Chapter IV: Part 4

One of the gentlemen pulling out a curious watch, said, he wondered how it was possible to take a watch out of a fob; that it certainly must be from carelessness on the part of the owner. “No,” said Will, “if the gentleman will take a turn in Moorfields, I’ll wager a guinea I’ll have the watch before he return, let him take what care he pleases, and I shan’t stir out of the room.” “Done,” cried the gentleman; and every gentleman in the room laid down his guinea, while Roger staked his broad piece. The gentleman went out, and was careful that he would not suffer man, woman, nor child to come near him. When the time approached that he should return, a boy came pretty near him, but, to avoid suspicion, ran past him, and at the same time looking on his back, informed the gentleman that it swarmed with vermin. The gentleman observing them, and loathing the sight, said, “Good boy, take them off, and I’ll give you a shilling.” The boy did so, at the same time stealing his watch; and, having received his shilling, ran off. The gentleman returned to the tavern, wondering all the way how he could possibly come by such vermin, and taking the greatest care that no person should approach him.

Upon his return to the tavern, Will asked him what o’clock it was. He attempted to pull out his watch, but, to his utter astonishment and confusion, it was gone. Upon this, Will produced it, and asked the gentleman if that were his. The gentleman was struck dumb, casting up his hands and eyes, and, full of amazement, addressed Will, saying, “You must have had the assistance of the devil.” “Of a boy,” said Will. “Did not a boy pick you clean?” “There’s the devil,” said the gentleman; “and he threw them on, too, I suppose.” “Ay, through a quill,” said the other.

All present were astonished at the ingenuity of the trick, but particularly plain Roger, who could not, at times, restrain his laughter. “Alas!” said Will, “this trick is not worth talking about: it is only one of those we commit to our boys. There is a nobleman just passing the window, with a very rich coat upon his back; I’ll wager, as before, to steal it from him, before all his followers, and bring it here on my own back.” The gentlemen all staked their guineas, and were seconded by Roger. “Come, now,” said Will, “this matter must not be entrusted to a boy; you will give me leave to go myself, nor must you restrict me to any particular time to return.” So out he ran, and followed the nobleman from street to street, until he saw him enter a tavern.

The nobleman was conducted up-stairs. Will bustling in after him, hastened to the bar-keeper, and desired him to lend him an apron, as his master would be served only by his own footman. “He is a very good customer, and expects the very best wine: I must go to the cellar and taste it for him.” The apron being given, he went to the cellar, and returned with some of the best of each wine for his pretended master. He ran so quick up and down stairs, and was so alert at his work, that none of the other servants could equal him. Meanwhile, the company up-stairs taking him for the servant of the house, were highly satisfied with his attendance. Will was also careful to give full cups to the servant who should have served in his place, with some money, which the other was very glad to receive for doing nothing. He seldom also went into the room without passing some merry jest to amuse the company. They were so highly pleased with him, that they said one to another, “This is a merry, witty fellow; such a man as he is fit to make a house; he deserves double wages.” When Will saw his plan ripe for execution, he came into the room with some wine, and by the aid of his knife, made a slit in my lord’s coat. Returning with a bottle in one hand, and his other hand full of glasses, before he approached his lordship he started and stared, saying, “What fellows are those who have made that coat?” with other imprecations against the tailor. Then some of the company rising up, saw the rent in my lord’s coat, and cried, “My lord, the tailor has cheated you.” Will, drawing near, said, “Such things may happen; but give me the coat, and I’ll carry it privately under my master’s cloak to an acquaintance of mine, who will presently make it as good as if it had not been torn.” Borrowing a great coat of a gentleman present, the nobleman gave Will his coat to carry to the tailor, who, coming down stairs, informed the landlord of the disaster, received his cloak, and, putting the rent coat below it, seized a good beaver hat off one of the cloak-pins, and hastened from the tavern. Arriving at the inn where the gentlemen were anxiously waiting his return, he went into another room, dressed himself, and entered with the cloak and beaver on. “What!” said one of them, “instead of a coat, you come with a cloak, and great need for it; for,” he added, “there’s a deal of knavery under it.” Will then opened the cloak, and showed them the coat, saying, that he had received the cloak and beaver into the bargain; and gave an account of the whole adventure.

