this Appendix do not so properly fall under the general title of this
work (most of them having fallen out in a period of time long before
that to which I have fixed the beginning of these memoirs of the
unfortunate victims to public justice) yet there are two reasons which
determined me to give these narratives a place in this collection. The
first is that the wonders of Providence signalized in these transactions
might hereby be recorded and preserved to posterity; and the other, that
from the perusal the wicked might be deterred from pursuing their
vicious courses, from the prospect of those sudden, dreadful, and
unexpected strokes which the best hid criminal practices have met with
from the unsearchable conduct of Divine Justice. And as these arguments
had weight enough with me to engage me to the performance of this work,
so I hope they will also incline my readers to peruse them with that
improvement and delight which I have ever aimed to excite in the course
of my labours._




A true and perfect account of the examination, confession, trial,
condemnation and execution, of JOHN PERRY, his mother and brother, for
the supposed murder of WILLIAM HARRISON, Gent.


Upon Thursday, the 6th of August, 1660, William Harrison, steward to the
Lady Viscount Campden, at Campden in Gloucester, being about seventy
years of age, walked from Campden aforesaid to Charringworth, about two
miles from thence, to receive his lady's rent; and not returning so
early as formerly, his wife, Mrs. Harrison, between eight and nine
o'clock in the evening, sent her servant John Perry, to meet his master
on the way from Charringworth. But neither Mr. Harrison nor his servant
John Perry returning that night, early the next morning Edward Harrison,
William's son, went towards Charringworth to enquire after his father.
On the way he met Perry coming thence, and being informed by him that he
was not there, they went together to Ebrington, a village between
Charringworth and Campden, where they were told by one Daniel, that Mr.
Harrison called at his house the evening before, in his return from
Charringworth, but stayed not. Then they went to Paxford, about half a
mile from thence, where hearing nothing of Mr. Harrison, they returned
towards Campden. And on the way hearing of a hat, band and a comb, taken
up on the highway between Ebrington and Campden, by a poor woman then
leasing [gleaning] in the field, they sought her out. With her they
found the hat, band and comb, which they knew to be Mr. Harrison's; and
being brought by the woman to the place where she found the same, in the
highway between Ebrington and Campden, near unto a great furze-brake,
they there searched for Mr. Harrison, supposing he had been murdered,
the hat and the comb being hacked and cut, and the band bloody, but
nothing more could there be found. The news hereof coming to Campden, so
alarmed the town that the men, women and children hasted thence in
multitudes to search for Mr. Harrison's supposed dead body, but all in
vain.

Mrs. Harrison's fears for her husband were now much increased, and
having sent her servant Perry the evening before to meet his master, and
he not returning that night, caused a suspicion that he had robbed and
murdered him. Thereupon the said Perry was the next day brought before a
Justice of the Peace; by whom being examined concerning his master's
absence, and his own staying out the night he went to meet him, gave
this account of himself. That his mistress sending him to meet his
master, between eight and nine o'clock in the evening, he went down
Campden Field towards Charringworth about a land's length,[107] where
meeting one William Read of Campden, he acquainted him with his errand,
and farther told him that as it was growing dark he was afraid to go
forwards, and would therefore return and fetch his young master's horse
and return with him; he went to Mr. Harrison's court gate, where they
parted. He stayed till one Pierce coming by, he went again with him
about a bow's shot into the fields, and returned with him likewise to
his master's gate, where they also parted; and the said John Perry
averred that he went into his master's hen-roost, where he lay about an
hour, but slept not, but when the clock struck twelve, arose and went
towards Charringworth, until a great mist arising, he lost his way, and
so lay the rest of the night under a hedge. At break of day on Friday
morning he went to Charringworth, where he enquired for his master of
one Edward Plaisterer, who told him he had been with him the afternoon
before, and received three-and-twenty pounds of him, but stayed not long
with him. He went to William Curtis of the same town, who told him he
heard his master was at his house the day before, but being not at home,
did not see him. After which he said he returned homewards, it being
about five o'clock in the morning, when on the way he met his master's
son, with whom he went to Ebrington and Paxford, etc. Curtis being
examined, affirmed what Perry had said concerning them to be true.

Perry then being asked by the Justice of Peace how he, who was afraid to
go to Charringworth at nine o'clock, became so bold as to go thither at
twelve, answered that at nine o'clock it was dark, but at twelve the
moon shone. Being further asked why returning twice home after his
mistress had sent him to meet his master, and staying until twelve of
the clock, he went not into the house to know whether his master was
come, before he went a third time, at that time of night to look after
him, he answered that he knew his master was not at home, because he saw
a light in his chamber window, which never used to be there so late when
he was at home.

