Chapter 34 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 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 wonder 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 offenses. 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, bioblique hints and insinuations, to put them upon 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, that 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 Carroll, 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 nineteenth of April, seventeen-fifteen, he came over in a packet boat. Having no 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 nine pence, two silver watches, and a morning ring, which was the first attempt of that kind that he ever made in his life, then he went off a byway undiscovered. Having got a pretty good booty, he traveled 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 so ever was master of a better bred horse for the highway. He was not willing to stay long at Shrewsbury, so he went from fence and going along the country, met two ladies in a small chase, 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 two pence 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 the 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 tortoise shell 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 rumour and horseshoe in Drury Lane, where he treated Doyle handsomely, and showed him the ring, and with all 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 with a pocket-book in which were seven banknotes, which the gentleman said he took that day in order to pay his servant's wages. After this he made the best of his way to London and got into James Street, Westminster, where he drank a pint of wine, and then crossed over to Lambeth, where he 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 Palashard, 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 o' their ruin. He remained some time at the Phoenix, and seeing them gaming hard, he sat 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 Maid Mary. 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-five 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 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 Ternham 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-winkum market in Buckingham Shire 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 jail. Hawkins knowing all the bums in Dublin, i.e. Bailiffs, Informers and Spies, sent them up and down the city to take him but to no purpose. However, they rooted him fairly out of that neighborhood. 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 service, the pretender, whose name was only to be mentioned with baited breath, and that their keeping so private proceeded from a fear of being discovered.  Doyle then sent his wife to seek for a ship, but Hawkins, having pursued him from Dublin, happened to see her, and docked 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 jail. A bolt 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 traveled 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. Some time 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 inquire for her. The first house he came into was one, William Dalton's, who had some days before bought the late noted James Dalton, who was then his servant, whom he very often used to send along with Doyle in his boat to put him on board a 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 he had used to go hunting and to the horse races, so he spent some time in seeing the country. By chance he came to hear 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, in so much as 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 Hamstead, and places adjacent, until the papers began to describe them, on which they went to Essex, and robbed several Grazers, Farmers, and others. Then they went to Bishop 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 fare 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 Grazers 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, Dee, 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 Wildman. They too, with another person concerned with them, committed several robberies. At length they were discovered, apprehended and committed to Newgate. Wildman, 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 arriving in Virginia, slaved there for some time, until he began to go weary of the place. But as he was always too indulgent to her, he bought her liberty and shipped her and himself aboard 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 Bale to plead the same, and thereupon discharged. Doyle, a short time after, went to the west of England, where he slaved for 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 neighborhood, 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 grazers on the road, but one of them being an old sportsman, and a brother tradesman of the 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 with all beg that he would not hurt him, since he had made so ingenious 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 honorably by him, he would put a thousand pounds in his pocket in a month's time. According to the grazer's directions, Doyle and his companions departed, but having met, as Doyle phrases it, with a running chase in their crossway, which they had taken for safety, they were obliged to turn back into the main road again, and by accident put up at the same inn where the grazer and his companions were that evening. The grazer, 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 grazer, 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 grazer, 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 the country grazers, 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 grazer 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 and gave them some little instruction 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 Ternum Greenway. They had not time to drink a pint of wine before the West County Chapman came a jogging along. They took two hundred and forty pounds from him, making, as de-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 traveled 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 mariled women, otherwise he would never have had that to brag of, and then departed. Doyle said that the honest man of Smithfield had poundage of him as well as from the grazer, 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, or not finding the butcher at home, they ride 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 them 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 horse back 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 countrymen till 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 rubbed between son and son, so that the persons rubbed might make the county pay them that money back, if they thought fit to sue them for it. Passengers rubbed 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. Next morning Doyle and his companion came to the place appointed, and not meeting with their brother sportsmen 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 Customs House officer does by an informer, after which they departed for that time, and did not meet for a month