The Life of BENJAMIN WILEMAN, a Highwayman




Amongst the many other ill consequences of a debauched life and wicked
conversation, it may be reckoned, perhaps, no small one that they render
men liable to suspicions, imprisonments and even capital punishment,
when at the same time, they may be innocent of the particular fact with
which they are charged; nor in such a case is the conviction of an
innocent person so great a reflection on any, as on themselves having
rendered such an accusation probable.

Benjamin Wileman, of whom we are now to speak, was the son of honest
parents in the city of Dublin. They gave him a very good education at
school, and when he was fit to go out apprentice, his father bred him to
his own trade, which was that of a tailor. When he grew weary of that
business, he listed himself as a soldier, and in that state of life
passed twelve years, a sufficient space of time to acquire those
numerous vices which are so ordinary amongst the common sort of men, who
betake themselves to a military employment. Then he came over into
England and lived here, as he himself said, by working at his own trade;
though certain it is, that he led a most debauched and dissolute life,
associating himself with those of his countrymen who of all others were
the most abandoned in their characters. In fine, in all the associations
of his life he seemed to proceed without any other design than that of
gratifying his vicious inclinations.

In the midst of this terrible course of folly and wickedness he was
apprehended for a highwayman, committed to Newgate, and at the ensuing
sessions capitally indicted for two robberies, the one committed on
William Hucks, Esq., and the other on William Bridges, Esq. On the first
indictment it was deposed by the prosecutor that he believed Wileman to
be the person who attacked him. John Doyle, who owned himself to have
been an accomplice in the robbery, swore that Wileman and he committed
it together, and that he paid Wileman five guineas and a half for his
share of the gold watch and other things which were taken from the
gentleman. As to the second fact, Mr. Bridges gave evidence that he was
robbed on the highway and lost a sword, a hat, a pocket-book and a
bank-note for twenty pounds. Doyle gave evidence in this, as in the
former case, declaring that Wileman and he committed the fact together.

Then Elizabeth Jones being produced, swore that the same day she met
Doyle and Wileman booted and spurred and very dirty in Bedford Row, and
that they showed her the bank note, which when shown to her, she deposed
to be the same. Arabelle Manning deposed that on the night of the day
the robbery was committed, the prisoner Wileman and Doyle gave her a
dram at a gin-shop in Drury Lane, and that one of them let fall a paper,
and taking it up again, said that the loss of it would have been the
loss of twenty pounds.

The prisoner objected to the character of Doyle, Jones and Manning, and
called some persons as to his own, but the jury thinking the fact
sufficiently proved, found him guilty on both indictments. Under
sentence of death, his behaviour was very regular, professing a deep
sorrow and repentance for a very loose life which he had led, and at the
same time peremptorily denying that he had any hand in, or knew anything
of either of those facts which had been sworn against him, and for which
he was to die.

Notwithstanding that the most earnest entreaties were made use of to
induce him to a plain and sincere confession, yet he continued always to
assert his innocence as to thieving, letting fall sharp and invidious
expressions against the evidence of Doyle whom he charged with swearing
against him only to preserve another guilty person from punishment, whom
Wileman intended to prosecute and had it is his power to convict. The
effects of his former good education were very serviceable to him in
this his great and last misfortune, for he seemed to have very just
notions of those duties which were incumbent upon him in his miserable
state; therefore, especially towards the latter part of his time, he
appeared gravely at chapel and prayed fervently in his cell until the
boy James Grundy, whom we have mentioned before, put it in to his head
to make his escape; for the attempting which they were all carried (as
we have said before) into the old condemned hold and there stapled down
to the ground.

As there is no courage so reasonable as that which is founded on
Christian principles, so neither constitutional bravery nor that
resolution which arises either from custom, from vanity, or from other
false maxims preserves that steady firmness at the approach of death
which gives true quiet and peace of mind in the last moments of life,
taking away through the certainty of belief, those terrors which are
otherwise too strong for the mind, and which human nature is unable to
resist. Wileman's conduct under his misfortunes, fully verified this
observation in its strongest sense; he only retained just notions of
religion and this enabled him to support his affliction after a very
different manner from that in which it affected his two companions; or
as it had done himself before, from a just contemplation of the mercy of
God, and the merits of his Saviour, he had brought himself to a right
idea of the importance of his soul, and thereby took himself off from
the superfluous consideration of this world and stifled those uneasy
sensations with which men are naturally startled at the approach of
death. Yet he did not in all this time alter a jot in his confession,
but asserted calmly that he was innocent, and that Doyle had perjured
himself in order to take away his life.

