power, but for that the papers, he had caused them to be brought in a
box which he delivered and desired they might be kept carefully, because
he was sensible that they were of great value to their owner.

At the place of execution he seemed desirous only of clearing his wife
from any imputation of being concerned with him in any of his villainies
and then suffered with much resignation, on the 11th of September, 1728,
being near thirty-eight years of age.




The Lives of GRIFFITH OWEN, SAMUEL HARRIS, and THOMAS MEDLINE,
Highwaymen and Footpads


Griffith Owen, the first of these unhappy criminals, was the son of very
honest parents who had given him a very good education in respect both
of letters and religion. When he was grown up they put him out
apprentice to a butcher in Newgate Market, with whom he served his time,
though not without committing many faults and neglecting his business
in a very marked degree, addicting himself too much to idle company, the
usual incitements to those crimes for the commission of which he
afterwards suffered.

His companion Harris, if Owen were to be believed, first proposed
robbing as an expedient to the supply of their pockets, to which he too
readily gave way; and having once ventured to attack he never suffered
himself nor his companions to cool. For the space of about six weeks,
keeping themselves still warm with liquor, they committed five or six
robberies, for which at last they were all apprehended. And as they had
been companions together in wickedness, so they shared also in
imprisonment and death as the consequences of those offences they had
committed.

Samuel Harris, though he had received a very tolerable education as to
reading and writing, yet he never applied himself to any business, but
served bricklayers as a labourer, in company with his fellow-sufferer
Medline. But having been all his life addicted to lust and wickedness,
he proposed robbing to his companions as the most feasible method of
getting money wherewith to support their debauches and the strumpets who
used to partake with them at their houses of resort. He confirmed what
Owen had said, and acknowledged that during the time they continued
their robberies, never any people in the world led more profligate and
more uneasy lives than they did; being always engaged in a continual
circle of drunkenness, violence and whoredom; while their minds were
continually agitated with the fear of being apprehended, so that they
never enjoyed peace or quiet from the time of their betaking themselves
to this course of life unto the day of their apprehension and coming to
the gallows.

Thomas Medline was born more meanly than either of his companions, and
had so little care taken of him in his youth, that he could neither read
nor write. However, he applied himself to working hard as a labourer to
the bricklayers, and got thereby for some time sufficient wherewith to
maintain himself and his family. At last, giving himself over to drink,
he minded little of what became of his wife and children, and falling
unhappily about the same time into the acquaintance of the
before-mentioned malefactor Harris, he was easily seduced by him to
become a partner in his crimes and addicted himself to the highway.

It was but a very short space that they continued to exercise this their
illegal and infamous calling, for venturing to attack one Mr. Barker, on
the Ware Road, and not long after Dr. Edward Hulse,[81] they were
quickly apprehended for those facts, and after remaining some time in
Newgate, were brought to their trials at the Old Bailey.

There it was sworn by Mr. Barker, that he observed them drinking at an
alehouse at Tottenham, the very evening in which he was robbed; and that
apprehending them to be loose and disorderly persons he took more than
ordinary notice of their faces; that about a mile from Edmonton church
they came up with him, and notwithstanding he told them he knew them,
they pulled him off his horse and robbed him of five pounds and
sixpence; that returning the next day to the place where he was robbed,
he found sevenpence, which he supposed they had dropped in their hurry.

On the second indictment it was desposed by one Mr. Hyatt that he
suspected the prisoners, from the description given by Mr. Barker and
Doctor Hulse, to be the persons who had robbed them; he thereupon
apprehended them upon suspicion, and that Mr. Barker, as soon as he saw
them, swore to their faces.

Doctor Hulse deposed that they were the persons who robbed him of his
watch and money, and that he had particularly remarked Owen as having a
scar on his face. Thomas Bennett, the doctor's coachman, swore that Owen
was the man who got upon the coach-box and beat him, and afterwards
robbed his master; that not contented therewith, they beat the witness
again, knocked out one of his teeth, and broke his own whip about him.
Henry Greenwood confirmed this account in general, but could not be
positive to any of the faces except that of Owen. The jury, in this
proof, without any long stay found them all guilty.