after. Afterwards they went up and down Herfordshire, but got scarce money enough to bear their expenses. But where there were small giddings they lived the more frugally, for Doyle observed that if the country did not bear their expenses where ever 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 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 too 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 cause, 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 offenses. On the contrary, he appeared with some levity, and went on the very point of death. He went to execution in a morning coach, all the way he read with much seeming attention in a little poppish manual, which had been given him by one of his friends. At the tree he spoke 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 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 to 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. Cyplica's Church, where at she, as Chief Marner assisted, and was led by a gentleman whom the world suspected to be of her husband's employment. CHAPTER XXV. OF LIVES OF THE MOST REMARCABLE CRIMINALS VOLUME III. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. LIVES OF THE MOST REMARCABLE CRIMINALS VOLUME III by AUTHOR L. Hayward. CHAPTER XXXV. THE LIFE OF JOHN YOUNG, A HIGHWAY MAN. I have more than once remarked in the course of these memoirs that, of all crimes, cruelty makes men the most generally hated, and that from this reasonable cause, that they seem to have taken up an aversion to their own kind. This was remarkably the case of the unhappy man of whom we are now speaking. He was, it seems, the son of a very honest and industrious parents, his father being a gardener at Kensington. From him he received as good an education as it was in his power to give him, and was treated with all the indulgences that could be expected from a tender parent. And it seems that after five years stay at school, he was qualified for any business whatsoever. So after consulting his own inclinations he was put out apprentice to a coach-maker in Longacre, where he stayed not long, but finding all work disagreeable to him, he therefore resolved to be gone, let the consequences be what it would. When this resolve was once taken, it was but a very short time before it was put into execution. Living now at large, and not knowing how to gain money enough to support himself, and therefore being in very great straits, he complied with the solicitations of some hackney coachmen, who advised him to learn their trade. They took some pains to instruct him, employed him often, and in about six months time he became perfect master of his business, and drove for Mr. Blunt in Piccadilly. His behavior there was so honest that Mr. Blunt gave him a good character, and he thereby obtained the place of a gentleman's coachman. In a short time he saved money and began to have some relish for an honest life, and continuing industriously to hoard up what he received either in wages or veils, tips, at last by these methods he drew together a very considerable sum of money. And then it came into his head to settle himself in an honest way of life, in which design his father gave him all the encouragement that was in his power, telling him in order to do it, he should marry an honest, virtuous woman. Whereupon, with the advice and consent of his parents, he married a young woman of reputable family from Kentish Town, who, as to fortune, brought him a pretty little addition to his own savings, so that altogether he had, according to his own account, a very pretty competency were with to begin the world. For some time after his marriage he indulged himself in living without employment, but finding such a course wasted his little stock very fast, he began to apply his thoughts to the consideration of what course was the most likely to get his bread in. After beating his brains for some little time on this subject he had last resolved on keeping a public house, which agreeing very well with his father's and relation's notions, he thereupon immediately took the king's arms in Red Lion Street, where for some time he continued to have very good business. In all he remained there about five years, and mind in that time have got a very pretty sum of money, if he had not been so unhappy as to grow proud, as soon as he had anything in his pocket. It was not long, therefore, before he gave way to his own roving disposition, going over to Ireland, where he remained for a considerable space, living by his wits as he expressed it, or in the language of honest people, by defrauding others. But Ireland is a country where such sort of people are not likely to support themselves long, money is far from being plentiful, and though the common people are credulous in their nature, yet tradesmen and the folks of middling ranks are as suspicious as any nation in the world. The county of West Meath was the place where he had fixed his residence for the greatest part of the time he continued in the island, but at last it grew too hot for him. The inhabitants became sensible of his way of living, and gave him such disturbance that he found himself under an indispensable necessity of quitting that place as soon as he possibly could, and so having picked up as much money as would pay for his passage. He came over again into England, out of humor with rambling while he felt the uneasiness it had brought upon him, but ready to take it up again as soon as ever his circumstances were made a little easy, which in his present condition was not likely to happen in haste. His friends received him very coldly, his parents had it not in their power to do more for him.  However, instead of reclaiming him, this forced him upon worse courses. His wife, it seems, either died in his absence, or was dead before he went abroad, and soon after his return he contracted an acquaintance with a woman, who was at that time cook in the family of a certain bishop. Her he courted, and a short time after, married. She brought him not only some ready money, but also goods to a pretty large value. Young, being not a bit mended by his misfortunes, squandered away the first in a very short time, and turned the last into ready money. However, these supplies were of not very long continuance, and with much importunity his friends, in order, if it were possible, to keep him honest, got him in a small place in the Revenue, and he was put in as one of the officers to survey candles. In this post he continued for about a twelve month, and then relapsing into his former idle and prolificate courses. He was quickly suspected and thereby put to his shifts again, though his wife at the time was in place and helped him very frequently with money. This, it seems, was to servile a course for a man of Mr. Young's spirit to take, so that he picked up as much as bought him a pair of pistols, and then went upon the highway, to which, it seems, the foolish pride of not being dependent upon his wife did at that time not a little contribute. In his first adventure in his new employment he got fifteen guineas, but being in a very great apprehension of a pursuit, his fears engaged him to fly