Meanwhile, my lord and his company had waited long in expectation of the servant, whom they supposed to have been one of the waiters of the house. The landlord also wondering that they were so long in calling for more wine, one of the servants was sent up-stairs to force trade. He entered the room, saying, “Call here, call here, gentlemen?” “Yes,” said one of them, “where is your fellow-servant who waited upon us?” “My fellow-servant!” exclaimed the other; “he said he was my lord’s servant, and that his master would be served by none but himself, and I should have good vails, nevertheless.” My lord replied, “How can that be? I have only one gentleman of my own retinue; the rest are with my lady. He that served us came in with an apron, and in the character of one of the servants of the house:--call up the landlord!” Boniface instantly waited upon them, when one of the gentlemen asked him, if he kept sharpers in his house, to affront gentlemen and to rob them. “Nay,” replied the vintner, who was a choleric man, “do you bring sharpers along with you, to affront me and rob my house? I am sure I have lost a new cloak and beaver; and, for aught I know, though you look like gentlemen, you may be sharpers yourselves; and I expect to be paid by you for my losses, as well as for the reckoning.” One of them instantly drew upon him, enraged at his insolent language; but the landlord ran down stairs in affright, and alarmed the whole house, entreating them not to suffer such rogues to escape. In the mean time he seized a sword, the servants armed themselves with spits, pokers, and such other weapons as the house afforded. A great uproar was soon raised; and the nobleman coming first out to penetrate through the crowd, made a thrust at the landlord, but was beaten back by a fire-shovel in the hand of one of the waiters, and narrowly escaped being run through with a long spit in the hands of a cook maid. His lordship, seeing the door so completely guarded, shut himself up in the room, and began to consult with the rest of the company what was best to be done.

Fortunately, however, the gentleman who was in the other tavern with Will, conjecturing that a quarrel might ensue between the nobleman and the vintner, who had lost his cloak and beaver, sent his own landlord to inform him, that the rogue was caught, and in safe custody.

He was admitted up-stairs, waited on his lordship, and communicated to him the whole affair. A cessation of arms took place. They drank to the health of the landlord, assuring him, that in future they would be friendly to his house; but, in the mean time, they attended their peacemaker to the tavern, where Will was exhibiting his dexterity. The vintner went along with them, and, after common compliments, Will restored the coat, the cloak, and the beaver, and continued to amuse them during the remainder of the evening with the relation of his adventures.

But to return, at length, to the captain his brother. He had, along with his companions, committed so many robberies upon the highway, that a proclamation was issued against them, offering a reward to those who should bring them, either dead or alive. This occasioned their detection in the following manner:--having committed a robbery, and being closely pursued to Westminster ferry, the wherryman refused to carry any more that night. Two of them then rode off, and the other four gave their horses to a waterman to lead to the next inn. The horses foaming with sweat, the waterman began to suspect that they were robbers who had been keenly pursued, and communicated his suspicions to the constable, who secured the horses, and went in search of the men.

He was not long in seizing one of them, who confessed; and the constable, hastening to the inn, secured the rest, and, having placed a strong guard upon them, rode to Lambeth, and making sure of the other two, led them before a justice of the peace, who committed them to Newgate.

At the next sessions, captain Dudley, his brother, and three other accomplices, were tried, and condemned to suffer death.

After sentence, captain Dudley was brought to Newgate, where he conducted himself agreeably to his sad situation. He was conveyed from Newgate with six other prisoners. He appeared pretty cheerful, but his brother lay all the time sick in the cart. The ceremonies of religion being performed, they were launched into another world on the twenty-second of February, 1681, to answer for the numerous crimes of their guilty lives.

The bodies of the captain and his brother, having been cut down, were put into separate coffins, to be conveyed to their disconsolate father, who at the sight was so overwhelmed, that he sank upon the dead bodies, and never spoke more, and was buried at the same time and in the same grave with his two sons.

WILLIAM NEVISON.

The advancement of the arts and sciences is not more rapid than the progress of folly and vice. In the following memoir it will be demonstrated, that the best education may be perverted by vicious dispositions.

William Nevison was born at Pomfret, in Yorkshire, about the year 1639, and his parents, being in good circumstances, conferred upon him a decent education. He remained at school until he was about thirteen years of age. During that period, his expanding talents promised a luxuriant harvest; but the general bent of his future character, and the ruling motive of all his actions, were exhibited at that period. He commenced his depredations by stealing a silver spoon from his own father. The too indulgent parent, instead of chastising him for the crime, transferred the unpleasant work to the schoolmaster. The father who resigns authority over his own children may expect either to lose them altogether, or to have his heart grieved and his family dishonored by their conduct. The schoolmaster having punished young Nevison for the theft, he spent a sleepless night in meditating revenge. He knew that the pedagogue had a favorite horse, which grazed in an adjacent paddock. William rose early in the morning, moved quietly into his father’s closet, stole his keys, and supplied himself with cash to the amount of ten pounds; then, taking a saddle and bridle from his father’s stable, he hastened to the paddock in which the schoolmaster’s horse was accustomed to feed; and, having saddled and bridled the animal, with all haste rode towards London. About a mile or two from the capital, he cut the throat of the poor horse, for fear of detection. Arrived in London, he changed his name and clothes, and then hired himself to a brewer. Although circumstances compelled him to be for a while industrious, in order to obtain the necessaries of life, his mind was always upon the stretch to invent some more expeditious mode of acquiring money than the slow return of annual pay; accordingly he often, ineffectually, attempted to rob his master. One evening, however, the clerk happening to use his bottle too freely, Nevison followed him into the counting-house, and, while he was enjoying a recruiting nap, stole the keys of the desks, and relieved them of their burden, to the amount of about two hundred pounds. Without waiting to discover whether the clerk or the servant would be blamed for the cash, he sailed for Holland.

