request that nobody will be so ill a Christian as to reflect on my
aged parents, who took an early care to instruct me, and brought me
up a member, though a very unworthy one, of the Church of England. I
hope my misfortunes will be a warning to all youth, especially some
whom I wish well; I will not name them, but hope, if they see this,
they will take it to themselves. I die in charity with all men,
forgiving and hoping to be forgiven myself, through the merits of my
blessed Saviour Jesus Christ.

He died on the 21st of November, 1729, being thirty-one years of age.

FOOTNOTES:

[87] This may mean that they dropped themselves into the
cess-pit and made their way out through another opening.

[88] Spa Fields, Clerkenwell, was a notorious spot for footpads.

[89] See pages 121, 122.

[90] This was at the south-west corner of Bloomsbury Square.




The Lives of WILLIAM ROGERS, a Thief; WILLIAM SIMPSON, a Horse-dealer;
and ROBERT OLIVER, _alias_ WILLIAM JOHNSON, a Thief


The first of these persons was descended from very mean parents, who
had, however, given him a tolerable education, so far as to qualify him
by reading and writing for any ordinary kind of business, to which they
intended to breed him on his coming to a fit age. They put him out
apprentice to a shoemaker, with whom he lived out his time, with the
approbation of his master and all who knew him. Afterwards he married a
wife and worked for some time honestly as a journeyman at his trade,
being exceedingly fond of his new wife. But she being a woman who liked
living in a better state than he could afford by what he gained at his
work, and he being desirous to live more at home, and yet maintain her
plentifully too, at last came to picking and thieving; and being
detected in stealing some shoes out of a shop, he was for that crime
transported.

In Maryland and Virginia he continued some time working at his trade
with masters there, who gave him great encouragement, so that he might
have lived very happily there, if he had not been desirous of coming to
England. His mind ran continually on his wife. It was for her sake that
he at first had fallen into these practices, and to enjoy her
conversation was almost the only thing which tempted him to return home.

On his arrival here, it was no doubt with the greatest uneasiness that
he heard his wife, as soon as ever he went abroad, cohabited with
another man and could never afterwards be brought to see him, or give
him any assistance, no not when he was under his last and great
misfortunes. Her unkindness afflicted the unhappy man so much that he
grew careless of his safety, and thereby became speedily apprehended,
and was tried for his offence in returning before the time was expired;
and the fact being clear he was at once convicted.

Under sentence of death, he seemed to deplore nothing so much as the
unkindness of his wife, who would not so much as afford him one visit,
when he had hazarded, and even sacrificed his life to visit her. He
confessed that he had been guilty of that crime for which he had
formerly been transported, but denied that he lived in such a course of
wickedness and debauchery as most malefactors do. On the contrary, he
said he was heartily sorry for his sins, and hoped that God would accept
his imperfect repentance.

William Simpson was a young man of very good parents in Gloucestershire,
who had taken care to educate him carefully, both in the knowledge of
letters and of true religion, and they then put him out apprentice to a
tailor; but not liking that employment, he did not follow it, but lived
with a relation of his who was a great farmer in the country. There, it
seems, he stole a black gelding to the value of ten pounds, for which he
was quickly apprehended and committed to prison, and upon very full
evidence convicted. The unhappy youth said that nothing but idleness and
an aversion to any employment were the causes of his committing an act
of such a nature, so contrary to the principles in which he had been
instructed, and to which he was not tempted by ill-company, or driven to
by any straits. Under sentence of death he behaved with great modesty,
penitence and civility, was desirous of being instructed and did
everything that could be expected from a man in his miserable condition.

Robert Oliver, _alias_ William Johnson, was born of parents of tolerable
circumstances in Yorkshire, they bred him at school, and afterwards
bound him apprentice to a tallow-chandler. After he was out of his time,
he got somehow or other into the service of Mrs. North, where he robbed
one Joseph Heppworth of seven-and-forty guineas. As soon as he had done
it, he went to Moorgate and gave two-and-twenty of them for a horse,
upon which he rode down into his own country, where he exchanged it for
another horse, getting four guineas to boot. But the person who had lost
the money being indefatigable, and imagining that he might have gone
down into his own country, followed him thither, and after some time
seized him and got him confined in Beverley gaol. But it seems he found
a way to make his escape from thence, and so getting to London, skulked
up and down here for some time, until at last he was discovered and
committed to Newgate and at the ensuing sessions at the Old Bailey was
tried and convicted for the aforesaid offence.

