Then he with Benjamin Branch and William Field, took to snatching of
pockets. At last they took Christopher Rawlins into their society and in
a few months' time they three snatched five hundred pockets. Amongst the
rest Dalton cut off one from a woman's side at St. Andrew's, Holborn,
for which Branch being in company was taken and executed, although
Dalton and Rawlins did all they could to have made up the affair with
the prosecutor but in vain. This trade therefore being at an end, he and
his companion Rawlins fell next to robbing coaches in the streets, and
being once more apprehended, he found himself under a necessity of
making an information against his companions, six or seven of whom were
executed upon his evidence. He also received ten guineas to swear
against Nichols the peruke-maker, but after he received the money, his
conscience checked him, and though he did not return it, yet he
absolutely refused to give any evidence against him. But Neeves, who had
been taken into the same plot, went through with it, and as has been
said before, hanged him for a fact which he never committed.[96]

A multitude of wives Dalton married during his life, and many of them
were alive at the time of his decease, four of them coming at once to
see him in Newgate when under his last misfortune, and appearing at
that time to be very friendly together. He had not been long out of
Newgate before be fell to his old practices, and a few sessions after
was apprehended, and tried for stopping the coach of an eminent
physician with an intent to rob it. For this he was sentenced to a fine
and imprisonment, which upon insulting the court was ordered to be in
one of the condemned cells in Newgate. But he did not remain long there,
being the very next sessions brought to his trial on an indictment for
robbing John Waller in a certain field or open place near the highway,
putting him in fear of his life, and taking from him twenty-five
handkerchiefs, value four pounds, five ducats value forty-eight
shillings, two guineas, a three guilder piece, a French pistol, and five
shillings in silver, on the 22nd of November, 1729. The prosecutor
deposed, that being a Holland trader, the prisoner met with him as he
was drinking at the Adam and Eve at Pancras, in his return from
Hampstead, where he had sold some goods, and received a little money;
that Dalton perceiving it grow dark, desired to walk to town with him,
and that they had a link with them, which Dalton put out in the fields,
and then knocked him down, beat him and abused him, and then robbed him
of the things mentioned in the indictment; and that he threatened to
blow his brains out if he made any noise or called for help. He swore
also to a pistol which had been produced against Dalton on a former
trial.

In his defence the prisoner insisted peremptorily upon his innocence,
charged the prosecutor with being a common affidavit man, and a fellow
of as bad if not worse character than himself. However, in order to
falsify some circumstances which he had deposed against him, Dalton
called three witnesses, Charles North, Edward Brumfield, and John
Mitchell, who were all prisoners in Newgate, but were permitted by the
Court to come down. Some of them contradicted the prosecutor as to a
gingham waistcoat which he had swore Dalton wore in Newgate. They swore
also to the prosecutor's visiting Dalton there, and owing that he never
damaged him a farthing in his life. But the jury on the whole found him
guilty, and he received sentence of death.

As he had little reason to hope for pardon, so he never deluded himself
with false expectations about it, but applied himself, as diligently as
he was able, to repent of those manifold sins and offences which he had
committed. He confessed very frankly the manifold crimes and horrid
enormities in which he had involved himself. He seemed to be very
sensible of that dreadful state into which his own wickedness had
plunged him. He behaved himself gravely when at public prayers at the
chapel, and applied himself with great diligence to praying and singing
of Psalms when in his cell; but as to the particular crime of which he
was convicted, that he absolutely denied from first to last, with the
strongest asseverations that not one word of all the prosecutor's
evidence was true, and indeed there has since appeared great likelihood
that he spoke nothing but the truth.

For this Waller going on in the same fact after the death of Dalton,
became an evidence against many others, sometimes in one country by one
name, by and by in another country by another name. In Cambridgeshire,
particularly, he convicted two men for a robbery whose lives were saved
by means of the Clerk of the Peace entertaining some suspicion of this
Mr. Waller's veracity. But as practices of this sort, though they may
continue undiscovered for some time, rarely escape for good and all, so
Waller's fate came home to him at last; for a worthy magistrate
suspecting the truth of an information which he gave before him by
another name, and he coming afterwards and owning his true name to be
Waller, he was apprehended for the perjury contained in the said
examination, and committed to Newgate, and at the next sessions at the
Old Bailey received sentence for this offence to stand in the pillory
near the Seven Dials. He had scarce been exalted above five minutes,
before the mob knocked him on the head, for which fact Andrew Dalton,
who did it to revenge the death of his brother, the criminal of whom we
are now speaking, together with one Richard Griffith, at the time I am
now writing, are under sentence of death.