While under sentence of death they all behaved themselves with as much
penitence and seeming sorrow for their offences as was ever seen amongst
persons in their condition. They attended as often as Divine Worship was
celebrated in the chapel, and appeared very desirous of instruction as
to those private prayers which they thought necessary to put up to God,
when carried back to their several places of confinement.

Harris seemed a little uneasy at the Ordinary's remonstrating with him
that he was more guilty than the rest, inasmuch as he first incited them
to the falling into those wretched methods by which they brought shame
and ruin upon themselves. He answered that there was little difference
in their dispositions, having been all of them addicted for many years
to the greatest wickedness which men could practise; that his companions
were no less ready than he to fall upon such means of supporting
themselves in sensual delights. As he averred this to their faces they
did not contradict it, but seemed to take shame to themselves and to
sorrow alike for the evils they had committed.

They ended their lives at Tyburn, on the 11th of September, 1728, with
all outward signs of true repentance; Owen being twenty, Harris
twenty-nine, and Medline thirty-nine years of age at the time of their
execution.

FOOTNOTES:

[81] An eminent Whig doctor who was later appointed physician
to George II. He was created a baronet in 1739.




The Lives of PETER LEVEE, JOHN FEATHERBY, STEPHEN BURNET, _alias_
BARNET, _alias_ BARNHAM, and THOMAS VAUX, Street-Robbers, Footpads,
Thieves, etc.


In the course of these memoirs I have more than once remarked that a
ridiculous spirit of vainglory is often the source of those prodigious
mischiefs which are committed by those abandoned persons, who addict
themselves to open robberies, and the carrying on, as it were, a
declared war against mankind. Theft and rapine may to some appear odd
subjects for acquiring glory, and yet it is certain that many,
especially of the younger criminals, have been chiefly instigated in
their most daring attempts from a vain inclination to be much talked of,
in order to which this seemed to them the shortest course. But these
observations that I have made will be better illustrated from the
following lives, than they could have been any other way.

Peter Levee was descended from honest and reputable parents, who gave
him a very good education, and afterwards bound him out apprentice to a
silk weaver; but such as the perverse disposition of this unfortunate
Lad, such his love of gaming, and such his continual inclination to
debauched company, that nothing better could be expected from him than
what afterwards befell him. Yet his understanding was very tolerable, he
did not want a sufficient share of wit, and in a word his capacity
altogether might have enabled him to have lived very well, if his
prodigious vices had not prevented it by hurrying him into misfortunes.
It was remarkable in this criminal that his long habit of carrying in
the detestable trade of stealing, to which he had incurred himself in
every shape as much as possible, had given so odd a cast to his visage
that it was impossible for a man to look him in the face without
immediately guessing him to be a rogue.

While yet a boy, he had been so accustomed to confinement in the
Compter, especially in Wood Street, that he had contracted a friendship
with all the under-officers in that prison, who treated him with great
leniency as often as he came there. Picking pockets, sneaking goods out
of shops, snatching them through windows, and such other petty facts,
were the employments of his junior years. As he grew bigger, he grew
riper in all sorts of villainy, though never a fellow had worse luck in
dishonest attempts, for he was always detected, and very frequently had
gone through the lesser punishments of the Law, such as whipping and
hard labour. At one time he lay four years in Newgate for a fine, and
this finished the course of his villainous education, for from the time
he got out, he never ceased to practice robbing in the streets, and on
the roads to the villages near London, until he and his companions fell
into the hands of Justice, and went altogether to their last adventure
at Tyburn.

John Featherby, the second of these criminals, had received a greater
share of education than any of the rest. His father had been a man of
tolerable circumstances, and with great care provided that this young
fellow should not be ignorant of anything that might be necessary or
convenient for him to know in that business for which he designed him,
viz., a coach-painter. But he did not live to see him put apprentice to
it, which his mother afterwards took care to do, and consequently he had
not the misfortune of seeing him live so scandalous a life, and die so
shameful a death.