down to Bristol, in order, if it were possible, to avoid them. After staying there some considerable time, he began at last to take heart, and to fancy he might be forgotten. Upon these hopes he resolved with himself to come up towards London again, and taking advantage of a person travelling with him to Uxbridge, he made use of every effort in his power to insinuate himself into his fellow travellers' good graces. This he affected, in so much, that at high income, in Buckinghamshire, as Young himself told the story, he prevailed upon him to lend him three half-crowns to defray his expenses, pretending that he had some friend or relation hard by who would repay him. But unfortunately for the man, he had talked too freely of a sum of money which he pretended to have about him. Yet thereupon raised an inclination in Young to strip him and rob him of this supposed great prize, for which purpose he attacked him in a lone place, and not only threatened him with shooting him, but as he pretended, by his handshaking, was as good as his word, and actually wounded him in such a manner as he in all probability at the time took to be mortal. But taking advantage of the condition in which the poor man was, he made the best of his way off, and was so lucky as to escape for the present, although that crime brought him afterwards to his execution. When he had considered a little the nature of the fact which he had committed, it appeared even to himself, of so black and a barbarous nature, that he resolved to fly to the west of England, in order to remain there for some time. But from this he was deterred by looking into a newspaper and finding himself advertised there, the man whom he had shot also said to be dead. This put him into such a consternation that he returned directly to London, and going to a place hard by where his wife lived. He sent for her, and told her that he was threatened with an unfortunate affair which might be of the greatest ill consequence to him if he should be discovered. She seemed to be extremely moved at his misfortunes, and gave him what money she could spare, which was not a little, in so much that young at last began to suspect she made bold now and then to borrow of her mistress. But if she did, that was a practice he could forgive her. At last he proposed taking lodging for himself at Horsley Down. This district at the dockhead end of Tule Street was at the time a sort of no-man's land, where horses were grazed and a few poverty-stricken riches lived in sheds and holes in the ground, as a place the likeliest for him to be concealed in. There his wife continued to supply him, until one Sunday morning she came in a great hurry and brought with her a pretty handsome parcel of guineas. Young could not help suspecting she did not come very honestly by them. However, if he had the money he troubled not his head much which way he came by it, and he had so good a knack of weedling her that he got twenty pounds out of her that Sunday. A very few days after, intelligence was got of his retreat, and the man whom he had robbed and shot made so indefectigable a search after him that he was taken up and committed to the new jail, and his wife, a very little time after, was committed to Newgate for breaking open her lady's escritat and robbing her of a hundred guineas. This was what Young said himself and I repeated, because I have his memoirs before me. Yet in respect to truth I shall be obliged to say something of another nature in its due place, but to go on with our narration according to the time in which facts happen. Ahabius Corpus was directed to the sheriff of Surrey, whereupon Young was brought to Newgate, and at the next sessions of the Old Bailey was indicted for the aforesaid robbery, which was committed in the county of Middlesex. The charge against him was for assaulting Thomas Stinton, in a field or open space near the highway, and taking from him a mare of the value of seven pounds, a bridal value one shilling and six pence, a saddle value twelve shillings, three broad pieces of gold and nine shillings in silver, at the same time putting the said Thomas Stinton in fear of his life. Upon this indictment the prosecutor disposed that meeting with the prisoner about seven miles on this side of Bristol, and being glad of each other's company, they continued and lodged together till they came to Oxford, where the prisoner complaining that he was short of money, the prosecutor lent him a crown out of his pocket, and at Loudwater, the place where they lodged next night, he lent him half a crown more.  As soon as Young perceived that the prosecutor had recovered his senses a little, he demanded his money, to which Mr. Stinton replied, this is the matter in which you treat your friend? You see, I have not strength to give you anything. Whereupon Young took from him his pocket-book and money, and Mr. Stinton earnestly entreating that he would give him somewhat to bear his expenses home in answer thereto, Young said, I, I'll give you what shall carry you home straight, and then shot him in the neck, and pushing him down into the ditch, said, lie there. Some time after with much adieu, Mr. Stinton crawled out and got to a house, but saw no more of the prisoner, or of either of their mares. George Hartwell disposed that he helped both the prisoner and the prosecutor to the inn where they lay at Oxford. Sarah Howard disposed that she kept the inn or house where they lodged at Loudwater the night before the robbery was committed, and all the witnesses, as well as the prosecutor being positive to the person of the prisoner. The charge seemed to be fully proved as it was possible for a thing of that nature to admit. The prisoner in his defense did not pretend to deny the fact, but as much as he was able endeavored to extenuate it. He said that for his part he did not know anything of the mayor, that the going off the pistol was merely accidental, that he did indeed take the money, and therefore did not expect any other than to suffer death, but that it would be a great satisfaction to him, even in his last moments, that he neither had or ever intended to commit any murder. But those words in the prosecutor's evidence I'll give you something to carry you home, and lie there, that is in the ditch, being mentioned in summing up the evidence to the jury. Young, with great warmth and many asservations, denied that he made use of them. The jury, after very short consideration, being full satisfied with the evidence which had been offered, found him guilty. The very same day his wife was indicted for the robbery of her mistress, when in fact was charged upon her thus, that she on Sunday conveyed young secretly upstairs in her mistress's house, where she passed for a single woman, that he took an opportunity to break open the closet and steal from Thence ninety guineas, and ten pounds in silver. A satin petticoat valued thirty shellings, and an orange crepe petticoat were also carried off, and she asked leave of her lady to go out in the afternoon, took that opportunity to go quite away, not being heard of for a long time. Upon her husband being apprehended for the fact for which he