But to return to James Dalton, he continued to behave uniformly and
penitently all the time he lay under conviction, and as the friends and
relations of Nichols applied themselves to him about clearing the
innocence of their deceased friend, he said that Neeves himself actually
committed the fact, which he swore upon the person they mentioned, and
that he was entirely innocent of whatever was laid to his charge.

When the bellman came to repeat the verses, which he always does the
night before the malefactors are to die, Dalton illuminated his cell
with six candles. In his passage to the place of execution he appeared
very cheerful. When he arrived there, having once more denied in the
most solemn manner the fact for which he was to suffer, he yielded up
his breath at Tyburn, the 13th of May, 1730, being then somewhat above
thirty years of age.

[Illustration: HIGHWAY ROBBERY OF HIS MAJESTY'S MAIL

Two waylaid postboys are being bound back to back, while one of the
highwaymen carries off the mail-bag

(_From the Annals of Newgate_)]

FOOTNOTES:

[95] On Feb. 22, 1727, when the Spaniards attacked with 20,000
men and were repulsed with a loss of 5,000. The English lost 300.

[96] See page 463.




The Life of HUGH HOUGHTON, _alias_ AWTON, _alias_ NORTON, who robbed
the Bristol Mail


This unfortunate person was the son of honest and reputable people of
Lancaster, who took care to give him a very good education, sufficient
to have fitted him for any trade whatever. Afterwards they bound him out
apprentice to a wine-cooper, to whom he served out his time very
carefully and honestly, and appeared in his temper and disposition to be
a civil, good-natured young man. For some time after his coming out of
his time, he followed his trade of a wine-cooper, but being pressed on
board a man-of-war, during the French War in the late Queen's time, he
behaved himself so well on board that he acquired the goodwill of all
his officers, attained to the degree of a midshipman, and was afterwards
gunner's mate, receiving also a title to five pound _per annum_, out of
the Pension Chest at Chatham.

After this he came to London, married a wife and was a housekeeper in
town; and for his better support got himself into the Horse Guards,
where he served with reputation, until some small time before his death,
when some clothes of value being taken away, and he being strongly
suspected on that score was dismissed the service, whereby he fell into
great difficulties for want of money.

It seems that for many months before his death he had frequented the
house of one Mr. Marlow, and was indebted to him for a considerable sum
of money, but one day he came and discharged it, having for that purpose
changed a twenty pound bank-note at a brewer's not far distant. But the
Bristol mail happening about that time to be robbed, and the bank-note,
after various circulations, being discovered to be one of those taken
out of it, Houghton was thereupon seized and committed, being at the
next sessions brought to his trial at the Old Bailey for the fact, when
the course of the evidence appeared against him as follows. He was
arraigned on an indictment for dealing from Stephen Crouches, on the
King's highway, after putting him in fear, a sorrel gelding value five
pounds, the property of Thomas Ostwich, a mail value four pounds, and
fifty leather bags, value five pounds, the property of our Sovereign
Lord the King, on the first of March, 1730.

Stephen Crouches deposed that on the day laid in the indictment, he was
going with the Bristol and Gloucester mail, being near Knightsbridge, a
man of the prisoner's size, who spoke like him, came out of the gateway
and bid him stand; that he laid the horse to the farther side of a
field, commanded him to show him the Bristol bag, which he took and went
off with the horse, leaving this evidence bound with his hands behind
him, threatening to murder him in case he made the least noise.

Daniel Burton deposed that the prisoner Houghton had more than once
proposed to him the robbing of the Bristol mail, and upon his refusing
to be concerned in it, would then have had him rob their landlady, Mrs.
Marlow, which when her husband came to know, he turned him out of doors.

The next witness that was called was Mr. Marlow, who deposed that on the
2nd of March, the prisoner Houghton paid him five pounds which was owing
to him, having changed for that purpose a bank-note of twenty pounds at
Mr. Broadhead's the brewer. Then the note itself was produced, which had
been paid by Mr. Broadhead to Mr. King, a factor, and by him to Mr.
Dictorine's man, in Thames Street, and by him again to the servant of
Messrs. Knight and Jackson, by whom it was brought into Court, an
endorsement being upon it not to be paid till the fifth of May. But Mr.
Marlow being asked as to his being acquainted by Burton with the
prisoner's attempts to persuade him to robbing the Bristol mail, and
afterwards robbing his house, Mr. Marlow answered that he did not
remember he had ever been told such a thing, but that he did indeed know
the prisoner together with one Masa, was for scandalous practices turned
out of the Guards.