Under sentence he behaved himself stupidly, not seeming to have a just
concern for the offence which he had committed. He was sullen, would say
very little, did not deny the crime for which he died, but yet did not
seem to have that compunction which might have been expected from a man
in his sad condition.

At the place of execution Rogers said little; Simpson acknowledged lewd
women had been his ruin; Robert Oliver acknowledged that he had been a
vicious, unruly, young man, who had hearkened to no advice, but addicted
to nothing but the accomplishment of his vices. They were all desirous
of prayers, and after they were celebrated they submitted to their
deaths very patiently; and with pious ejaculations, they were executed
on the 21st of November, 1739, Rogers being forty years of age, Simpson
nineteen, and Oliver twenty-two.




The Life of JAMES DRUMMOND


Folly and wickedness, as it were, naturally lead men to poverty, shame
and misfortunes, but when such miseries overtake persons who lived
soberly and in all outward appearance honestly, it is apt to create
wonder at first, and afterwards to excite compassion.

The unhappy man of whom we are now speaking was the son of a sailor, who
brought him when but a boy of three years of age up to London, and then
dying, left him to the care of his mother, who was too poor to give him
any education. However, he went to sea, and being a young man ingenious
enough in himself, and very tractable in his temper, he soon became a
tolerable proficient in the practical part of navigation. This
recommended him to pretty constant business, whereby he got enough to
maintain himself and his family handsomely enough, if he had thought fit
to have employed it that way; which for a considerable space of time he
did, keeping up a very good reputation in the neighbourhood where he
lived, and serving with a fair character on board several men-of-war,
going up the Baltic with squadrons sent thither to preserve the Swedish
coast from being insulted by the Moscovites.

After his return, he served on board the fleet which destroyed that of
the Spaniards in Sicily. He was afterwards coxswain in the Admiral, when
they served in the Mediterranean, and on the coast of Spain, but coming
home at last and being weary of going to sea, he took up the trade of
selling china and some small goods about the country; in which he got so
established a character that the gentlemen with whom he chiefly dealt
would have trusted him a hundred pounds on his word, and never anything
gave a greater shock to his neighbours and acquaintances than the news
of his being apprehended for a highwayman. However, it seems he had been
engaged to that course by his brother, notwithstanding that till then he
had lived not only honestly, but with tolerable sentiments of religion.

The method in which he was drawn to turn robber on a sudden was thus. On
the 19th of October, 1729, his brother came to him as he was working on
the outside of a ship on the other side of the water, and invited him to
go out with him to a public house, to which at first he was very
unwilling; but at last suffering himself to be prevailed upon, he and
his brother went together to a house not far distant, where they drank
to a higher pitch than James Drummond had ever done before. His brother
all along insinuated how advantageous a trade the highway was, owning he
had followed nothing else for some years past, and saying there was not
the least hazard run in it, at the same time advising his brother to
quit labouring hard, and to take to it, too. James was now grown so
drunk that he hardly knew what he did, so that after much persuasion he
got up behind his brother upon the same horse, but was afterwards set
down, it being judged by both of them to be better to rob on foot, while
he who was well armed and well mounted might be able to defend them
both. Having come to this fatal agreement, they immediately set about
those enterprises which they had consulted together.

The first robbery they committed was upon Mr. William Isgrig, from whom
they took sixteen guineas, seven half-guineas, three broad pieces, one
moidore, twenty shillings in silver, and a watch value two pounds. Not
satisfied with this the same night they attacked one Mr. Wakeling, on
the same road, and took from him a silver watch, and three or four
shillings in money, though not without much resistance, Mr. Wakeling
having drawn his sword and defended himself for a considerable time; but
perceiving one of the rogues to be a footpad, he followed him so
closely, and made such an outcry to the watch, that after a long pursuit
and a sharp struggle with him, they took James Drummond prisoner. His
brother after firing a pistol or two, rode off as fast as he could. At
the ensuing sessions at the Old Bailey he was indicted for both offences
and upon very full and dear evidence convicted.

