Chapter IX: Part 9

“After this affair at Croydon, I was removed by habeas to Newgate, on the oath of a barber at Westminster, whom I had robbed, which barber was found out by some of my enemies to prosecute me; and upon his indictment I was tried, found guilty, and sentenced to transportation; and, about two months after, was with several other convicts put on board the Italian Merchant, which carried us to Maryland. On our passage I had formed several plans for an escape, one of which had nearly been successful, and was agreed upon between me and the rest of the transports. We were at a certain time to have secured the captain and sailors, as well as the fire-arms, and to have run away with the ship, but one of them discovered it to the captain, who put us in irons, and kept a watchful eye on us during the remainder of the voyage. When we arrived at Maryland, I was disposed of to the master of the Two Sisters, who was in want of sailors, and with whom I went to sea. We had not been out many days before we were taken by a privateer of Bayonne, and carried into Spain. We were all sent on shore, and had papers given to us to go to Portugal. When I arrived at Oporto, I was pressed on board his majesty’s ship the King Fisher, where I remained about four months, in which time we took several prizes. But not liking my station, I left her at Oporto, travelled to Lisbon, and got in the Hanover packet to Falmouth, where I stayed about a month. My companions endeavored to persuade me to go a privateering with them in the Warner galley; but I refused, and leaving Falmouth travelled to St. Ives, where I found a vessel ready to sail for Bristol, on board of which I went, and arrived at Bristol in two days. I was not long there before I determined to set up my old trade, and procured a pair of pistols, though I still wanted a horse; but having observed several horses in a field near Lawford’s-gate, I soon marked out one for myself, and that night got into a stable, from whence I stole a saddle and bridle, and without much difficulty caught my horse and set out for London.

“When I reached London, I was soon informed the thief-takers were after me. The night I came to town, I put my horse up at the White Swan in Whitechapel, but went no more near him, fearful, as I had stolen him, he might be advertised. But I was not long without a horse, for one Saturday night, about eight o’clock, coming from St. James’, where I had been regaling with some friends, I perceived a boy in Rider street walking a horse about, apparently waiting for somebody. I called and persuaded him to step on an errand into Duke street while I held the horse, and, as soon as the boy was gone, I mounted and rode away, and crossing the country reached Harrow-on-the-Hill, where I passed the night, and the next day set out towards London, in hopes of meeting some of the farmers returning from the hay-markets after having sold their hay. I had drank pretty freely at dinner and was somewhat elevated. I had not ridden far before I met three gentlemen, whom I commanded to ‘stand and deliver their money,’ which they did very quietly. From the first I got about three pounds, from the second I had about five pounds, and from the third thirteen or fourteen shillings.

“The next person I robbed was Mr. Sleep, my prosecutor, and though neither he nor I recognised each other at that time, yet he, it seems, has known me from a child. I took from him his watch and six shillings, and made off.

“After robbing Mr. Sleep, I still kept travelling towards London, in hopes of meeting the farmers; at length, five of them appeared, whom I commanded ‘to stop,’ and took from them about 15_l._ in silver. I felt in their pockets for watches, but they had none. Next I met three men, whom I ordered ‘to stop;’ but they, not regarding my orders, refused, and rode full speed, and I alongside of them for at least five or six minutes, presenting my pistol, swearing I would shoot if they did not stop: but they still rode on; and I turned from them, giving them a hearty d--n, not caring to let off my pistol; for I had determined to shoot no man, unless he attempted to take me. But after this, on the same road, I robbed two more men; from one I took about fifteen shillings, from another about seven shillings. Turning from them I let off one of my pistols into the air, and went on for London.

“That night I made a sort of perambulation among the thief-takers, determining to do mischief to some of them, if possible, especially to those who, I heard, had been after me. The first I went to was one W. H. in Chancery-lane. Being on horseback, I knocked at the door, which his wife opened, demanding my business. I told her, ‘to speak with her husband.’ She replied, ‘he was gone to bed,’ at the same time desiring to know my name and business. ‘I am a gentleman of his acquaintance,’ said I; ‘he will know me when he sees me.’ My blunderbuss, which I then carried, being mounted with brass, and having a brass barrel, by the light of her candle she perceived it, and directly slapped to the door, called to her husband and told him (mentioning my name) that I was at the door. I could hear him ask for his piece, on which I cried out, ‘You rascal, come to the door, and I’ll piece you;’ and if he had come I should certainly have killed him, but he thought better of it, and I rode away.

“From my friend H. I went to another of the same sort of gentry in Holborn, one I. S. I got off my horse and went into his house threatening destruction; but the moment he saw me enter at one door, he went out at another, and after venting a few oaths, I remounted my horse, and went to the Greyhound inn, in Drury-lane, where I lay that night.