But change of climate had no effect in changing his nature. Through his instigation, the daughter of a respectable citizen robbed her father of a large sum of money, and a quantity of jewels, and eloped with the Englishman. They were pursued, taken, and committed to prison. Thus detected, Nevison would certainly have finished a short but villanous career in a foreign land, had he not fortunately effected his escape.

With no small difficulty he arrived in Flanders, and enlisted into a regiment of English volunteers, under the command of the duke of York. In that station he behaved with considerable reputation, and even acquired some money; but his restless temper and disposition to acquire riches, by whatever means, did not permit him to remain in a situation of industry or sobriety. He deserted, went over to England, with his money purchased a horse, together with all other necessaries, and commenced his depredations in a systematic form. His success was uncommon, and he every day found means to replenish his coffers, and to nourish his extravagance. Nor would he unite his fortune with any one, who, from selfish motives, might feel disposed to participate in his lucrative employment.

One day Nevison, who went otherwise by the name of Johnson, travelling on the road, and scouring about in search of a prize, met two countrymen, who, coming up towards him, informed him that it was very dangerous travelling forward, for that the way was set, and they had been robbed by three highwaymen, about half a mile off; and if he had any charge of money about him, it was his safest course to turn back. Nevison asking them what they had lost, they told him forty pounds: upon which he replied, “Turn back with me and show me the way they took, and my life to a farthing, I’ll make them return you your money again.” They rode along with him till they came in sight of the highwaymen, when Nevison, ordering the countrymen to stay behind him at some distance, rode up, and spoke to the foremost of them, saying, “Sir, by your garb and the color of your horse, you should be one of those I looked after; and if so, my business is to tell you, that you borrowed of two friends of mine forty pounds, which they desire me to demand of you, and which, before we part, you must restore.” “How!” cried the highwayman, “forty pounds! What! is the fellow mad?” “So mad,” replied Nevison, “that your life shall answer me, if you do not give me better satisfaction.” Upon which he drew his pistol and suddenly clapped it to the other’s breast, who finding that Nevison had also his rein, and that he could not get his sword or pistols, yielded, telling him his life was at his mercy. “No,” said Nevison, “it is not that I seek, but the money you robbed these two men of who are riding up to me, which you must refund.”

The thief was forced to consent, and readily to deliver such part as he had, saying his companions were in possession of the rest; so that Nevison, having made him dismount, and taking away his pistols, which he gave to the countrymen, ordered them to secure him, and hold his own, while he took the thief’s horse, and pursued the other two, whom he soon overtook; for they, thinking him their companion, stopped as soon as they saw him; so that he came up to them in the midst of a common. “How now, Jack,” said one of them, “what made you engage with yon fellow?” “No, gentlemen,” replied Nevison, “you are mistaken in your man: Thomas--for by the token of your horse and arms, I perceive you are Thomas--he hath sent me to you for the ransom of his life, amounting to no less than the prize of the day, which if you presently surrender, you may go about your business; if not, I must have a little dispute with you at sword and pistol!” At which one of them fired at him, but missing his aim, received Nevison’s bullet in his right shoulder; and being thereby disabled, Nevison was about to discharge at the other, when he called for quarter, and came to a parley, which, in short, was made up, with Nevison’s promise to send their friend, and their delivering him all the ready money they had, amounting to a hundred and fifty pounds. Having obtained his booty, he rode back to the two countrymen, and released their prisoner, giving them their whole forty pounds, with a caution for the future to look better after it, and not, like cowards, as they were, to surrender the same on such easy terms again.

In all his exploits, Nevison was tender of the fair sex, and bountiful to the poor. He was also a true loyalist, and never levied any contributions upon the royalists. One day, fortunately encountering a rich usurer, he stopped his coach, and demanded that he would deliver the money which he had extorted from poor widows and orphans. The pistol presented to his breast, and the reproaches of the highwayman, filled his guilty mind with inexpressible terror, and he began to expostulate for his life. “That shall be granted,” replied Nevison, “upon condition of your surrendering your gold.” The other reluctantly drew out sixty broad pieces of gold; but this sum being inadequate to the necessities of Nevison, he constrained the usurer to mount upon the postilion’s horse, and allowed the coach with the three ladies in it to proceed. The poor Jew, now thinking that the hour was verily nigh at hand when he would be bereft of life and separated from his treasures, experienced all the violent emotions of terror, chagrin and despair. Nevison compelled him to draw a note upon sight for five hundred pounds upon a scrivener in London. He then permitted him to ride after his friends to acquaint them with his misfortunes, while he himself rode all night, that he might have the money drawn before advice could be forwarded to stop the payment.

After several adventures of a similar nature, Nevison one day robbed a rich grazier of 450_l._ and then proposed to himself to retire with the spoil. Accordingly, he returned home, and, like the prodigal son, was joyfully received by his father, who, not having heard of him during seven or eight years, supposed that he had been dead. He remained with his father until the day of the old man’s death, living as soberly and honestly as if no act of violence had ever sullied his reputation. Upon the death of his father, however, he returned to his former courses, and in a short time, his name was a terror to every traveller upon the road. To such an extent did he carry his plans, that the carriers and drovers who frequented that road willingly agreed to leave certain sums at such places as he appointed, to prevent their being stripped of their all.