William Burligh deposed that he took out of the prisoner's pocket a
pocket-book in which was several notes, which pocket-book the prisoner
said he took up in Covent Garden. Mr. Langley, the Turnkey of Newgate,
deposed that after he was committed to his custody, he searched his
pocket and found therein three bank-notes of Mr. Hoare, which he gave to
Mr. Archer. Mr. Archer deposed that he did receive such notes, which
were so taken as had been before sworn by Mr. Langley.

There were some other persons produced who swore to some slips of
leather which were found in Houghton's lodgings, and which were believed
to be cut out of the bag which were taken from the Bristol Mail. The
prisoner in his defence said he believed there was a trap laid for him
and exclaimed against Burton. Two women positively deposed that Houghton
all that night was not out of his lodgings. But the jury notwithstanding
that, gave so much credit to the evidence offered for the King, that
they found him guilty.

Under sentence of death, he said that he had hitherto lived free from
most of those enormous vices into which criminals are usually plunged,
who came to his unhappy fate. He said that through the course of his
life he had always been a good husband, a loving parent, and had
provided carefully for his family; that he had served the Government
twelve years by land, and twelve years by sea, and in all that time
never had any reflection upon him until the unhappy accident in the
Guards, which he said he was not guilty of, and had been since confessed
by another man.

As to the fact for which he was to die, he said that the same day the
mail was robbed (which was on a Sunday morning) at six or seven o'clock
he found a bundle of papers which he took up, and perceived them to be a
parcel taken out of the Bristol mail, and therefore having perused them
carefully, and taken out of them such as he judged proper, he being at
that time out of business and in great want, put up the rest of them in
a sheet of paper, directed to the Post Master General, and laid them
down in the box-house at Lincoln's Inn Fields, being afraid to go with
them to the office, because a great reward was offered for the robber.
And that he, having changed a twenty-pound bank-note, paid five pounds
of it away to his landlord, Mr. Marlow. He reflected also very severely
on the evidence given against him by Mr. Burton, which he said was the
very reverse of the truth. Burton having often solicited him to go upon
the highway as the shortest method of easing his misfortunes and
bringing them both money.

As he persisted in averring the confession he made to be the truth, it
was objected to him that it was a story, the most improbable in the
world, that when a man had hazarded his life to rob the Bristol mail, he
should then throw away all the booty, and leave it in such a place as
Covent Garden, for any stranger to take up as he came by; yet neither
this nor anything else that could be said to him had so much weight as
to move him to a free confession of his guilt, but on the contrary, he
gave greater and more evident signs of a sullen, morose and reserved
disposition, spoke little, desired not to be interrupted, made general
confessions of his sins, pleased himself with high conceits of the
Divine Mercy, and endeavoured as much as possible to avoid conferences
with anybody, and especially declined speaking of that offence for which
he was to die.

When he first came to Newgate, the keepers had, it seems, a strong
apprehension that he would attempt something against his own life, and
upon this suspicion they were very careful of him, and enjoined a barber
who shaved him in prison to be so, lest he should take that occasion to
cut his throat. Yet nothing of this happened until the day of his
execution, when the keepers coming to him in the morning, found him
praying very devoutly in his cell; but about twenty minutes after, going
thither again, they perceived he had fastened his sword belt which he
wore always about him to the grate of the window which looked out of
his cell, to the end of which he tied his handkerchief, and having then
adjusted that about his neck, he strangled himself with it, and was dead
when the keepers opened the doors to look in.

The Ordinary makes this remark upon his exit, that it is to be feared he
was a hypocrite and that little of what he said can be believed. For my
part, I am far from taking upon me either to enter into the breasts of
men or pretend to set bounds to the mercy of God, and therefore without
any further remarks, shall conclude his life with informing my readers
that at the time he put an end to his own being, he was about
forty-eight years of age, and a man in his person and behaviour very
unlikely to have been such a one as it is to be feared (notwithstanding
all his denials) he really was.




The Life of JOHN DOYLE, a Highwayman


When once men have plunged themselves so far into sensual pleasures as
to lose all sense of any other delight than that arises from the
gratification of the senses, there is no great cause of wonder if they
addict themselves to illegal methods of gaining wherewith to purchase
such enjoyments; since the want of virtue easily draws on the loss of
all other principles, nor can it be hoped from a man who has delivered
himself over to the dominion of these vices that he should stop short at
the lawful means of obtaining money by which alone he can be enabled to
possess them.