died, somebody remembered her and the story of her robbing her mistress, caused her thereupon to be apprehended. Not being able to prove her marriage at the time of her trial, she was convicted, and ordered for transportation. This was a very different story from that which Young told in his relations of his wife's adventure, but when it came to be mentioned to that unhappy man and pressed upon him, though he could not be brought to acknowledge it, yet he never denied it, which the ordinary says was a method of proceeding he took up, because unwilling to confess the truth, and afraid when so near death to tell a lie. When under sentence of death, this unfortunate person began to have a true sense of his own miserable condition. He was very far from denying the crime for which he suffered, although he still continued to deny some of the circumstances of it. The judgment which had been pronounced upon him, he acknowledged to be very just and reasonable, and was so far from being either angry or affrighted at the death he was to die, that on the contrary he said it was the only thing that gave his thoughts ease. To say truth, the force of religion was never more visible in any man than it was in this unfortunate mal-factor. He was sensible of his repentance being both forced and late, which made him attend to the duties thereof with an extraordinary fervor and application. He said that the thoughts of his dissolution had no other effect upon him than to quicken his diligence in imploring God for pardon. To all those who visited him either from their knowledge of him in former circumstances, or as too many do, from the curiosity of observing how he would behave under those melancholy circumstances in which he then was, he discoursed of nothing but death, eternity, and future judgment. The gravity of his temper and the serious turn of his thoughts was never interrupted in any respect throughout the whole space of time in which he lay under condemnation. On the contrary, he every day appeared to have more and more improved from his meditations and almost continual devotions, appearing frequently a chapel wrapped up as it were in ecstasy at the thoughts of heaven and future felicity, humbling himself, however, for the numberless sins he had committed, and admitting nothing which would serve to show the greatness of his sorrow and the sincerity of his contrition. The day he was to die, the unfortunate old man his father, then upwards of seventy years of age, came to visit him, and saw him halted as he went out to execution. Words were too feeble to express that impetuosity of grief which overwhelm both the miserable father and the dying son. However, the old man, betoing him with a flood of tears, exhorted him not to let go his hopes in Christ, even in that miserable conjuncture, but that he should remember the mercy of God was all over his works, and in a special manner was promised to those who were repentant for their sins, which Christ had especially confirmed in sealing the pardon of the repenting thief, even upon the cross. At the place of execution he appeared scarce without any appearance of terror, much less of obstinacy or contempt of death. Being asked what he did with the pocket-book which he took from Mr. Stinton, and which contained in it things of very great use to him, Young replied ingeniously that he had burnt it, for which he was hardly sorry, but that he did not look into or make himself acquainted with its contents. Just before the cart drew away, he arose and spoke to the people and said, The love of idleness being too much addicted to company, and too greedy love of strong liquors has brought me to this unhappy end. The law intends my death for an example unto others, but it be so.  My sentence is just, but pray ye good people for my soul, that though I die, anonymously, here I may not perish everlastingly. He was executed the 1st of June, 1730, being at the time about thirty-nine years of age. CHAPTER XXXVI. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Life of Thomas Poulsen, Alias Hitchin, A Footpad and Highwaymen. Habit is the most dangerous of all evils. The transports of passion are sometimes prevented from having fatal effects, either by the precautions of those with whom we quarrel, or because of a sudden reflection of our own minds checks our hand. But where men have abandoned themselves to wickedness, and given themselves up to the commission of every kind of evil without restraint, there is little hope to be entertained of their evermending, and if the fear of a sudden death were a true repentance, it is all that can be hoped. As for this unfortunate man of whose actions the course of our memoirs obliges us to treat, he was descended from parents who lived at Marlowe in the county of Sullop, who were equally honest in their reputations and easy in their circumstances. They spared nothing in the education of their son, and it is hard to say whether their care of him was more or his application was less. Even while a child and at school he gave two evident symptoms of that lazy, indolent disposition which attended him so flagrantly and was justly the occasion of all the misfortunes of his succeeding life. Learning was of all things his aversion. It was with difficulty that he was taught to read and write. As to employment, his father brought him up to husbandry and the business of a rural life. When he was of age his father gave him an estate of twenty pounds per annum, freehold, and got him into a very good farm. He procured for him also a wife, who had ten pounds a year or more of her own, and settled him in such a manner that no young man in the country had a better prospect of doing well than himself. But alas, to what purpose are the endeavors of others, where a man studies nothing so much as to compass his own ruin? On a sudden he took a love to card-plane, and addicted himself to it with such earnestness that he neglected his business and squandered his money. Want was what of all things he hated except work, and therefore rather than labor to retrieve, he bethought himself of an easier way of getting money, and that was to steal. His first attempt was upon his father, whom he robbed of a considerable sum of money. He not being in the least suspected, a poor maid who lived in the house bore the blame for about six months, and nobody in all that time being charged with it but her, there was at last a design in the old man's head to prosecute her. This reaching young Paulson's ear he resolved not to let an innocent person suffer, which was indeed a very just and honorable act, whereupon he wrote a humble letter to his father, acknowledging his fault, begging pardon for his offenses, and desiring that he would not prosecute the poor woman, or suffer her to be any longer under the odium of a fact of which he had not the least knowledge. This, to be sure, had its effect on his father, who was a very honest and considerate man. He took care to restore their winch to her good character and his favor, though for a while he with just reason continued to frown upon his son. At last parental tenderness prevailed, and after giving him several cautions and