Continuing his wicked course, he was at last apprehended, thrown into Leicester gaol, put in irons, and strictly guarded; but, in spite of all the precautions of the county, he effected his escape. One day, two or three of his trusty friends visited him, one of whom, being a physician, gave out that he was infected with the plague, and that, unless he was removed to a larger room, where he might enjoy free air, he should not only himself perish, but communicate the infection to all the inhabitants of the gaol. He was instantly removed, and the gaoler’s wife would not allow her husband to go farther then the door of his room, for fear of the infection, which afforded Nevison and his friends time to perfect their scheme. The physician came twice or thrice every day to see him, and continued to declare his case hopeless. At last a painter was brought in, who painted all his body with spots, similar to those that appear upon a person infected with the pestilence. In a few days after, he received a sleeping draught, and was declared to be dead. The inquest who sat upon his body were afraid to approach in order to make a minute inspection, and thus a verdict was returned that he had died of the plague. His friends now demanded his body, and he was carried out of prison in a coffin.

This insertion into a coffin only rendered him more callous and daring in vice. He, with redoubled vigor, renewed his depredations, and, meeting his carriers and drovers, informed them, that it was necessary to increase their rents, in order to refund his expenses while in gaol and his loss of time. It was at first supposed, that it was his ghost, who carried on the same pranks that he had done in his lifetime. The truth of this, however, came to be suspected, and the gaoler offered a reward of 20_l._ to any person who would restore him to his former domicile.

Resolved to visit the capital, he upon his journey met a company of canting beggars, pilgrims, and idle vagabonds. Continuing in their company for some time, and observing the merry life that they pursued, he took an opportunity to propose himself as a candidate for admission into their honorable fraternity. Their leader applauded his resolution, and addressed him in these words:--“Do not we come into the world arrant beggars, without a rag upon us? And do we not all go out of the world like beggars, saving only an old sheet over us? Shall we, then, be ashamed to walk up and down the world like beggars, with old blankets pinned about us? No! no! that would be a shame to us, indeed. Have we not the whole kingdom to walk in at our pleasure? Are we afraid of the approach of quarter-day? Do we walk in fear of sheriffs, bailiffs, and catchpoles? Who ever knew an arrant beggar arrested for debt? Is not our meat dressed in every man’s kitchen? Does not every man’s cellar afford us beer? And the best men’s purses keep a penny for us to spend?” Having, by these words, as he thought, fully fixed him in love with begging, he then acquainted the company with Nevison’s desire, in consequence of which they were all very joyful, being as glad to add one to their society, as a Mussulman to obtain a proselyte. The first question they asked him was, if he had any _loure_ in his _bung_. Nevison stared on them, not knowing what they meant; till at last, one informed him it was money in his purse. He told them he had but eighteen pence, which he gave them freely. This, by a general vote, was condemned to be spent in a booze for his initiation. They then commanded him to kneel down, which being done, one of the chief of them took a _gage_ of _booze_, which is a quart of drink, and poured the same on his head, saying, “I do, by virtue of this sovereign liquor, install thee in the Roage, and make thee a free denizen of our ragged regiment. So that henceforth it shall be lawful for thee to cant, only observing these rules:--First, that thou art not to wander up and down all countries, but to keep to that quarter that is allotted thee; and, secondly, thou art to give way to any of us that have borne all the offices of the wallet before; and, upon holding up a finger, to avoid any town or country village, where thou seest we are foraging for victuals for our army that march along with us. Observing these two rules, we take thee into our protection, and adopt thee a brother of our numerous society.”

The leader having ended his oration, Nevison rose up, and was congratulated by all the company’s hanging about him, like so many dogs about a bear, and making such a hideous noise, that the chief, commanding silence, addressed him as follows:--“Now that thou art entered into our fraternity, thou must not scruple to act any villanies, whether it be to cut a purse, steal a cloak-bag, or portmanteau, convey all manner of things, whether a chicken, sucking-pig, duck, goose, or hen, or to steal a shirt from the hedge; for he that will be a _quier cove_, (a professed rogue) must observe these rules. And because thou art but a novice in begging, and understandest not the mysteries of the canting language, thou shalt have a wife to be thy companion, by whom thou mayest receive instructions.” And thereupon, he singled him out a girl of about seventeen years of age, which tickled his fancy very much: but he must presently be married to her after the fashion of their _patrico_, who, amongst beggars, is their priest. Whereupon the ceremony was performed after this manner:--

They took a hen, and, having cut off the head of it, laid the dead body on the ground, placing Nevison on the one side, and his intended on the other; this being done, the priest, standing by, with a loud voice bade them live together till death did them part; then shaking hands, and kissing each other, the ceremony of the wedding was over, and the whole group appeared intoxicated with joy. Night approaching, and all their money being spent, they betook themselves to a barn not far off, where they broached a hogshead, and went to sleep.