It was impossible to describe the agonies which this unhappy man
suffered while under sentence of death, the sense of his own condition,
the reflection on his former character, unsullied and untainted amongst
his whole neighbourhood, the consideration of leaving a wife and five
small children behind him, with small provision for their support, and
what was worse exposed to the reflection of the world on the score of an
unhappy father, scandalous in the last actions of his life, and
ignominious in his death. However, returning to his former principles of
piety and religion, he comforted himself under the weight of all his
misfortunes, by leaning on the mercy of God, praying fervently to Him to
grant him patience and protection under those dreadful evils which he
suffered. He acknowledged all to be exactly true which was deposed
against him at his trial, confessed the justice of his sentence, and
prepared to undergo it with as much submission and resignation as was
possible, and indeed perhaps no criminal ever behaved with more
penitence than he did. He died on Monday, the 22nd of December, 1729,
being then forty years of age.




The Lives of WILLIAM CAUSTIN and GEOFFREY YOUNGER, Footpads


The first of these unhappy men, William Caustin, was born somewhere in
the country, but the particular place is not mentioned in any papers I
have before me. Neither am I able to say of what condition his parents
were, yet whether poor or rich they afforded him a very tolerable
education, and when he was grown big enough to be put out apprentice,
bound him to a barber, to whom he served out his time with remarkable
fidelity. When out of his time he married a wife and set up for himself;
yet whether through inevitable misfortunes, or for want of good
management, I cannot say, but he failed in a very short time after, and
so was reduced to be a journeyman again. However, his character remained
so unblemished that he was never out of business, nor ill-treated by any
masters where he worked. On the contrary, he was caressed wherever he
came, and treated with as much civility as if he had been a relation to
those whom he had served.

His wife unfortunately falling sick upon his hand, he became thereby
thrown out of business, and in that time falling into ill company, their
repeated solicitations prevailed with him to go for once upon the
highway, which accordingly he did, and committed, in company with
Geoffrey Younger and the evidence, a robbery on William Bowman, taking
from him a guinea and thirteen shillings, for which he was very quickly
after apprehended, and the fact being plainly and fully proved, he was
convicted, it being the only fact he ever committed.

Geoffrey Younger, his companion, was descended of very honest creditable
parents in Northamptonshire. There he was put apprentice to a baker, to
whom he served his time out very honestly and faithfully. Afterwards he
came up to London, and lived here for seven years as a journeyman, in as
good a reputation as it was possible for a young man to have. But having
by that time got a good quantity of clothes, and about ten pounds in his
pockets, he began to think himself too good to work, and unfortunately
falling into the company of some idle debauched persons of both sexes,
they soon led him into a road of ruin. Amongst these was one Bradley, a
fellow of his own business, whose company of all others, he most
affected. This fellow having addicted himself to the pursuit of the most
scandalous vices, easily drew in Younger to go with him to a house where
gamesters resorted and advising him to venture his money, Younger was
good enough to take his advice, and so was bubbled out of every farthing
of his money.

Surprised and confounded at this extraordinary turn, which had reduced
him to indigence in a moment, he did nothing but lament his own hard
fortune, and curse his indiscretion for coming to such a place. Bradley
endeavoured to cheer him, telling him he would yet put him in a way to
get money, and thereupon proposed going with him upon the highway; in
order to encourage him to which, he told him that at such a place they
should meet with a man who had fourscore pounds about him. So after
abundance of arguments, Younger yielded, and out they went. From that
time forwards he gave a loose to all his brutal inclinations, associated
himself with nobody but common whores and thieves, spent his time in
gaming, when not engaged in a worse employment, and never, after his
acquaintance with Bradley, thought of doing anything either just or
honest. But his course was of no very long continuance, for having
committed four or five robberies, the last of which was in the company
of William Caustin, they were both apprehended, and as has been said,
upon very full evidence convicted.