much good advice, he promised on his good behavior to forgive him what had passed. The young man promised fairly, but falling quickly into necessities, wand of money had its old effect upon him again, that is, impatient to be at his old practices, tired with work, and not yet knowing how to get money. He had length resolved to go to Wales and steal horses. This project he executed, and took one from one Mr. Lewis of a considerable value. He sold it to a London butcher for about sixteen pounds, at a village not far from Shrewsbury. That money did him little good, and therefore the next time he was in a straight he readily bethought himself of Wales. Accordingly he equipped himself with a little pad, and he set out in quest of purchase. At a little inn in Wales he met with a gentleman whom he had reason to suppose had money about him, whereupon our highwayman was very industrious first to make him drink, and then to get him for a bed-fellow, both of which designs he had in the inn brought to pass, and by that means robbed him of six pounds odd money, taking care to go in the morning a different road from what he had talked of, and by that means easily escaped what pursuit was made after him. When he had committed this fact he retired towards Canterbury, giving himself over entirely to thieving or cheating, on which design he traversed the whole county of Kent, but found the people so cautious that he did it with very little advantage, until at last coming near Maidstone, he observed a parcel of fine linen hanging upon a hedge. He immediately bethought himself that though the people were wise, yet their hedges might be otherwise, upon which stepping up to it he fairly stripped it of ten fine shirts, and so left the people who had washed them to account for it. After this exploit he made the best of his way to London, where he speedily sold the linen for five pounds to a life-guardsman, and when he had spent a good part of it, down he went to Norfolk. And being afraid that the inhabitants would take notice of a stranger setting up his abode there for any considerable time, he thought fit to pretend to be very lame. Having continued as long as he thought proper in this place, he took his opportunity to carry off a fine mare out of the grounds of Sir John Habbard, Baron Ed, now the right honourable the Lord Blickling. This was one of the most dangerous feats he ever committed in his life, for the scent was so strong upon him, and so quickly followed, that he was forced to take a multitude of byways to get to London, where he set her up in the hay market. However he quickly found there was no possibility of disposing of her here, information having been given of her to all the great jockeys, so that for present money he was obliged to borrow for guineas of the man at the inn, and to leave her in his hands by way of security, which was making but a poor hand of what he had hazarded his life for. By this time his father had received some intelligence of his way of living, and out of tenderness of its consequences, wrote him assuring him of forgiveness for all that was past, if he would come down into the country and live honestly. Such undeserved tenderness had some weight even with our criminal himself, and he at last began to frame his mind to comply with the request of so good a father. Accordingly down he came, and for little space behaved himself honestly and as he should do, but his old distemper, laziness quickly came in his way, and finding money not to come in so fast as he would have it, he began to think of his old practice again, and prepared himself once more to sally out upon his illegal adventures. For this purpose taking with him a little mere of his brothers, for at that time he had no horse proper for the designs he went on, forth he rode in search of prey. Wales was the place he first visited, and after riding up and down for a good while without meeting any purchase worth taking, he at last unluckily stumbled upon a poor man in Flintshire, who had one foot already in the grave. From him he took a silver watch, worth about five pounds and five shillings in money, which was all the poor man had, and making thereupon the greatest hasty could out of the country, he got clear away before it was discovered. After this he came again to London, where what little money he had he lavished away upon women of the town. It was not long before Want overtook him again, upon which he determined to visit Yorkshire, in hopes of raising some considerable booty there. All the way down, according to his common practice, he built the public houses, and at last arriving in Doncaster, began to set hardly about the work for which he came down. On a market day he robbed an old farmer of forty shillings and a pair of silver buckles, taking his horse also from him, which, when he had ridden about fifteen miles across country, he turned loose. He rambled from fence on foot, as well as he could, in order to get into his native country of Shropshire, where after the commission of a multitude of such actions, none of which afforded him any great booty he arrived. His father took him home again, and he lived for eleven months tolerably honest. However, to keep his hand in use, he now and then stole a shoulder of mutton, a joint which he particularly loved, but sometimes to please his father he would work a little, though it always went much against the grain. At last he quarreled with his wife, and thereupon threatened to go away again, which very quickly after he did, turning his course, notwithstanding his former ill success into Yorkshire once more, he was at several of the races in that country, and having no particular business in any place, did nothing but course the country round, pilfering and stealing whatever came in his way, in so much that at one end, finding nothing else to lay his hands on, he stole the people's sheets off the bed he lay in, and marched off in the morning so early that he was out of danger before they perceived the theft. But finding that he could not do any considerable matter amongst the people, who are cunning to a proverb, he bethought himself of returning to London, and the society of those strumpets in which he took a delight. However, all the way on the road he made a shift to pick up as much as kept him pretty well all the way. On his arrival in town he set up his place of residence in an inn near Leather Lane, Holborn, where he remained one whole day to rest himself after the fatigue of his northern journey. There he reflected on the sad state in which his affairs were, being without money and without friends, justly disregarded by his friends in the country, and hated and despised by all his neighbors. His debts too amounted to near a hundred and forty pounds, so that there was no hope in going back. The result of these cogitations was that the next day he would go out on the road towards Hampstead, and see what might be made there. He accordingly did so, but with very ill success. However, he returned a second time and had no better. The third day, towards evening, he observed an old gentleman in the chase by himself, whom he robbed of six guineas, a watch, a morning