His understanding was tolerable, but his behaviour so rude, boisterous
and shocking that he left no room even for that compassion to which all
men are naturally prone when they see persons under sentence of death.
The desire of appearing brave and making the figure of a hero in low
life was in all probability the occasion of his acting so odd a part,
and as he was generally looked upon as their chief by those unfortunate
creatures who were of his gang, possibly he put on this ferocity in his
manner in order to support his authority, and preserve that respect and
superiority of which these wretches are observed to be inexpressibly
fond.

Stephen Burnet, _alias_ Barnet, _alias_ Barnham, which was his true
name, was a child when he died, and a thief almost from his cradle. His
parents, who were people of worth, sent him to school with a design,
doubtless, that he should have acquired some good there; but Stephen
made use of that time to visit a master of his own choosing, the
celebrated Mr. Jonathan Wild, at whose levy he was a pretty constant
attendant and while an infant he was a most assiduous companion and
assistant to the famous Blueskin.

My readers may be perhaps inquisitive how an infant of eight years old
could in any way assist a person of Blueskin's profession. For their
information, then, perhaps for their security, I must inform them that
while Blueskin and one of his companions bought a pair of stockings, or
two or three pairs of gloves in a large Shop, Stephen used to creep on
all fours under the counter, and march off with goods perhaps to the
value of ten, twelve, or twenty pounds. But, alas, he was not the
youngest of Mr. Wild's scholars. I myself have seen a boy of six years
old tried at the Old Bailey for stealing the rings of an oyster women's
fingers as she sat asleep by her tub, and after his being acquitted by
the compassion of the jury, Jonathan took him from the bar, and carrying
him back upon the leads, lifted him up in his arms, and turning to the
spectators, said, _Here's a cock of the game for you, of my own breeding
up._

But to return to Barnham. His friends no sooner found out the villainy
of his inclinations, but they took all methods imaginable to wean him
from his vices. They corrected him severely; they offered him any
encouragements on his showing the least visible sign of amendment, they
put him to seven several trades upon liking. But all this was to no
purpose, nothing could persuade him to forsake his old trade, which
following with indefatigable industry, he made a shift to reach the
gallows of an old offender, at almost nineteen years of age.

After he, Featherby, Vaux and Levee became acquainted, they suffered no
time to be lost in perpetrating such facts as were most likely to supply
them with money, roving abroad almost every night, in quest of
adventures and returning very seldom without some considerable prey.
Perhaps my readers may be inquisitive as to what became of all this
money. Why, really, it was spent in drink, gaming and in whores, three
articles which ran so high amongst these knight-errants in low life that
Barnham and two more found a way to lavish an hundred and twenty pounds
on them in three weeks.

On one of his nocturnal expeditions, in company with Levee and
Featherby, they robbed one Mr. Brown, in Dean's Court by St. Paul's
Churchyard, of a gold watch and thirteen guineas; upon which the
gentleman thought fit, it seems, to offer in the newspapers a reward of
five guineas for restoring the watch. Not many days after, he received a
penny-post epistle from Mr. Barnham, in which he was told that if he
came to a field near Sadler's Wells, and brought the promised reward of
five guineas along with him, he should there meet a single person at
half an hour after six precisely, who would restore him his watch
without doing him any injury whatsoever. At the time appointed the
gentleman went thither, found Barnham walking alone, well dressed with a
laced hat on, who immediately came up to him, and receiving the five
guineas presented him with his watch.

Mr. Brown having no more to do with him, immediately turned round about
to go back, upon which Barnham produced a pistol ready cocked from under
his coat. _You see_, says he, _it is in my power to rob you again; but I
scorn to break my word of honour._ Levee and Featherby, it seems, were
posted pretty near and, as they all declared, intended to have shot the
gentleman if he had brought anybody with him, or had made the least
opposition or noise.