At the place of execution his wife came to him, embraced him with great
tenderness, and all he said there in relation to the world was that he
hoped nobody would reflect upon her for the misfortune which had
befallen him, and then, with great piety and resignation in the midst of
fervent ejaculations, yielded up his last breath at Tyburn, at the same
time with the malefactor before mentioned, being at the time of his
decease about forty-three years of age.




The Life of JAMES CLUFF, a Murderer, in which is contained a concise
account of the nature of Appeals


To curb our vicious inclinations and to restrain those passions from the
sudden transports of which cruel and irreparable mischiefs are done, is
without doubt the best end of all instructions; and for my own part, I
cannot help thinking that this very book may contribute as much to this
purpose as any other that has been published for a long time. That vices
are foul in their nature is certainly true, and that they are fatal in
their consequences, those who, without consideration pursue them, feel.
There are few who will take time to convince themselves of the first,
but no man can be so blind as to mistake the latter after the perusal of
these memoirs, in which I have been particularly careful to describe the
several roads by which our lusts lead us to destruction; and have fixed
up Tyburn as a beacon to warn several men from indulging themselves in
sensual pleasures.

This unfortunate person we are now going to give the public an account
of was the son of very honest people who kept a public-house in Clare
Market. They were careful in sending him to school, and having taught
him there to read and write etc., sufficiently to qualify him for
business, then put him apprentice to the Swan Tavern near the Tower.
There he served his time carefully and with a good character, nor did
his parents omit in instructing him in the grounds of the Christian
religion, of which having a tolerable understanding he attained a just
knowledge, and preserved a tolerable remembrance unto the time of his
unhappy death.

After he was out of his time, he served as a drawer at several public
houses, and behaved himself civilly and honestly without any reflections
either on his temper or his honesty until he came to Mr. Payne's, who
kept the Green Lettuce, a public house in High Holborn, where the
accident fell out which cost him his life.

It seems there lived with him as a fellow servant, one Mary Green, whom
some suggested he had an affection for; but whether that were so or not,
did not very clearly appear, but on the contrary it was proved that they
had many janglings and quarrels together, in which Cluff had sometimes
struck her. However it was, on the 11th of April, 1729, Mary Green being
at dinner in a box by herself, Cluff came in and went into the box to
her, where he had not continued above four or five minutes before he
called to his mistress, who was walking up and down, _Madam, pray come
here._ By this time the maid was dead of a wound in her thigh, which
pierced the femoral artery. There was a noise heard before the man
himself came out, and the wench was dead before her mistress came in.

However, Cluff was immediately apprehended, and at the ensuing sessions
at the Old Bailey he was indicted for the murder of Mary Green, by
giving her a mortal wound in the right thigh, of the breadth of one
inch, and of the depth of five inches, of which she instantly died. He
was a second time indicted upon the coroner's inquest for the said
offence, and also a third time upon the Statute of Stabbing. However the
evidence not being clear enough to satisfy the jury, on his trial he was
acquitted by them all. But this not at all satisfying the relations of
the deceased Mary Green, her brother William Green brought an appeal
against him, which is a kind of proceeding which has occasioned several
popular errors to take rise. Therefore it may not be improper to say
something concerning it for the better information of our readers.

Appeals are of two sorts, viz., such as are brought by an innocent
person, and such as are brought by an offender confessing himself
guilty, who is commonly called an approver. An innocent person's appeal
is the party's private action, prosecuting also for the Crown, in
respect of the offence against the public, and such a prosecution may be
either by writ or by bill. As to the writ of appeal, it is an original
issuing out of Chancery and remarkable in the Court of King's Bench
only. Bills of Appeal are more common and contain in them the nature
both of a writ and a declaration, and they may be received by
commissioners of gaol delivery or justices of assize.

Those which are in use at present in capital cases are four, viz.,
Appeals of Death, of Larceny, of Rape and of Arson. The first is both
the most common and that of which we are particularly to speak. It is to
be brought by the wife or heir of the person deceased, unless they be
guilty of the murder, and then the heir may have an appeal against the
wife, or if he be accused the next heir may have it against him. The
appellant must be heir general to the deceased, and his heir male (for
by _Magna Charta_ a woman cannot have an appeal of death for any but her
husband) and in the appeal also it must be set forth how the appellant
is heir unto the deceased. As to the time in which an appeal may be
brought, it is by the Statute of Gloucester[86] restrained within a year
and a day from the time of the deed done. There is great nicety in all
the proceedings on appeals of death and everything must be set forth
with the greatest exactness imaginable. The appellant hath also the
liberty of pleading as many pleas, or to speak more properly, to take
issue on as many points as he thinks fit. He is tried by a jury, and on
his being found guilty, the appellant hath an order for his execution
settled by the Court; but when the appellee is acquitted, the appellant
is chargeable with damages on such a prosecution, provided there appear
to have been no just cause for the commencement thereof.