Under sentence of death they both of them blamed Bradley the evidence,
as the person who had drawn then first to the commission of those crimes
for which they were now to answer with their lives. Caustin's wife died
while he was under sentence, and he thereby lost what little comfort he
had under his afflictions. However, he endeavoured to compose himself
the best he could, to suffer that judgment which the Law had pronounced
upon him, and which he himself acknowledged to be just. Younger, on the
other hand, was exceedingly timorous and so terribly affrighted at the
approach of death that he scarce retained his senses. He confessed very
freely the enormities of his former life; said that a more dissolute
person than himself never lived; cried out against the evidence Bradley,
as the author of his misfortunes; charged him with having painfully
endeavoured to seduce him. But in the midst of this he wept bitterly,
and showed a great terror at the approach of his execution than was seen
amongst any of the rest who suffered with him, his countenance being so
much altered, that it was hardly possible for anybody to know him, who
had been acquainted with him before, insomuch that he looked for many
weeks before his execution like a person who had been already dead and
buried.

As the day of dissolution approached, it was hoped that he would recover
more courage, but instead of that he became so terribly frighted that he
could scarce speak, or show any signs of life when he was brought to
Tyburn. However, there he did gather spirits a little, and spoke to the
crowd to take warning by him, and avoid coming to that fatal place. He
said that he had been guilty of but five robberies in all his life; said
he forgave his prosecutors and the evidence who swore against him; and
in this disposition they both died at the same time with the malefactors
before mentioned, Caustin being thirty-six years of age, and Younger
about thirty-four.




The Lives of HENRY KNOWLAND and THOMAS WESTWOOD, Footpads


Henry Knowland was the son of a father of the same name who was a
butcher. He received tolerably good education at school, and was brought
up by his father to his own business; but he was of a lewd disposition,
continually running after whores, keeping lewd company, gaming and
drinking until he was able neither to stand nor go. He married his first
cousin, who had formerly been the wife of Neeves, the evidence. It seems
this very Knowland had been put into Whitechapel gaol upon her swearing
a robbery against him for taking a gold chain off her neck, but that
affair being accommodated, he a little after married her, which was
perhaps no small cause of his future ruin.

He was always dishonest in his principles, and ready to lay hold of any
money without ever thinking of paying it again. At Smithfield he used to
be very dextrous in cheating country graziers of their cattle. The
method by which he did it was generally thus. Taking advantage of a
countryman whom he saw looked unacquainted with things, he struck a
bargain as soon as possible, and for any price he pleased, for his
goods; then stepping in to drink a mug and receive the money, Knowland
had an accomplice already planted, who coming hastily into the room told
him with a submissive air that a gentleman at such a place desired to
speak with him. Upon this he, arising in a hurry, tells the countryman
he would return immediately and pay him his money, while the attendant
in the meanwhile drove off with the beast; and so the poor man was left
without hopes of seeing either the money or bullock and perhaps ruined
into the bargain for being obliged to pay his master for the beast that
was lost.

Thomas Westwood, the second of these offenders, was a man descended of
very mean parents, who either had it not in their power, or were so
careless as to afford him little or no education. He himself, also, was
a stupid, obstinate fellow, who never took any pains to attain the least
degree of knowledge, but contented himself with living like a beast, in
a continual round of eating and drinking and sleeping. By trade he was a
sawyer, and when he wanted business in his trade, which, as the Ordinary
tells us, he often did bring a poor purblind creature, he either sold
sawdust about town, or else practised as a bailiffs follower, a
profession which led him into yet greater debaucheries and
extravagancies than otherwise possible he might have ever fallen into.

Knowland and he were apprehended on suspicion for being robbers, and
were tried at the Old Bailey on four indictments, all said to have been
committed on the same day, viz., on the 23rd of November, 1729. The
first was for assaulting John Molton in an open field, putting him in
fear, and taking from him four shillings; the second was for assaulting
Mary Butler and taking from her sixpence in money; the third was for
assaulting Nicholas Butler, and taking from him half a guinea and one
shilling; the fourth was for assaulting Anne Nailor, and taking from her
three and sixpence in money.

The prosecutors on all these indictments swore positively to the
prisoners' faces. Mr. Butler was desperately wounded (the Ordinary says
he was mortally wounded) but through God's grace recovered. In their
defence they called a great number of people to prove them in other
places at the time those robberies were committed, which they positively
swore, but the jury giving credit to the prosecutors' evidence, they
were both found guilty. However, they absolutely denied the crimes to
the last suffering at Tyburn with great marks of sorrow and loud
exclamations to God to have mercy on their souls, the 28th of February,
1730. Knowland being twenty-four years of age, and Westwood
twenty-seven, at the time of their deaths.