At Kingston assizes he was tried for a robbery committed in Surrey, but
for want of sufficient evidence was acquitted, upon which he returned
immediately to his old trade. About three months before he was
apprehended for the last time, he came into Little Britain (the place
where he was born), produced a silver spoon and fifteen shillings in
money, declared it to be the effects of that day's exploits, and then
climbing up a lamp-post, thrust his head through the iron circle in
which in winter time the lamp is placed, declaring to the neighbours who
called him and advised him to reform, that within three months he would
do something that should bring him to be hanged in the same place. As to
the time he was not mistaken, though he was a little out as to the
manner and place of his execution, and we mention this fact only to show
the amazing wickedness of so young a man, of which we shall hereafter
have occasion to say a great deal more.

Thomas Vaux was a fellow of no education at all. Whether he had been
bred to any employment or not I am not able to say, but that which he
followed was sweeping of chimneys, the profits of which he eked out with
thefts, in which he continued undiscovered for a long space of time. In
himself he was a fellow void of almost every good quality, disliked even
by his own companions for his brutal behaviour which he still kept up
even under his misfortunes, and ceased not to behave with an obstinate
perverseness even to the last moment of his life.

The fact for which all this gang suffered was for robbing one Mr. Clark,
at the corner of Water Lane, in Fleet Street,[82] which at their trial,
was proved upon them by witnesses in the following manner:

Mr. Clark, the prosecutor, deposed that going in a coach from St. Paul's
to the Inner Temple, he saw three or four persons dogging it from a
toy-shop at the corner of St. Paul's Churchyard; that he scarce lost
sight of them until he came to the end of Water Lane, where Barnham and
Vaux stopped the coach; he then looked out and saw them very plainly.
Levee stepped into the coach, put his hand into his pocket, and tore
his breeches down in taking out the things; Featherby all the while
holding a pistol to his breast The things they took from him were a
silver watch, value four pounds, a diamond ring, three pounds eleven
shillings in silver and fourteen guineas.

Then the confessions of Levee and Barnham before Sir William Billers,
Knight and Alderman, were read, in which they owned that they committed
the robbery on Mr. Clark, and that Featherby and Vaux assisted therein.
Sir William also attested that they made the said confession freely and
without any promises made, or being threatened in case of refusal.
Thomas Wood swore that going to apprehend Featherby and one Cable, in a
house in Blue Boar's Head Alley, in Barbican, they both snapped their
pistols at him, but that neither of them went off.

Mary Vaux, wife of the prisoner Thomas Vaux, having first excused
herself from giving any testimony against her husband, deposed that she
saw the rest of the prisoners commit the robbery at the end of Water
Lane, and that Levee got into the coach. Upon which evidence taken
altogether the jury found them guilty without going out of the Court.

When they received sentence of death, they all behaved themselves very
audaciously, except Levee who appeared penitent, and excused himself of
the misbehaviour he had been guilty of at his trial. During the time
they remained under sentence of death in Newgate, this last mentioned
criminal, Levee, appeared truly sensible of that miserable state in
which he was. He attended the public devotion at Chapel with great
seriousness, except when his audacious companions pulled him and
disturbed him, when he would sometimes smile. As he had passed through
the former part of his life without thought or reflection, so he seemed
now awakened all at once to a just sense of his sins. In a word, he did
every thing which so short a space could admit of, to convince those who
saw him that he minded only the great business he had to do, viz., the
making of his peace with that God who he had so much offended.

Featherby, as has been said, persisted in that brutal behaviour for
which he had been remarkable amongst his gang. At chapel he disturbed
the congregation by throwing sticks at a gentleman, laughing and talking
to his companions, sometimes insulting and beating those who were near
him, and in fine encouraged the rest of his companions to behave in such
a manner that the keepers were reduced to the necessity of causing them
all four to be chained and nailed down in the old condemned hold, for
fear of their committing some murder or other before they died, which
they often threatened they would do. There they continued for three or
four days, until upon the promise of amendment and behaving better for
the future, they were released, brought back again to their respective
cells, and at times of public devotion up to chapel.