But to return to the case of Cluff, which led us into this discourse.
The evidence at his trial upon the appeal was, as to its substance thus.
Mrs. Diana Payne, at the Green Lettuce in Holborn, deposed that the
prisoner James Cluff and the deceased Mary Green were both of them her
servants; that about a quarter of an hour before Mary Green died, she
saw the prisoner carry out a pot of drink; that while she was walking in
the tap-house with her child in her arms, she saw Mary Green go down
into the cellar and bring up two pints of drink, one for a customer and
another for herself, which she carried into a box where she was at
dinner; that about four or five minutes before the accident happened,
Cluff came in, and went to the box to the deceased, and in about four
minutes cried out, _Madam, pray come hither_; that the witness thereupon
went to the door of the box and saw the deceased on her backside on the
floor, and the prisoner held her up by the shoulders, while the blood
ran from her in a stream; that on seeing her, she said to the prisoner,
_James, what have you done?_ To which he answered, _Nothing, Madam._
Whereupon this evidence enquired whether he had seen her do anything to
herself, he replied. _No_, the deceased at that time neither speaking
not stirring, but looking as if she were dead. However, the prisoner at
that time said he saw her have a knife in her hand in the cellar, and
the witness being prodigiously affrighted called her husband and ran for
an apothecary.

Mr. John Payne, husband of the first witness, deposed to the same
purpose as his wife, adding that no struggling was heard when the blows
were given and that she had no knife in her hand when she came out of
the cellar; that in the morning between nine and ten o'clock, a young
man came in, who, as he was informed, had been formerly a sweetheart of
the deceased; that this person drank a pint of drink and smoked a pipe,
the deceased sitting by him some little time, during which as he
believed the stranger kissed her; at which, as they stood before the
bar, he observed the prisoner's countenance alter, as if he were out of
humour at somewhat, although he could not say that he had ever heard of
courtship between them; adding, that when the prisoner went into the box
where the deceased was at dinner, he did take notice of his throwing the
door after him with an unusual violence.

Mr. Saunders, who happened that day to dine at Mr. Payne's house,
confirmed all the former evidence, deposing moreover, than when Mr.
Payne gave the prisoner some harsh language, the prisoner replied, _Sir,
I am as innocent as the child is at my mistress's breast_; that the
prisoner also pretended the deceased took a knife in her hand when she
went into the cellar, upon which this evidence and Mr. Payne went down,
and found not a drop of blood all the way. Mr. Saunders also deposed
that the prisoner was out of the way when the deceased went to draw
drink, and that they saw no knife in her hand.

Mr. Cox, the surgeon, deposed that he saw the deceased lying upon her
back, amid a vast stream of blood which had issued from her; that upon
the table among other knives he had found one amongst them which was a
little bloody and answered exactly to the cut, it going through her
apron, a stuff petticoat and a strong coarse shift. The wound was in her
thigh, going obliquely upwards, and therefore, as he thought, could not
have been given by the deceased herself. The knife, too, was as he said,
laid farther than the deceased could have carried it after the receipt
of the wound, which being in the femoral artery must be mortal in a
minute, or a minute and a half at most. He observed, also, that under
her chin and about her left ear there seemed to have been some violence
used, so as to have caused a stagnation of the blood. This deposition
was confirmed by another surgeon and apothecary, and also in most of its
material circumstances by a surgeon who looked on her on behalf of the
prisoner.

Cluff asked very few questions, and Mr. Daldwin being called for the
appellant, swore that at nine o'clock in the morning he was at Mr.
Payne's and saw the prisoner and the deceased quarrelling, that he
looked maliciously and was an ill-natured fellow. Here the counsel of
the appeal rested their proof, and the prisoner made no other defence
than absolutely denying the fact. After his counsel had said what they
thought proper on the nature and circumstances that had been sworn
against him, the jury withdrew, and after a short stay brought in the
prisoner guilty.