The Life of JOHN EVERETT, a Highwayman


This unfortunate man, who, in the course of his life, made some noise in
the world, was the son of honest and reputable parents at Hitchen, in
Hertfordshire. They gave their son all the education necessary to
qualify him for such business as he thought proper to put him to, which
was that of a salesman; but before his time was expired he went over to
Flanders, and served in the late War there, in several sieges and
battles; where he behaved so well as to be preferred to the post of a
serjeant in the Honourable General How's regiment of foot. But returning
to England upon the peace, and being quartered at Worcester he there
purchased his discharge.

Coming up to London he betook himself, for bread, to the office of a
bailiff in Whitechapel Court, in which station he continued for about
seven years until he fell into misfortunes, chiefly through the means of
one C----th. To shelter himself from a gaol, which threatened him at
that time, he was forced to go into the Foot Guards, where he served in
the company commanded by the right Honourable the Earl of Albemarle; but
unluckily for him, having commenced an acquaintance with Richard Bird at
the aforesaid Mr. C----th's, Bird told him he perceived they were much
in a case, that is, they both wanted money, and that therefore looking
upon him (Everett) to be a man who could be trusted, he would propose to
him an easy method for supply. This method was neither better nor worse
than robbing on the highway.

To this proposition Everett readily agreeing, they immediately joined,
provided proper utensils for their co-partnership, and soon after
practised their trade with great success in the counties of Middlesex,
Essex, Surrey and Kent, particularly robbing the Dartford coach, from
the passengers of which they took a portmanteau, wherein was contained
jewels, money and valuable goods to a very great amount. But spending as
fast as they got it, they were never the better for the multitude of
facts they committed, but were in a continual necessity of hazarding
body and soul for a very precarious subsistance.

A short time after, they robbed the Woodford stage-coach and found in it
only one passenger worth plundering. From him they took a gold watch and
some silver, but the gentleman expressing a great concern at the loss of
his watch, they told him if he would promise faithfully to send such a
sum of money to such a place, they would let him have it again. On
Hounslow Heath they attacked two officers of the army, who were well
mounted and guarded with servants armed with blunderbusses. They took
their gold watches and money from them, though the officers endeavoured
to resist, but they forced them to submit to the well-known doctrine of
passive obedience before they acquitted them. The watches (pursuant to a
treaty they made with them on the spot) were afterwards left at Young
Man's Coffee House, Charing Cross, where the owners had them again on
payment of twenty guineas, as stipulated in the said treaty between the
parties.

Another robbery they committed was on Squire Amlow (of Bream's
Buildings, Chancery Lane), in Epsom Lane, turning up to Epsom. When he
was attacked he drew a sword and made several passes at them as he sat
in an open chaise; but notwithstanding his resolution in opposing them,
they by force took two guineas, a silver watch, and his silver-hilted
sword, and some parchment writings of a considerable value. On his
submission and request for his writings, they accordingly delivered them
up, let him pass and helped him to his watch again, being in the hands
of Mr. Corket, a pawnbroker in Houndsditch. They also took opportunities
to rob all the butchers and higlers from Epping Forest to Woodford,
particularly one old woman, who wore a high crowned hat of her mother's
as she said, which hat they took and searched, and out of the lining of
it found three pounds and delivered her the hat again. On Acton Common
they also met two chariots with gentlemen and ladies in them and robbed
them in money, watches and other things to the value of forty pounds.

My readers, from these instances, must have a tolerable notion of
Everett's humour, it may prove entertaining, therefore, to give them a
specimen of his own manner of relating his adventures, and therefore I
insert the following ones in his own words.