Common women are usually the first bane of those unhappy persons who
forfeit their lives to the Law as the just punishment of their offences;
these women, I say, are so far from having the least concern whether
their paramours run any unhappy courses to obtain the sums necessary to
supply their mutual extravagance, that on the contrary they are ever
ready, by oblique hints and insinuations, to put them upon such
dangerous exploits which as they are sure to reap the fruits of, so
sometimes when they grow weary of them, they find it an easy method to
get rid of them and at the same time put money in their own pockets. Yet
so blind are these unhappy wretches, that although such things fall out
yearly, yet they are never to be warned, but run into the snare with as
much readiness as if they were going unto the possession of certain and
lasting happiness.

But to come to the adventures of the unhappy person whose life we are
going to relate. John Doyle was born in the town of Carrough, in
Ireland, and of very honest parents who gave him as good education as
could be expected in that country, instructing him in writing and
accounts, and made some progress in Latin. When he was fit for a trade,
his friends agreed to put him out, and not thinking they should find a
master good enough for him in a country place, they sent him to Dublin,
and bound him to a tallow-chandler and soap-boiler in St. Thomas's
Street, whom he faithfully served seven years, and his master gave him a
good character. Being out of his time, his master prevailed with him to
work journey-work for him, which he did for nine months; but having got
acquainted by that time with some of the town ladies and pretending to
his friends that he was in hopes of better business, his friends
remitted him fifty pounds to help him forward.

He lived well while that money lasted, but when it was almost spent, he
knew not what to turn himself to, for working did not agree with him. He
took a resolution to come to England, and on the 19th of April, 1715, he
came over in a packet-boat. Having no more money left than three pounds
ten shillings, and not seeing which way he could get a further supply
unless he went to work, which he could not endure, he resolved to rob on
the highway; and to fit him for it, he bought a pair of pistols at West
Chester which cost him forty shillings. He continued in that city till
the Chester coach was to go for London. At four miles distant from the
town he attacked it, and robbed four passengers that were in it of
fourteen pounds, six shillings and ninepence, two silver watches and a
mourning ring, which was the first attempt of that kind that ever he
made in his life; then he went off a by-way undiscovered.

Having got a pretty good booty, he travelled across the country to
Shrewsbury, and having stayed there about two days, he happened to meet
a man that had been formerly a collector on the road, who had a horse to
sell. He bought the horse for seven guineas, though indeed it was worth
twenty, as it proved afterwards; no man soever was master of a better
bred horse for the highway. He was not willing to stay long at
Shrewsbury, so he went from thence and going along the country, met two
ladies in a small chaise, with only one servant and a pair of horses. He
robbed them of a purse with twenty-nine half guineas, nine shillings in
silver and twopence brass, and two gold watches. The servant who rode by
had a case of pistols which he took from him, and then made off
undiscovered. His horse at that time was much better acquainted with
coming up to a coach door than he was. Sometime afterwards he passed
across the country, and came to Newbury, in Berkshire, where he
remained for about fourteen days, during which time he was very reserved
and kept no company. But growing weary, he departed from that place the
same morning that the Newbury coach was to set out for London: and when
it was about five miles distant from the town of Newbury, he came up to
the coach door, and making a ceremony, as became a man of business,
demanded their all, which they very readily consented to deliver, which
proved to be about twenty-nine pounds in money, a silver watch, a plain
wedding ring, a tortoiseshell snuff box, and a very good whip.

There was also a family ring which a gentleman begged very hard for,
whereupon by his earnest application he gave it back, and the man
assured him he would never appear against him. He was a man of honour,
for he happened to meet him some time after at the Rummer and Horseshoe
in Drury Lane, where he treated Doyle handsomely, and showed him the
ring, and withal declared that he would not be his enemy on any account
whatsoever.