“Next morning I set out for Epping Forest, and dined at the Bird-in-Hand, at Stratford: after dinner, about two o’clock, I set out on the Romford road. I met in the forest a chaise, and from a man therein took about fourteen shillings. This robbery was done within sight of the Spread Eagle, at the door of which several people were drinking on horseback. From thence I rode through Ilford, then came on the forest again, and stayed till it was almost dark, and rode towards Laytonstone, within half a mile of which I robbed a captain of his gold watch, ten guineas, and some silver. After speaking with the captain, I came off the forest for London. Perceiving a hurly-burly, and a great mob at Snaresbrook turnpike, I rode up to see what was the matter, and on inquiry amongst the mob, found that they had stopped a gentleman whom they mistook for me. As it was dark and they could not distinguish me, I thought it most prudent to ride through the turnpike, and go directly for London, which I did, and putting up my horse at the Saracen’s Head, Aldgate, and calling a coach, I went to a tavern, where I lay all night.

“In the morning I began to reflect that, it being well known I was in England returned from transportation, and as well known too that I had committed a great many robberies, there were many thief-takers after me, and I was surrounded with danger; and I therefore determined to set out for Chester immediately, and from thence to Dublin, resolving, as I had now a handsome sum, as well as a parcel of diamond rings and watches, to live entirely on my stock, and rob no more, at least while that lasted. I dined that day at St. Alban’s, and as I generally drank both at and after my meals pretty freely, I soon grew warm, and after dinner, setting out for Dunstable, I found my resolution to rob no more would not hold, for within a quarter of a mile of Redbourne, I ordered three gentlemen to stand and deliver. Presenting my pistol at the first, he replied, that he would not be robbed, and rode on; the second hit me on the head with his whip, and at the same time the other rode by me. Having a good beast under me, I was quickly up with them, and putting on one of my terrible countenances, with bitter imprecations I avowed that I would instantly shoot the first man dead who refused to deliver; when the first of them quietly gave me about nine shillings; from the second I took an old-fashioned watch and seventeen shillings; and from the third, two guineas and about five shillings; and taking my leave immediately, attacked two more gentlemen, who likewise rode for it; but their horses being as good as mine, I ran them into Redbourne, and then gave it up. About an hour after, I stopped a single man on horseback, who telling me he had but eighteen-pence, I bade him keep that; but he seeming to have a very good horse and mine beginning to fail, I made him dismount and change with me. He had a portmanteau on his horse, which he was very industriously going to take off, but I told him he might as well let it remain where it was, which he did, though I had no opportunity to see what was in it; for being now become, perhaps, one of the most industrious of my profession, I could no more let a coach, chaise, or man go by without speaking with them in my way, than I could fly; and perceiving a coach coming along, which proved to be the Warrington stage, I directly made up to it, and got from the passengers therein about three pounds. The ladies seemed terribly frightened, and begged I would take my pistol away, which I did, and after taking their money I went on for Dunstable, and calling at several houses before I got there, I became pretty fatigued, not only with my business, but with liquor too. Being very much fuddled, I was so cunning as to think of putting up at the Bull inn, at Dunstable, the very house where the Warrington coach went to. After dismounting my horse, and calling for a quartern of brandy, I saw some of the passengers in the kitchen, belonging to the coach I had just then robbed, on which, I never stayed for my brandy, but went out of the house, mounted my horse, and rode as fast as I could make him go, till I came to Hockliffe, and as it rained very hard, I resolved to put up, and accordingly went into the Star inn. After I had been there about an hour, and had drank very freely, I became intoxicated, and fell asleep by the kitchen fire; but was soon awakened by three troopers and some others with pistols at my head, swearing they would shoot me if I offered to put my hand to my pockets. Being half asleep as well as drunk, they soon disarmed me, and took from me one gold watch, two silver ones, four diamond rings, forty-seven guineas in gold, and four pounds in silver: three of the best diamond rings I had secreted in my neckcloth. I desired them to give me my money again, and to let me go to bed; they gave me about nine pounds in gold and silver back, and then conducted me to a chamber, where I went to bed, after putting my money under my pillow, and fell asleep, guarded by the troopers, who took my money from under my head, which, when I awoke and missed, I charged them with, telling them it was using me exceedingly ill indeed, as they had gotten so much from me already, to take that from me too; whereupon, they returned it to me. Presently, I got up and sat by the fire-side, a good deal chagrined at my unfortunate fate. I resolved in my mind a thousand different methods of escape, but none appeared feasible even to myself. At length, a thought came into my head, of which I was resolved to make a trial. As I knew these troopers, from their behavior, to be hungry hounds, and having two seals, the one gold, and the other silver, about me; as I sat over the fire, I determined to throw them in, naturally supposing, from their eagerness after plunder, they would endeavor to get them out, and I might thus, by some means or other, become master of their fire-arms. It happened as I had imagined; eager for their prey they soused down to rake them from the ashes, when I, at the same time, snatched a pistol from one of their hands, and snapped it at his head: it missed fire, and I was immediately overpowered by the rest of the troopers, the landlord and others coming to their assistance; and I was the next day carried before the justice at Dunstable, where I insisted upon the troopers returning me my money and watches again, before I would answer any questions, and, accordingly, I _undressed_ their pockets both of money and watches, asking them if they thought I had nothing else to do than to venture my life to dress the pockets of such fellows as they, who knew not how to wind up a watch; for in endeavoring to wind up one of the watches they had broken it.

