which any other
person would have used.

At length, having acquired so great a habit of laziness and so strong an
aversion to business that he found it impossible for him to live longer
in the country, he came up to London, that great receptacle of those who
are either unable or unwilling to live anywhere else. Here he got into
service as a footman with several persons of worth, and discharged his
duty well (as indeed it was a kind of life which of all others suited
him best), so that he obtained a tolerable reputation whereby he got
into the service of one Mr. Fenwick, a gentleman of affluent fortune.
Here it was that through desire of abounding in money he either drew in
others, or was drawn in himself to commit that crime which cost him his
life.

It seems that in Mr. Fenwick's family there was a great deal of plate
used, which stood on a buffet. This tempted Cornwall, and it is highly
likely gave him the first notion of attempting to rob the house. When he
had once formed this project he resolved to take in one Rivers, a
debauched companion of his, as a partner in the designed theft.

This Rivers was certainly easy enough prevailed on to join in the
commission of this fact, and after several meetings to consult upon
proper measures, Rivers at last proposed that their scheme should be put
in execution as soon as possible; and that he might the more perfectly
conceive how it was to be managed, he went home with Cornwall, and
looked upon the house. Soon after this they held their last
consultation, and Cornwall saying to Rivers that he must bring some
other persons to assist him, Rivers made choice of one Girst, and coming
with him at the appointed hour, Cornwall in his shirt opened the door
and let them in. In the buffet there stood a lighted candle in a silver
candle-stick, by which they were directed to the rest of the plate,
which as soon as they had taken out, they placed all together upon the
carpet, and fell next to rifling Mr. Fenwick's bureau, and took out a
great quantity of linen, a lady's lace, the tea equipage, and two silver
canisters. Then making it up in a bundle, it was carried to River's
lodgings in Vinegar Yard, Drury Lane.

All this could not be performed with so little noise as not to disturb
the family. Mr. Fenwick himself heard the noise, being awakened by his
wife, who had heard it for some time, but it ceasing they fell asleep
again until one of the servants came up in the morning, and told his
master that the house had been robbed, the plate taken away, and a
window in the back parlour left open, about which, as he could observe
no marks of violence, he was led to suspect it was opened by somebody in
the family; upon which Cornwall and a maid in the house were immediately
thought to have a hand in. However, as there was no sort of proof, Mr.
Fenwick forbore seizing them at that time, and contented himself with
advertizing his plate; which advertisement coming into the hands of a
pawnbroker, to whom a part of it had been pledged, he immediately gave
notice that it was pawned to him by Rivers. A warrant being upon this
obtained for the searching of River's lodging, a note was there found,
directed to Thomas Rivers, Glover, in Guy's Court, Vinegar Yard, Drury
Lane, in which were these words:

Dear Tom,

Let me see you at seven o'clock to-morrow morning, at the Postern
Spring, Tower Hill, be sure.

Joshua Cornwall.

Upon this Cornwall was immediately taken up and Girst readily offered
himself an evidence. In a few days after, sessions coming on, Joshua
Cornwall and Thomas Rivers were indicted for burglariously breaking the
house of Nicholas Fenwick, Esq., and taking thence divers pieces of
plate, to the value of eighty-five pounds nineteen shillings, holland
shirts to the value of twenty pounds, and other goods of the said Mr.
Fenwick, on the 8th day of September, 1730. This indictment being fully
proved, the jury found Thomas Rivers guilty thereof. But being dubious
whether Joshua Cornwall, as a servant within the house of Mr. Fenwick,
could be properly convicted of burglariously breaking into his said
master's house, they found their verdict as to him special; which the
judges having considered, they were unanimously of opinion that the
crime was in its nature a burglary. Whereupon, at the following
sessions at the Old Bailey, the criminal was brought to the bar, and
being acquainted with their lordships' opinion, received sentence of
death.

Under conviction, he behaved himself with great penitence, said he had
not been guilty of many of those atrocious crimes commonly practised by
such as come to that fatal end whither his folly had led him. At the
place of execution he, with great fervency, justified the character of a
young woman who had lived fellow-servant with him at Mr. Fenwick's. He
declared, as he was a dying man, that she was not in the least privy to
the injury done her master, and that he had no other than an
acquaintance with her, without either having, or attempting any criminal
conversation with her. Having done this justice, he seemed to die with
much composure, in the twenty-second year of his age, on the 23rd of
December, 1730.