Doyle being at this time a young beginner, thought what he got for the
preceding time to be very well, and in a few days after this arrived at
Windsor, where he stayed one night, and there being a gentleman's family
bound for London, that lay that night at the Mermaid Inn in the town, he
changed his lodging and removed to the inn; and having stayed there that
night, he minded where they put their valuable baggage up. The next
morning he paid his reckoning and came away, and got about four miles
out of the town before them; then coming up and making the usual
ceremony, he demanded their money, watches and rings. The gentleman in
the coach pulled out a blunderbuss, but Doyle soon quelled him by
clapping a pistol to his nose, telling him that if he stirred hand or
foot he was a dead man. Then he made him give his blunderbuss first,
then his money which was fifty guineas, fifteen shillings in silver, and
five-pence in brass, a woman's gold watch and a pocket book in which
were seven bank-notes, which the gentleman said he took that day in
order to pay his servants' wages. After this he made the best of his way
to London and got into James's Street, Westminster, where he drank a
pint of wine, and then crossed over to Lambeth, and put up his horse at
the Red Lion Inn, and stayed there that night.

The next morning he came to the Coach and Horses in Old Palace Yard,
Westminster, where he dined, and about seven at night departed from
thence and went to the Phoenix gaming-house in the Haymarket, to which
place, he said, he believed a great many owe their ruin. He remained
some time at the Phoenix, and seeing them gaming hard, he had a mind to
have a touch at it; when coming into the ring he took the box in his
turn, and in about thirty minutes lost thirty-seven pounds, which broke
him. But having some watches about him, he went immediately to the Three
Bowls in Market Lane, St. James, and pawned a gold watch for sixteen
guineas; and returning back to the Phoenix went to gaming a second time,
and in less than an hour recovered his money and forty-three pounds
more. And seeing an acquaintance there he took him to the Cardigan's
Head tavern, Charing Cross, and made merry. That night he lay at the
White Bear in Piccadilly, and stayed there until the next evening, after
which, having paid his reckoning, he went to Lambeth to his landlord who
had his horse in his care, and remained there that night. The next
morning he went away having discharged the house.

Having then a pretty sum of money about him, he had an inclination to
see the country of Kent, and accordingly went that day to Greenwich, and
put up his horse while he went to see the Hospital; and having baited
the horse he parted from thence, and going over Blackheath, he happened
to meet a gentleman, who proved to be Sir Gregory Page. Doyle took what
money he had about him, which was about seventy guineas in a green
purse, a watch, two gold seals and eighteen pence in silver. That night
he rode away to Maidstone, and from thence to Canterbury.

In a few days he returned to London, and was for a long time silent,
even for about six months, and never robbed or made an attempt to rob
any man, but kept his horse in a very good order, and commonly went in
an afternoon to Hampstead, sometimes to Richmond, or to Hackney. In
short, he knew all the roads about London in less than six months as
well as any man in England. His money beginning now to grow short, not
having turned out so long, and the keeping his horse on the other hand
being costly, he resolved that his horse should pay for his own keeping,
and turned out one evening and robbed a Jew of seventy-five pounds, and
of his and his lady's watches, a gold box and some silver, and returned
to town undiscovered. The next day Doyle went Brentford way, and coming
to Turnham Green stayed some time at the Pack Horse, where he saw two
Quakers on horseback. He rode gently after them till they got to
Hounslow Heath, where he secured what money they had, which was
something above a hundred pounds. They begged hard for some money back,
when he gave them a guinea, taking from them their spurs and whips, and
at some distance threw them away. Those two men, as he found some days
after by the papers, were two meal factors that were going to High
Wycombe market in Buckinghamshire, to buy either wheat or flour.

This last being a pretty good booty, he had a mind afterwards to go for
Ireland and accordingly set out for his journey thither. He took
shipping at King's Road near Bristol, on board a small vessel bound to
Waterford, where he arrived and stayed at the Eagle in Waterford three
days, and from thence went directly to Dublin. Doyle was not long in
Dublin before he became acquainted with his wife, whom he courted for
some time and was extravagant in spending his money on her. He also soon
got acquainted with one N. B., a man now alive, and they turned out
together. None was able to stand against them, for they had everything
that came in their way, and in plain terms, there was not a man that
carried money about him, within eight miles of Dublin, but if they met
him they were sure to get what he had.

Being grown so wicked Doyle was at length taken for a robber and
committed to Newgate, then kept by one Mr. Hawkins, who used him so
barbarously that he wished himself out of his hands. Accordingly he got
his irons off and broke out of the gaol. Hawkins knowing all the
bums[97] in Dublin, sent them up and down the city to take him, but to
no purpose. However, they rooted him fairly out of that neighbourhood.