ring, and nine and six pence in silver, and then making over the fields got home very safe. For three days he thought it fit to remain within doors, under pretense of sickness, fearing lest he should be advertised and described in the public prints, but finding nothing of that happened. He grew bold, and for about fourteen nights continued the same trade constantly getting sometimes two or three pieces, and sometimes losing his labor and getting nothing at all. At length, waiting pretty late for an old man, who as he was informed, was to come that night with eight hundred pounds about him, although he was so feeble that a child might be able to take it from him, he at length grew impatient, and resolved to rob the first man he met. This proved to be one Mr. Andrews, who raised so quick a pursuit upon him that he never lost sight of him until the time of his being apprehended, when he was carried to Newgate and prosecuted the next session for the aforesaid robbery. He was then indicted for taking from the said Thomas Andrews, after putting him in fear six or seven shillings in money, a bay mare, bridal and saddle, and a cane, on the twenty-third of July 1730. The evidence was exceedingly clear. He having, as I have said, never gone out of sight from the time of the robbery to the time he was taken. Under sentence of death the prisoner behaved with great piety and resignation. He showed great concern for the offenses of his former life, and testified the utmost sorrow for having blemished an honest family by the shame of his vices and their just punishment. The night before his execution he wrote a letter to his parents in the country, which though it be written in a very uncouth style. Yet I have thought fit to insert it verbatim, because there is a strain in it of unusual confusion and concern, expressing the agony of a dying man with more truth and tenderness than the best pen to pistol could have done. Honored parents, my duty to both, my love to my brother-in-law, I wish to God I had been ruled by you, for now I see the evil of my sin, but I freely die. Only the disgrace I have brought on you, my wife and children. I wrote to my wife last Saturday was seven night, but had no answer, for I should have been glad to have heard from you before I die, which will be on Wednesday the 7th of this instant October, hoping I have made my peace with God Almighty.  Had it not been for Joyce Hyde's sister and Mr. Howell, I might have starved, he told me it has cost him fifteen shillings on my account, and he gave me four more. I desire Thomas Mason will give my wife that locket for my son.  I desire there might be some care taken of that estate at Minton for my son. Mr. Botfield hath the old writings, and I beg you will get them and give them to my wife, and pray show her this letter and my love to her, and my blessings to my children, begging of her as I am a dying man to be good to them, and not make any difference in them, but be as kind to one as the other, and if she is able to put the boy to some trade. Mr. Waring and Thomas Tomlings have each of them a book of mine. Pray ask for them, which is all I have to say. But my prayers to God for you all, which is all from your dying son, Richard Paulson. In my cell, October the sixth. P.S., my love to all my friends, pray show this letter to my wife as soon as you can, and desire of her to bring up my children in the fear of the Lord, and to make my son a scholar if she is able. There is five of us to die. In this disposition of mind and without adding anything to his former confessions he suffered on the 7th of October, 1730, being then in the 33rd year of his age. CHAPTER 37 The life of Samuel Armstrong, a housebreaker. I have here too fore remarked the great danger there is in having a bad character, and keeping ill company, from the probability of truth which it gives, to every accusation that either malice or interest may induce men to bring against one. This male factor was the son of parents in tolerable circumstances, who were careful of his education, and when he grew up, bound him to a apprentice to Captain Matthews, commander of a vessel which traded to Guinea and the West Indies. He behaved at sea very well, and had not the least objection made to his character when he came home. Happy had it been for him, if he had gone to sea again, without suffering himself to be tainted with the vices of this great city. Unfortunately for him, he fell in love with a young woman, and lived with her for some time as his wife. His fondness for this creature drew him to be guilty of those base actions which first brought him to Newgate, and the bar at the Old Bailey, and so far blasted his character and, unfortunately, betrayed him to his death. In the company of this female he quickly lavished what little money he had, and not knowing how to get more, he fell into the persuasions of some wicked young fellows who advised him to take to robbing in the streets. Certain it is, that he had not made many attempts, he himself said none, before he was apprehended, and that the first fact he was ever concerned in was stealing a man's hat and tobacco box in Tim Street. This was committed by his companion, who gave them to him, and then, running away, left him to be answerable for the fact, for which being indicted at the next sessions at the Old Bailey he was found guilty. But it being a single felony only it did not affect his life. However, having been seen there by one Holland, who turned evidence, he thought fit to save his own life by swearing him into the commission of a burglary, which himself and one Thomas Griffith actually committed. However, his oath being positive in the character of this unhappy lad so bad, the people who were robbed, were induced to prosecute him with great remnants, and the jury on the same presumption found him guilty. Griffith, who received sentence with him but afterwards had a pardon, acknowledged that he himself was guilty, but declared at the same time that this unhappy young man was absolutely clear of what was laid to his charge. Holland and himself being the only persons who committed that burglary, and took away the kitchen things which were sworn against him. Moreover, that Armstrong coming to Newgate and seeing Holland and speaking to him about something, Holland took that opportunity of asking who Armstrong was and what he came there for, being told the story of his conviction for the hat and wig, he thought fit to add him to his former information against Griffith, and so by swearing against two, effectively secured himself. In this story both the unhappy person of whom we are speaking and Thomas Griffith, who was condemned for and confessed the fact agreed, and Armstrong went to death, absolutely denying the fact for which he was to suffer. At the place of execution his color changed, and though at other times he appeared to be a bold young man, yet now his courage failed him. He trembled and turned pale. We sought the people to pray for his soul, and in great agony and confusion, submitted to death, on the seventh day of October 1730, being at the time of his death, about twenty-two years of age. This