Scarcely was William gone, when the doctor’s wife coming home from the market, and going into the room, saw the bed taken down, and came running in a great passion to her husband, exclaiming, “Why, truly, this is a most strange business, that I can never stir out of doors, but you must be making some whimsical alteration or other in the house!”—“What’s the matter,” replied the doctor, “with the woman? Are you beside yourself?”—“No,” said the wife, “but truly you are, in thus altering things as you do, almost every moment!” “Certainly, my dear,” replied the doctor, “you must have been spending your market-penny, or else you would not talk at this rate, as you do, of alterations, when not the smallest have been made since you have gone out.”—“I am not blind, I think,” retorted the wife, “for I am sure the bed is taken out of the two-pair-of-stairs back room; and pray, husband, where do you design to put it now?” The doctor and his son then went up-stairs, and not only found that the bed was stolen, but that they had assisted the thief to carry it off.
Our hero next resolved to try his fortune upon the highway, and meeting with a sharper on the road, commanded him to “stand and deliver!” He robbed him of two pence half-penny, when the sharper remarked, that “the world was come indeed to a very sad pass, when one rogue must prey upon another.”
He next robbed a man of twelve shillings and a pair of silver buckles. From thence he proceeded to rifle a stage-coach, and took away some money and a silver watch. Not long after, he robbed Mr. Dashwood and his lady of a gold watch and money.
These, however, were only smaller exhibitions of his dexterity. One evening, well mounted, he passed through Richmond, and perceiving a gentleman walking in his gardens, inquired of the gardener if he might be permitted to view the gardens, of which he had heard so much.
The gardener, well acquainted with the harmless vanity and benevolence of his master, granted his request. Giving his horse to the gardener, Gettings walked forward, and in a very respectful manner accosted the gentleman, who received him very courteously; when, sitting down together in an arbor, Gettings said, “Your worship has got a fine diamond ring upon your finger.”—“Yes,” replied the owner, “it ought to be a very fine one, for it cost me a very fine price.”—“Why, then,” said Gettings, “it is the fitter to bestow on a friend; therefore, if your worship pleases, I must make bold to take it and wear it for your sake.” The gentleman stared at his impudence, but Gettings presenting a pistol, made a short process of the matter. Having taken the ring, the villain added, “I am sure you do not go without a good watch too.” Making free with that also, and some guineas, he bound the gentleman, and went off with his booty, after requesting him to be patient, and he would send some person to set him at liberty. When he came to the gate, he gave the gardener a shilling, informing him that Sir James wanted to speak to him. The botanical retainer accordingly went and untied his master, who with a grim smile returned him thanks for sending a man into his own garden to rob him.
Upon another day, Gettings undertook a long journey, for the express purpose of robbing the house of a friend; and being well acquainted with all parts of the house, was successful, and brought off money, plate, and goods, to a considerable amount. He at last, in an unlucky moment, robbed a Mr. Harrison of four guineas, some silver, and a watch; and being detected, was tried, condemned, and executed, on the 25th September, 1713, in the twenty-second year of his age.
NED BONNET.
Edward Bonnet was born of respectable parents in the isle of Ely, in Cambridgeshire, received an education superior to many of his companions, and when he was only ten years old, gave the following proof of his promising genius. He was sent to the parson with the present of a sparerib of pork, wrapped up in a cloth in a basket. Ned knocked with some degree of importance at the door, which a servant answered, inquiring his business. “I want to speak with your master.” The master came. “Well, my dear, what is your business?” “Why, only my father has sent you this,” said young Ned; and gave him the basket, without moving his hat. “O fie! fie! child, have you no manners? you should pull off your hat, and say,—Sir, my father gives his service to you, and desires you to accept this small token. Come, go you out again with the basket, and knock at the door, and I’ll let you in, and see how prettily you can perform it.” The parson waited within until his impatience to receive and examine the contents of the basket incited him to open the door. But Ned was at a considerable distance, walking off with the present. “So ho! so ho, sirrah! where are you going?” “Home, sir,” replied Ned, in an equally loud voice. “Hey, but you must come back and do as I bade you first.” “Thank you for that, sir, I know better than that; and if you teach me manners, I’ll teach you wit.” The father smiled at the story, and retained his sparerib.
At the age of fifteen, Bonnet was sent apprentice to a grocer, served his time with credit, was afterwards married to a young woman in the neighborhood, and continued in business until he had acquired about six hundred pounds. Unfortunately, however, he was reduced to poverty by an accidental fire. Unable to answer the pressing demands of his creditors, he left the place, and came up to London. Here he soon became acquainted with a band of highwaymen, and began with them to seek from the highway what had been lost by fire.
Nor did he long continue in the inferior walks of his new profession, but providing himself with a horse which he taught to leap over ditch, hedge, or toll-bar, and to know all the roads in the country, whether by day or by night, he quickly became the terror of Cambridgeshire.