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. [P. 99].
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 60l. 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.