Yet notwithstanding this that Perry had said about staying forth that
night, it was not thought fit to discharge him until further enquiry was
made after Mr. Harrison, and accordingly he continued in custody at
Campden, sometimes in an inn there, and sometimes in the common prison,
from Saturday, August the 18th, to the Friday following; during which
time he was again examined at Campden, by the aforesaid Justice of
Peace, but confessed nothing more than before, nor at that time could
any further discovery be made as to what was become of Mr. Harrison. But
it hath been said that during his restraint at Campden he told some (who
pressed him to confess what he knew concerning his master) that a tinker
had killed him; and to others he said that a gentleman's servant of the
neighbourhood had robbed and murdered him; and others, again, he told
that he was murdered and hid in a bean-rick in Campden, where search was
in vain made for him. At length he gave out that if he was again carried
before the Justice, he would discover that to him which he would not do
to anybody else; and thereupon he was, on Friday, August the 24th, again
brought before the Justice of Peace, who first examined him. And asking
him whether he would confess what had become of his master, he answered
he was murdered but not by him. The Justice of Peace then telling him
that if he knew him to be murdered, he knew likewise by whom he was, so
he acknowledged he did, and being urged to confess what he knew
concerning it, affirmed that it was his mother and brother that had
murdered his master. The Justice of Peace then advised him to consider
what he said, telling him that he feared he might be guilty of his
master's death, and that he should not draw more innocent blood upon his
head, for what he now charged his mother and brother with might cost
them their lives. But he affirming he spoke nothing but the truth, and
that if he were immediately to die he would justify it, the Justice
desired him to declare how, and when they did it.

He then told him that ever since he came into his master's service his
mother and brother had lain at him to help them to money, telling him
how poor they were, and that it was in his power to relieve them by
giving them notice when his master went to receive his lady's rents, for
they would then waylay him and rob him. And further, he said that upon
the Thursday morning, when his master went to Charringworth, going on an
errand into the town, he met his brother in the street, whom he then
told whither his master was going, and if he waylaid him he might have
his money; and further said, that in the evening when his mistress sent
him to meet his master, he met his brother in the street before his
master's gate, going as he said to meet his master, and so they went
together to the churchyard, about a stone's throw from Mr. Harrison's
gate, where they parted. He going the footway beyond the church, they
met again, and so went together the way leading to Charringworth, until
they came to a gate about a bow's shot from Campden church that goes
into a ground of the Lady Campden's, called the Conygree, which to
those who have a key to go through the garden, is the nearest from that
place to Mrs. Harrison's house. When they came near unto that gate, he
(the said John Perry) said he told his brother that he believed his
master was just gone into the Conygree (for it was then so dark they
could not discern any man, so as to know him). But perceiving there was
no way but for those who had a key through the gardens, he concluded it
was his master who had gone through, and so told his brother if he
followed him, he might have his money, and he in the meantime, would
walk a turn in the fields. Which accordingly he did, and then followed
his brother. About the middle of the Conygree, he found his master on
the ground, his brother upon him, and his mother standing by. Being
asked whether his master was dead, he answered, No, for that after he
came to them, his master cried, _Ah, rogues! Will you kill me?_ At which
he told his brother he hoped he would not kill his master; his brother
replied, _Peace, peace, you're a fool_; and so strangled him. Which
having done, he took a bag of money out of his pocket, and threw it into
his mother's lap; and then he and his brother carried his master's dead
body into the garden, adjoining to the Conygree, where they consulted
what to do with it, and at length agreed to throw it into the great pool
by Wallington's Mill, behind the garden.

His mother and brother bid him go up to the court next the house, to
hearken whether anyone was stirring, and they would throw the body into
the pool; and being asked whether it was there, he said, he knew not,
for that he left it in the garden, but his mother and brother said they
would throw it there, and if it was not there, he knew not where it was,
for that he returned no more to them, but went into the court gate,
which goes into the town. He met with John Pierce with whom he went into
the field, and again returned with him to his master's gate. After which
he went into the hen-roost, where he lay until twelve o'clock at night,
but slept not, and having, when he came from his mother and brother,
brought with him his master's hat, band and comb, which he laid in the
hen-roost, he carried the said hat, band and comb, and threw them after
he had given them three or four cuts with his knife, in the highway,
where they were after found. And being asked what he intended by so
doing, he said he did it that it might be believed his master had been
there robbed and murdered. And having thus disposed of his hat, band and
comb, he went towards Charringworth, as hath been related.