LIVES OF THE CRIMINALS

VOLUME THREE




The Life of JOHN TURNER, _alias_ CIVIL JOHN, a Highwayman


One of the most dangerous passions which can enter the breasts of young
people, though at the same time it be one of the most common, is the
love of finery and a mean and foolish ambition to appear better dressed
than becomes their station, in hopes of imposing upon the world as
persons of much higher rank than they really are. This inconsiderate,
ridiculous pride brings along with it such a numerous train of bad
consequences that of necessity it makes the person inflamed by it
unhappy and often miserable for life. In the case now before us a was
still more fatal by adding a violent and ignominious death.

John Turner was the son of a person in tolerable circumstances, in the
county of Cornwall, where he received an education proper for that
condition of life in which he was likely to pass through the world. His
father was a man of good sense, and of a behaviour much more courteous
and genteel than is usual among persons of ordinary condition in a
county so remote from London. He was extremely desirous that his son
should be like him in this respect, and therefore he continually
cautioned him against falling into that rough boorish manner of behaving
which is natural to uneducated clowns, and makes them shocking to
everybody but themselves. In this respect John was very compliant with
his father's temper, and being put out apprentice to a peruke-maker, his
obliging carriage endeared him so much, not only to his master and the
family but also to the gentlemen on whom, as customers to the shop, he
sometimes waited, that they took a peculiar liking to the boy and were
continually giving him money as a reward for his diligence and
assiduity.

But John's obliging temper took a turn very fatal to himself, as well as
very little suspected by his friends and relations. For having been made
use of by some young sparks at Exeter (the place where he served his
time) to carry messages to their mistresses, he from thence conceived so
strong an inclination to become a beau and a gallant that, in order to
it, he broke open his master's escritoire and took away a considerable
sum of money. With this he came up to London and went to live as a
journeyman with an eminent peruke-maker at the Court end of the town.
There his easy and obsequious temper made him very agreeable to
everybody, and his behaviour was so just and open that nobody in the
neighbourhood had a better character than himself. Yet he was far from
giving over those extravagancies the earnest desire of committing which
had brought him to town; for nobody in his station made so handsome a
figure as Mr. Turner.

His amours with the wenches in the neighbourhood were very numerous,
though out of a point of honour he was careful enough in endeavouring to
conceal them. But as they naturally led him into an expensive way of
living, which what he got by his trade could in no degree support, he
quickly found himself obliged to take to new methods, and thought none
so concise and convenient as going upon the road. This he did for some
time without arousing the least suspicion, behaving himself towards
those whom he robbed with such gentleness and good manners, putting his
hat into the coach and taking what money they thought fit to give him,
nay, sometimes returning a part of that, if the dress or aspect of the
person gave him room to suspect that their wants were as great as his.
From this extraordinary conduct he obtained the name of Civil John, by
which he was very well known to the stage coachmen, wagoners, and other
such persons who travelled the Western road.

Common fame, which ordinarily multiplies the adventures of men of his
profession, circulated a multitude of stories about him which had not
the least foundation in fact, and served only to make the poor man more
remarkable, and consequently the more easy to be taken; which was,
accordingly, the effect of those foolish encomiums which the vulgar
bestowed upon so genteel a robber. About six weeks after he had taken to
this unfortunate course of life; and while he yet preserved an unstained
reputation in the neighbourhood in which he lived, he was apprehended
for a robbery committed on Mr. Air, from whom he took but an
inconsiderable sum; yet the fact being clearly proved against him at the
next session at the Old Bailey, he was convicted, and having no
relations capable of making interest sufficient to obtain a reprieve, he
lost all hopes of life. Under sentence he conducted himself with much
calmness, penitence, and resignation, confessing the truth of that
charge which had been laid against him, acknowledging the justice of the
Law in this sentence, and disposing himself to submit to it with much
cheerfulness and alacrity.

This great change in his circumstance and manner of living, added to
his own uneasy reflections upon those misfortunes into which vanity and
ostentation had brought him, soon reduced him by sickness to so weak a
state that he was incapable, almost, of coming to chapel alone.
Notwithstanding this, he continued to frequent it, some of the people
about the prison being so kind as to help him upstairs. As his vices
arose rather from the imitation of those fine gentlemen on whom he had
waited while a lad, so he did not carry them to that height which most
of these unhappy persons are wont to do; on the contrary he was very
sober, little addicted to gambling, and never followed the common women
of the town. But dress, dancing bouts, and the necessary entertainments
for carrying on his amours were the follies which involved him in these
expenses, for the supply of which he thus hazarded his soul and
forfeited his life.