During the space he was confined, between their verdict and his death,
he behaved with a calmness very rare to be met with. He attended the
public devotion of the chapel very gravely and devoutly, behaved quietly
and patiently in his cell, never expressed either fear or uneasiness at
his approaching death, nor ever let fall a warm expression against his
prosecutors, but on the contrary always spoke well of them, and prayed
heartily for them. When pressed, by the ministers who attended him, not
to pass into the other world with a lie in his mouth, but to declare
sincerely and candidly how Mary Green came by her death, he at first
looked a little confused, but at last seeming to recollect himself, he
said, _Gentlemen, I know it is my duty to give glory unto God, and to
take shame unto myself for those sins I have committed in my passage
through this life. I therefore readily acknowledge that my offences have
been black in their nature, and many in number; but for the particular
crime I am to suffer death as the punishment of it, I know no more of it
than the child that is unborn, nor am I able to say in what manner she
came by her death._ And in this he continued to persist unto the time of
his death, appearing to be very easy under his sufferings and did not
change countenance when he was told the day was fixed for his execution,
as it is ordinarily observed the other malefactors do.

As he passed through Holborn to the place of execution, he desired the
cart might stop at his master's house, which accordingly it did. Cluff
thereupon called for a pint of wine and desired to speak with Mr. Payne.
Accordingly he came out, and then he addressed himself to him in these
words. _Sir, you are not insensible that I am going to suffer an
ignominious death for what I declare I am not guilty of, as I am to
appear before my Great Judge in a few moments, to answer for all my past
sins. I hope you and my good mistress will pray for my poor soul. I pray
God bless you and all your family._ Then he spoke to somebody to bid the
carman go on. It was remarkable that he spoke this with great
composedness and seeming cheerfulness.

At the place of execution he did not lose anything of that cheerful
sedateness which he had preserved under the course of his misfortunes,
but made the responses regular to the prayers in the cart and standing
up, addressed himself in these words to the multitude. _Good People, I
die for a fact I did not commit. I have never ceased to pray for my
prosecutors most heartily, ever since I have been under sentence. I wish
all men well. My sins have been great, but I hope for God's mercy
through the merits of Jesus Christ._ Then a Psalm was sung at his own
request. Afterwards, overhearing somebody say that his mistress was in a
coach hard by his execution, he could not be satisfied until somebody
went to search and coming back assured him she was not there. As the
cart was going away he spoke again to the people saying, _I beg of you
to pray for my departing soul. I wish I was as free from all other sins
as I am of this for which I am now going to suffer._

He desired of his friends that his body might be carried to Hand Alley
in Holborn, and from thence to St. Andrew's Church, to lie in the grave
with his brother. He suffered on the 25th of July, 1719, being then
about thirty-two years of age.

FOOTNOTES:

[86] Passed by a Parliament held at Gloucester in 1278 and
dealing with actions at law.




The Life of JOHN DYER, a most notorious thief, highwayman and
housebreaker


My readers cannot but remember the mention often made of this criminal,
in the former volumes. He was, at the time of his death, one of the
oldest offenders in England, and as he was at some pains to digest his
own story that is, the series of his villainies into writing, so what we
take from thence, will at once be authentic and entertaining to our
readers.

He was born of honest and mean parents at Salisbury, who took care,
however, to bestow on him a very tolerable education, and when he grew
up, put him out apprentice to a shoemaker, where he soon made a
beginning in those pernicious practices to which he so assiduously
afterwards addicted himself. The first thing he did, was robbing a
chandler's chop at Collinburn, in the county of Wilts, of the money box,
in which was thirty shillings, and got clear off. Some time after, his
master sending him on a Sunday to a village just by, to get twelve
pennyworth of halfpence at a chandler's shop, Dyer finding nobody at
home, cut the bar of the window, got in thereat, and rifled the house.
The booty he found did not amount to above three half-crowns, but he
added to that the taking away what currants and raisins there were in
the shop, which piece of covetousness had well-nigh cost him his life,
for being suspected and charged with the fact, he had only time to hide
the money. Having searched him in vain, they turned some of the plums
out of his coat pocket, but he readily averring that he bought them at
Andover Market, there being nobody who could falsify it, he escaped for
that time.

His matter shortly after sending him with five pounds to buy leather,
Dyer picking up a companion, as wicked as himself, he persuaded him to
join in a story of his being robbed of the aforesaid sum of money,
which, upon his return, he told his master, and the boy vouching it
firmly, they were believed. Some small space from this, being sent
amongst his master's customers to receive some money, he picked up about
three pounds, and then went off immediately for Salisbury, where he
became acquainted with an idle young woman; which bringing him once more
into necessity, he went one day into the market to see what he might be
able to lay hands on. There he observed a young woman to receive money,
and watching her out of town, he took an opportunity to knock her down,
robbing her, and dragging her into a wood, where he lay with her, and
then bound her fast to a tree.