“I was eventually committed to Bedford gaol for robbing the Warrington stage-coach, where I remained about four months, till I was removed by habeas corpus to Newgate, and in February last was tried at the Old Bailey for robbing Mr. Francis Sleep of his watch and six shillings, of which I was found guilty, and received sentence of death.”

The above is an abstract containing all the most interesting or prominent transactions in the life of Henry Simms, who appears to have labored in his vocation with a zeal worthy of a better calling, and with a wantonness deserving of the gallows to which, at length, he was compelled to ascend. Young Gentleman Harry was executed at Tyburn in June, 1747; and after hanging till he was dead, his body was cut down by a mob appointed for that purpose, and carried to a surgeon’s in Covent Garden.

JAMES MACLAINE.

James Maclaine, called in his own time by the distinguished title of “the gentleman highwayman,” seemed at his birth to be far removed from the common temptations which too frequently lead to an infamous death. Until the decease of his father, which took place when he was about eighteen years of age, a fair prospect of prosperity was presented to him; but, unhappily, being conscious of his birth, which entitled him, by a slight straining of courtesy, to the designation of a gentleman, he imbibed, together with an inordinate vanity, an aversion from business, and an immoderate desire to appear a gay young fellow.

Lauchlin Maclaine, the father of our adventurer, was a Presbyterian divine, and pastor of a congregation of that communion at Monaghan, in the North of Ireland. He designed James, his second son, for a merchant, and bestowed upon him a sound education, but died before he could put his intentions into effect of sending him to Rotterdam to be placed in the counting-house of a Scotch merchant of his acquaintance.

Young Maclaine, the instant his father’s breath was out of his body, proceeded to take possession and to dispose of his father’s substance; and treated with perfect contempt the remonstrances of his friends and relations, and the exhortations of his aunt, who, finding all her entreaties ineffectual, took his only sister into her charge, and left him to pursue what course he pleased.

Thus left to himself, Maclaine forgot altogether the projected Dutch counting-house, and equipping himself in the gayest apparel that part of the country could afford, and purchasing a gelding, set up fine gentleman at once, and in a twelvemonth dissipated almost the whole of his property. During his extravagances, however, his ear had been frequently troubled with the remonstrances of his aunt and his other relations, which at length he found so disagreeable, that he was fain to set out for Dublin without communicating his intention to any one. It was here, it appears, that he first conceived the notion of making his fortune by marriage; and having no disagreeable person, he gratuitously gave himself credit for many more excellencies than, unfortunately, other people could discover in him. The demands for the maintenance of such an appearance as would realize his hopes of a rich marriage, soon swept away the small remainder of his property; and he had now full time to reflect on his folly and vanity, and to regret not a little having despised the advice of his relations, who had for some time turned a deaf ear to his entreaties by letter for a supply of money. But upon them, nevertheless, he felt was now his sole dependence. He had long spent his all--he was an entire stranger to a single individual of worth or substance in the place, and his credit and clothes, even to the last shirt, were gone. Selling his sword, therefore, the last piece of splendor that remained to him, he raised as much as would bear his charges on foot, and with a heavy heart set out to return to Monaghan, his native place.

Not a hand was outstretched to welcome the prodigal home again; his aunt refused to see him, all his other relations followed her example, and the companions of his former riots not only refused him relief, but rendered him the sport and ridicule of the town. His sister, however, sometimes contrived to see him by stealth to give him her pocket money, but that could not long support him. Here, then, he must inevitably have starved, had not a gentleman on his way to England, passing through the town, compassionately offered him the place of a servant who had recently died. Want, and the dread of starving, had by this time entirely banished all unnecessary or superfluous pride, and our young gentleman accepted the offer with joy. But, unhappily, the extreme pressure of want once removed, old thoughts return, old vanities are renewed; and so it was with Mr. Maclaine. His master’s commands, though uniformly softened by good-nature and benevolence, appeared to him as so many insults offered to his birth and breeding; it is no wonder, therefore, that in a few months he was discharged from his service. Depending on his sister, who was about to be married to a man of some wealth, he set out once more for Ireland, to endeavor to obtain enough from his relations to fit him out for America, or the West Indies; but here again he was doomed to disappointment. His sister’s marriage had been broken off--she was unable to do anything for him;--and his other relations, deeming themselves scandalized by his having been a footman, were even less tractable than before, treated him with great indignity, and finally refused all manner of assistance.

Again reduced to starvation, he was obliged to think of service as his only resource. With much difficulty he obtained a situation as butler to a gentleman near Cork, with whom he did not live long, being discharged for some breach of trust. Here he remained for many months out of place, wandering about, without any settled abode or means of subsistence, except occasional remittances from his elder brother, a pastor of the English congregation at the Hague, whose friendly assistance was less relished, because it was accompanied by warm remonstrances on the past, and wholesome advice on the future conduct of his life.