When the death warrant came down his sickness had brought him so low
that Nature seemed inclined to supersede the severity of the Law; but
too short a time which intervened between it and its execution, and so
he came to suffer a violent death at Tyburn a day or two before,
perhaps, he would otherwise have yielded up his breath in his bed.
Little could be expected of a person in his weak condition, at the place
of execution, where, when he arrived he was utterly unable to stand up.
However, with a faint voice he desired the prayers both of the minister
who attended them and of the spectators of his execution, which happened
on the 20th of November, 1727, in the twenty-sixth year of his age.




The Life of JOHN JOHNSON, a Coiner


In excuse of taking base measures to procure money there is no plea so
often urged as necessity, and the desire of providing for a family
otherwise in danger of want. The reason of this is pretty evident, since
nothing could be a greater alleviation of such a crime. But the word
necessity is so equivocal that it is hard to fix its true meaning, and
unless that can be done, it will be as hard to judge of the
reasonableness of such an excuse.

John Johnson, the criminal on whose life we are next to cast an eye, was
born of a very honest and reputable family in the county of Nottingham,
and received in his youth the best education they were capable of giving
him. By this he became able to read tolerably and write well enough for
that business to which he was bred, viz., a tailor. Throughout his
apprenticeship he behaved himself virtuously and industriously, and left
his master with the character of a faithful and deserving young man.
When his time was out, and he had wrought for some time as a journeyman
in the country, the common whim of coming up to London seized him; and
after he had spent some time in town in working hard at his trade, he
married a wife with whom he lived in good correspondence for many years,
with the esteem and respect of all who knew him. But his family
increasing and he consequently finding the charge of maintaining them
rise higher than formerly, and, what was worse, that all he was capable
of doing could not maintain them, he grew very melancholy.

After considering several projects for making his circumstances more
easy, he at last pitched upon going into Lincolnshire, as a place where
the cheapness of provisions might balance the number of mouths he had to
feed. But he had not been long there before he discovered his mistake,
for the smallness of wages made everything rather dearer than cheaper,
which plunged him into new difficulties, and rendered him incapable of
ease or satisfaction. While his wits were thus on the rack, and his
invention stretched to the uttermost in order to find out some means or
other to recoup his pockets, he unfortunately fell into the company of a
man who, under the pretence of being his most zealous friend, became,
though perhaps unwittingly, the instrument of his utter ruin. For his
appearing ever disconsolate and melancholy gave the countryman an
opportunity of prying into the cause of his concern, which he soon
discovered to be the narrowness of his circumstances. As we naturally
find ease in communicating our afflictions to others, so Johnson was
ready enough to inform him of the truth of his affairs, and the man no
less assiduous in endeavouring to help him out of these straits into
which he had fallen.

At last, his Lincolnshire acquaintance told him there was but one way of
recovering his misfortunes and living like a man without labour, to
which Johnson began now to have a great aversion, and therefore he
eagerly desired to be acquainted with this delightful way of getting on.
With a grave face his associate told him that what he was about to
propose could not be effected without some risk, but that a man could
not expect to live without trouble or without hazard. Johnson said it
was true, and desired only to be informed wherein the hazard consisted,
as he would make no scruple of running it, for he lacked courage as
little as any man.

Upon this his companion opened to him his whole scheme, which consisted
in a method of counterfeiting the silver coin to a tolerable degree of
likeness. Johnson was easily drawn in, for he thought there could be no
speedier way of getting money than making it. His country friend helped
him to the necessary implements, and Johnson applied himself with such
earnestness to his new occupation that in a very short time he greatly
outdid his master, giving the false money he had made so perfect a
similitude to the specie for which he made it that it was impossible to
distinguish it by the eye. But thinking it much more hazardous to
attempt putting off in the country than it would be in London, and his
fellow labourer being of the same opinion, they first went to work and
coined a considerable sum according to their method, and they came up to
dispose of it, as Johnson had proposed.