Then he returned to Waterford, where he appointed his wife and friend
should meet him, which they did; and in about four hours after he came
there he found them out, and there being a ship bound for Bristol, he
sent them on board, agreed with the captain and went himself on board
the same night. They hoisted their sails and got down to the Passage
near Waterford, but the wind proving contrary, they were obliged to
return back, and then concluded it was determined for Doyle to be taken;
which he had been had he kept on board, but he luckily got on shore,
when it was agreed to go to Cork. There they met with an honest cock of
a landlord, and he kept himself very private, making the poor man
believe that his companion and he were two that were raising men for the
Chevalier's[98] service, and that their keeping so private proceeded
from a fear of being discovered. The poor man had then a double regard
for them, he being a lover in his heart of ----. Doyle then sent his
wife to seek for a ship; but Hawkins having pursued him from Dublin,
happened to see her, and dogged her to the ship where she went on board,
sending officers to search, for he was sure he should find him there. He
was mistaken, but they took his poor wife up to see if they could make
her discover where he was, and ordered a strong guard to bring her to
Cork gaol. A boat was provided to bring her on shore, but she telling
the men some plausible stories that her husband was not the man they
represented him to be, one of the watermen having stripped off his
clothes in order to row, and there being a great many honest fellows in
the boat, they assisted her in putting on waterman's clothes, which as
soon as done, she fairly got away from them, and came and acquainted
Doyle that Hawkins was in town, and how she had been in danger. They
then concluded on leaving Cork, hired horses that night, and came to a
place called Mallow, within ten miles of Cork. The next day they
travelled to Limerick, where Doyle bought a horse, bridle, etc., and
went towards Galloway, and in all his journey round about got but two
prizes, which did not amount to above fifteen pounds.

Sometime after, his wife was transported, which gave him a great deal of
concern, and he could not be in any way content without her. So getting
some money together he went to Virginia, and having arrived there soon
met with her, having had intelligence where to enquire for her. The
first house be came into was one William Dalton's, who had some days
before bought the late noted James Dalton,[99] who was then his servant,
whom he very often used to send along with Doyle in his boat to put him
on board a ship. Then he thought it his best way to buy his wife's
liberty, which he did, paying fifteen pounds for it.

He had then a considerable deal of money about him, and removed from
that part of the country where she was known and went to New York. Being
arrived there he soon got acquainted with some of his countrymen, with
whom be had used to go a-hunting and to the horse races; so be spent
some time in seeing the country. By chance he came to hear of a namesake
of his, that lived in an island a little distant from New York, and
being willing to see any of his name, he sent for him, and according to
Doyle's request, he wrote to him that he would come the next day, which
he did, and proved to be his uncle. The old man was overjoyed to see
Doyle, and carried him home with him, where he stayed a long time, and
spent a great deal of money.

His uncle was very much affronted at Doyle's ill-treatment of the
natives, whom he severely beat, insomuch that the whole place was afraid
of him, and all intended to join and take the Law of him. Soon after he
departed from New York and went to Boston, where he remained some time,
and at length he resolved within himself to settle and work at his
trade, thinking it better to do so than to spend all his money, and be
obliged to return to England or Ireland without a penny in his pocket.
He did so, and having agreed with a master he went to work, and was very
saving and frugal.

He remained with that man till by his wife's industry he had got,
including what was his own, about two hundred pounds English money. Then
he advised his wife to go for Ireland in the first ship that was bound
that way, laying all her money out to twenty pounds, and shipped the
goods which he had brought on board for her account. She then went to
Ireland and Doyle for England, promising to go over to her as soon as he
could get some money, for he had then an inclination to leave off his
old trade of collecting.

Being arrived at London, he met with a certain person with whom he
joined, and as he himself terms it, never had man a braver companion,
for let him push at what he would, his new companion never flinched one
inch. They turned out about London for some time, and got a great deal
of money, for nothing hardly missed them. They used a long time the
roads about Hounslow, Hampstead, and places adjacent, until the papers
began to describe them, on which they went into Essex, and robbed
several graziers, farmers and others. Then they went to Bishop's
Stortford, in Hertfordshire, where they robbed one man in particular who
had his money tied up under his arm in a great purse. Doyle says that he
had some intelligence from a friend that the man had money about him, he
made him strip in buff, and then found out where he lodged it, and took
it, but he did not use him in any way ill, for he says it was the man's
business to conceal it, as much as his to discover it.

Doyle and his partner hearing of a certain fair which was to be held a
few days after, they resolved to go to it, and coming there took notice
who took most money. In the evening they took their horses, and about
three miles distant from the town there was a green, over which the
people were obliged to come from the fair. There came a great many
graziers and farmers, whom they robbed of upwards of eight hundred
pounds. At this time Doyle had in money and valuable things, such as
diamonds, rings, watches, to the amount of about sixteen hundred pounds.
His partner had also a great deal of money, but not so much as Doyle, by
reason that he (D) had got some very often which he had no right to have
a share of.