unfortunate person was born at Ballingary near Limerick, in the west of Ireland, of parents in very tolerable circumstances, who gave him a very good education, but perceiving that he had a martial disposition, they resolved not to cross it, and therefore, though he was not above fourteen years of age, got him recommended to an officer, who received him as a dragoon. He served about four years with a very good reputation in the army, but he had a brother who then rode in a regiment of horse, who wrote to him from London, and encouraged him to come over into England, which occasioned his writing to his officer to desire his discharge. To this his officer readily agreed. He went thereupon from the north of Ireland to the west, to his friend. Were having equipped himself with clothing, linen, and other necessaries, he then came to London, expecting to meet his brother. But on his arrival here he was disappointed, and that disappointment, together with his want of money, made him very uneasy. At last, in order to procure bread, he resolved to list himself in the foot guards. He did so and continued in them for about two years, during which time he says in his dying declaration that he did duty as well, and appeared as clean as any man in the company. Nay, in all that time, he avares that he never neglected his guard but once, which was very fatal to him, for it brought him into the acquaintance of those who betrayed him to measures which cost him his life. For being taken up and carried to the suboy for the aforementioned offence, he had not been long in prison before Wilson, who had been concerned with Bernworth, Ilias Frazier, and the rest in the murder of Mr. Ball in the Mint. And one Mr. G, an old highwayman, though he had never conversed with him before, came to pay him a visit. They treated him both with meat and drink, seemed to commiserate his condition very much, and promised him that he should not want twelve pence a day during the time in confinement. This promise was very well kept, and Gilburn in a few days obtained his liberty. The next day he met Wilson in St. James's Park, who after complimenting him upon his happy deliverance, invited him to a house in Spring Gardens to drink and make marry together. Gilburn readily consented, and after discoursing of courage, want of money, the miseries of poverty, and some other preparatory articles, Wilson parted with him for that time, appointing another meeting with him at eleven o'clock the next morning. There Wilson pursued his former topic, and at last told him plainly that the best and shortest method to relieve their wants was to go on the highway. And when he had once made this step, he scrupled not to make a further, telling Gilburn that there was no such danger in those practices as was generally apprehended, for that with a little care and circumspection the gallows might be well enough avoided, which he said was plain enough from his own adventures, since he had lived several years in the profession and by being cautious enough to look about him had escaped any confinement. Gilburn heard this account with terror. He had never committed anything of this kind hitherto, and knew very well that if he once engaged he could never afterwards go back. Wilson seemed not at all uneasy at his pause, but artfully introducing discourse on other subjects, applied him in the meanwhile with liquor, until he saw him pretty warm, and then resumed the story of his own adventures and of the facility of acquiring money when a man is but well stored with courage and has ever so little conduct. This artifice unfortunately had its effect. Wilson's conversation and the fumes of liquor prevailing so far upon Gilburn that as he himself phrased it he resolved at last upon business. The day following Gilburn provided himself with pistols and removed his quarters to go and live with Wilson, who encouraged him with all the arguments he was able to stick to his new profession, and Gilburn in return swore he would live and die with him. So at night they went out together in quest of adventures. The road they took was towards Paddington. A little after they would come into the fields, they attacked a gentleman and took from him eight shillings with which Gilburn was very much pleased, though they had little luck after so that they returned at last to their lodgings, weary and fatigued, and were obliged to mount guard the next morning. When their guard was over they were as Mr. Gilburn expresses it in his last speech, as bare as a bird's arse. So no time was to be lost and accordingly that very night they made their second expedition. Nobody coming in their way, Gilburn began to fret and at last falling into a downright passion, swore he would rob the first man he met. He was as good as his word and the booty he got proved a tolerable provision for some days. But guard day drawing nigh again, Wilson told him there was no mounting without money, and the same methods were taken as formerly, but as the leagues by which men are united and villainy are liable to a thousand inconveniences which are uneasily born and yet hard to be remedied. So Wilson's humors being very different from that of Gilburn, they soon began to differ about the money they acquired by plunder. At last coming one night very much tired and fatigued to a public house where Wilson was acquainted, they called for some drink to refresh themselves, which when they had done, Gilburn was for dividing the money, himself standing in need of linen and other necessaries. Wilson, on the other hand, was for having a bowl of punch, and words there upon arose to such a height that at last they fell to fighting. This quarrel was irreconcilable, and the absolutely parted company, though Gilburn unfortunately pursued the same road, and having robbed a gentleman on horseback of several yards of fine padgessoy, he was shortly after apprehended and committed to Newgate. At first he absolutely denied the fact, but when he was convicted and saw no hopes of pardon, he acknowledged what had been sworn against him by the prosecutor to be true. Attended with much gravity at chapel and seemed to be greatly afflicted through a due sense of those many sins which he had committed. Wilson, his companion, had a little before been executed at Kingston, in Gilburn, with all outward signs of contrition, suffered the same death at Tyburn, at the same time with the before mentioned malefactor, being at the time of his death about twenty-two years of age. Chapter 39 Of Lives of the Most Remarkable Criminals Volume 3 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Gillian Hendry Lives of the Most Remarkable Criminals Volume 3 by Arthur L. Hayward Chapter 39 The Lives of James O'Brien Hugh Morris and Robert Johnson Highwomen and Street Robbers Amongst the many flagrant vices of the present age, there is none more remarkable than the strange property we see in young people to commit the most notorious crimes, provided they may thereby furnish themselves with money enough to support their lavish expenses in vices, which in former times were scarce heard of by lads of that age at which our boldest highwomen begin to exert themselves