By this time misfortune and remorse had taught the poor man whose life
we are writing to addict himself too much to drinking, especially to
strong liquors, so that the first experiment he made of the
practicability of getting rid of his false money was in putting off two
sixpences to a distiller for gin, in which he succeeded without being
suspected. But going to a shoemaker's and buying there a ready-made pair
of shoes, he was seized for attempting to pay the man with two bad
half-crowns, which though they looked pretty well to the eye, were
nevertheless much too light when they came to be weighed against the
metal that it was intended they should pass for.

When carried before a Justice his heart soon failed him and almost as
soon as he was asked he revealed the whole truth of the matter,
impeaching both the countryman who had taught him and a person with whom
they had trusted the secret here in town. However, his confession was of
little benefit to him, for at the next sessions he was capitally
convicted and from thenceforward cast off all hopes of life. As he was a
man who did not lack good natural parts, during the short time he had to
live he endeavoured to make his prayer to God for the forgiveness of the
many errors of his life, attending also constantly at the time of public
devotion. Yet for all this he could not be persuaded that there was any
great degree of guilt in what he had done, but imagined on the contrary
that he was much more innocent than his fellow malefactors, regretting,
however, the heavy misfortune he had brought upon himself and family,
two of his children dying during the time of his imprisonment, and his
wife and third child coming upon the parish. In which sentiments he
continued until the day of his execution, which was on the same with the
before-mentioned John Turner, this criminal being then about fifty years
of age.




The Lives of JAMES SHERWOOD, GEORGE WEEDON and JOHN HUGHS, Street
Robbers and Footpads


Amongst the many artifices by which vice covers itself from our
apprehension, there is no method which it more commonly takes, and yet
better succeeds in, than by putting on a mask of virtue and thereby
imposing the most flagitious actions upon us as things indifferent,
sometimes as things which may gain applause.

This was exactly the case with the persons whose lives we are now about
to write, who were all of them young men of tolerable education, but
giving way to their vicious inclinations, they associated themselves
together for the better carrying on those evil practices by which they
supported their extravagances, into which lewd women especially had
betrayed them.

James Sherwood, who was the eldest of them, and also went by the name of
Hobbs, was the son of but mean parents, who, however, took all the pains
that were in their power to educate him in the best manner they were
able. When he grew up they put him out apprentice to a waterman, with
whom he served his time, and was afterwards a seaman in a man-of-war.
When at home he spent his time in the worst company imaginable, viz.,
idle young men and lewd, infamous women. As he had naturally a good
understanding and quick apprehension, he quickly became adroit in every
mystery of wickedness to which he addicted himself. However, Justice
soon overtook him and his first companions in wickedness; upon which he
turned evidence and saved his own life by sacrificing theirs. He was
transported soon afterwards, but upon his finding it difficult to live
abroad without working (a thing, for which he had an intolerable
aversion) he took the first opportunity that offered of returning home
again.

When he returned he fell to his old practices, taking up his lodgings at
the house of one Sarah Payne, a most infamous woman who was capable of
seducing unwary youths for the commission of the greatest villainies,
and then ready to betray them to death, either to benefit or secure
herself. By hers and Sherwood's means George Weedon was drawn in, a
young man of very reputable parents, who had been brought up with the
greatest care in the principles of virtue and true religion. It seems,
however, that having contracted an acquaintance with a lewd and artful
woman, who drew him into an excessive fondness for her, he yielded to
the solicitations of Sherwood and his landlady, and took to such courses
as they suggested, in order to supply himself with money for the
entertainment of that strumpet who was his ruin. It was but a few days
before his apprehension that he had been induced to quit the house of
his mother, who had ever treated him with the greatest tenderness and
affection, and instead thereof had taken lodging with the
before-mentioned Payne, who continually solicited him to commit
robberies and thefts.

At length John Hughs, _alias_ Hews, another young man, joined them.
Though bred up carefully to the trade of a shoemaker by his father, who
was of the same profession, yet for many years he had addicted himself
to picking pockets and such other low kinds of theft, but had never done
any great robbery until he fell into the hands of Sherwood and Weedon;
with whom he readily agreed to associate himself, and to go with them
out into Moorfields and such other places near Town as they thought most
convenient in order to waylay and rob passengers, and at other times,
when such opportunities did not offer, to break open houses, and to
divide their profits equally amongst them. These designs were hardly
made before they were put into execution and a very short space elapsed
before they had committed many robberies and burglaries, always bringing
the booty home and spending it lewdly and extravagantly in the house of
that abandoned monster, Sarah Payne.