Upon this confession and accusation, the Justice of Peace gave order for
the apprehending of Joan and Richard Perry, the mother and brother of
John Perry, and for searching the pool where Mr. Harrison's body was
said to be thrown, which was accordingly done, but nothing of him could
be found there. The Fish Pools, likewise, in Campden, were drawn and
searched, but nothing could be found there either; so that some were of
opinion that the body might be laid in the ruins of Campden House, burnt
in the late wars, and not unfit for such a concealment, where was
likewise search made, but all in vain.

On Saturday, August 25th, Joan and Richard Perry, together with John
Perry, were brought before the Justice of Peace, who acquainted the said
Joan and Richard with what John had lain to their charge. They denied
all, with many imprecations on themselves if they were in the least
guilty of anything of which they were accused, but John on the other
side affirmed to their faces that he had spoken nothing but the truth
and that they had murdered his master, further telling them that he
could never be at quiet for them since he came into his master's
service, being continually followed by them to help them to money (which
they told him he might do by giving them notice when his master went to
receive his lady's rents), and that meeting his brother Richard in
Campden Town, the Thursday morning his master went to Charringworth, he
told him whither he was going, and upon what errand; Richard confessed
he met his brother that morning and spoke with him, but nothing passed
between them to that purpose. Both he and his mother told John he was a
villain to accuse them wrongfully, as he had done, but John on the other
side affirmed that he had spoken nothing but the truth and would justify
it to his death.

One remarkable circumstance happened in these prisoners' return from the
Justice's house to Campden, viz., Richard Perry following a good
distance behind his brother John, pulling a clout out of his pocket,
dropped a ball of inkle,[108] which one of his guard taking up, he
desired him to restore it, saying it was only his wife's hair lace; but
the party opening it, and finding a slip knot at the end, went and
showed it unto John, who was then a good distance before and knew
nothing of the dropping and taking up of this inkle. Being showed it,
and asked whether he knew it, he shook his head and said, yes to his
sorrow, for that was the string his brother strangled his master with.
This was sworn upon the evidence at their trial.

The morrow being the Lord's day, they remained at Campden, where the
minister of the place designing to speak to them, if possible to
persuade them to repentance and a farther confession, they were brought
to church; and in their way thither passing by Richard's house, two of
his children meeting him, he took the lesser in his arm, and was leading
the other in his hand, when on a sudden both their noses fell
a-bleeding, which was looked upon as ominous.

Here it will be no impertinent digression to tell how the year before,
Mr. Harrison had his house broken open between eleven and twelve o'clock
at noon, upon Campden market-day, whilst himself and his whole family
were away, a ladder being set up to a window of the second story, and an
iron bar wrenched thence with a ploughshare, which was left in the room,
and seven score pounds in money carried away, the authors of which
robbery could never be found. After this, and not many weeks before Mr.
Harrison's absence, one evening in Campden garden his servant Perry made
a hideous outcry, whereas some who heard it coming in, met him running
and seemingly affrighted, with a sheep-pick in his hand, to whom he told
a story how he had been set upon by two men in white, with naked swords,
and how he defended himself with his sheep-pick, the handle whereof was
cut in two or three places, as was likewise a key in his pocket, which
he said was done with one of their swords.

The passages the Justice of the Peace having before heard, and calling
to mind upon Perry's confession, asked him first concerning the robbery,
when his master lost seven score pounds out of his house at noon-day,
whether he knew who did it? He answered, Yes, it was his brother, and
being further asked, whether he was with him, he answered, No, he was at
church, but that he gave him notice of the money, and told him in which
room it was, and where he might have a ladder, that would reach the
window; and that his brother after told him he had the money, and had
buried it in his garden, and that they were at Michaelmas next to have
divided it, whereupon search was made in the garden, but no money could
be there found. And being further asked concerning the other passage, of
his being assaulted in the garden, he confessed it was all a fiction,
and that he did it having a design to rob his master, so that rogues
being believed to haunt the place, when his master was robbed they might
be thought to have done it.