From thence he went to a village in Hampshire, where he wrought
journey-work at his trade; and getting acquainted with a young woman, he
lodged at her mother's house, where he soon got the daughter with child,
and persuaded her to rob the old woman, and go with him to Bristol.
There they lived together profusely until all the money was spent, and
then she and her child went back to her mother, who received them very
gladly. Dyer did not think fit to return, but went to make his mother a
visit at Salisbury, where he continued not long before he took an
opportunity of robbing her of fifty pounds, and thence marched off to
Bristol, where he gamed most of the money away. Then he retired to a
town in Wiltshire, where cohabiting with a widow women, they found means
to get so good credit as to take the town in (as Mr. Dyer expressed it)
for thirty pounds. Then packing up they marched off to a place at a
considerable distance, where Dyer entered into partnership with a
collier, being to advance fifty pounds, thirty of which he paid down and
the rest was to pay monthly; but before the first payment became due the
collier broke, and his partner, Dyer, thereupon thought it convenient to
remove to some other place.

He pitched, therefore, upon the city of Hereford, where he worked
honestly for a space, until being in company one night with a higgler,
he heard the man say he should go to a place called Ross to buy fowls.
Dyer answered that he did not care if he went with him, and in their
journey, taking the advantage of a proper place he stopped his companion
and robbed him. The man gave him two shillings out of his pocket, but
Dyer suspecting he must have some more money to buy fowls with,
searched the hampers and took out twelve pounds. Taking the man's horse
also, he rode it forty miles outright, after which he went to
Marlborough in Wiltshire, and stayed there a fortnight. But venturing to
steal a silver mug, he was for that fact apprehended and committed close
prisoner there, in order to be tried for it next assizes, but before
that time, he found a weak place in the prison, and breaking it made his
escape.

From thence he went to an aunt's house, about seven or eight miles from
Salisbury, where he stayed until her husband grew so uneasy that he was
obliged to take his leave. He travelled then to a sister of his, and
meeting there with an old schoolfellow and relation, he quickly
persuaded the lad to become as bad as himself, drawing him in to rob his
mother of fifty shillings, with which small stock they two were set up
for their old trade of gaming. But the robbery they had committed was
quickly detected. However, Dyer so well tutored his associate that the
boy could neither by threats nor promises be brought to own it, yet
their denials had not the least weight with their relations. They were
thoroughly convinced of their being guilty, and therefore were
determined that they should be punished, for which purpose they carried
them before a neighbouring Justice of Peace, who committed them to
Bridewell to hard labour.

As Dyer could not endure imprisonment, especially when hard labour was
added to it, so he very speedily contrived a method to free himself and
his companion from their fetters, which was by leaping down the house of
office,[87] which a few days afterwards they did and got clear off.

These various difficulties and narrow escapes seemed to make no other
impression upon Dyer than to give him a greater liking than ever to such
sort of villainous enterprises. He stole as many horses out of New
Forest as came to three-score pounds, and afterwards setting up for a
highwayman, committed a multitude of facts in that neighbourhood, which
he has with great care related in the account he published of his life.
Amongst the rest he stripped a poor maid-servant, who was just come out
of a place, of all the money she had, viz., a gold ring, and a box of
clothes, and so left her without either necessaries or money. At
Winchester he disposed of the clothes and linen which he took from the
poor woman. At an alehouse in High Street he fell into company with a
lace-man, from whom he learned, by some little conversation, that he was
going to Amesbury Fair in Wiltshire. Dyer told him he was going thither
too, and so along they journeyed together. When they arrived there, they
put up their horses at the sign of the Chopping Knife, and while the
lace-man went out to take a stand to sell his goods in, Dyer demanded
the box of lace of the landlord, as if he had been the man's partner;
then calling for his horse, while the landlord's back was turned, he
rode clear off from them all.

On the Plain, going towards Devizes, he overtook a Scotch pedlar. Dyer
it seems knew him, and called him by his name, asking him if he had any
good handkerchiefs, upon which the poor man let down the pack off his
back and showed him several. Dyer told him, after looking over the
goods, that he did not want to buy anything, but must have what he
pleased for nothing. The Scotchman, upon that, put himself in a posture
of defence, but Dyer drawing his pistols on him soon obliged him to
yield, and tied him with some of his own cloth fast to the post of a
wall. He then went and rifled the pack, taking thence nine pounds odd in
money, a great parcel of hair, which he sold afterwards for eight
pounds, six dozen handkerchiefs, and a quantity of muslin. Then he
released the pedlar again, and bid him go and take care of the rest of
his pack, Mr. Dyer being then in some hurry to look out for another
booty.