It may not be amiss to take notice here how common a thing it is for
such wicked old sinners as this woman was, to set up houses of resort
for lewd and abandoned women of the town, who, first getting young men
into their company on amorous pretences, by degrees bring them on from
one wickedness to another, till at last they end their lives at the
gallows, and thereby leave these wretches at liberty to bring others to
the same miserable fate. These agents to the Prince of Darkness are
usually women who have an artful way of flattering and a pleasing
deceitfulness in their address. By this means they, without much
difficulty, draw in young lads at their first giving way to the current
of their lewd inclinations, and before they are aware, involve them in
such expenses as necessarily lead to housebreaking or the highway for a
supply. When once they have made a step of this kind, by which their
lives are placed in the power of those old practitioners in every kind
of wickedness, they are from thenceforward treated as slaves and forced
to continue, whether they will or no, in a repeated course of the like
villainies until they are arrested by the hand of Justice. Then, none so
ready to become evidences against them as those abominable wretches by
whom they were at first seduced.

Such was the fate that befell these three unhappy young men, of whose
courses information being given, they were all apprehended and committed
close prisoners to Newgate, and at the next ensuing sessions not a few
indictments were found against them. The first indictment they were all
three arraigned upon was for felony and burglary in breaking open the
house of one William Meak, in the night-time, and taking from thence
twelve Gloster cheeses. But the evidence appearing clear only against
Sherwood, _alias_ Hobbs, he alone was convicted and the other two
acquitted. They were then indicted a second time for breaking open the
house of Daniel Elvingham, in the night-time, and taking out of it
several quantities of brandy and tobacco; upon which both Sherwood and
Weedon were, from very full evidence, convicted. On a third indictment
for breaking into the house of Elizabeth Cogdal, and taking thence eight
pewter dishes and twenty pewter plates, they were all found guilty;
Sherwood and Weedon also being a fourth time convicted for a robbery on
the highway, which was proved upon them by the testimony of their
landlady, Sarah Payne.

Under sentence of death they all testified great sorrow for the offences
of their misspent lives. Weedon was of a better temper than the two
other, retained a greater sense of the principles of religion upon which
he had been brought up in his youth and exceeded his companions in
seriousness and steadiness in his devotions. Sherwood had been a much
longer proficient in all kinds of wickedness than the other two, having
practised several kinds of thefts for nearly eighteen years together,
and this had habituated him so much to sin that he showed much less
penitence than either of his companions. Hughs had been a thief in a low
degree for some years before he fell into the confederacy of Sherwood
and Weedon, to which, as he frankly owned, he was drawn by his own
previous inclination rather than the persuasions of any of his
companions.

As the time of their death approached they seemed much more affected
than formerly they had been; in which frame of mind they continued till
they suffered, which was on the 12th of February, 1728, Sherwood being
in his twenty-sixth year, Hughs in the twenty-third, and Weedon in the
twenty-second year of his age.




The Life of MARTIN BELLAMY, a Notorious Thief, Highwayman and
Housebreaker


This criminal was amongst the number of those whom long practice had so
hardened in his offences that he took up the humour of glorying in them,
even under his confinement, and persisted in it to the hour of his
death, drawing up, when under sentence (or at least giving instructions
by which it was drawn up) an account of the several street-robberies,
burglaries, and other crimes which he had committed, in a style which
too plainly showed that nothing in his miserable condition afflicted him
but the thought of his ignominious death he was to suffer, not even the
reflection of those crimes which had so deservedly brought him to his
fate. By trade he was a tailor and a good workman in his business, by
which he lived in good credit for some time. It seems he married a woman
whose friends, at least, were very honest people, and highly displeased
with the villainous course of life he led. Insomuch that upon his being
apprehended and sent to Bridewell on suspicion, his wife's brother came
to him there in order to know where the prosecutor lived, that, as he
said, he might go and make some proposals for making up the affair.
Bellamy gave him the best account he could, and the man finding out the
person, advised him to prosecute Martin with the utmost severity, in
hopes, no doubt, that he should in this way rid his sister of a very bad
husband. However, Bellamy was so irritated by the attempt that he would
never cohabit with her afterwards, but with implacable hatred pursued
her and her family with all the mischiefs he was able.

