As it happened, they pitched upon the wrong horse, and got only a load of calamancoes, fabrics woven of wool with an admixture of silk, popular in those times; but the pack contained over a thousand yards, and they cut it off after some difficulty in the dark, and got away safely with it; although greatly alarmed by the horse's loud neighing when he found himself separated from his companions.
The robbers went off at once out of the neighbourhood, and that same night reached a village near Whitchurch, eighteen or twenty miles distant. There they obliterated all distinguishing marks on the goods, and divided them.
At Grantham, which Poulter and Tobin next favoured with a visit, they relieved a credulous farmer of fifteen guineas by the "pricking in the belt" device. At Nottingham several of the accomplices met, but they had bad luck, and Poulter went on the sneak and stole a silver tankard, without a lid, from the "Blackamoor's Head" inn: and that was all the scurvy town of Nottingham yielded them. They then made for Yorkshire, where they remained for a considerable period, and then left, only because their widespread thefts of all kinds made a continued stay dangerous. York, Durham, and the north, including Newcastle, comprised a tour then undertaken.
They then made their way to Bath, the general rendezvous of the gang, and thence in what Poulter calls "three sets," or gangs, moved independently and by easy stages into Devonshire: attending the cattle-fair at Sampford Peverell, with marked success to themselves, and grievous loss to the farmers and graziers there assembled. Thence they moved on to Torrington and Exeter, and so back again to Bath, where twelve of them met at Roberts's house.
Poulter and two confederates named Elgar and Allen then went into the north of England again, attending fairs, horse-races and cock-fighting matches on the sharping lay; winning about £30 or £40 at cards. Returning to Bath, and being looked upon with suspicion, living as they were with a number of riotous men in Roberts's house, they hit upon the dodge of passing for smugglers, and thus at once explaining their association and enlisting public sympathy. Every one, except the Revenue officers, was in those times well-affected towards smugglers.
They were not only at considerable pains, but at great expense also, to create this impression. "We used," says Poulter, in his confessions, "to give seven shillings a pound for tea, and sell it again for four shillings and sixpence, on purpose to make people believe we were smugglers."
While they were thus staying at Bath, they would go now and then to a fair, and try "the nob," or "pricking in the belt." If that did not succeed, they would buy a horse or two, give IOU's for the money and false addresses, and then sell the horses again. "This," says Poulter, "is called 'masoning.'"
This was followed by a raid into Dorset. A visit of the gang to Blandford races was highly successful. They attended numerously, and while some robbed the booths, others devoted their attention to the sportsmen, and yet others lightened the pockets of the crowds engrossed in watching the cock-fighting. They wound up a glorious day by dining in style at the "Rose and Crown," and there chanced upon the best luck of all those gorgeous hours: finding a portmanteau from which they took eighteen guineas, four broad pieces, and diamonds, jewels, and clothes to a great amount. Many of these articles were taken to London by Poulter, and sold there to Jews in Duke's Place, Aldgate, on behalf of self and partners. The proceeds were duly divided at Roberts's house at Bath.
The next activities of these busy rogues were at Corsham, near Bath. They then appeared at Farringdon in Berkshire, and there robbed the Coventry carrier. Newbury and Bristol then suffered from them. At last, they grew so notorious in the West of England that they judged it only prudent to alter their methods for a time, and to devote themselves exclusively to horse-stealing: an art they had not hitherto practised with any frequency.
An amusing incident was that in which Poulter robbed a man of £20. The foolish fellow, an utter stranger, had been rash enough to display his money to Roberts one night in a country alehouse. It had just been paid to him, he said. "And it will presently be taken from you," Roberts might truly have retorted. But he merely in a sly manner drew Poulter's attention, who later followed the man and presenting a metal tinder-box to his head, roared out, "Your money or your life." The tinder-box in the darkness looked so like a pistol that the money was meekly handed over.