When the death warrant came down, Featherby pretended to be much more
moved than could be expected, seemed in dreadful agonies at the
remembrance of his former wicked and impudent behaviour, prayed with
great fervency, and said he hoped that God would yet have mercy on him.
Barnham continued unmoved to the last. He did, indeed, abstain from
ill-language and disturbing people at chapel, but employed his time in
his cell, in composing a song to celebrate the glorious actions of
himself and his companions. This was work he very much valued himself
upon, and sending for the person who usually prints the dying speeches,
he desired it might be inserted, but it containing incitements to their
companions to go on in the same trade, in the strongest terms he was
capable of framing them in, his design was frustrated, and they were not
published.

Vaux behaved a little more civilly after their being stapled down in the
condemned hold, but throughout the time of his confinement appeared to
be a very obstinate and incorrigible fellow. Levee was twenty-four years
old; Featherby about the same age; Barnham near nineteen; and Vaux
twenty-three, at the time they suffered, being on the 11th of November,
1728, in company with nine other malefactors.

A Paper written by Featherby's own hand, which he delivered to the
Ordinary of Newgate in the Chapel immediately before they went to be
executed.

As it is my sad misfortune to come to this untimely end, I think it
my duty to acknowledge the justice of Almighty God, and that of my
country, and I humbly implore pardon of the Divine Goodness, and
forgiveness of all that I have injured, or any ways offended. It is
a sad reflection upon my spirit that I have had the blessing and
advantage of honest and pious parents, whose tender care provided
for my education, so that I might have lived to God's glory, their
comfort and my own lasting felicity. But I take shame to myself, and
humbly acknowledge that by the evil ways I of late followed I
neglected my duty to my great Creator, and brought grief to my dear
and tender mother. And having thus far, and much more, effended
against God and man, I hope and earnestly desire, that no prudent
nor charitable person will reflect upon my good mother, or any other
friend or relation for my shameful end.

John Featherby

FOOTNOTES:

[82] Now called Whitefriars Street.




The Life of THOMAS NEEVES, Street-Robber and Thief


There are some persons so amazingly destitute of reason, so exceedingly
stupid, and of so sleepy a disposition of mind, that neither advice, nor
danger, nor punishment are capable of awaking them; they pass through
life in a continual lethargy of wickedness, nor can they be obliged to
open their eyes even when at the point of death.

How shocking, how horrid soever such a character may be, certain it is
that the criminal Neeves, of whom we are now speaking, deserved no
better. His parents, though mean, had not omitted the care of his
education so far but that he had learned to read and write, which they
thought qualification sufficient for the business in which they intended
to breed him, viz., a cane chair-maker, to which employment they put him
apprentice. He did not serve out his time with his master, for having
got into an acquaintance with some lewd, debauched persons, he, whose
inclination from his youth turned that way, went totally into all their
measures, and quitting all thoughts of an honest livelihood, thought of
nothing but picking and stealing.

He associated himself with a woman of the same calling, who probably
furthered him in all his attempts, in consideration of which he married
her, and they were both together in Newgate for their several offences.
In the former part of this volume[83] we have mentioned his becoming a
witness against several street-robbers, who were executed upon his
evidence; of whom George Gale, _alias_ Kiddy George, Thomas Crowder,
James Toon, and John Hornby, denied the commission of those particular
facts which he swore upon them, and Richard Nichols (who was a grave
sober man) went to death and took it upon his salvation, that he was
never concerned either in that act for which he died, or in any other of
the same kind during the course of his life.

As the town naturally abhors perjuries which affect men's lives, and are
not very well affected towards evidences even when they do not exceed
the truth, so the misfortune of Neeves being a second time apprehended,
instead of creating pity, gave the public a general satisfaction. At the
sessions following his confinement he was indicted for privately
stealing out of the shop of Charles Lawrence a corduroy coat value
thirteen shillings. In respect of this robbery, the prosecutor deposed
that Thomas Neeves, about seven in the evening, came into his shop, he
being a salesman, and enquired for a dimity waistcoat; one accordingly
was shown him, but they not at all agreeing in the price, Neeves on a
sudden turned towards the door, and having with some earnestness cursed
the prosecutor, snatched up a coat and ran away. Upon which Mr. Lawrence
followed him, crying out, _Stop Thief!_ which Neeves himself also bawled
out as loud as he could until he was taken. Upon this evidence the jury
found him guilty.