The methods which he and his gang mostly took in robbing, according to
the account which, as I have before said, he has left us of himself,
were chiefly these: the gang having met together in the evening used to
go, three or four in a company, to visit the shops of those tradesmen
who deal in the richest sort of toys[78] and other goods that are
portable and easily conveyed away. Then one of the company cheapens
something or other, making many words with the shopkeeper about the
price, thereby giving an opportunity to some of his companions to hand
things of value from one to another till they were insensibly vanished,
the honest shopkeeper being left to deplore the misfortune of having
such light-fingered customers find the way to his shop. Another practice
of theirs, to the same laudable purpose, was carried on after this
manner: three or four of them walked up and down several streets, which
by observation they had found fitted for their purpose, and on
perceiving things of any value lying in a parlour, they, with an engine
contrived for that purpose, suddenly threw up the sash; and
notwithstanding there being persons in the room, they would venture to
snatch it out and often get clear off before the people who saw them
could recover themselves from the surprise. But if there was nobody in
the way, then one of their associates, slipping off his shoes, stole
softly into the room and handed out whatever was of most value to his
companions without doors.

But Bellamy was not only adroit in these ordinary practices, but was
also perfectly acquainted with the art and mystery of counterfeiting
hands; and as an instance thereof, upon which he much valued himself, he
used to relate a trick of that sort which he put upon the late Jonathan
Wild, after this manner: having accustomed himself for some time to
frequent the levee of that infamous agent of thieves, he became so well
acquainted with Jonathan's manner of writing and also with the persons
who gave him credit on particular occasions when money was low.
Whereupon he took occasion to forge a note from the said Wild to one
Wildgoose, servant at an inn, who used to be Jonathan's banker upon
emergencies, who, on receipt of the note, paid Bellamy the contents
thereof without hesitation. A few days after, Mr. Wild and his
correspondent met. The forgery was soon detected and Jonathan
immediately gave directions to that infamous band of villains who were
always in his pay and under his direction, to leave no means untried for
the apprehending Bellamy, who from Wildgoose's description he knew to be
the man who had been guilty of the forgery.

In the search after him they were so assiduous that in a very short
space they surprised him at a house in Whitefriars, where he was forced
to fly up to a garret in order to conceal himself. His pursuers thinking
they had now lodged him pretty securely, sent notice of it to their
master. But Martin perceiving a long rope lying upon a bed in the room
where he hid himself, resolved for once to venture his neck; and having
fastened it as well as he could, he slipped down by it into the street,
with so great agility that none of his attendants perceived it till he
was in the street, by which time he got so much the start of them that
they found it but in vain to pursue him, and therefore laid by all
thoughts of catching him until another opportunity.

However, the trick he had played them made them so diligent in pursuing
him that it was but a very short time before they surrounded him in a
brandy-shop in Chancery Lane, seized him and brought him in a coach to
the Elephant and Castle alehouse, Fleet Street, from whence they
dispatched advice to Jonathan of his apprehension. It happened that that
great man was gone to bed when the message arrived with this news;
however it was carried up and Jonathan with an air of generosity bid the
fellow return and inform his people that he would take Mr. Bellamy's
word, and that he might meet him with safety the next morning at his
levee. Bellamy, who well knew the temper of the man, failed not to pay
his court at the time appointed and adjourning to the Baptist Head
tavern in the Old Bailey, after drinking a refreshing bottle, he
presented Mr. Wild with five guineas, by way of atonement for the
offence which he had committed against him. Jonathan was so well
appeased by the intervention of the golden advocates that he promised
not only to forgive him, himself, but also to prevail with Mr. Wildgoose
to do the same, provided he entered into a bond for the repayment of the
ten guineas. This was a condition easily submitted to by Martin in his
present circumstances. This danger thus got over, he returned to his old
profession without running any further hazard of Jonathan's
interruption.