At the next assizes, which were held in September following, John, Joan
and Richard Perry had two indictments found against them, one for
breaking into William Harrison's house, and robbing him of one hundred
and forty pounds, in the year, 1659; the other for robbing and murdering
the said William Harrison on the 16th day of August, 1660. Upon the last
indictment, the judge of the assizes, Sir C. T., would not try them,
because the body was not found; but they were then tried upon the other
indictment for robbery, to which they pleaded not guilty. But someone
whispering behind them, they soon pleaded guilty, humbly begging the
benefit of his Majesty's gracious pardon and Act of Oblivion,[109] which
was granted them. But though they pleaded guilty to their indictment,
being thereunto promised (as probable) by some who are unwilling to lose
time and trouble the Court with their trial as the Act of Oblivion
pardoned them; yet they all afterwards and at their death, denied that
they were guilty of that robbery, or that they knew who did it. Yet at
his assize, as several credible persons have affirmed, John Perry still
persisted in his story that his mother and brother had murdered his
master, and further added that they had attempted to poison him in gaol,
so that he durst neither eat nor drink with them.

At the next assizes, which was held the Spring following, John, Joan and
Richard Perry were by the then judge of assize, Sir B. H., tried upon
the indictment of murder, and pleaded thereunto severally not guilty.
And when John's confession before the Justice was proved, _viva voce_,
by several witnesses who heard the same, he told them he was then mad
and knew not what he said. The other two, Richard and Joan Perry, said
they were wholly innocent of what they were accused, and that they knew
nothing of Mr. Harrison's death, nor what was become of him; and Richard
said that his brother had accused others as well as him of having
murdered his master, which the judge bidding him prove, he said that
most of those who had given evidence against him knew it, but naming
none, nor did any speak to it. And so the jury found them all three
guilty.

Some few days after being brought to the place of their execution, which
was on Broadway Hill, in sight of Campden, the mother, who was reputed a
witch and to have bewitched her sons, so that they would confess nothing
while she lived, was executed first. After which, Richard being upon the
ladder, professed as he had done all along that he was wholly innocent
of the fact for which he was then to die, and that he knew nothing of
Mr. Harrison's death, nor what was become of him, and did with great
earnestness beg and beseech his brother, for the satisfaction of the
whole world and for his own conscience, to declare what he knew
concerning him. But he, with a dogged and surly carriage, told the
people he was not obliged to confess to them; yet immediately before his
death, he said he knew nothing of his master's death, nor what had
become of him but they might hereafter possibly hear.

Mr. Harrison's account of his being absent two years, and of his return
home, addressed to Sir Thomas Overbery, Knight

Honoured Sir,

In obedience to your commands, I give you this true account of my
being carried away beyond the seas, my continuance there and return
home.

On Thursday, in the afternoon, in the time of harvest, I went to
Charringworth to demand rents due to my Lady Campden, at which the
tenants were busy in the fields, and were late ere they came home,
which occasioned my stay there till the close of the evening. I
expected a considerable sum, but received only twenty-three pounds
and no more. In my return home, in the narrow passages amongst
Ebrington Furzes, there met me one horseman, and said, _Art thou
there?_ and I, fearing that he would have rode over me, struck his
horse over the nose, whereupon he struck me with his sword several
blows, and ran it into my side, while I with my little cane made my
defence as well as I could. At last another came behind me, ran me
in the thigh, laid hold on the collar of my doublet, and drew me to
a hedge near to the place. Then came in another. They did not take
away my money, but mounted me behind one of them, drew my arms about
his middle, and fastened my wrists together with something that had
a spring lock to it, as I conceived, by hearing it give a snap as
they put it on; then they threw a great cloak over me and carried me
away.

In the night, they alighted at a hayrick, which stood near unto a
stone pit, by a wall side, where they took away my money. This was
about two hours before day, as I heard one of them tell the other he
thought it to be then. They tumbled me into the stone pit. They
stayed, as I thought, about an hour at the hayrick. When they took
horse again, one of them bade me come out of the pit. I answered
they had my money already, and asked what they would do with me,
whereupon he struck me again, drew me out, and put a great quantity
of money into my pockets, and mounted me again, after the same
manner. And on Friday, about sunset, they brought me to a lone house
upon a heath, by a thicket of bushes, where they took me down,
almost dead, being sorely bruised with the carriage of the money.
When the woman of the house saw that I could neither stand nor
speak, she asked them whether or no they had brought a dead man?
They answered, no, but a friend that was hurt, and they were
carrying me to a surgeon. She answered, if they did not make haste
their friend would be dead before they could bring him to one.
There they laid me on the cushions and suffered none to come into
the room but a little girl. There we stayed all night, they giving
me some broth and strong waters.