A very small time after our plunderer met with an old shepherd, who had
sold a good parcel of sheep. Dyer attacked him with his hanger and the
old man, though he had nothing but his stick, made a very good defence.
However, at last he was overcome and lost seventy-two pounds which he
had taken at the market. Dyer being by this time full of money, he
thought fit to go to Dorchester in Wilts, where by the usual course of
his extravagances, he lessened it in a very short time; and then
persuading a poor butcher of the town, who had broke, to become his
companion, he soon taught him from being unfortunate to become wicked.
They agreed very well together (as Mr. Dyer says) until he caught his
new partner endeavouring to cheat him as well as he had taught him to
rob other people. But after some hard words the butcher confessed the
fact, and and promised to be honest to him for the future; which being
all that Dyer wanted, a new agreement was made, and they went to work
again in their old occupation.

The first exploit they went upon afterwards was at Woodbury Hill Fair,
in Dorsetshire, where as soon as the fair was over, Mr. Dyer, in his
merry style, tells us their fair began, for observing a cheeseman who
received about fourscore pounds, they watched him so narrowly that about
a mile from the fair they attacked him and bid him deliver. With a heavy
heart the old man suffered himself to be rifled, though he had paid away
a far greater part of the money, and had not above twelve pounds about
him, yet he sighed as if he would have broken his heart at the loss,
while Dyer and his companion were as much out of humour at the
disappointment and gave him several smart lashes with their whips,
telling him that he should never pay money when gentlemen waited to
receive it.

A small time after this robbery they committed another upon a
hop-merchant, who was riding with his wife. They searched him very
carefully for money, but could find none, until Dyer beginning to curse
and swear and threatening to kill him, his wife cried out, _For Heaven's
sake, do not murder my husband and I'll tell you where his money is._
Accordingly, she declared it was in his boots, upon which Dyer cut them
off his legs and found fifty guineas therein, then taking their leave of
the merchant and his wife, Dyer very gratefully thanked her for her good
office. From thence they went down to Sherbourne, and each of them
having got a mistress, they lived there very merrily for a considerable
space, living in full enjoyment of those gross sensualities in which
they alone reaped satisfaction at the expense of such honest people as
they had before plundered.

Here they had intelligence of a certain grazier who was going down into
the country to buy lean beasts, upon which they followed him and robbed
him of all the money he had, which was about fourscore-and-ten pounds.
So large a sum proved only a fund for extravagance, a use to which these
men put all the money they laid their hands on. Hampshire being so lucky
a place, Dyer and his comrade went next to Ringwood, where the butcher
fell sick, and lay for some time, until their money was almost consumed.
But then growing well again, Dyer took him down to Bath, where they
robbed the stage-coaches from Bath to London, and as they returned from
London to Bath again, until the road became so dangerous that they hired
persons to guard them for the future; and notwithstanding they so often
practised this villainy, they never were in danger but once, when a
gentleman fired a blunderbuss at them but missed them both, whereupon
they robbed the coach, and afterwards whipped him severely with their
horse whips.

Their next expedition was to Hungerford, where they stayed about two
months, in which time Dyer made a match for the butcher with a widow
woman of his own trade; but just as they were going to be married,
somebody discovered both his and the butcher's occupation, and thereupon
obliged them to quit Hungerford, and to take their road to Newbury, with
more precipitation than they were wont to do. In the road to Reading
they robbed a tallow-chandler, and then galloped to Reading, where they
had like to have been taken by the information of the Bath coachman;
but they being pretty well mounted and riding hard night and day got
safe down to Exeter in Devonshire, where, as the securest method, they
agreed to part by consent. The butcher went back to Devonshire again,
and Dyer must needs go to visit his friends at Salisbury, and then after
a short stay with them set out for London.

The fear he was under of being discovered if he came into the direct
road made him take a roundabout way in his journey, and thereby put it
in his power to rob four Oxford scholars; from two of them he took their
watches and their money, but though he searched the other two very
diligently could find nothing, upon which he rode away with the booty he
had taken. But the two whom he had robbed quickly called him back again,
and told him their companions had money, if he had but wit enough to
find it. Whereupon Dyer began to examine the first very strictly, and
found his money put under his buttons, and his watch thrust into his
breeches. On search of the second, he discovered his money put up in the
cape of his coat, but his watch he had hustled to one of his companions,
who held it out, which as soon as Dyer saw he took it away. It is
surprising that men should be possessed with so odd a spirit that
because they have lost all themselves, they must needs have others
plundered into the bargain. However, Dyer thought it a good job, and
with the help of this money he came up to London.