About this time the gang to which he belonged entered upon a new method
of housebreaking, which they effected by stealing the keys which
fastened the pins in shopkeepers' window-shutters and thereby removing
the greatest difficulty they had of getting in. This trade they carried
on successfully for a good space; though now and then they miscarried in
their attempts, particularly at a goldsmith's shop in Russell Court,
where, having got into the shop and being about to remove a show-glass,
a man who lay in the shop suddenly started up and presenting a
blunderbuss with a great presence of mind told the thieves that he was
tender of shedding their blood and therefore advised them to get off as
soon as they could. They took his advice and withdrew accordingly, with
great confusion. But the same night they had, as Mr. Bellamy expresses
it, much better luck at a toy-shop not far from the same place, where,
entering the house, they found the maid sitting by the fire. She at
first screamed, but they soon made her silent, and then proceeded to
carry off the show-glass, with all the boxes that were contained in it.

Not long after this they broke off the padlock from a toy-shop in
Swithin's Alley, in Cornhill. Not being able afterwards to enter the
house they fell to work next upon the thick timber that supports the
shutters, and after labouring at it about an hour, forced it off,
whereupon all the shutters dropping down at once into the court, made so
great a clatter that they doubted not that all the neighbourhood was
alarmed, and thought it would be no ill night's work if, after such an
accident, they had the good luck to escape. Upon which they endeavoured
to shift, everyone for himself. However, seeing nobody alarmed at the
noise of the falling of the shutters and that during two hours' time the
watch had never passed that way, they took courage at last: and
returned, entered the house, and putting up the most valuable goods,
went off without any molestation.

A multitude of robberies of the same kind he confessed, but as they are
narrated in the account we have so often mentioned, it would be a kind
of imposition on our readers to transcribe those accounts there.
Wherefore, in the following articles concerning him, we shall make no
use at all of any that is to be found there.

During the space he led this life he cohabited with one Amy Fowles, who
passed for his wife and bore him several children. At last, though he
had so often escaped, he was apprehended for a burglary committed on the
house of Mr. Holliday, in Bishopsgate Street, and upon very full
evidence was convicted at the ensuing sessions at the Old Bailey. After
his commitment to Newgate he entered, it seems, into a treaty with a
certain Justice of the Peace for making a full discovery of all his
accomplices, which might at that time have contributed very much to the
public advantage; but in the interim some person had talked thereof too
openly, it came to the ears of one who collected news for a daily paper.
This man thereupon went to Bellamy, making the poor fellow believe that
he came to him by the direction of some persons in power (a thing not at
all unlikely, considering that a proclamation had been issued but very
little before for the better encouraging the discovery of and bringing
first offenders to justice). And having by this means drawn the poor
fellow into a confession of several robberies and burglaries, he
digested it, or got somebody to do it for him, into proper paragraphs
which were inserted the next day in a newspaper and gave thereby an
opportunity to the persons impeached, of making their escape. This
rogue, therefore defeated Bellamy of all hopes of pardon and hindered
the public from receiving any benefit from his confession. All which
enormous villainies were perhaps perpetrated for the sake of a poor
crown, the utmost that could be expected by the collector for procuring
this extraordinary passage big with so much mischief, and which in its
consequences produced little better than a murder, since it is possible
that Bellamy's life might have been saved if a right use had been made
of his confession.

At his trial he behaved with great impudence and during the time he lay
under sentence continued to affect that gaiety which amongst persons of
his profession is too often mistaken for bravery and true courage. But
when the fatal day approached he, as is common with most of them, sank
much in his spirits and had a great deal to do to recover himself so as
to be able to read the following paper, which he had written for that
purpose and brought with him to the tree, which, as the words of a dying
man, I publish verbatim:

A Copy of the paper read by Martin Bellamy at the Place of Execution

Gentlemen, I am brought here to suffer an ignominious death for my
having wilfully transgressed against the known laws of God and my
country. I fear there are too many here present who come to be
witnesses of my untimely end rather out of curiosity than from a
sincere intention to take warning by my unhappy fate. You see me
here in the very prime of my youth, cut off like an untimely flower
in the rigorous season, through my having been too much addicted to
a voluptuous and irregular course of life, which has been the
occasion of my committing those crimes for which I am now to suffer.
As the laws of God as well as of men call upon me to Lay down my
life as justly forfeited by my manifold transgressions, I
acknowledge the justice of my sentence, patiently submit to the same
without any rancour, ill-will or malice to any person whatsoever;
hoping through the merits of Christ Jesus (who laid down His life
for sinners, and who upon the cross pronounced a pardon for the
repenting thief under the agonies of death) to be with Him permitted