Nevison, having met with this odd piece of diversion in his journey, slipped out of the barn when all were asleep, took a horse, and posted directly away. But, coming to London, he found there was too much noise about him to permit him to tarry there: he therefore returned into the country, and fell to his old pranks again. Several who had been formerly robbed by him, happening to meet him, imagined that his ghost walked abroad, having heard the report of his pestilential death in Leicester gaol. In short, his crimes became so notorious, that a reward was offered to any that would apprehend him: this made many waylay him, especially two brothers, named Fletcher, one of whom Nevison shot dead; but, going into a little village about thirteen miles from York, he was taken by captain Hardcastle, and sent to York gaol, where, on the 15th March 1684, he was tried, condemned, and executed, aged forty-five.

THE GOLDEN FARMER.

This man’s real name was William Davis, a native of North Wales, but he obtained the title of _Golden Farmer_ from his custom of paying any considerable sum in gold. He was born in the year 1626. At an early period of life he removed to Sudbury, in Gloucestershire, where he took a farm, married the daughter of a wealthy innkeeper, by whom he had eighteen children, and followed that industrious employment merely to disguise the real character of a robber, which he sustained without suspicion for the space of forty-two years. He usually robbed alone. One day, meeting some stage-coaches, he stopped one of them, full of ladies, all of whom complied with his demands, except a Quaker, who vowed she had no money, nor any thing valuable about her: upon which, fearing lest he should lose the booty of the other coaches, he told her he would go and see what they could afford him, and return to her again. Having rifled the other three coaches, he was as good as his word; and the Quaker, persisting in her former statement, enraged the Farmer to such a degree, that, seizing her by the shoulder, and employing language which it would be hardly proper here to set down, he so scared the poor Quaker, as to cause her to produce a purse of guineas, a gold watch, and a diamond ring. Whereupon, they parted as good friends as when they were first introduced to each other.

Upon another occasion, our desperado met the duchess of Albemarle in her coach, as she was riding over Salisbury Plain; but he encountered greater difficulty in this case than he had contemplated. Before he could assault the lady he was compelled to engage a postilion, the coachman, and two footmen; but, having disabled them all by discharging several pistols, he approached his prey, whom he found more refractory than the female Quaker. Perceiving another person of quality’s coach approaching, with a retinue of servants, he was fain to content himself by pulling three diamond rings from her fingers by force, snatching a rich gold watch from her side, and venting a portion of abuse upon her obstinate ladyship.

It was not very long after this exploit, that our adventurer met with Sir Thomas Day, a justice of the peace, living at Bristol. They fell into discourse, and, riding along, the Golden Farmer informed his new acquaintance, that a little while before, he had narrowly escaped being robbed by a couple of highwaymen, but, luckily, his horse having better heels than theirs, he had got clear of them. “Truly,” said Sir Thomas, “that had been very hard: but, nevertheless, as you would have been robbed between sun and sun, the county, upon suing it, would have been obliged to make your loss good.” Thus, chatting together, and coming to a convenient place, the Golden Farmer shot Sir Thomas’s man’s horse under him, and, compelling him to retire to a distance, presented a pistol to the knight’s heart, and demanded his money. “I thought, sir,” said Sir Thomas, “that you had been an honest man.” “Your worship is mistaken,” cried the Farmer; “and if you had had any skill in physiognomy, you might have perceived that my countenance is the very picture of necessity; so deliver me presently, for I’m in haste.” Sir Thomas, therefore, being constrained to give him the money he had about him, which was about 60_l._ in gold and silver, the other humbly thanked his worship, and told him, that what he had parted with was not lost, because he had been robbed between sun and sun, and could therefore come upon the county.

One Mr. Hart, a young gentleman of Enfield, who, it appears, possessed a good estate, but was not overburdened with brains, riding one day over Finchley Common, where the Golden Farmer had been for some hours hunting for prey, was met by him, and saluted with a smart slap with the flat of his drawn hanger upon his shoulders: “A plague on you!” said the Farmer; “how slow you are, to make a man wait upon you all the morning: come, deliver what you have, and go to the devil for orders!” The young gentleman, rather surprised at this novel greeting, began to make several excuses, saying he had no money about him: but his incredulous antagonist took the liberty of searching him, and, finding about him above a hundred guineas, he bestowed upon him two or three farther slaps on the shoulders, telling him, at the same time, not to give his mind to lying in future, when an honest gentleman required a small gratuity from him.

Another time, this notorious robber having paid his landlord about 80_l._ for rent, the latter, going home with it, was accosted by his goodly tenant in disguise, who, bidding him stand, said:--“Come, Mr. Gravity, deliver what you have in a trice!” The old gentleman, fetching a deep sigh, to the hazard of displacing several buttons from his waistcoat, told him, that he had not above two shillings about him, and hoped, therefore, he was more a gentleman than to take so small a matter from a poor man. “I have no faith,” replied the Farmer; “for you seem, by your habit to be a man of better circumstances than you pretend; therefore, open your budget, or I shall fall foul of you.” “Dear sir,” cried the landlord, “you can’t be so barbarous to an old man. What! have you no religion, pity, or compassion in you? Have you no conscience? Have you no respect for your body or soul?” “Don’t talk of age or barbarity to me,” said the tenant, “for I show neither pity nor compassion to any body. Talk of conscience to me! I have no more of that dull commodity than you have; therefore, deliver every thing you have about you, before this pistol makes you repent your obstinacy.” The landlord being thus threatened, delivered his money, without receiving a receipt for it, although he had given one to the Farmer.