Soon after our last achievement, my old comrade Dick Bird, and I,
stopped a coach in the evening on Hounslow Heath, in which (amongst
other passengers) were two precise, but courageous Quakers, who had
the assurance to call us Sons of Violence; and refusing to comply
with our reasonable demands jumped out of the coach to give us
battle. Whereupon we began a sharp engagement, and showed them the
arm of flesh was too strong for the Spirit, which seemed to move
very powerful within them. After a short contest (though we never
offered to fire, for I ever abhorred barbarity, or the more heinous
sin of murder) through the cowardly persuasions of their
fellow-travellers they submitted, though sore against their
inclinations. As they were stout fellows and men every inch of them,
we scorned to abuse them, and contented ourselves with rifling them
of the little Mammon of unrighteousness which they had about them,
which amounted to about thirty or forty shillings and their watches.
The rest in the coach, whose hearts were sunk into their breeches,
Dick fleeced without the least resistance.

There was one circumstance of this affair which created a little
diversion, and therefore with my readers leave, I will relate it.
The Precisions for the most part, though they are plain in their
dress, wear the best of commodities, and though a smart toupee[91]
is an abomination, yet a bob-wig, or a natural of six or seven
guineas' price, is a modest covering allowed by the saints. One of
the prigs was well furnished in this particular, and flattering
myself it would become me, I resolved to make it lawful plunder.
Without any further ceremony, therefore, than alleging exchange was
no robbery, I napped his poll, and dressed him immediately in
masquerade with an old tie-wig, which I had the day before purchased
of an antiquated Chelsea pensioner for half-a-crown. The other
company, though in doleful dumps for the loss of the coriander seed,
could not forbear grinning at the merry metamorphis, for our Quaker
now looked more like a devil than saint. As companions in distress
ever alleviate its weight, they invited him with a general laugh
into their leathern convenience again, wished us a goodnight, and
hoped they should have no farther molestation on the road. We gave
then the watch-word, and assured them they should not, then tipped
the honest coachman a shilling to drink our healths, and brushed off
the ground.

About a week or ten days later, my brother Dick and I projected a
new scheme more nimble than the former, to take a purse without the
charge of horse hire. Millington Common was determined to be the
scene of action. We sauntered for some time upon the green and
suffered several to pass by without the least molestation, but at
last we espied two gentlemen well-mounted coming towards us, who we
imagined might be able to replenish our empty purses, so we prepared
for an attack. After the usual salutation, I stopped the foremost
and demanded his cash, his watch and other appurtenances thereunto
belonging, and assured him I was a brother of an honourable but
numerous family; that to work I had no inclination and to beg I was
ashamed, and that I had at present no other way for a livelihood, if
such a demand at first view ought appear a little immodest or
unreasonable, I hoped he would excuse it, as necessity and not
choice was the fatal inducement.

My brother Dick was as rhetorical in his apologies with the
hindermost, whom he dismounted. We used them with more good manners
and humanity than the common pads, who act for the most part rather
like Turks and Jews than Christians, in such enterprises, to the
eternal scandal of the profession. We contented ourselves with what
silver and little gold they had about them, which to about three or
four pounds, and their gold watches, one of which, as well I
remember, was of Tompion's make, and which I afterwards pawned for
five guineas to a fellow that the week after broke, and ran away
with it, so that I had not the opportunity of restoring it again to
the proper owner, for which I heartily beg his pardon. As we must
own the gentlemen behaved well and came unto our measures without
the least resistance, so they must do us the justice to acknowledge
that we treated them as such and neither disrobed nor abused them.
We thought it, however, common prudence to cut the girths of their
horses' saddles, and secure their bridles for fear of a pursuit.

Thus flushed again with success, we made the best of our way to
Brentford, and there took the ferry; but Fortune, though she is
fair, yet she is a fickle mistress, her smiles are often false and
very precarious. Before we had got ashore, we heard the persons had
got scent of us, and our triumph had like to have ended in
captivity. When we were three parts over, and out of danger of
drowning, we told the ferrymen our distress, gave them ten
shillings, and obliged them to throw their oars into the Thames. The
agreeable reward and the fears of being thrown in themselves in case
of a denial, made them readily consent. In we plunged after them,
and soon made the shore. Though we looked like Hob just drawn out of
the well, those that saw us only imagined it was a drunken frolic.
Our expeditious flight soon dried our clothes, and without catching
the least cold, we both arrived safe that night at London.

We congratulated each other, you may imagine on our happy and
narrow escape, and solaced ourselves after the fatigue of the day,
with a mistress and a bottle.