Fortune was at length favorable; his old master, though he refused him a character to another family, generously paid his passage to England, and allowed him, for a limited period after his landing, a shilling a day for subsistence.

Once again on this side of the water, his notions of gentility returned; he scorned being a menial servant; and valuing the _minimum_ of his ambition at a pair of colors, he actually had the impudence to attempt to borrow the purchase money on the bond he had obtained from his master. This absurd scheme failing, he threw up his shilling a day in disgust, and heroically cast himself for support on a celebrated courtesan, a countrywoman of his own, who maintained him for some months in great magnificence, and enabled him to attend the public places with something like splendor.

But having disgusted this lady by his pusillanimous conduct in a rencontre with a certain peer,--who bestowed upon him a severe castigation, and very nearly ran him through the body, though he was much stronger, and as well armed as the nobleman,--he was once more without resources. His grandeur now suffered an eclipse for two or three months, and his last suit had been laid by in lavender, or, in other words, pawned, when he inspired the regard of a lady of quality, the consequence of which was that for five or six months longer he flourished away as an idle fellow in all the public places.

But Maclaine inwardly was not idle. He was extremely anxious for an independent settlement, and the thought of inveigling some woman of fortune by the charms of his person was still uppermost in his mind. Among other schemes to this end, there was none he built so much upon as a very hopeful and grateful plot he had laid for the daughter of his patroness and benefactress, who had a considerable fortune. But the young lady’s waiting-maid, who had either more honesty than abigails in general are furnished with, or had not received the price with which they are usually rewarded, discovered the affair to the old lady, who forthwith dismissed Maclaine from her service: but when, in a few months after, he was much reduced, she privately bestowed upon him fifty pounds in order to fit him out for Jamaica, where he had proposed to go and seek his fortune, and where the lady was willing enough that he should retire, that she might be free from fears on her daughter’s account.

But Maclaine was no sooner possessed of this sum than he forgot his Jamaica expedition, and returned to his favorite scheme of fortune-hunting; for he never could rid himself of the idea that one day or other he should succeed in the main object of his existence. He released, therefore, his best clothes from the durance vile in which they had been plunged, and after various treaties with match-makers and chambermaids, relating to ladies of great reputed fortune, all which treaties ended in disappointment, he reluctantly contracted his ambition, and made suit to the daughter of a considerable innkeeper and dealer in horses, with whom he was fortunate enough to succeed, and whom he married with her parents’ consent and five hundred pounds.

Here it would seem that Maclaine had laid aside all thoughts of the fine gentleman, and had really determined to make the most of his wife’s fortune by industry and diligence. He took a house in Welbeck street, and set up a grocer’s and chandler’s shop; was very obliging to his customers, punctual in his dealings, and while his wife lived, was esteemed by his neighbors a careful and industrious man. However, though at times, and while he was in his shop, he appeared to like his business, yet in parties of pleasure, which he made but too often, and on holydays, he affected the dress of a gentleman, and thus created expenses which only a gradual encroachment on his capital enabled him to meet; insomuch that when his wife died, which was about three years after their marriage, he resolved to leave off business, and converted his furniture and goods into the miserable sum of eighty-five pounds, which, perhaps, with frugality, might have supported him in business, but which was at all times too small a sum for Mr. Maclaine.

His mother-in-law consenting to take charge of his only daughter, and once more in a manner a single man, with his eighty-five pounds in his pocket, again did the desire of appearing the gay fine gentleman obtrude itself upon his mind, and his old project of marrying a rich fortune engrossed all his faculties. For this purpose, Mr. Maclaine, who but a few weeks before was not ashamed to appear in a patched coat, or to carry a halfpenny-worth of coal or sand to his customers, now hired handsome apartments near Soho square, and resumed his laced clothes, and a hat and feather.

But, however unreasonable to others this sudden transition from the grub to the butterfly might appear, Mr. Maclaine had very good private reasons for his actions. It appears that during his wife’s last illness, she had been attended by one Plunket, as a surgeon and apothecary; this Plunket, after the decease of the poor woman, opened his mind to Maclaine, saying, that though the latter had lost a good wife, yet, seeing that she was gone, it was of no use to despond or to repine, particularly as it might eventually turn out the most lucky circumstance in his life. He added at the same time, that if Maclaine would agree to share the fortune with him, he could help him to a lady with ten thousand pounds at least in her own right.

This motion was too agreeable to Mr. Maclaine to be rejected. It is hardly necessary to detail with what zeal this affair was followed up, or how often they flattered themselves with the deceitful prospects of success. The young lady having been taken to Wells, Maclaine followed her, passing for a man of fortune, and in every part of his dress and equipage appearing in that character. Plunket acted as his partner, and was a sort of under agent, while Maclaine himself was ogling, dancing, and flirting with the young lady. But an ill-timed quarrel with an apothecary, one evening, in the public room, placed a quietus upon his hopes for ever; for the disciple of Galen enlisting a “gallant son of Mars” in his quarrel, the latter had the effrontery to kick our adventurer down stairs, declaring publicly that he knew the rascal a footman a few years ago. This statement, which was believed by every body present, amongst whom was his mistress, whose credulity he had ascertained before, and was therefore not in a situation to doubt, compelled him and his footman Plunket to decamp without the ceremony of leave-taking, and, indeed, without any ceremony at all.