Doyle went again for Ireland, and carried all his money with him, and
having a great many poor relations, distributed part of it amongst them;
some he lent, which he could never get again, and in a little his money
grew short, having frequented horse races and all public places.
However, before all was spent he returned to England. Following his old
course of life, he happened into several broils, with which a little
money and a few friends he got over. In a short space of time he became
acquainted with Benjamin Wileman. They two, with another person
concerned with them, committed several robberies. At length they were
discovered, apprehended and committed to Newgate. Wileman, it seems, had
an itching to become an evidence against Doyle and W. G. But Doyle made
himself an evidence, being really, as he said, for his own preservation
and not for the sake of any reward.

Doyle's wife being for a second time transported, he went with her in
the same ship, and having arrived in Virginia, slaved there some time,
until he began to grow weary of the place. But as he was always too
indulgent to her, he bought her her liberty, and shipped her and himself
on board the first ship that came to England, when in seven weeks time
they arrived in the Downs. Soon after they came up to England, but were
not long in town before his wife was taken up for returning from
transportation, and committed to Newgate, where she remained until the
sessions following, and being brought upon her trial, pleaded guilty.

When they came to pass sentence upon her, she produced his Majesty's
most gracious pardon, and was admitted to bail to plead the same, and
thereupon discharged. Doyle, a short time after, went to the West of
England, where he slaved some time, following his old way of life; and
associating himself with a certain companion, got a considerable sum of
money, and came to Marlborough. And having continued some time in that
neighbourhood, they usually kept the markets, where they commonly
cleared five pounds a day. Going from Marlborough they came to
Hungerford, and put up their horses at the George Inn; and having
ordered something for dinner, saw some graziers on the road, but one of
them being an old sportsman, and a brother tradesman of Doyle's
formerly, he knew the said Doyle immediately, by the description given
of him, and very honestly came to him, and told him that he had a charge
of money about him, and withal begged that he would not hurt him, since
he had made so ingenuous a confession, desiring Doyle to make the best
of his way to another part of the country, telling him at the same time
where he lived in London, and that if he should act honourably by him,
he would put a thousand pounds in his pocket in a month's time.
According to the grazier's directions, Doyle and his companions
departed, but having met, as Doyle phrases it, with a running chase in
their cross way, which they had taken for safety, they were obliged to
return back into the main road again, and by accident put up at the same
inn where the grazier and his companions were that evening. The grazier,
as soon as he saw Doyle, came in and drank a bottle with him, and then
retired to his companions, without taking any manner of notice of him.

As they came for London, they took everything that came into their net,
and in three days time Doyle paid his brother sportsman, the grazier, a
visit, who received him handsomely, and appointed him to meet him the
next market day at the Greyhound in Smithfield, in order to make good
part of his promise to him. Doyle and his companion went to him, put up
their horses at the same inn and passed for country farmers. This
grazier, who formerly had been one of the same profession being now
grown honest and bred a butcher, was then turned salesman in Smithfield,
and sold cattle for country graziers, and sent them their money back by
their servants who had brought the cattle to town. Having drunk a glass
of wine together, they began to talk about business, and the grazier
being obliged to go into the market to sell some beasts, desired Doyle
and his companion to stay there until he returned. When he came he gave
them some little instructions how they should proceed in an affair he
had then in view to serve then in, and having taken his advice, they
rode out of town; and it being a West Country fair they rode Turnham
Green way.

They had not time to drink a pint of wine before the West Country
chapman came ajogging along. They took two hundred and forty pounds from
him, making (as D. terms it) a much quicker bargain with him than he had
done with the butcher at Smithfield. The chapman begged hard for some
money to carry him home to his family, and after they had given him two
guineas, he said to them that he had often travelled that road with five
hundred pounds about him, and never had been stopped. To which Doyle
replied, that half the highwaymen who frequented the road were but mere
old women, otherwise he would never have had that to brag of, and then
parted. Doyle says that the honest man at Smithfield had poundage of him
as well as from the grazier, so that he acted in a double capacity.

