Wales was the place he first visited, and after riding up and down for a good while without meeting with any purchase worth taking, he at last unluckily stumbled upon a poor old 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 haste he 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 bilked the public-houses, and at last arriving at Doncaster, began to set heartily 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 thence on foot, as well as he could, in order to get into his native country of Shropshire, where after the commission of a mult.i.tude 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 quarrelled 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 county, and having no particular business at any place, did nothing but course the country round, pilfering and stealing whatever came in his way; insomuch that at one inn, 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 neighbours. His debts, too, amounted there to near a hundred and forty pounds, so that there was no hopes 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 a chaise by himself, whom he robbed of six guineas, a watch, a mourning-ring, and nine and sixpence in silver, and then making over the fields got home very safe.

For three days he thought fit to remain within doors, under pretence 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 labour 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 sessions 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, bridle and saddle, and a cane, on the 23rd 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 offences 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 penned epistle could have done.

Honoured Parents,

My duty to both, my love to my brother-in-law. I wish to G.o.d 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 Sat.u.r.day 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 seventh of this instant October, hoping I have made my peace with G.o.d Almighty. I freely forgive all the world, and die in charity with all people. Had it not been for Joyce Hite's sister and Mr. Howel, 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 have nothing more to say, but my prayers to G.o.d for you all day and night, and for G.o.d's sake, be as kind to my poor wife and children as in your power lies. 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 blessing 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 G.o.d for you all, which is all from your

Dying Son, Richard Polson.

In my Cell.

October the 6th.

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 seventh of October, 1730, being then in the thirty-third year of his age.

The Life of SAMUEL ARMSTRONG, a Housebreaker

I have heretofore 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 malefactor was the son of parents in tolerable circ.u.mstances, who were careful of his education, and when he grew up bound him 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 Thames 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, and the character of this unhappy lad so bad, the people who were robbed were induced to prosecute him with great vehemence, and the jury, on the same presumptions, 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, effectually 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 colour 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, besought 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.

The Life of NICHOLAS GILBURN, a Most Notorious Highwayman

This unfortunate person was born at Ballingary, near Limerick, in the west of Ireland, of parents in very tolerable circ.u.mstances, 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, where 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 avers 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 Savoy for the afore-mentioned offence, he had not been long in prison before Wilson, who had been concerned with Burnworth, alias 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 twelvepence 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 merry 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 circ.u.mspection 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, plied 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 were 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 a.r.s.e, so no time was to be lost, and accordingly that very night they made their second expedition. n.o.body coming in their way, Gilburn began to fret, and at last falling into a downright pa.s.sion, 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 in villainy are liable to a thousand inconveniencies which are uneasily born, and yet hard to be remedied, so Wilson's humours 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 thereupon arose to such a height that at last they fell to fighting. This quarrel was irreconcilable, and they absolutely parted company, though Gilburn unfortunately pursued the same road; and having robbed a gentleman on horseback of several yards of fine padusoy, 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, and 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.

The Lives of JAMEs...o...b..YAN, HUGH MORRIS and ROBERT JOHNSON, Highwaymen 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 highwaymen begin to exert themselves now.

The first of these unfortunate lads, James...o...b..yan, 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, forsooth, 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. Here he 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 life time been addicted to pilfering and thieving, at last he fell into the company of these unfortunate young men who led him a directer 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 servant-maid, and not long after falling into a mult.i.tude 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 than had ever hitherto been heard of. It may, indeed, seem surprising that lads of their age should be able to intimidate pa.s.sengers, 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 mult.i.tude of facts. One gentleman whom they attacked in Lincoln's Inn Fields, refused to surrender, and drew his sword upon Morris. That young robber immediately fired his pistol, and the rest coming to his a.s.sistance, 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 lucre of a few shillings prost.i.tuted themselves to them in these debaucheries.

Mr. O'Bryan was the hero of this troop 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 needs have his companions take each of them a doxy and go with him 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'Bryan 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 that my readers may have the better idea of the capacity of those poor creatures.