In the morning, very early, they mounted me as before, and on
Saturday night, they brought me to a place where were two or three
houses, in one of which I lay all night on cushions by their
bedside. On Sunday morning they carried me from thence, and about
three or four of the clock, they brought me to a place by the
seaside, called Deal, where they laid me down in the ground. One of
them staying by me, the other two walked a little off to meet a man,
with whom they talked; and in their discourse I heard them mention
seven pounds, after which they went away together, and about half an
hour after returned. The man (whose name, as I after heard, was
Wrenshaw) said he feared I would die before they could put me on
board; then they put me into a boat, and carried me on ship-board,
where my wounds were dressed.

I remained in the ship, as near as I could reckon, about six weeks,
in which time I was indifferently recovered of my wounds and
weaknesses. Then the master of the ship came in and told me and the
rest who were in the same condition, that he discovered three
Turkish ships. We all offered to fight in defence of the ship and
ourselves, but he commanded us to keep close, and said he would deal
with them well enough. A little while after, he called us up, and
when we came on deck we saw two Turkish ships close by us; into one
of them we were put, and placed in a dark hold, where how long we
continued before we were landed, I know not.

When we were landed they led us two days' journey, and put us into a
great house or prison, where we remained four days and a half, and
then came to us eight men to view us, who seemed to be officers.
They called us and examined us of our trades and callings, which
everyone answered. One said he was a surgeon, another that he was a
broad-cloth weaver, and I, after two or three demands, said I had
some skill in physic. We three were set by, and taken by three of
these eight men who came to view us. It was my chance to be chosen
by a grave physician of eighty-seven years of age, who lived near to
Smyrna, who had formerly been in England, and knew Crowland in
Lincolnshire, which he preferred before all others in England. He
employed me to keep his still-house, and gave me a silver bowl,
double gilt, to drink in. My business was most in that place, but
once he set me to gather cotton wool, which I not doing he struck me
to the ground, and after drew his stiletto to stab me; but I holding
up my hands to him, he gave me a stamp and turned from me, for
which I render thanks to my Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, who
stayed his hand and preserved me.

I was there about a year and three quarters, and then my master fell
sick on a Thursday, and sent for me, and calling me, as he used, by
the name of Bell, told me he should die and bid me shift for myself.
He died on the Saturday following, and I instantly hastened with my
bowl[110] to a port almost a day's journey distant, the way to which
place I knew, having been twice there employed by my master about
the carriage of the cotton wool. When I came thither I addressed
myself to two men who came out of a ship of Hamburg, which, as they
said, was bound for Portugal within three or four days. I enquired
of them for an English ship, they answered there was none. I
entreated them to take me into their ship, but they answered they
durst not, for fear of being discovered by the searchers, which
might occasion the forfeiture, not only of their goods, but also of
their lives. I was very importunate with them, but could not
prevail. They left me to wait on Providence, which at length brought
me another out of the same ship, to whom I made known my condition,
craving his assistance for my transportation. He made me the like
answer as the former, and was as stiff in his denial, until the
sight of my bowl put him to pause. He returned to the ship, and
after an hour's space came back again accompanied with another
seaman, and for my bowl, undertook to transport me; but he told me I
must be contented to lie down in the keel and endure much hardship,
which I was content to do to gain my liberty.

So they took me on board, and placed me below in the vessel, in a
very uneasy place, and obscured me with boards and other things,
where I lay undiscovered, notwithstanding the strict search that was
made in the vessel. My two chapmen who had my bowl, honestly
furnished me with victuals daily, until we arrived at Lisbon in
Portugal, where, as soon as the master had left the ship and was
gone into the city, they set me on shore moneyless, to shift for
myself. I knew not what course to take, but as Providence led me, I
went up into the city, and came into a fair street, and being weary
I turned my back to a wall, and leaned upon my staff. Over against
me were four gentlemen discoursing together; after a while one of
them came to me, and spake to me in a language that I understood
not. I told him I was an Englishman and understood not what he
spoke. He answered me in plain English, that he understood me, and
was himself born in Wisbech, in Lincolnshire. Then I related to him
my sad condition, and he taking compassion on me, took me with him,
provided me with lodging and diet, and by his interest with a master
of a ship bound for England, procured my passage; and bringing me on
ship board, he bestowed wine and strong waters on me, and at his
return gave me eight stivers and commended me to the care of the
master of the ship, who landed me safe at Dover. From thence I made
a shift to get to London, where being furnished with necessaries I
came into the country.