now. The first of these unfortunate lads, James O'Brien, was born at Dublin, was brought over hither young, and had a good education given him, which he had very little inclination to make a proper use of. Nothing could persuade him to go out to a trade. On the contrary, he pretended he would apply himself to his father's employment, which was that of a plasterer. But as working was required, he soon grew out of humour with it, and addicted himself wholly to strolling about the streets with such wicked lads as himself, and so was easily drawn in to think of supplying himself with money by the plunder of honest people, in order to carry on those debaucheries in which, though a lad, he was already deeply immersed. Women for sooth drew this spark away from the paths of virtue and goodness at about sixteen years old, after which time he lost all sense of duty to his parents, respect of laws, divine or human, and even care of himself. It seems he found certain houses in Chick Lane, where they met abundance of loose young men and women, accustomed themselves to every kind of debauchery which it was possible for wicked people to commit, or the most fruitful genius to invent. He re-fell into the company of his two companions, Morris and Johnson. The first of these was the son of an unfortunate tradesman who had once kept a great shop, and lived in good reputation in the Strand, but through the common calamities of life, he was so unfortunate as to break, and, laying it too much to heart, died soon after it. Happy, however, in one thing, that he did not live to see the deplorable end of his son by the hand of justice. Robert Johnson was the son of honest parents, and had a very good education, but put it to a very ill use. For having all his lifetime been addicted to pilfering and thieving, at last he fell into the company of these unfortunate young men, who led him a director way to the gallows than perhaps he might have found himself. One of his chief inducements to forfeit reputation and hazard life by engaging in street robberies was his commencing an amour with his father's servantmaid, and, not long after, falling into a multitude of such-like adventures, the ready road to inevitable ruin. These three sparks, together with Bernard Fink, and another person who turned evidence against them, came all at the same time to a resolution of attacking people in the streets, and having provided themselves with pistols and whatever else they thought necessary for putting their design in execution. They immediately set about it, and though but boys, committed bolder and more numerous robberies, and had ever hitherto been heard of, it may indeed seem surprising that lads of their age should be able to intimidate passengers, but when it is considered that, having less precaution than older rogues, they were more ready at firing pistols, or otherwise injuring those whom they attacked, than any set of fellows who had hitherto disturbed the crown, this wonder will wear off. It was not above two months that they continued their depredations, but in that time they had been exceedingly busy, and had committed a multitude of facts. One gentleman whom they attacked in Lincoln's in-fields refused to surrender, and drew his sword upon Morris. That young robber immediately fired his pistol, and the rest coming to his assistance, the gentleman thought it but prudent to retire, the noise they made having alarmed the watch, and so prevented his losing anything. After this it became a very common practice with them, as soon as they stopped anybody to clap a pistol under their nose and bid them smell at it, while one of their companions with a thousand execrations threatened to blow their brains out if they made the least resistance. As soon as the business of the night was over, they immediately adjourned to their places of rendezvous at Chick Lane, or to other houses of the same stamp elsewhere, and without the least consideration of the hazards they had run, squandered the wages of their villainies upon such impudent strumpets as for the looker of a few shillings prostituted themselves to them in these debaucheries. Mr O'Brien was the hero of this troupe of infant robbers. He valued himself much on never meddling with small matters, or committing any meaner crime than that of the highway. It happened he had a mistress coming out of the country, and he would need half his companions take each of them a doxy, and go with them as far as Windsor to receive her. They readily complied, and at Windsor they were all seized, and from thence brought to town, two of their own gang turning evidence, so that on the clearest proof they were all three convicted. Under sentence of death, they behaved with great audacity, seemed to value themselves on the crimes they had committed, caused several disturbances at Chapel, and discovered little or no sense of that miserable condition in which they were. O'Brien died a papist, and in the cart read with great earnestness a book of devotions in that way. He wrote a letter to his father the day before he died, and also something which he called verses to his sister, both of which I have subjoined verbatim, so that my readers may have the better idea of the capacity of those poor creatures. To Mr. Terrence O'Brien living in Burleigh Street in the Strand, honoured father and mother, the uneasiness I give you is more terror to me than the thoughts of death, but pray make yourselves as easy as you can, for I hope I am going to a better place, for God is my refuge and my strength, and my helper in time of tribulation. And pray take care of my brother now whilst he is young, and make him serve God, and keep him out of bad company. If I had served God as I ought to have done, and kept out of bad company, I had not come to this unhappy misfortune. But I hope it is for the good of my soul, it is good I hope, what God has at present ordained for me, for there is mercy in the foresight of death, and in the time God has given me to prepare for it. A natural death might have had less terror, for in that I might have wanted many advantages, which are now granted me. My trust is in God, and I hope he won't reward me according to my deserts. All that I can suffer here must have an end, for this life is short, so are all the sufferings of it. But the next life is eternal. Pray give my love to my sister, and desire her not to neglect her duty to God. I hope you are all well, as I am at present, I thank God. So no more at present. From your unhappy and undutiful son, James O'Brien. The verses sent by James O'Brien to his sister two days before his execution. My loving, tender sister dear, from you I soon must part, I fear. Think not on my wretched state, nor grieve for my unhappy fate. But serve the Lord with all your heart, and from you he'll never part. When I am dead and in my tomb, for my poor soul I hope there's room, in heaven with God above on high. I hope to live eternally. At the time of their execution, James O'Brien was about twenty, Hugh Morris, seventeen, and Robert Johnson not full twenty years of age, which was on the sixteenth of November, seventeen thirty. End of chapter thirty-nine.