Returning to town from this woeful expedition, and examining the state of their cash, these faithful friends discovered that five guineas were the whole that remained,--a sum too little to support them, or to enter into any new project, or to keep up their assumed grandeur. Maclaine now found himself in a worse plight than he had brought himself to for some years past, without any visible hope of a supply, and yet engaged in a mode of life highly expensive, which it went to his heart either to retrench or relinquish. He now thought seriously of embarking for Jamaica, where he hoped to find employment as an accountant, and flattered himself that his person might be turned to account amongst the rich planters’ daughters or widows. But no money was forthcoming for this purpose, nor could he think of any possible scheme whereby it might be raised.

Certainly, never had man less cause to complain of Fortune than Maclaine, and it would seem throughout his life, that she had determined to make his ruin entirely the work of his own hand, and leave him at last utterly without excuse or palliation; for meeting on ’Change with a gentleman, a countryman of his own, to whom he had formerly related his hopes of making a fortune in the manner we have related, he told him his situation at the present moment, adding that he was now undone, that he had spent his all in that unhappy project, and had not wherewithal to subsist on here, or to carry him from a place in which he felt he was cutting a very ridiculous figure. Hereupon the gentleman spoke in his behalf to some others of his countrymen; and as his conduct heretofore, according the notions of the age, had been rather imprudent than vicious, they actually raised sixty guineas to fit him out for Jamaica, which they gave him, promising him letters of recommendation from some merchants of respectability to their own correspondents. Here, then, was a prospect at once opened to him of future happiness and prosperity. Let us see how it terminated.

He had agreed for the passage, paid part of the money in advance, and bespoken some necessaries fitted for the climate, when, unhappily for the infatuated man, he was prompted to go to a masquerade, to take leave, as he said, for the last time, of the bewitching pleasures of London, and to bid a final farewell to this species of enjoyment, which he should have no hope of partaking in the West Indies. He went with the whole of his money in his pocket. The strange appearance of the place and of the company amused him for a while, but the noise of the gamesters drew his attention to the gaming-table, where the quick transition of large sums from one hand to another awakened his avarice, and lulled his prudence asleep. In short, he ventured, and in half an hour had possessed himself of a hundred guineas, with which he resolved, according to their phrase, “to tie up;” but avarice had now attacked him; and after taking a turn or two round the room, he again returned, and in a few minutes was stripped to the last guinea.

It is needless to describe his agony on this occasion. His money gone, his expedition utterly disconcerted, and his friends lost past redemption! What was now to be done?

In this extremity, his evil genius, now in the ascendant, prompted him to send to Plunket to advise with and from that moment his ruin commenced. This was the favorable moment for Plunket. Himself a man of no honor, an utter stranger to all ties or principles of religion or honesty, an old sharper, and a daring fellow into the bargain, this was an opportunity, when his friend was agitated almost to madness, to propose, at first by distant hints, and at last in plain English, going on the highway.

Had he approached him in a calm hour, it is more than probable that his proposal had been rejected with horror; but the former strongly represented the necessity of a speedy supply before his friends could discover that his money was gone, which, he said, would expose him to universal scorn and contempt. A strange infatuation, the dread of shame--the shame of appearing a fool, diminished the horror of being a villain, and decided him to recruit his losses by means the most hazardous and wicked.

Having agreed upon a plan of copartnership, and hired two horses, Plunket furnishing the pistols, for this was not his first entrance upon business of that nature, they set out on the evening after the masquerade, to lie in wait for passengers coming from Smithfield market. They met on Hounslow heath with a grazier, next morning about four o’clock, from whom they took, without opposition, between sixty and seventy pounds.

In this, and other expeditions of the same kind, they wore Venetian masks; but this covering could not stifle conscience in Maclaine, nor animate him into courage. He accompanied Plunket, it is true, and was by at the robbery, but, strictly speaking, had no hand in it; for his fears were so great that he had no power to utter a word, or to draw a pistol. The least resistance on the part of the countryman would have given wings to his heels, and have caused him to leave his more daring accomplice in the lurch.

Even when the robbery was over, and the countryman out of sight, Maclaine’s fears were intolerable. He followed Plunket for some miles without speaking a word; and when they put up at an inn, nearly ten miles from the place of the robbery, he called for a private room, fearful of every shadow, and terrified at every sound. His agonies of mind were so great, that Plunket was fearful that his folly would raise suspicion in the house, and he would fain have persuaded him to return immediately to London; but he would not stir till it was dusk, and then would not appear at the stables from which they had hired the horses, but left the care of them to Plunket.