Thus, honoured Sir, I have given you a true account of my great
sufferings and happy deliverance by the mercy and goodness of God,
my most gracious Father in Jesus Christ, my Saviour and Redeemer, to
whose name be ascribed all honour, praise and glory. I conclude and
rest,

Your Worship's,
In all dutiful respect,
William Harrison

Before I part with this story, it is proper for me to remark that though
it does not contain any extraordinary mark of the wisdom of Providence,
yet being in its nature strange and hitherto having escaped any other
collection, I thought it not improper to be preserved here, since some
of the circumstances are of such a nature as not to be paralleled in any
English story.

FOOTNOTES:

[107] A local term for a strip of furrowed land.

[108] A kind of broad linen tape.

[109] Passed at the Restoration, in 1660, granting "free
general pardon, indemnity, and oblivion for all treasons and
state offences" committed between 1 Jan., 1637, and 24 June,
1660. The regicides and certain Irish priests were excepted.

[110] That is, the silver-gilt one his master had given him.




A Relation of the Surprising Discovery of the Murder of MARY BARWICK,
committed by WILLIAM BARWICK, her husband, on the 14th of April, 1690,
upon which he was convicted, at the Lent Assizes at York, before the
Honourable Sir John Powell, Knight, then one of the Judges of Assize


In the following relation, I have kept strictly up to the motives which
I have mentioned in the beginning of this Appendix, and I hope that will
atone for the inserting of this story, which I confess can be of no
other use than to gratify the curiosity of the reader.

As murder is one of the greatest crimes that man can be guilty of, so it
is no less strangely and providentially discovered when secretly
committed. The foul criminal believes himself secure, because there was
no witness of the fact. Not considering that the all-seeing eye of
Heaven beholds his iniquity, and by some means or other bringing it to
light, never permits it to go unpunished. Indeed, so certainly does the
revenge of God pursue the abominated murderer, that when witnesses are
wanting of the fact, the very ghosts of the murdered parties cannot rest
quiet in their graves until they have made the detection themselves. Of
this we are now to give the reader two remarkable examples that lately
happened in Yorkshire, and no less signal for the truth of both
tragedies, as being confirmed by the trial of the offenders at the last
assizes held for that county.

The first of these murders was committed by William Barwick, upon the
body of Mary Barwick his wife, at the same time big with child. What
were the motives that induced the man to do this horrid fact does not
appear by the examination of the evidence, or the confession of the
party; only it appeared upon his trial that he had got her with child
before he married her, that being then constrained to marry her, he grew
weary of her, which was the reason he was so willing to be rid of her,
though he ventured body and soul to accomplish his design.

The murder was committed on Palm Monday, being then the fourteenth of
April, about two o'clock in the afternoon, at which time the said
Barwick drilled his wife along until he came to a certain close, within
sight of Cawood Castle, where he found the conveniency of a pond. He
threw her by force into the water, and when she was drowned and drawn
forth again by himself upon the bank of the pond, he had the cruelty to
behold the motion of the infant, yet warm in her womb. This done, he
concealed the body, as it may readily be supposed, among the bushes that
usually encompass a pond, and the next night when it grew dusk, fetching
a hay spade from a rick that stood in the close, he made a hole by the
side of the pond, and there slightly buried the woman in her clothes.
Having thus despatched two at once, and thinking himself secure, because
unseen, he went the same day to his brother-in-law, one Thomas Lofthouse
of Rusforth, within three miles of York, who had married his drowned
wife's sister, and told him he had carried his wife to one Richard
Harrison's house in Selby, who was his uncle, and would take care of
her.

But Heaven would not be so deluded, but raised up the ghost of the
murdered woman to make the discovery. It was Easter Tuesday following,
about two-o'clock in the afternoon, that the afore-mentioned Lofthouse,
having occasion to water a quickset hedge not far from his house, as he
was going for the second pailful, an apparition went before him in the
shape of a woman, and soon after set down against a rising green grass
plot, right over against the pond. He walked by her as he went to the
pond, and as he returned with the pail from the pond, looking sideways
to see whether she continued in the same place, he found she did, and
that she seemed to dandle something in her lap that looked like a white
bag, as he thought, which he did not observe before. So soon as he had
emptied his pail, he went into his yard and stood still to turn whether
he could see her again, but she was vanished. In this information he
says that the woman seemed to be habited in a brown-coloured petticoat,
waistcoat and a white hood, such a one as his wife's sister usually
wore, and that her countenance looked extremely pale and wan, with her
teeth in sight, but no gums appearing, and that her physiognomy was like
that of his wife's sister, who was wife to William Barwick.