I have copied these pages from Mr. Everett's book that my readers might
have a clear and just idea of those notions which these unhappy men
entertain of the life they lead, and hope they may be of some use in
giving such youths as are too apt to be taken with their low kind of
jests, a just abhorrence of committing villainy, merely to divert the
mob, and make themselves the sole topic of discourse in alehouses and
cellars.

But to return to Everett. He was taken up on suspicion and committed to
New Prison, where he continued three years, behaving himself so well in
the prison that the justices ordered him his liberty, and he was
thereupon made turnkey of that place. In this post he continued to act
so honestly that he got a tolerable reputation, taking the Red Lion
alehouse, in Turnmill Street, Cow Cross, in order to live the better;
resigning his place as turnkey as soon as he was settled in it.

He who succeeded him was a footman to the Duchess of Newcastle's and not
being very well acquainted with the nature of his new office, he was
very industrious to prevail with Everett to return to his former
condition, and accept the key from him. Promises and entreaties were not
long made in vain. Everett was sensible there was money to be got,[92]
and therefore, upon the fair promises of the new keeper, became turnkey
again. But when he had shown his master the art of governing such a
territory as his was; when he had instructed him in the secrets of
raising money, and shown him the methods of managing the several sorts
of prisoners that were committed to its care, his superior quickly gave
him to understand that he had now done all he wanted, and the next kind
office would be to quit this place; for it is with those sort of people
as with some in a higher station, though they at first caress men who
are better acquainted with affairs than themselves, in order to improve
their own knowledge, yet no sooner do they think themselves qualified to
go on without their assistance, but they grow uneasy at such services,
and are never quiet until they are rid of men whose abilities are their
greatest faults.

A little after Everett was turned out to make room for the keeper's
brother, he had the additional misfortune to keep an account with a
person who too hastily demanded his money, and John, not being able to
pay it, therefore upon arrested him, and threw him into gaol. He
quickly turned himself over to the Fleet, where he first took the
rules, and then got into the Thistle and Crown Alehouse, in the Old
Bailey. There he lived for a while and afterwards took the Cock in the
same place, where he lived for three years with an indifferent
reputation, until he was prevailed on to take the Fleet Cellar[93], and
became very busy in the execution of the then Warden's project, until
the committee of the House of Commons thought fit to commit both of them
to Newgate.

This effectually undid him, for while he was a prisoner there, the
brewer made a seizure of his whole stock of beer, to the value of three
hundred pounds, and this it was, as he himself said, which posted him
out upon the highway again. Whether we may depend upon those
protestations he had made that he should never otherwise have gone upon
the road again, but have lived and died free, at least from that sort of
wickedness which indeed he had reason to dislike, since he had saved his
life by impeaching Bird his companion, who was hanged at Chelmsford at
the assizes held there for the County of Essex. When he had once taken
this resolution in his head, it was not long before he equipped himself
with necessaries for his employment.

The first robbery he committed was upon a lady in a chariot, and the
lady desiring that he would put up his pistol for fear of frightening a
child of six years old in the coach with her, he did so, and took from
her a guinea and some silver, without touching her gold watch, or any
other valuable things that she had about her. He had scarce committed
the robbery, before the lady's husband and another gentleman and his
company came up, and the accident being related to them, they
immediately pursued him as hard as their horses could gallop; and came
so close up with him, that he was hardly got into the Globe Tavern, in
Hatton Garden, and sent away his horse, before they passed by the door.
As soon as he thought they were out of sight, he slipped away with all
the precaution he was able, and got into a little blind alehouse in
Holborn, where he had scarce lit a pipe, and called for a tankard of
drink, before he perceived both the gentlemen looking very earnesty
about, though he now looked upon himself as out of all danger.

It was a very short time after, that he committed the last fact, which
was the robbing of Mrs. Manley[94], and a lady, who was in a chariot
with her, a black boy being behind in the coach. He got safe enough off
and into town, after this robbery; but how it was I cannot tell, his
neighbours suspected him, and talked of him as a highwayman, and
reported very confidently that he was taken up, as it seems he was, but
was discharged again for want of evidence. He was speedily seized again,
and being committed to Newgate, was brought to his trial at the Old
Bailey for the said fact.