When he arrived here, he worked honestly for some time at his trade,
with a very noted shoemaker upon Ludgate Hill. Soon after, he removed to
a lodging in Leather Lane, and worked there for twelve months. At last
he got into the company of a common woman of the town, and she very
quickly brought him into his old condition, for being much in debt and
often arrested, Dyer, who was at present very fond of her, was obliged
to bail her or get her bailed. Hearing that he had a legacy of ten
pounds a year in an Exchequer Annuity, she would never let him alone
until he had disposed of it, which at last he did, for about fourscore
pounds. The first thing that was done after the receipt of the sum of
money was to clothe madam in Monmouth Street, in an handsome suit of
blue flowered satin, with everything agreeable thereto. On their return
home the man of the house where they lodged flew into a great passion,
said he'd never suffer her to wear such fine clothes unless he was paid
what was due to him. Mr. Dyer in his memoirs gives us this story,
dressed out with abundance of oaths and such like decoration, which we
will venture to leave out, and relate the adventure, as it gives a very
good idea of such sort of houses, otherwise in his own language.

The bawd, while her husband was swearing, took Mr. Dyer upstairs, and
there with a wheedling tone asked him if Moll should not bring them a
quartern of brandy to drink his and his spouse's health, but before Dyer
could give her an answer, she issued a positive command herself,
whereupon up comes Moll and the quartern. The mistress poured out half
of it into one glass which she drank off to the health of Mr. and Mrs.
Dyer, adding with great complaisance. _Well, indeed your Alice is a fine
woman when she's dressed. I love to see a handsome woman with all my
heart. Come, Moll, fill t'other quartern, and bid Mrs. Dyer come to her
spouse; and d'ye hear, tell my husband that Mrs. Dyer desires to drink a
glass of brandy with him._

On this message up comes the husband, and clapping down by him took him
by the hand, with an abundance of seeming courtesy, said, _Pray, Mr.
Dyer, don't let you and I fall out. I may, in my passion, have let fall
some provoking words to your wife, but I can't help it, 'tis my way, and
I really want money so that it almost makes me mad. I'll tell you what;
your spouse, Mr. Dyer, owes me almost nine pounds, now if you'll give me
five guineas, I'll give you a receipt in full._ Upon which our cully of
a robber, thinking to save so much money, paid it him down, and madam
seemed to be highly pleased.

As soon as this was over and the receipt given, his lady said to Dyer,
_Come my dear, we'll go and take a walk and see Mrs. Sheldon._ Thither
they went. No sooner were they in the house, but after the first
compliments were passed, Mrs. Sheldon said, _We were just talking of you
when you came in, Mr. Dyer, and of that small matter your spouse owes
us._ Says Dyer, _How much is it?_ But two-and-forty shillings, says Mrs.
Sheldon. Upon which the fool took the money out of his pocket and paid
it. A little while after this, Dyer's mistress thought fit to quarrel
with one of her female acquaintances whom she had made her confidante,
by which means the story came out that she was not a penny in debt
either to her landlord or Mrs. Sheldon, but that she wanted money and
was resolved to make hay while the sun shone.

One would have thought that a fellow so versed in villainy, and so given
up to all sorts of debauchery, would have immediately discarded a woman
who showed him such tricks, but on the contrary he grew fonder of her,
removed her to another lodging, and lavished all he had on her. But as a
new misfortune, one morning early a man knocked at the door, which he
taking to be one of her gallants, went in his shirt to the window. The
man enquired whether one Mrs. Davis was there, upon which Dyer's
mistress in a great agony, said. _O, la, John, it's my husband come from
sea, what shall I do?_ Upon this, Dyer hustled on his clothes and went
downstairs to another harlot, and by there until his first lady and her
husband came downstairs.

However, it was not long before the seaman had an account of Dyer's
familiarity with his wife, and thereupon thinking to get money out of
him brought his action against him; but Dyer got himself bailed, and
soon after arrested him for meat, drink and lodging for his wife for
several months, for which he lay in the Compter for a considerable time,
and at last was obliged to give Dyer ten pounds to make it up.

At last, when money ran low, Dyer's love on a sudden went all out. He
dismissed his mistress and not finding another quickly to his mind, took
up a sudden resolution to marry and live honest. It was not long before
he prevailed on an honest woman, and accordingly they were joined
together in wedlock. Dyer thereupon provided himself with a cobbler's
stall in Leather Lane, worked hard and lived well. But as his
inclinations were always dishonest, he could not long confine himself to
honesty and labour, but in a short space meeting with a young man in the
neighbourhood, who was very uneasy in his circumstances, and on ill
terms with ms friends, and very much disordered in his mind on account
of the misfortunes under which he laboured, Dyer began immediately to
cast eyes upon him as one who would make him a fit companion.