But notwithstanding the ghastliness of the apparition, it seems it made
so little impression on Lofthouse's mind that he thought no more of it,
neither did he speak to anybody concerning it until the same night, as
he was at family duty of prayers, when that apparition returned again to
his thoughts, and discomposed his devotion; so that after he had made an
end of his prayers, he told the whole story of what he had seen to his
wife, who laying circumstances together, immediately inferred that her
sister was either drowned or otherwise murdered, and desired her husband
to look after her the next day, which was the Wednesday in Easter week.
Upon this, Lofthouse, recollecting what Barwick had told him of his
carrying his wife to his uncle at Selby, repaired to Harrison
before-mentioned, but found all that Barwick had said to be false, for
Harrison had neither heard of Barwick nor his wife, neither did he know
anything of them. Which notable circumstance, together with that other
of the apparition, increased his suspicion to that degree that now
concluding his wife's sister was murdered, he went to the Lord Mayor of
York. And having obtained his warrant, he got Barwick apprehended; who
was no sooner brought before the Lord Mayor, but his own conscience then
accusing him, he acknowledged the whole matter, as it has been already
related, and as it appears by the examination and confession herewith
printed.

On Wednesday, the 16th of September, 1690, the criminal, William
Barwick, was brought to his trial before the Honourable Sir John Powel,
Knight, one of the judges of the Northern Circuit, at the assizes held
at York, where the prisoner pleaded not guilty to his indictment. But
upon the evidence of Thomas Lofthouse and his wife, and a third person,
that the woman was found buried in her clothes, close by the pond side,
agreeable to the prisoner's confession, and that she had several
bruises on her head, occasioned by the blows the murderer had given her
to keep her under water, and upon reading the prisoner's confession
before the Lord Mayor of York, attested by the clerk who wrote the
confession, and who swore the prisoner's owning and signing it for
truth, he was found guilty and sentenced to death, and afterwards
ordered to be hanged in chains.

All the defence that the prisoner made was only this, that he was
threatened into the confession that he had made, and was in such a
consternation that he did not know what he said or did; but then it was
sworn to by two witnesses that there was no such thing as any
threatening made use of, but that he made a free and voluntary
confession, only with this addition at first, that he told the Lord
Mayor he had sold his wife for five shillings, but not being able to
name either the person or the place, where she might be produced, that
was looked upon as too frivolous to outweigh circumstances that were too
apparent.

The Examination of William Barwick, taken the 25th of April, 1690

Who sayeth and confesseth that he carried his wife over a certain
wainbridge, called Bishop Dyke Bridge, between Cawood and Sherburn;
and within a lane about one hundred yards from the said bridge, and
on the left hand of the said bridge, he and his wife went over a
stile, on the left hand of a certain gate, entering into a certain
close, on the left hand of the said lane; and in a pond in the said
close, adjoining to a quick-wood hedge, he did drown his wife and
upon a bank of the said pond did bury her, and further, that he was
within sight of Cawood Castle, on the left hand, and there was but
one hedge betwixt the said close where he drowned his wife, and the
Bishops Slates, belonging to the said castle.

William Barwick
_Exam, capt. did etc.
anno super dict.
coram me._

_S. Dawson, Mayor_




An Account of the Conviction and Execution of Mr. WALKER, and MARK
SHARP, for the Murder of ANN WALKER


I am conscious that my collecting these relations may expose me to the
railery and ridicule of a very numerous tribe of wits in this age, who
value themselves extremely on their contempt of supernatural stories,
and their disbelief of all things which relate to apparitions or returns
from that state in which souls go when they depart from the body. Yet
the following story is so remarkable, the proofs so exceedingly cogent,
and the mistakes made in the relation of it by various authors so
likely, notwithstanding, to bring it in the course of time into
discredit, that I thought I could not do a greater service to the public
than to preserve it in its genuine purity, which I have had occasion to
retrieve from the sight of some papers which related thereto, and from
which the following account is written verbatim, without any alteration
so much as in a letter.