Mrs. Ellis deposed that the prisoner was the person who robbed the
coach, and that she observed him follow it when they came out of town.
Mrs. Manley deposed also to his being the person who robbed them, and
William Coffee, a negro boy, who was behind the coach, swore positively
to his face. Several men who were present at his being apprehended,
swore that he had a pistol, dagger, six bullets, a flint and powder horn
about him, under a red rug coat.

His defence was very trivial, and the jury upon a short consultation,
found him guilty. Under sentence of death, he behaved very
indifferently, sometimes appearing tolerably cool, at others in a
grievous passion, especially at the keepers, if they refused him such
liberties as he thought fit to ask. When he was first condemned, he
flattered himself with hopes of life, if it were possible for him to
prevail on the ladies whom he had robbed to petition in his favour; in
order to induce them to which, he wrote the following letter, though to
no purpose, for the death warrant came down suddenly and he was included
with the before-mentioned prisoners.

THE LETTER

Madam,

I crave leave, with all humility and respect, to address you and
Madam Ellis, and with the utmost submission and concern, do humbly
beg your pardons for the fears and surprise my misfortunes reduced
me to put you and the children into, whose cries moved so much
compassion in me that I had not power to pursue with any rigour my
desperate designs, which your ladyship must have perceived by the
consternation I was struck into on a sudden. My sole intention was,
if I could have got £50 to settle myself in a public house, and to
take up an honest course of life, and do own at best it is a very
heinous crime. Yet, madam, you will recollect after what manner I
treated you, and at the same time consider the methods taken by
others on the like occasion. This necessity I was drove to, by
adhering to a certain master I lately served, and to obey his wicked
and pernicious commands, in following his wicked and pernicious
counsels, brought me to poverty, and consequently to this unhappy
state I now labour under, and was become almost as much as himself,
the scorn and hatred of mankind. I say, madam, if you will be so
good as to consider all these unhappy circumstances, and that
necessity admits of no contradiction, they will, I am persuaded,
inspire compassion in generous souls (a character you both
deservedly bear); and as a fellow-creature, I beg mercy at your
ladyship's hands, by signing a petition to the Recorder for me, to
the end, he may be induced to make a favourable report, and thereby
move his most sacred Majesty to clemency, by the sentence to some
other corporal punishment, and shall dedicate the rest of my days in
praying for both your happiness and prosperity in this world, and
eternal felicity and bliss in that to come, and crave leave, with
due deference, madam, to subscribe myself,

Your ladyship's most devoted,
Afflicted humble servant,
John Everett

The Ordinary of Newgate, in the account he has given of this prisoner,
has drawn as bad a character as he is able, and in order to it, has
gathered together all the ill-terms he could think of, even though some
of them are contrary to one another. The truth is, that the fellow in
himself had abundance of ill-qualities, with some good ones, and
especially good nature of which he had a very large share. Lewd women
were what brought him to his ruin, for to their company he continually
addicted himself, and with his low intrigues amongst them is the book I
have mentioned stuffed from one end to the other.

As to religion, it is certain he had very little of it before he was
confined, so it is not very likely that he should make any great
proficiency while he remained there. He was careless, indeed, under his
misfortunes, but did not give himself up to any loose or profane
expressions, but on the contrary attended at Chapel with decency at
least, if not with devotion.

Some attempts were made to save his life, by engaging him to make
discoveries in an affair of high concern, but all was ineffectual, and
he suffered on the 20th of February, 1729-30, with less apprehension
than might have been expected from a man under his unhappy
circumstances. The executioner, to put the prisoner sooner out of his
pain, jumped upon his shoulders, and thereby broke the rope, but he was
soon tied up again, and there remained until the rest were cut down.

At the time of his execution, he was forty-four years of age or
thereabouts.

FOOTNOTES:

[91] This was a small wig covering only the top of the head; a
bob-wig was short and tied at the back with a large bow; a
natural was a large, full wig, in which the hair was made to
look like natural locks.

[92] The scandalous system of bleeding prisoners for every little
necessity and comfort made gaoloring a very profitable trade.

[93] That is, managed the sale of liquor in the Fleet.