An old grazier at Putney Heath was the next victim to the avaricious Farmer. Having accosted him on the road, he informed him that there were some suspicious persons behind them, whom he suspected to be highwaymen; and, if that should be the case, he begged that he would conceal ten guineas for him, which would be safer with him, from the meanness of his apparel. He accepted the charge, and said, that as he himself had fifty guineas bound in the lappet of his shirt, he would deposit them along with his own. In a short time, the Farmer said,--“It does not appear that any person will run the risk of his neck by robbing you to-day; it will, therefore, be as well that I do so myself.” Without any farther preamble, therefore, he demanded of him, instead of delivering up his purse, to cut off the lappet of his shirt; but, declining to comply with his request, the Farmer put himself to the trouble of lightening the fore-garment of the grazier.

Squire Broughton, a gentleman of the Middle Temple, was the succeeding prey of the Golden Farmer. Happening to meet at an inn upon the road, the Farmer pretended to be on his way to the capital, concerning an offence that a neighboring farmer had committed against him, by allowing his cattle to break into his grounds. Meanwhile, he requested that squire Broughton would recommend him to an expert and faithful agent to conduct his cause. Like every other lawyer, Broughton was desirous to have him for a client, and proceeded to explain the nature of his cause. Having spent the night at the inn, they proceeded next morning on their journey, when the Farmer addressed the counsellor, saying, “Pray, sir, what is meant by trover and conversion in the law of England?” He replied, that it signified, in our common law, an action which one man has against another, who, having found any of his goods, refuses to deliver them up on demand, and perhaps converts them to his own use.

The Golden Farmer being now at a place convenient for his purpose, “Very well, then, sir,” said he, “should I find any money about you, and convert it to my use, it is only actionable, I find.” “That is a robbery,” said the barrister, “which requires no less a satisfaction than a man’s life.” “A robbery!” replied the Golden Farmer; “why, then, I must commit _one_ in my time:” and presenting his pistol, he instantly demanded his money or his life. Surprised at his client’s rough behavior, the lawyer began to remonstrate in strong terms upon the impropriety of his conduct, urging, that it was both contrary to law and to conscience. His eloquent pleading, however, made no impression upon the mind of the Farmer, who, putting a pistol to his breast, compelled the lawyer to deliver his money, amounting to the sum of 40_l._, some large pieces of gold, and a gold watch.

One day, accosting a tinker upon the road, whom he knew to have 7_l._ or 8_l._ upon him, he said, “Well, brother tinker, you seem to be very decent, for your life is a continual pilgrimage, and, in humility, you go almost barefooted, making necessity a virtue.” “Ay, master,” replied the tinker, “necessity compels when the devil drives, and, had you no more than I, you would do the same.” “That might be,” replied the Farmer, “and I suppose you march all over England.” “Yes,” said the tinker, “I go a great deal of ground, but not so much as you ride.” “Be this as it will. I suppose that your conversation is unblamable, because you are continually mending.” “I wish,” replied the tinker, “that as much could be said in commendation of your character.” The Farmer replied, that he was not like him, who would rather steal than beg, in defiance of whips or imprisonment. Determined to have the last word of the Farmer, the tinker rejoined, “I would have you to know, that I take a great deal of pains for a livelihood.” The Farmer, equally loquacious, replied, “I know that you are such an enemy to idleness, that, rather than want work, you will make three holes in mending one.” “That may be,” said the honest tinker, “but I begin to wish that there were a greater distance between us, as I do neither love your conversation nor appearance.” “I am equally ready to say the same of you; for, though you are entertained in every place, yet you are seldom permitted to enter the door of any dwelling.” The tinker repeated his strong suspicions of the Farmer. “Nor shall it be without cause!” exclaimed he; “therefore, open your wallet, and deliver the money that is there.” Here their dialogue being about to close, the tinker entreated that he would not rob him, as he was above a hundred miles from home: but the Golden Farmer, being indifferent to all the consequences of the loss of the other’s property, seized both his wallet and his money, and left the poor tinker to renew his journey and his toils.

This famous highwayman had only a few more acts of violence to perform. His actions and character being now universally known, many a hue-and-cry was sent after him, and conspired to his overthrow. He was seized and imprisoned, tried, and condemned. He spent his time in prison in the same merry way in which his former life had been passed, and a violent death terminated his wicked course on the 20th December 1689.

JONATHAN SIMPSON.

This man was the son of a respectable gentleman in Launceston, in Cornwall, and put an apprentice to a linen-draper. After serving his time with great approbation, his father gave him 1500_l._ to commence business for himself.