Under sentence of death his behaviour was much of a piece with what it
was before. As to his confession, he would make none, saying he would
give no occasion for books or ballads to be made about him. Even in
chapel he behaved himself so rudely that he occasioned great
disturbance, and put the keepers under a necessity of treating him with
more severity than was usual to persons under his miserable condition.
When alone in his cell he expressed great diffidence of the mercy of
God, seemed to be in a slate of despair, and though he was often pressed
to declare whether depositions he had given against the afore-mentioned
street robbers were true or not, he either waived making an answer, or
used so much evasion or equivocation that it still remained doubtful
whether he swore truth or no.

As his end drew yet nearer, he appeared more and more confused and
uneasy, but not a bit more penitent or ready to confess, notwithstanding
that several persons, and some of them of distinction had applied to him
in the cells and earnestly exhorted him to that purpose. He also drank
excessively, though so near his end, and his conscience so loaded with
such a weight of horrible offences.

Yet it is very probable that he would have been much more tractable in
his temper and ingenuous in his confessions, if he had not been
continually visited and kept warm by a certain bad woman he at that time
owned for his wife. This wretched creature was employed by some persons
who thought themselves in danger if Neeves should once become truly
penitent, to keep him full of idle thoughts and delusive promises to the
very hour of his death, in which (from the temper of the fellow), they
flattered themselves his cowardice would make them safe. In which wicked
design both they and she succeeded but too well, for he continued
careless, obstinate and impenitent to the last moment of his life, and
at the place of execution staggered and was scarce able to stand,
bawling out to a man in a coach who was to carry away his body, until
the Ordinary reprimanded him and told him he believed he had drunk too
much that morning; to which Neeves answered, _No indeed, Sir, I only
took a dram._ He then besought him that a Psalm might be sung, which
request of his being complied with, he yet could not forbear smiling
while they were singing.

[Illustration: AN EXECUTION IN SMITHFIELD MARKET

(_From the Newgate Calendar_)]

The father and wife of Mr. Nichols, the barber so often mentioned, got
into the cart and earnestly enquired whether the deposition he had given
against him was the truth or not. Neeves, thereupon, with tears in his
eyes owned that it was not, and thence fell into a greater agony than he
had ever been perceived in before, beseeching God to have mercy on him
for shedding innocent blood, into which he had been induced by the
persuasion of others, who represented it to him as a means for getting
money both for them and him, owning that he never saw Nichols in his
life before they were at the justices together. After this he cried two
or three times unto God to forgive him, and so was turned off with the
rest on the 27th of February, 1729, being then about twenty-eight years
of age.

FOOTNOTES:

[83] See page 445.




The Lives of HENRY GAHOGAN and ROBERT BLAKE, Coiners


Notwithstanding the number of those who have been executed for this
offence, yet of late years we have had frequent instances of persons who
rather than groan under the burden of poverty or labour hard to get an
honest livelihood, have chosen this method of supplying their
extravagances and consequently have run their heads into a halter.

Henry Gahogan, an Irishman of mean parents (who had however bestowed so
much education upon him that he attained writing a very fair hand), in
order to get his bread set up the business of a writing-master in that
part of Ireland, where there were few masters to strive against him.
Here he behaved for some time so well, that he got the reputation of
being an honest industrious young man; but whether business fell off, or
that his roving temper could no longer be kept within bounds, the papers
I have do not authorise me to determine.

He went upon his travels, and passed through a great part of Europe in
the quality, as may be conjectured, of a gentleman's servant, until two
or three years before his death, about which time he brought over the
art of coining into England, which he had been taught by a countryman of
his, as an easy and certain resource whenever his difficulties should
straiten him so far as to make its assistance necessary. This happened
no very long time after his coming over thence, for in a short time his
extravagancies reduced him so much that one of his countrymen thought he
did him a great service in recommending him to one Blake, for an usher,
which Blake at that time set up to teach young gentlemen to fence,
having a school for that purpose near the Temple.