That night they came to London, and having put up their horses, put on
other clothes and went to Smithfield, where not finding the butcher at
home, they write a note and left it for an appointment to meet him at
the Horn Tavern in Fleet Street, where they had not stayed long before
he came. After taking a cheerful glass they talked the story over, and
out of the booty Doyle gave turn fifty guineas, after which the butcher
promised to be his friend upon a better affair. After paying the
reckoning they parted and appointed to meet the next market day at
Smithfield.

They went at the time appointed, and having drank a morning glass,
stepped into the market and stayed some time. Their brother sportsman
being very busy, he made excuse to Doyle and his companion, telling them
there was nothing to be done in their way till the evening, desiring
them to be patient. They remained in and about Smithfield till then, and
market being entirely over, their friend came up to the place appointed,
and showed them a man on horseback to whom he had just paid fifty
pounds. Doyle and his companion immediately called for their horses,
took leave of their friend, and kept in sight of the countryman until he
was out of town. And when he was got near the Adam and Eve, at
Kensington, they came up to him, and made a ceremony, as became men of
their profession. He was very unwilling to part from his money, making
an attempt to ride away, but they soon overtook him, and after some
dispute took every penny that he received in Smithfield, and for his
residing gave him back only a crown to bear his charges home. In his
memoirs Doyle makes this observation, that they always robbed between
sun and sun, so that the persons robbed might make the county pay them
that money back if they thought fit to sue them for it.[100] Next
morning Doyle and his companion came to the place appointed, and not
meeting with their brother sportsman sent for him, where they drank
together, and talked as usual about business, paying him poundage out of
what money they had collected on his information (for they usually dealt
with him as a custom-house officer does by an informer); after which
they parted for that time, and did not meet for a month after.

Afterwards they went up and down Hertfordshire, but got scarce money
enough to bear their expenses; but where there were small gettings they
lived the more frugally, for Doyle observed that if the country did not
bear their expenses wherever he travelled, he thought it very hard, and
that if he failed of gaming one day, he commonly got as much the next as
he could well destroy.

Hitherto we have kept very close to those memoirs which Mr. Doyle left
behind him, which I did with this view, that my readers might have some
idea of what these people think of themselves. I shall now bring you to
the conclusion of his story, by informing you that finding himself beset
at the several lodgings which he kept by way of precaution, he for some
days behaved himself with much circumspection; but happening to forget
his pistols, he was seized, coming out of an inn in Drury Lane, and
though he made as much resistance as he was able, yet they forced him
unto a coach and conveyed him to Newgate. It is hard to say what
expectations he entertained after he was once apprehended, but it is
reasonable to believe that he had strong hopes of life, notwithstanding
his pleading guilty at his trial, for he dissembled until the time of
the coming down of a death warrant, and then declared he was a Roman
Catholic, and not a member of the Church of England, as he had hitherto
pretended.

He seemed to be a tolerably good-natured man, but excessively vicious at
the same time that he was extravagantly fond of the woman he called his
wife. He took no little pleasure in the relations of those adventures
which happened to him in his exploits on the highway, and expressed
himself with much seeming satisfaction, because as he said, he had never
been guilty of beating or using passengers ill, much less of wounding or
attempting to murder them. In general terms, he pretended to much
penitence, but whether it was that he could not get over the natural
vivacity of his own temper, or that the principles of the Church of
Rome, as is too common a case, proved a strong opiate in his conscience,
however it was, I say, Doyle did not seem to have any true contrition
for his great and manifold offences. On the contrary, he appeared with
some levity, even when on the very point of death.

He went to execution in a mourning coach; all the way he read with much
seeming attention in a little Popish manual, which had been given him by
one of his friends. At the tree he spoke a little to the people, told
them that his wife had been a very good wife to him, let her character
in other respects be what it would. Then he declared he had left behind
him memoirs of his life and conduct, to which he had nothing to add
there, and from which I have taken verbatim a great part of what I have
related. And then, having nothing more to offer to the world, he
submitted to death on the first of June, 1730, but in what year of his
age I cannot say.

However, before I make an end of what relates to Mr. Doyle, it would be
proper to acquaint the public that the vanity of his wife extended so
far as to make a pompous funeral for him at St. Sepulchre's church,
whereat she, as chief mourner assisted, and was led by a gentleman whom
the world suspected to be of her husband's employment.

FOOTNOTES:

[97] i.e., bailiffs, informers and spies.

[98] The Pretender, whose name was only to be mentioned with
baited breath.

[99] See page 533.

[100] Passengers robbed on the highway between sunrise and
sunset, could sue the county for the amount of their loss, it
being the duty of the officials to keep the roads safe.