He was now, by his share of this ill-acquired booty, very nearly reimbursed his losses at the masquerade, and might easily have undertaken his voyage; but he had lost all peace of mind, and was become entirely void of prudence. So great was his dread of a discovery, though Plunket represented the impossibility of it, that he would not stir out of his room for some days, and even then did not think himself safe, but proposed going down to the country for a week or two. Plunket did not oppose his departure, especially as he was to direct the route, and had gotten some intimation of a prize coming that day from St. Alban’s, towards which place they set out. When they had gone a few miles, Plunket imparted to him his design, which Maclaine promised to second, with a great deal of reluctance. When they came within sight of the coach, in which was their expected booty, Maclaine would have persuaded Plunket to desist; but the other turning his qualms of conscience into ridicule, and dropping some hints of cowardice, Maclaine prepared for the attack, crying, “He needs must whom the devil drives. I am over shoes, and must over boots;” but, notwithstanding, conducted himself in so distracted a manner as went nigh to lose them their prey. They took, however, from a gentleman and a lady in the coach two gold watches, and about twenty pounds in money, with which they got clear off; but did not think fit to keep that road any longer, but turned off, and before morning put up at an inn at Richmond, where Maclaine was as much in the horrors as in London; had no rest, no peace of mind, and stayed there two or three days, sulky, sullen, and perplexed as to what course he was to pursue. His wish, however, to be in town in time for the ship’s departure for Jamaica, determined him to return to London in a fortnight, when he found that the ship had sailed two days before,--a disappointment that added to his former perplexity. Nevertheless, having money in his pocket, he contrived to excuse himself to his friends for his untoward absence, and promised, and seriously designed, to set out on the very next opportunity.

But the expensive company he kept in the interim, and further losses at play, once more stripped him of his money; and his evil genius, Plunket, was ever at his elbow, ready to suggest the former method of supply, with which he now complied much less reluctantly than before. The bounds of honor once overstepped, especially when success and security attend the villany, the habit of vice grows strong; and the checks of conscience, gradually less regarded, at length pass without notice. In a word, Maclaine hardened himself by degrees to villany, left the company of his city acquaintance that they might not tease him about his voyage to Jamaica, and took lodgings in St. James street, a place excellently suited to his purpose, for his appearance glanced off all suspicion, and he had a favorable opportunity, when gentlemen came to town, of knowing and watching their motions, and consequently of following and waylaying them on the road.

In the space of six months, he and Plunket, sometimes in company and sometimes separately, committed fifteen or sixteen robberies in Hyde Park, and within twenty miles of London, and obtained some large prizes. But still the money went as it came, for Plunket loved his bottle and intrigue, and Maclaine was doatingly fond of fine clothes, balls, and masquerades, at all which places he made a conspicuous figure. As he still had fortune-hunting in view, he was very assiduous in his attentions to women, and was not altogether unsuccessful; but, we imagine, made sincere return to none but such as had money in their own hands, or could be useful in helping him to an introduction to such as had.

And here it were needless and not productive of much interest to recount several intrigues in which Maclaine was engaged, and it were not a little painful to narrate two instances of wanton seduction on his part, which, were there no other counts in the moral indictment against him, would be sufficient to consign him to eternal infamy.

Mr. Maclaine applied himself also to his old profession of fortune-hunting, and, in company with his old and worthy coadjutor Plunket, made several attempts to entrap heiresses, all of which proved abortive. While he was intent upon these schemes, he had no opportunity of making excursions on the road, and to defray his expenses had borrowed from a citizen’s wife, with whom he had an intrigue, about twenty pounds, which he promised faithfully to repay before her husband should return from the country. The time of the citizen’s arrival being at hand, the good wife became exceedingly curious about the coin; and as a similar favor might be wanted by him at a future time, Mr. Maclaine made it a point of conscience to keep his word with her, and appointed her to come to him at his country lodgings at Chelsea, where he paid her the money. He, however, took care that his friend Plunket should ease her of the trouble of carrying it home, by waylaying her in the Five-fields.

Soon after this, a supply of cash being wanted, Plunket and he prepared for an expedition, and took the road to Chester; and in three days committed five robberies between Stony Stratford and Whitechurch, one of which was upon an intimate acquaintance, by whom Maclaine had been handsomely entertained but two days before. However, the booty in the whole five robberies did not amount to thirty pounds in cash, but they had watches, rings, &c. to a much greater amount. On the very evening of their return to town, they obtained information that an officer in the East India company’s service had received a large sum of money, with which he was about to return to Greenwich. They waylaid and robbed him of a very considerable sum, and it would seem that on this occasion they were under some dread of a discovery; for, in a few days after the commission of it, Maclaine set out for the Hague, and Plunket for Ireland.