About the year 1631, there lived in a place called
Chester-in-the-Street, in the County Palatine of Durham, one Mr. Walker,
a yeoman of good fortune and credit. He was a widower and kept a young
woman, one Ann Walker, a relation of his, in his house as housekeeper.
It was suspected, it seems, by some of the neighbours, that she was with
child, immediately upon which she was removed to one Dame Cair's an aunt
of hers in the town of Lumley, hard by. The old woman treated her with
much kindness and civility, but was exceedingly earnest to know of her
who was the father of the child with which she went, but the young woman
constantly avoided answering that question. But at last, perceiving how
uneasy the old woman was because she could get no knowledge how the poor
babe was to be provided for, this Ann Walker at last said that he who
got her with child would take care of both her and it, with which answer
her aunt was tolerably satisfied.

Some time after, of an evening, her old master Walker, and one Mark
Sharp, with whom he was extraordinarily intimate, came to her aunt's
house and took the said Anne Walker away. About a fortnight passed
without her being seen or heard of, and without much talk of the
neighbourhood concerning her, supposing she had been carried somewhere
to be privately brought to bed, in order to escape her shame. But one
James Graham, a miller, who lived two miles from the place where
Walker's house was, being one night between the hours of twelve and one,
grinding corn in his mill, and the mill door shut, as he came downstairs
from putting corn into the hopper, he saw a woman standing in the
middle of the floor, with her hair all bloody, hanging about her ears,
and five large wounds in her head. Graham, though he was a bold man, was
exceedingly shocked at this spectacle. At last after calling upon God to
protect him, he, in a low voice, demanded who she was, and what she
wanted of him. To which the woman made answer, _I am the spirit of Anne
Walker, who lived with Walker at Chester-in-the-Street, and being got
with child by him, he promised to send me to a private place, where I
should be well looked to until I was brought to bed, and well again, and
then I should come to him again and keep his house. And I was
accordingly, late one night, sent away with Mark Sharp, who upon the
moor, just by the Yellow Bank Head, slew me with a pick, an instrument
wherewith they dig coals, and gave me these five wounds, and afterwards
threw me into a coalpit hard by, and hid the pick under the bank. His
shoes and stockings also being bloody he endeavoured to wash them, but
seeing the blood would not go forth, he hid them there too. And now
James Grime_ (so the country people pronounce Graham) _I am come to you,
that by revealing this bloody act my murderers may be brought to
justice; which unless you do, I will continually pursue and haunt you._

The miller returned home to his house very melancholy, and much
astonished at this sight, yet he held his peace, hoping that if he did
not reveal it she would go to somebody else. He was fearful of blasting
the character of Mr. Walker, who was a man of substance, by telling such
a tale concerning him to a Justice of Peace. However, he avoided as much
as he was able being in the mill alone, especially at nights, but
notwithstanding all his care, and though other persons were not far off,
she appeared to him there again, and in a harsh tone demanded why he had
not made known what she had spoken of to him. He made her no answer, but
fled to the other end of the place where the people were. Yet some
little time after, just after sunset, she met him in his own garden, and
spoke to him with such a cruel aspect and with such fearful threats that
he promised to go the next morning to a magistrate, which he accordingly
did.

On the morrow, being St. Thomas's Day, he applied to a justice of the
peace and told him the story. The justice having tendered him his oath,
and taking his information in writing, forthwith issued his warrant, and
apprehended Mr. Walker and Mark Sharp, who by trade was a collier, i.e.,
dug coals out of a mine. They made light of the thing before the
justice, although he in the meanwhile had caused a place which Graham
said the apparition had spoken of, to be searched, and there found the
dead body, wounded in place and manner as before described, with the
pick, the shoes and the stockings. However, Walker and Sharp were
admitted to bail, and at the next assizes appeared upon their trial.

Judge Davenport heard the several circumstances of the woman's being
carried out by Sharp, her being suspected to be with child by her
master, Walker, and the story which Graham repeated exactly upon oath,
as he had done before the justice. The foreman of the jury did depose
that he saw a child standing upon the shoulders of the prisoner Walker,
at the Bar, and the judge himself was under such a concern and
uneasiness that as soon as the jury had found the prisoners guilty, he
immediately rose up and passed sentence of death upon them, a thing
never known before nor since in Durham, the custom being not to pass
sentence until the close of the assizes.




The Life of JACQUES PERRIER, a French Robber and Murderer


As I have stepped in the former stories a little back in time, so in