He had not been a year in business when he married a merchant’s daughter, and received with her 2000_l._ of portion. Such an accession to his wealth enabled him to extend his business, and to conduct it with ease. But money cannot procure happiness. The affections of the young lady had been gained by a man of less fortune, and, to please her father, she had given her hand where she could not bestow her heart; and, though married to another, she continued in a degree of familiarity with her former lover that excited her husband’s jealousy, the most violent of all the passions.

In a short time, after having lived in a very unhappy manner, Simpson took the opportunity to sell all off, and, having shut up shop, went away with what money he could raise, determined no longer to remain in Bristol. He was now possessed of about 5000_l._ but his expenses were so extravagant, that this large sum was soon exhausted. He then went to the highway, committed a robbery, was apprehended, and would certainly have been hanged, had not some of his rich relations procured a reprieve. The difficulty of obtaining it may be guessed from the fact, that it arrived at Tyburn just when the rope was about his neck. Such was his obduracy, that, when returning to Newgate behind one of the sheriff’s men, the latter asked him what he thought of a reprieve when he was come to the gallows. “No more than I thought of my dying day.”

When he came to the prison-door, the turnkey refused to receive him, saying, that he was sent to be executed, and that he was discharged of him, and would not permit him to enter without a new warrant. Upon which Simpson exclaimed, “What an unhappy cast-off dog am I, that both Tyburn and Newgate should in one day refuse to entertain me! Well, I’ll mend my manners for the future, and try whether I can’t merit a reception at them both, next time I am brought thither.”

He immediately recommenced his operations, and one day robbed a gentleman of a purse full of counters, which he supposed were gold. He kept them in his pockets, always anxiously looking out for his benefactor. About four months after, he met him upon Bagshot heath, riding in a coach: “Sir,” said he, “I believe you made a mistake the last time I had the happiness of seeing you, in giving these pieces. I have been troubled ever since, lest you should have wanted them at cards, and am glad of this opportunity to return them; only, for my care, I require you to come this moment out of your coach, and give me your breeches, that I may search them at leisure, and not trust any more to your generosity, lest you should mistake again.” A pistol enforced his demand, and Simpson found a gold watch, a gold snuff-box, and ninety-eight guineas, with five jacobuses.

At another time, he robbed lord Delamere of three hundred and fifty guineas. He was almost unequalled in his depredations: in one day he robbed nineteen different people, and took above 200_l._; and, in the space of six weeks, committed forty robberies in the county of Middlesex. He even ventured to attack the duke of Berwick, and took from him articles to a very great value.

But wickedness has a boundary over which it cannot pass. Simpson attacked two captains of the guards: a strong struggle ensued: his horse was shot under him, and he was wounded in both arms and one of his legs before he was taken. He was sent to Newgate, and now found that he was not refused entrance: and he soon also discovered, that Tyburn was equally ready to receive him. His execution took place on the 8th September 1686.

WILLIAM CADY.

This gentleman was a native of Norfolk county, and the son of an eminent surgeon. After the preparatory steps of education, William went to the University of Cambridge, and was tutor to lord Townshend. He was during that time made bachelor of arts, and continued to pursue his studies until deprived of his father by death.

The loss of a prudent father to a young man, forms a remarkable era in his life. If he is left with an ample fortune, he has then the means of gratifying his wishes, whether in the field of benevolence or in that of dissipation: and though left with no fortune, yet he is then at full liberty to follow his ruling inclination. Upon the intelligence of his father’s death, William went to London and began to practise medicine. His first patient was his own uncle, who, being dangerously affected with an imposthume, was cured by him in the following manner:--

When he entered his uncle’s bedchamber, his first care was to examine the state of the old gentleman’s stomach: for this purpose he ranged about the room, overturning every plate and dish, to discover what had been given him to eat. He at last discovered an old saddle, which he thought would answer for the intended experiment. Upon seeing this he cried out, “Uncle, your case is very desperate!”--“Not so bad, I hope,” said the uncle, “as to make me past remedy.”--“Heaven knows that,” cried Cady, “but a surfeit is a terrible thing, and I perceive that you have got a violent one.”--“A surfeit!” said the old gentleman; “you mistake, nephew; it is an imposthume that I am affected with.”--“The deuce it is!” replied Cady; “why, I could have sworn it had been a surfeit, for I perceive you have eaten a whole horse, and left us only the saddle!” At this he held up the saddle; and the old gentleman fell into such a fit of laughter as instantly broke his imposthume, so that he became quite well in less than a fortnight.

This is not the only instance of a disease of this nature being cured by a fit of laughter; and it is certainly an agreeable mode of being relieved of a painful and dangerous malady.

A cardinal at Padua, who was at the point of death, under the influence of this distemper, being past all hopes of recovery, his servants had begun to pillage his house, and even to make free with the hangings of his own bed. An ape, in the midst of this bustle, seized a nightcap that lay near, fixed it upon his head, and made so many and such curious tricks, that his reverence fell into a fit of laughter, and broke the imposthume, to the preservation of his life and property.