Thither Gahogan came accordingly, and after staying for two days
successively, and finding no scholars came, he opened the case to his
master that was to have been and told him how easy it was to get money
and live well, provided they had but utensils for coining, and soon
after he showed him a specimen of his art, which he performed so
dexterously that at first sight they promised themselves prodigious
matters therefrom. They engaged one Ferris, who formerly had wrote as a
clerk to a gentleman of Lincoln's Inn and the Temple, but adventuring to
trust another person with that secret, he soon after made a confession
and impeached them all. Upon which this Gahogan, Blake and the
before-mentioned Ferris, together with two women, came to be tried for
this offence on an indictment of high treason.

The evidence was very clear, and notwithstanding the assurance with
which Blake and Gahogan behaved at the bar, and the perplexed defence
which was made by Ferris (who fancied himself so sure of being acquitted
that he directed horses to be hired in order to his going down to a
country assizes, there to assist as solicitor for a notorious offender),
the jury, after a short stay, brought them in guilty, but acquitted the
women, of whom the one was the mother of this Gahogan and the other the
mistress or wife of the said Robert Blake, of whom we are next to speak.

He was by birth also of the Kingdom of Ireland, his parents being people
of some condition, who gave him a very good education and afterwards put
him out apprentice to a linendraper. After he was out of his time he
married a woman with some little fortune, by whom he had three children,
and after misusing her greatly, went away from her into England. Here he
led a loose, debauched life, and subsisted himself, to give it the best
phrase, rather upon the ingenuity of his head than the industry of his
hands. Here he found means to draw aside a farmer's daughter, to whom he
was married, and whom he involved so far in his misfortunes, as to bring
her to the bar with himself for high treason, where her marriage was so
far of service to her that it excused her from bearing a share in his
conviction.

After they were found guilty, Gahogan expressed much penitence and
sorrow, acknowledged the heinous offences of which he had been guilty,
and expressed particular concern for the ill-usage he had given his poor
mother, whom he had often beaten and abused, for whom he was once
committed to Bridewell on that score, which effectually ruined what
little reputation be had left. Before the day of execution came he was
exceedingly poor and destitute, so that he had scarce clothes wherewith
to cover him, or food sufficient to preserve that life which was so
suddenly to be finished at the gallows. As far as we are able to judge
from the man's outward behaviour, he was a sincere and hearty penitent,
only it was with great difficulty he forgave the persons concerned in
his prosecution, which however at last he declared he did, and passed
with great resignation and piety, though by a violent death from this
world to another, and we may charitably hope, a better.

As to Blake, his behaviour was not so much of a piece at first, but when
he perceived death inevitable, notwithstanding his having procured a
reprieve for a week, and thereby escaped dying with his companion
Gahogan, the prospect of his approaching dissolution wrought so far upon
him that with much seeming penitence he made a frank confession of all
his offences, reflecting chiefly on himself for having deserted his
wife, and living for so many years with other women. When the week for
which he had procured a reprieve was expired, he was carried alone on a
hurdle, which is usual in cases of high treason, and being come to the
place of execution he stood up and spoke to those who were present in
the following terms:

Good People,

I am brought here justly to suffer death for an offence the nature
of which I did not so well comprehend at the time I committed it. I
have been the greatest of all sinners, addicted to every kind of
lust, and guilty of every manner of crime, excepting that of murder
only. You that are assembled here to see the unfortunate exit of an
unhappy man, take warning from my fate, and avoid falling into those
extravagancies which necessarily bring persons to those straits
which have forced me upon taking undue courses for a supply. This is
the end proposed by the Law for making me a spectacle, and I pray
God with my last breath that you may make that use of it.

After this he betook himself to some private devotions, and then
suffered with great constancy and resignation of mind. He was executed
on the 31st of March, 1729, being then about thirty-eight years of age.
Gahogan died on the 24th of the same month, being then thirty years of
age.