It seems the other had exactly the same thoughts, and one day as they
were walking together in the fields, says the stranger to him, _I'll
tell you what; if you knew how affairs stand with me, you would advise
me. I must either go upon the highway, or into gaol. That's a hard
choice_, replied Dyer; _but did you ever do anything of that kind? No_,
said the other, _indeed, not hitherto. Well, then_, says his tutor
again, _have you any pistols? No_, replied he, _but I intend to pawn my
watch and buy some._ The bargain was soon made between them. One night
they robbed a man by the Old Spa,[88] the same night they robbed another
by Sadler's Wells. Two or three days after, they robbed a chariot, and
took from persons in it thirty pounds. The young practitioner in
thieving thought this a rare quick way of getting money and therefore
followed it very industriously in the company of his assistant. In
Lincoln's Inn Fields they were hard put to it, for after they had
committed a robbery, abundance of watchmen gathered about them, whom
they suffered to advance very near them, but then firing two or three
pistols over their heads they all ran, and suffered the robbers to go
which way they would. A multitude of other facts they committed, until
Dyer got into that gang who robbed on Blackheath, of whom we have given
some account.

It is observable that Dyer, in his own narrative, gives not the least
account of his turning evidence and hanging a great number of his
associates, many of whom, as has been said in the former volume,[89]
charged him with having first drawn them into the commission of crimes
and then betrayed them. It seems this was among the circumstances of his
life which did not afford him any mirth, a thing to which throughout the
course of his memoirs he is egregiously addicted. However it was, I must
inform my reader that he remained for near seven years a prisoner in
Newgate after his being an evidence, until at last he found means to get
discharged at the same time with one Abraham Dumbleton, who was his
companion in his future exploits, and suffered with him at the same
time. When they were at the bar, in order to their being discharged out
of Newgate, the Recorder, with his usual humanity, represented to them
the danger there was of their coming to a bad end, in case they should
be set at liberty and get again into the company of their old comrades
who might seduce them to their former practices, and thereby become the
means of their suffering a violent and ignominious death; advising them
at the same time rather to submit to a voluntary transportation, whereby
they would gain a passage into a new country, inhabited by Englishmen,
where they might live honestly without dread of those reproaches to
which they would be ever liable here. But they insisting upon their
discharge and promising to live very honestly for the future, their
request was complied with, and they were set at liberty.

One of the first crimes committed by Dyer afterwards was robbing a
victualler coming over Bloomsbury Market,[90] between one and two
o'clock in the morning, and from whom, having thrown him down and
stopped his mouth, they took his silver watch, seventeen shillings in
money, two plain rings, and the buckles out of his shoes. They robbed
another man in the Tottenham Court Road coming to town, tied him and
then took from him two-and-forty shillings. Dyer also happening to be
one day a little cleaner and better dressed than ordinary, was taken
notice of in Lincoln's Inn Fields by one of those abominable, unnatural
wretches who addict themselves to sodomy. He pretended to know him at
first, and desired him to step to the tavern with him and drink a glass
of wine, which the other readily complied with. In the tavern, Dyer took
notice that the gentleman had a good diamond ring upon his finger, and
then suddenly taking notice of a hackney-coach which drove by with a
single gentleman in it, he pretended it was a friend of his and that he
needs must go down and speak a word with him. Under pretence of doing
which, he went clear off with the diamond ring. Two or three days after,
he met the same person with a man in years, and of some consideration.
Upon his asking Dyer how he came to go off in that manner from the
tavern, he, who was accustomed to such salutations, gave him a rough
answer, and the spark fearing a worse accusation might be alleged
against himself, thought fit to go off without making any more words
about it.

I am not able to say how long after, but certainly it could be no very
considerable space before he and Dumbleton robbed Mr. Bradley, in Kirby
Street, by Hatton Garden, of his hat and wig, at the same time trampling
on him, beating him, and using him in the most cruel manner imaginable,
as was sworn by Mr. Bradley upon their trial. However, by affrighting
the watch with their pistols, they got off safe and a night or two after
broke open a linen-draper's shop, and took out a large parcel of linen.
For these two facts they were shortly after apprehended, and on very
full evidence convicted at the Old Bailey.

Under sentence of death, Dyer said he was sorry for his offences, but
spoke of them in a manner that showed he had but a slight sense of those
heinous crimes in which he had continued so long. His narrative that he
left behind him, and which was published the day before his execution,
is a manifest proof of the ludicrous terms which those unhappy creatures
affect in the relation of their own adventures. However, it becomes us
not to judge concerning the sentiments of a person who in his last
moments professed himself a penitent. Instead of doing which, we shall
produce the speech he made at the place of execution.

Good People,

I desire all young men to take warning by my ignominious death, and
to forsake evil company, especially lewd women, who have been the
chief cause of my unhappy fate. I hope, and make it my earnest