Another instance may be related. A countrywoman, very ignorant and superstitious, took it into her head to send for the parson of the parish to pray for the recovery of her cow, which was affected with a distemper incident to animals of that species. Not suspecting but that he was called to visit the woman herself, or some of her family in affliction, the pious man went forthwith, and, to his surprise, was not only informed why he was sent for, but the good woman insisted that he should go and see her cow before she would allow him to depart. Unable to resist her importunities, he went to the byre, and taking a handful of the short straw that lay beside the cow, spread it upon her back, saying, “Poor beast, if you be no better for this, you will be no worse.” The parson returned home, and the good woman was highly displeased with his indifference towards her favorite cow.

It happened, soon after, that she had an opportunity to retaliate: the parson was taken dangerously ill of an imposthume, and the woman, hearing of it, went to return his visit. Arrived at the parson’s house, she, in consequence of her importunities, was admitted into his bedchamber; and, having kindly inquired after his health, went forward to the chimney, and taking up a handful of ashes from the hearth, scattered them over the parson, using his own words, “Poor man! if you be no better for this, you will be no worse;” which raised such a fit of laughter in the good man, that his imposthume broke and his cure was effected.

For the speedy and unexpected cure before related, the uncle of Cady gave him fifty guineas, which supplied his extravagances for one month. His purse being empty, he took his leave of the healing art, in which he had been so successful, and commenced robber. His first adventure was with a captain of the guards and another gentleman, of whom he inquired the way to Staines, as he was a stranger. They informed him that they were going to that place, and that they would be glad of his company. When he arrived at a convenient place, Cady shot the gentleman through the head, and, turning to the officer, told him that “if he did not deliver, he should share the same fate.” The other replied that as he was a captain of the guards, Cady must fight if he expected to get anything from him. “If you are a soldier,” cried Cady, “you ought to obey the word of command, otherwise you know your sentence: I have nothing to do but to tie you neck and heel.” “You are an unconscionable rogue,” said the captain, “to demand money of me, who never owed you any.” “Sir,” replied Cady, “there is not a man that travels the road but owes me money, if he has any about him: therefore, as you are one of my debtors, if you do not pay me instantly, your blood shall satisfy my demand.” The captain exchanged several shots with Cady; but his horse being killed under him, he surrendered his watch, a diamond ring, and a purse of twenty guineas. William, having collected all he could, tied the captain neck and heel, nailed the skirts of his coat to a tree, and rode off in search of more booty.

His next encounter was with viscount Dundee, who commanded the forces of James VII. of Scotland, and the second of England, and fell in the battle of Killicrankie. Dundee was mounted upon horseback, attended by two servants. Cady rode up to them at full speed, and inquired if they did not see a man ride past with more than ordinary haste. “Yes,” he was presently answered. “He has robbed me of twenty pounds that I was going to pay my landlord, and I am utterly ruined!” cried Cady. The man who had ridden by was a confederate, and had done so by express concert. His lordship was moved with compassion, and ordered the two footmen to pursue the robber. When the servants seemed to have got to a sufficient distance, Cady turned upon his lordship, and robbed him of a gold watch, a gold snuff-box, and fifty guineas. He then shot the viscount’s horse, and rode after the footmen, whom he found about a mile off with the supposed robber as their prisoner. These men were surprised when Cady desired them to let him go, and laughed at them for what they had done. They, however, refusing to part with their prey, a scuffle ensued, and one of the footmen being slain, the other fled, and found that his master had been dismounted and robbed.

Dundee complained of this injury at court, and a reward of two hundred pounds was offered to any person who should apprehend either Cady or his companion, who were both minutely described. To evade the diligent search which he was certain this proclamation would occasion, he went over to Flanders. As he had received a liberal education, he entered himself of the English seminary of Douay, and, joining the fraternity of Benedictine friars, soon acquired an extraordinary character for learning and piety. The natural result was, that many penitents resorted to him for confession. The rigid sanctity and ecclesiastical duties of Cady were, however, soon found rather troublesome companions, and he resolved to return to England, preferring his rambles upon the highway to the devotions of the convent. But, as money was necessary for his voyage, his invention was again set in motion.

To effect his purpose, he feigned himself sick, and, being confined to bed, was visited by many of those who had formerly employed him as their father-confessor. He particularly fixed his attention upon two young women, who generally came together, and were both very rich and very handsome. He had previously procured a brace of pistols. When the ladies next came to him and had made their confession, he desired them presently to attend to him. He briefly informed them that he was greatly in want of money, and that if they did not instantly supply his wants, he would deprive them of their lives, holding at the same time a pistol to their breasts. He then proceeded to rifle their pockets, where he found fifty pistoles. In addition to this, he compelled them to make an offering of two diamond rings from their fingers; then, binding them neck and heel, he informed the father of the convent that he was going to walk a little in the fields, and would soon return. It is needless to say that he returned no more to his religious habitation, but renewed his former mode of life.

Scarcely was he arrived in England, when he met a hop merchant, accompanied by his wife, upon Blackheath, and commanded them to stand and deliver. The merchant made a stout resistance, firing two pistols, but without effect; so that he was left to the mercy of the robber, who killed their horse, and, examining their pockets, found twenty-eight pounds upon the merchant, and half a crown upon his wife.