The Life of PETER KELLEY, _alias_ OWEN, _alias_ NISBET, a Murderer


Whether there be really any gradation in crimes, or whether we do not
mistake in supposing the transgression of one Law of God more heinous
than that of another, would be a point too difficult and too abstract
for us to enter into, but as human nature is more shocked at the
shedding of blood than at any other offence, we may be allowed to treat
those who are guilty of it as bloody and unnatural men, who besides
their losing all respect towards the laws of God, show also a want of
that compassion and tenderness which seems incident to the human
species.

The unhappy person of whom we are now to speak, was by birth an
Irishman, and his true name Mackhuen, but upon his coming over into
England he thought fit to change it for Owen, thereby inclining to avoid
being taken for any other person than an Englishman. His parents were,
it seems, persons so low in the world that they could not afford him any
education, so that he was unable either to write or read at the time of
his death. However, they put him out apprentice to a weaver, with whom
having served his time, he came over to England, and worked for a little
time at his trade. But growing idle, and being always inclined to
sotting, he chose rather to go errands, or to do anything rather than
work any longer.

It seems he played with great dexterity upon two jews' harps at a time,
and this serving to entertain people of as loose and idle a disposition
as himself, he thereby got a good deal of money, or least drink (which
was to him all one, for without it he could not live), and his delight
in an alehouse was so great that he seldom cared to be out of it. People
in such houses finding they got money by his playing upon the jews'
harp, and thereby keeping people longer at the pot than otherwise they
were inclined to stay, used to encourage Peter by helping him to
errands; but amongst all the persons who were so kind as to supply his
necessities, there was one Nisbet, an old joiner in the neighbourhood,
who was never weary of doing him kindnesses. Having repeated these often
and for a long time together, Kelley at last began to call the old man
father, and there seemed to be an inviolable friendship between them,
Peter always preserving some respect towards him, though he seemed to
have lost it towards everybody else.

One night, however, or rather morning, for it was near two o'clock,
Kelley came with many signs of terror and confusion to the watch-house,
and there told the constable and attendants that old Nisbet was
murdered and lay weltering in his bed and a razor by him. The watch,
knowing Peter to be a wild, half-witted drunken fellow, gave little heed
to his discourse, and so far they were from crediting it that they
turned him out of the watch-house, and bid him get about his business.
In the morning old Nisbet's lodgers not hearing him stir at his usual
hour, went to the door, and there made a noise in order to awake him.
Having no answer upon that, they sent for a proper officer and broke the
door open, where they found the old man with his throat cut in a most
barbarous fashion, overflowed with the torrent of his own blood, which
was yet warm. No sooner did the particulars of this horrid murder begin
to make a noise, but the watch calling to mind what Kelley had told
them, immediately suspected him for the murder, and caused him quickly
to be apprehended and committed to Newgate.

On the trial the strongest circumstances imaginable appeared against
him, so much that the jury, without much hesitation, found him guilty,
and he, after a pathetic speech from the Bench, of the nature and
circumstances of his bloody crime, received sentence of death with the
rest. Under conviction he appeared a very stupid creature, though as far
as his capacity would give him leave he showed all imaginable signs of
penitence and sorrow, and attended with great gravity and devotion at
the public service in the chapel, notwithstanding he professed himself
to be in the communion of the Church of Rome. He acknowledged the
deceased Mr. Nisbet to have been extraordinarily kind and charitable to
him, even to as great a degree as if he had been his own child, but as
to the murder, he flatly denied his committing it, or his having any
knowledge of its being committed; and though he was strongly pressed as
to the nature of those circumstances on which the jury had found him
guilty, and which were so strong as to persuade all mankind that their
verdict was just, yet he continued still in the same mind, protesting
his own clearness from that bloody and detestable crime. In this
disposition of mind he suffered at Tyburn, being at that time about
forty years of age or somewhat under.




The Lives of WILLIAM MARPLE and TIMOTHY COTTON, Highwaymen


That violence with which, in this age, young people pursue the
gratification of their passions without considering how far they therein
violate the laws of God and their country, is the common and natural
source of those many and great afflictions which fall upon them; and
though they do now always bring them to such exemplary punishment as