On the arrival of the former at the Hague, he pretended a friendly visit to his brother, who received him with cordiality and affection, and as honesty is never suspicious, he was easily induced to give credit to the specious tale which his brother related to him. He told him that he had got a considerable fortune with his late wife, and that her father, who died some few months before, had left him a valuable legacy, with which he designed to purchase a company in the army. Upon that, and the interest of his other funds, he said, he hoped to live at ease for the remainder of his life. His worthy brother, rejoicing in his prosperity, introduced him to his acquaintance and friends, amongst whom Mr. Maclaine behaved with great politeness, giving balls and large parties; to pay for which, it is surmised, he had the art to extract the gold watches and purses of his guests without suspicion.

However, upon his arrival in London, to which place he had been induced to return by a letter from Plunket, informing him of another rich matrimonial prize, which was, as usual, beyond his reach or above his ingenuity to ensnare;--he again appears to have taken up his old thoughts of preparing for Jamaica, as a last resource. But these thoughts did not long possess him; for though by the sale of his horses and furniture he might have fitted himself for the West Indies in a very genteel manner, and had still reputation enough left to have procured sufficient recommendations from home; yet he was prevailed upon to try his fate on the road once more, and was but too successful, making several rich prizes. Amongst the rest he and Plunket robbed Horace Walpole,[3] and on a reward being advertised for the watch which they had taken from him, Plunket had the impudence to go and receive it himself, choosing to run the risk rather than trust a third person with their hazardous secret. But all human prudence is in vain to stop the hand of justice, when once the measure of our iniquity is full; our closest secrets take wind, we know not how; and our own folly acts the part of an informer to awaken offended justice. The crisis of Maclaine’s fate was at hand. It was he who proposed his last excursion to Plunket, who was ill at the time, and was very unwilling to turn out; but Maclaine, impelled by some uncommon impulse, urged him so earnestly, that he at length complied. They came up about two o’clock in the morning, near Turnham Green, with the Salisbury stage-coach, in which five men and a woman were passengers. Though this was Maclaine’s expedition, yet Plunket was the acting man, and obliged all the men to come out of the coach one by one, and rifled them; and then, putting his pistol in his pocket, lest he should frighten the lady, without forcing her out of the coach, he took what she offered without further search. Plunket would now have gone off; but Maclaine, full of his fate, demanded the cloak-bags out of the boot of the coach; each of them took one before him and rode off, bidding a polite adieu to the passengers, and riding as deliberately as though they had been performing some signal service.

On the same morning they met and robbed lord Eglinton, who was the prize for whom they originally went out. They effected this by a stratagem, as his lordship was armed with a blunderbuss. One of them screened himself behind the postboy, so that if his lordship fired he must shoot his servant, while the other with a pistol cocked demanded his money, and ordered him to throw his blunderbuss on the ground. But, it appears, the prize obtained at this hazard was but seven guineas, with which, and the cloak-bags, they returned to Maclaine’s lodgings before the family were up, and divided their spoil.

But though the clothes were described in the public papers, yet so infatuated was Maclaine, that he sold his share of the booty to a salesman, who instantly recognised them as belonging to a Mr. Higden, and the latter immediately had Maclaine taken into custody.

On his first examination he denied the fact, but afterwards, that he might leave himself no room to escape, he formed a design of saving his life by impeaching his accomplice Plunket, foolishly imagining that justice would promise life to a villain she had in custody, for impeaching another that was out of her reach. But “Quem Deus vult perdere priùs demontat,” or, to express a similar sentiment in the words of Massinger,--

“Here is a precedent to teach wicked men,
That when they leave religion and turn atheists
Their own abilities leave ’em.”

For though he was forewarned that a confession, without impeaching a number of accomplices, would not avail him, he still insisted upon taking that step, not from compunction or remorse, but with the base design of saving his own life at the expense of that of his quondam friend.

On his second examination he delivered his confession in writing, and behaved in a most dastardly manner, whimpering and crying like a whipped school-boy. This conduct, degrading as it was, drew sympathetic tears from, and opened the purses of his fair audience, whose bounty supported him in great affluence while he remained in the Gatehouse, and whose kind offers of intercession gave him hopes of a free pardon.

On his trial, he thought fit to retract his confession, pretending that he was flurried, and in some measure delirious, when he made it, and that he had received the clothes from Plunket in payment of a debt. But this evasion had no weight with the jury, who brought him in guilty without going out of court.

On receiving sentence, guilt, shame and dread deprived him of the power of speech, and disabled him from reading a paper, pathetically enough composed, in which he prayed for mercy.

In Newgate, ample time was permitted him to make his peace with his offended Maker, and there is every evidence to believe, from the testimony of the Rev. Dr. Allen, who attended him constantly to the last moment of his life, that his remorse and contrition were unaffected, sincere and strong.

He was carried to Tyburn in a cart, like the rest of the criminals, and not, as was expected, in a coach; he stood the gaze of the multitude (which was on this occasion almost infinite) without the least concern; his thoughts were steadfast in his devotion, and when he was about to be turned off he said, “O God, forgive my enemies, bless my friends, and receive my soul!” His execution took place on Wednesday, October 3, 1750.

FOOTNOTES:

[3] In the very amusing Letters of Horace Walpole to Sir Horace Mann, recently published, we find the following spirited and lively sketch of Maclaine.

