He then bade the traveller deliver what he had about him, which proved to be over a hundred guineas, and having realised so much of his widely distributed estate, he made off in search of fresh adventure. He found plenty, before he was finally captured at Dunstable and hanged in June 1747.
"Gentleman Harry" was but a gentleman by the popular recognition accorded his dashing ways; but a real, officially recognised gentleman was at the same time upon the road; no less a personage than Sir Simon Clarke, Bart., who, in company with a certain Lieutenant Arnott, scoured the roads of Hampshire for a brief space. The Baronet was brought to trial at Winchester and convicted, but so impressed were the High Sheriff and the grand jury by the threatened scandal of a Baronet, even though merely a bad one, being hanged, that they petitioned the King on the subject, and Sir Simon Clarke was reprieved sine die, "which," says the contemporary chronicler of these things, "implies for ever."
There was, however, a certain blind fury about the ways of Justice at that time, which in general boded ill for evil-doers. The abstract theory of Justice eliminates the idea of revenge, and capital punishment for all manner of trivial offences was inflicted, less from any real sense of the enormity of the crimes, than with the object of protecting Society. Society could not adequately be protected in those days by the primitive forerunners of our police, and so, when by chance any criminal was captured—and the capturing of them generally was a chance affair—Justice usually made a terrible example of them, by way of warning. It was only as times grew gradually more secure that it was imagined justice could really afford to dispense with these examples, which were fondly thought to be deterrents. Capital punishment was then the best conceivable warning to others not to go and do likewise, and the subsequent exhibition of the criminals' bodies dangling from gibbets was the next best; but the very frequency of these loathsome exhibits rendered men callous and by familiarity blunted the edge of all these practical warnings Society thought itself bound to give, for its own protection.
Private influence and class interests might now and then be powerful enough to procure the reprieve of a highwayman in the mid-eighteenth century, but a due sense of what was owing to the middle classes generally forbade lenient treatment. A pretty face, however, and persistent pleading could produce wonderful results.
There was no sense of humour in justice at that period, as may be clearly seen in the case narrated by Silas Told, the earnest Wesleyan who in 1744 began to thrust himself into the fearful prison atmosphere of Newgate, and to wrestle there with condemned prisoners for their souls, in surroundings of the utmost brutal indifference.
It seems that during the riotous proceedings accompanying the election of a member of Parliament for Chelmsford, four young men of good family had grown so merry with drink that they went out upon the country road and played the dangerous game of highwaymen. In the course of this drunken freak they robbed a farmer, and were recognised and arrested, being afterwards sent to Newgate, tried, and capitally convicted. Their names were Brett, Whalley, Dupree, and Morgan. The last-named happened at the time to be engaged to Lady Elizabeth Hamilton, daughter of the Duke of Hamilton. The young lady was stricken with grief, and frequently visited her unlucky sweetheart in prison, and "Like the importunate widow set forth in the Gospel," says the good Told, "she went daily to His Majesty, as also did others at her request, and pleaded with His Majesty for the life of Mr. Morgan; but at first, His Majesty, considering it a point of injustice as well as partiality, would by no means attend to her plaintive petitions. Another consideration was that they were all persons of dignity and fortune, and could not plead necessity to palliate the enormity of the robbery, as many unhappy sufferers could; therefore His Majesty said his subjects were not to be put in bodily fear and suffer the loss of their property merely through a capricious, wanton whim. However, the morning before the execution, Lady Betty Hamilton appeared before His Majesty and fell upon her knees (I suppose in tears too). 'My lady,' said His Majesty, 'there is no end of your importunity; I will spare his life, upon condition that he be not acquainted therewith till he arrives at the place of execution.'"
In the result, the unfortunate Brett, Whalley, and Dupree, who had not high-born sweethearts to plead for their lives with Royalty, were hanged. Morgan followed in the cart, and the sheriff did not produce the order for respite until it was at the foot of the gallows.
Silas Told describes the actual scene. "'Tis hard," he says, "to express the sudden alarm this made among the multitude; and when I turned round, and saw one of the prisoners out of the cart, with his halter loose, falling to the ground, he having fainted away at the sudden news, I was instantly seized with a great terror, as I thought it was a rescue, rather than a reprieve; but when I beheld Mr. Morgan put into a coach, and perceiving that Lady Betty Hamilton was seated therein, in order to receive him, my fear was at an end, and, truly, I was very well pleased on the occasion."