These frequent and daring burglaries induced his majesty to offer a pardon to any one of the criminals who had been concerned in entering the house of Mr. Lawrence, and committing such atrocities on the evening of the 4th of February; and further, a reward of fifty pounds to every person who should be instrumental in the discovery of any of the offenders.
Notwithstanding which, on the 7th of February the party again met by appointment, having fixed upon the White Hart in Drury-lane, as the best place whereat to concert future depredations. Accordingly, they agreed upon making an attempt to rob Mr. Francis, a large farmer near Mary-le-bone, at whose house they arrived shortly after seven. The details of this outrage are much the same as the previous robberies in which they were engaged. They succeeded in obtaining thirty-seven guineas and ten pounds in silver, a quantity of jewels and linen, and the unfortunate Mr. Francis’ wig, all of which they carried off; not forgetting the latter, the value of which, excepting to the owner, we are quite at a loss to conceive.
They also formed a design to rob the house of a country justice, and with that intention met at a public house near Leigh. Not rightly knowing, however, the way into the jolly justice’s domicile, they concealed themselves under some furze bushes; but while they were thus lying perdue there, they heard several persons riding along together, who happened to be some of the neighboring farmers returning from the table of the rustic Rhadamanthus in a state of noisy mirth, induced, doubtless, by the genial fumes of the justice’s wines; and by their conversation it was plain that there were others still remaining there, who, dreading neither riotous spouses nor the midnight bottle, might probably have determined with wine and song to “out-watch the bear;” they, therefore, deemed it advisable not to attempt it that night, and adjourned accordingly their attack to some more promising period, which so far proved of advantage to them, that it thereby prevented their being taken, as otherwise they unavoidably would have been; for they had been observed by some of the neighborhood, and being suspected as smugglers, information was given to the custom-house, and a party of dragoons sent out after them, whom they met; when after a strict search, nothing having been found upon them, they were suffered to pass. Thus the jolly justice escaped.
The daring robberies of these men at length roused the country, and one of the king’s keepers waited on the duke of Newcastle, and obtained his majesty’s promise of a reward of one hundred pounds to him who should be fortunate enough to apprehend any of them. This made them lie a little more concealed; but some of the keepers and others receiving intelligence that they were regaling themselves at an alehouse in Westminster, they pursued them there, and bursting open the door, took three, after a stout resistance; two of whom, the third turning evidence against them, were hanged in chains accordingly. Turpin, however, made his escape by leaping from a window.
The gang thus broke up, and Turpin, quite left to himself, made a determination never to command another, but to go altogether upon his own bottom; and with this view he set out for Cambridge, as he was not known in that county.
Notwithstanding this resolve, the following strange encounter provided him with his best companion (as he would call him) before he reached his journey’s end. King, the highwayman, who had been towards Cambridge on professional business, was returning to town. Turpin seeing him well mounted, and bearing the appearance of a gentleman, thought it was an excellent opportunity to recruit his pockets, and accordingly, with a loud voice, commanded King to stand. King, enjoying the joke, though at the ugly prospect of a bullet through his head if he carried the jest too far, assumed all the conduct of a person so unceremoniously addressed. “Deliver!” shouted Turpin, “or by —— I’ll let daylight through you.” “What,” said King, laughing heartily, “what! dog eat dog! Come, come! brother Turpin, if you don’t know me, I know you, and should be glad of your company.” After mutual assurances of fidelity to one another, and that nothing should part them till death, they agreed to go together upon some exploit, and met with a small booty that very day; after which they continued together, committing divers robberies, for nearly three years, when King was accidentally shot.
King being very well known about the country, as likewise was Turpin, insomuch that no house would entertain them, they formed the idea of dwelling in a cave, and to that end pitched upon a place enclosed with a large thicket, between Loughton Road and King’s-Oak-Road; here they made a place large enough to receive them and two horses, and while they lay concealed there, they could see, through several holes purposely made, what passengers went by on either road, and as they thought proper sallied out and robbed them. This they did in such a daring manner and so frequently, that it was not safe for any person to travel that way, and the very higglers were obliged to go armed. In this cave they drank and lay; Turpin’s wife supplied them with food, and frequently remained in the place all night with them.
From the forest, King and Turpin once took a ride to Bungay in Suffolk, where the latter had seen two young market-women receive thirteen or fourteen pounds, and was determined to rob them of it. King attempted to dissuade him from it, saying, they were pretty girls, and he would never be engaged in an attempt to deprive two hard-working women of their little gains. Turpin, however, persisted, and coming up with them, relieved them of the burden of their coin, which exploit occasioned a dispute between them.
As they were returning they robbed a gentleman, who was taking an airing in his chariot, with his two children. King first attacked him, but found him so powerful and determined a person, returning such sound replies in the shape of blows to poor King’s civilities, that he was fain to call upon his companion for assistance. Their united strength at last overcame him, and they took from him all the money he had about him, and then demanded his watch, which he declined on any account to part with; but one of the children became frightened, and persuaded its father to let them have it. They then insisted upon taking a mourning ring which they observed he wore, and an objection was raised on his part, even to that proposition. Finding, however, it was useless to oppose them, he at length resigned it, telling them it was not worth eighteen pence, but that he much valued it: upon which information they returned it to him, saying they were too much of gentlemen to take any thing which another valued so much.
About this time the reward offered for the apprehension of Turpin had induced several poor, but resolute men, to make an attempt to get him into their power. Among the rest a man, groom to a Mr. Thompson, tempted by the placard setting forth the golden return in the event of success, connected himself with a higgler to ward off suspicion, and commenced his search. Turpin one day standing by himself in the neighborhood of his cave, observed some one who, he supposed, was poaching for hares, and saluted him with, “No hares near this thicket; it’s of no use seeking, you’ll not find any.”—“Perhaps I shall a Turpin, though,” replied the fellow, and levelled his piece at him. Seeing his danger, Turpin commenced a parley, retreating at the same time by degrees towards his cave, the groom following him with his gun presented. “I surrender,” said Turpin, when he reached the mouth of the cavern, and the man dropping the point of his piece, the former seized his carbine, and shot him dead on the spot. Turpin instantly made off to another part of the country, in search of King, and sent his wife a letter to meet him at a certain public house, at which, in a few days, inquiring for her under a feigned name, he found she was awaiting his appearance. The kitchen where she was happened to be at the back through a public room, where some farmers and others were regaling themselves. On passing through, a butcher, to whom he owed five pounds, recognised him, and taking him aside, said, “I know you have money now, Dick; if you’d pay me, it would be of great service.”—“My wife has certainly money to some amount,” replied Turpin, with a most unmoved countenance; “she is in the next place; I’ll get it of her, and pay you presently.” When Turpin was gone, the butcher apprized the company who he was, and added, “I’ll just get my five pounds of him, and then we’ll take him.” Turpin, however, was not to be so caught, and instead of going to his wife, leaped out of the next window, took horse, and was off in an instant, much to the discomfiture of the knight of the cleaver and the assembled company, who doubtless had calculated most correctly the proportion of the reward that would be due to each by virtue of the king’s signet.