“I have been in town for a day or two, and heard no conversation but about M’Laine, a fashionable highwayman, who is just taken, and who robbed me among others; as lord Eglinton, Sir Thomas Robinson of Vienna, Mrs. Talbot, &c. He took an odd booty from the Scotch earl, a blunderbuss, which lies very formidable upon the justice’s table. He was taken by selling a laced waistcoat to a pawnbroker, who happened to carry it to the very man who had just sold the lace. His history is very particular, for he confesses every thing, and is so little of a hero, that he cries and begs, and I believe, if lord Eglinton had been in any luck, might have been robbed of his own blunderbuss. His father was an Irish dean; his brother is a Calvinist minister in great esteem at the Hague. He himself was a grocer, but losing a wife that he loved extremely about two years ago, and by whom he has one little girl, he quitted his business with two hundred pounds in his pocket, which he soon spent, and then took to the road with only one companion, Plunket, a journeyman apothecary, my other friend, whom he has impeached, but who is not taken. M’Laine had a lodging in St. James’ street over against White’s, and another at Chelsea; Plunket one in Jermyn street; and their faces are as known about St. James’ as any gentleman’s who lives in that quarter, and who perhaps goes upon the road too. M’Laine had a quarrel at Putney bowling-green two months ago with an officer, whom he challenged for disputing his crank; but the captain declined, till M’Laine should produce a certificate of his nobility, which he has just received. If he had escaped a month longer, he might have heard of Mr. Chute’s genealogical expertness, and come hither to the College of Arms for a certificate. There was a wardrobe of clothes, three and twenty purses, and the celebrated blunderbuss, found at his lodgings, besides a famous kept mistress. As I conclude he will suffer, and wish him no ill, I don’t care to have his idea, and am almost single in not having been to see him. Lord Mountford, at the head of half White’s, went the first day: his aunt was crying over him: as soon as they were withdrawn, she said to him, knowing they were of White’s, ‘My dear, what did the lords say to you? have you ever been concerned with any of them?’ Was it not admirable? what a favorable idea people must have of White’s!--and what if White’s should not deserve a touch better! But the chief personages who have been to comfort and weep over this fallen hero are lady Caroline Petersham and Miss Ashe: I call them Polly and Lucy, and asked them if he did not sing, ‘Thus I stand like the Turk with his doxies around.’”

EUGENE ARAM.

The accounts of the life of this man have become of late so widely circulated, and the particulars respecting the murder of which he was the perpetrator so generally known, that any notice of him in this work would appear almost supererogatory, were it not that a charge of oversight and omission could, without injustice, be reasonably advanced against it, were we to slight over or leave unmentioned a name so notorious. We shall, therefore, give a summary of his history, commencing with an account of his family and early life, furnished by himself at the request of the two gentlemen who, at his own particular desire, attended him at his condemnation.

“I was born at Ramsgill, a little village in Netherdale, in 1704. My maternal relations had been substantial and reputable in that dale, for a great many generations: my father was of Nottinghamshire, a gardener, of great abilities in botany, and an excellent draughtsman. He served the right reverend bishop of London, Dr. Compton, with great approbation; which occasioned his being recommended to Newby, in this county, to Sir Edward Blackett, whom he served in the capacity of gardener, with much credit to himself, and satisfaction to that family, for above thirty years. Upon the decease of that baronet, he went, and was retained in the service of Sir John Ingilby, of Ripley, Bart., where he died; respected when living, and lamented when dead. My father’s ancestors were of great antiquity and consideration in the county, and originally British. Their surname is local, for they were formerly lords of the town of Haram, or Aram, on the southern banks of the Tees, and opposite to Sockburn, in Bishopric; and appear in the records of St. Mary’s, at York, among many charitable names, early and considerable benefactors to that abbey. They, many centuries ago, removed from these parts, and were settled under the fee of the lords Mowbray, in Nottinghamshire, at Haram or Aram Park, in the neighborhood of Newark upon Trent; where they were possessed of no less than three knights’ fees in the reign of Edward the Third. Their lands, I find not whether by purchase or marriage, came into the hands of the present lord Lexington. While the name existed in the county, some of them were several times high sheriffs for the county; and one was professor of divinity, if I remember right, at Oxford, and died at York. The last of the chief of this family was Thomas Aram, Esq. of Gray’s inn, and one of the commissioners of the salt office, under queen Anne. He married one of the co-heiresses of Sir John Coningsby, of North Mimms, in Hertfordshire. His seat, which was his own estate, was at the Wild, near Shenley, in Hertfordshire, where I saw him, and where he died without issue.

“I was removed very young, along with my mother, to Skelton, near Newby; and thence, at five or six years old, my father making a little purchase at Bondgate, near Ripon, his family went thither. There I went to school; where I was made capable of reading the Testament, which was all I was ever taught, except, a long time after, for about a month, in a very advanced age for that, with the reverend Mr. Alcock, of Burnsal.