To Mr. Terrance O'Bryan, 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 G.o.d 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 G.o.d, and keep him out of bad company. If I had served G.o.d 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 G.o.d has at present ordained for me, for there is mercy in the foresight of death, and in the time G.o.d 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 G.o.d, 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 G.o.d. I hope you are all well, as I am at present, I thank G.o.d. So no more at present.

From your unhappy and undutiful son, James...o...b..yan.

The verses sent by James...o...b..yan 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 G.o.d above on high, I hope to live eternally.

At the time of their execution James...o...b..yan was about twenty, Hugh Morris seventeen, and Robert Johnson not full twenty years of age, which was on the 16th of November, 1730.

The History of the Life and surprising adventures of JOHN GOW, alias SMITH, a most notorious Pirate and Murderer

The princ.i.p.al use to which a work of this nature can be applied is to engage persons to refuse the first stirrings of their pa.s.sions, and the slighted emotions of vice in their b.r.e.a.s.t.s, since they see before their eyes so many sad examples of the fatal consequences which follow upon rash and wicked enterprises, of which the following history exhibits as extraordinary an instance as perhaps is anythere to be found.

In giving an account of this malefactor, we are obliged to begin with his embarking on board the vessel which he afterwards seized and went a-pirating in. It was called the George galley, and was of about two hundred tons burden, commanded by Oliver Ferneau, a Frenchman, but a subject of the Crown of England, who entertained this Gow as a private seaman only, but afterwards, to his great misfortune, preferred him to be the second mate in the voyage of which we are next to speak.

Captain Ferneau being a man of reputation among the merchants of Amsterdam, got a voyage for his ship from thence to Santa Cruz on the coast of Barbary, to load beeswax, and to carry it to Genoa, which was his delivering port; and as the Dutch, having war with the Turks of Algiers, were willing to employ him as an English ship, so he was as willing to be manned with English seamen, and accordingly among the rest, he unhappily took on board this Gow with his wretched gang, such as MacCauly, Melvin, Williams and others. But not being able to man themselves wholly with English or Scots, he was obliged to take some Swedes, and other seamen to make his complement, which was twenty-three in all. Among the latter sort, one was named Winter, and another Peterson, both of them Swedes by nation, but wicked as Gow and his other fellows were. They sailed from the Texel in the month of August, 1724, and arrived at Santa Cruz on the second of September following, where having a super-cargo on board, who took charge of the loading, and four chests of money to purchase it, they soon got the beeswax, on board, and on the third of November they appointed to set sail to pursue the voyage.

That day the ship having lain two months in the road at Santa Cruz, taking in her lading, the captain made preparations to put to sea, and the usual signals for sailing having been given, some of the merchants from on sh.o.r.e, who had been concerned in furnishing the cargo, came on board in the forenoon to take their leave of the captain, and wish him a good voyage, as is usual on such occasions. Whether it was concerted by the whole gang beforehand, we know not, but while the captain was treating and entertaining the merchants under the awning upon the quarter deck, as is the custom in those hot countries, three of the seamen, viz., Winter and Peterson, two Swedes, and MacCauly a Scotchman, came rudely upon the quarter deck as if they took the opportunity because the merchants were present, believing the captain would not use any violence with them in the presence of the merchants.

They made a long complaint of all their ill-usage, and particularly of their provisions and allowance, as they said, being not sufficient nor such as was ordinarily made in other merchant ships, seeming to load the captain, Monsieur Ferneau, with being the occasion of it, and that he did it for his private gain, which however had not been true. If the fact had been true, the overplus of provisions (if the stores had been more than sufficient) belonged to the owners, not to the captain, at the end of the voyage, there being also a steward on board to take the account. In making this complaint they seemed to direct their speech to the merchants as well as to the captain, as if they had been concerned in the ship, or as if desiring them to intercede for them with the captain, that they might have redress and a better allowance.