Upon this confession he was carried before a magistrate, to whom he repeated the same acknowledgment, and was committed to Newgate, tried, condemned, and executed before the house where he perpetrated the horrid deed. In this manner the justice of Heaven pursued this guilty wretch long after he thought himself beyond the reach of punishment. Justice also overtook his family, who were privy to his guilt. Upon the intelligence of his shameful end, his wife immediately became deranged, and continued so to her death. Two of his sons were hanged in Virginia for robbery, and the whole family were soon reduced to beggary.
THOMAS WITHERINGTON.
This person was the son of a worthy gentleman of Carlisle, in the county of Cumberland, who possessed a considerable estate, and brought up his children suitably to his condition. Thomas, the subject of this memoir, received a liberal education, as his father intended that he should live free from the toil and hazard of business. The father dying, Thomas came into possession of the estate, which soon procured him a rich wife, who afterwards proved the chief cause of his ruin. She was loose in her conduct, and violated her matrimonial obligations, which drove him from his house to seek happiness in the tavern, or in the company of abandoned women. These by degrees perverted all the good qualities he possessed; nor was his estate less subject to ruin and decay; for the mortgages he made on it, in order to support his luxury and profusion, soon reduced his circumstances to the lowest ebb. Undisciplined in poverty, how could a man of his late affluent fortune, and unacquainted with business, procure a maintenance? He was possessed of too independent a spirit to stoop either to relations or friends for a precarious subsistence, and to solicit the benevolence of his fellow-men was what his soul abhorred. Starve he could not, and only one way of living presented itself to his choice—levying contributions on the road. This he followed for six or seven years with tolerable success; and we shall now relate a few of his most remarkable adventures.
Upon his first outset he repaired to a friend, and with a grave face lamented his late irregularities, and declared his determination to live by some honest means; but for this purpose he required a little money to assist him in establishing himself, and hoped his friend would find it convenient to accommodate him. His friend was overjoyed at the prospect of his amendment and willingly lent him fifty pounds, with as many blessings and exhortations. But Witherington frustrated the expectations of his friend, and with the money bought himself a horse and other necessaries fit for his future enterprises.
One night he stopped at Keswick in Cumberland, where he met with the dean of Carlisle. Being equally learned, they found each other’s company very agreeable, and Witherington passed himself off for a gentleman who had just returned from the East Indies with a handsome competency, and was returning to his friends at Carlisle, among whom he had a rich uncle, who had lately died and left him sole heir to his estate. “True,” said the dean, “I have often heard of a relation of Mr. Witherington’s being in the East Indies; but his family, I can assure you, have received repeated information of his death, and what prejudice this may have done to your affairs at Carlisle, to-morrow will be the best witness.” The dean then told him his own history, and concluded in these words:—“And I am now informed that, to support his extravagance, Mr. Witherington frequents the road, and takes a purse wherever he can extort it.” Our adventurer seemed greatly hurt at this account of his cousin’s conduct, and thanked the doctor for his information. Being both fond of their bottle, they spent the evening very agreeably, promising to travel together on the following day to Carlisle.
Having arrived at a wood on the road, Witherington rode close up to the dean, and whispered into his ear, “Sir, though the place at which we now are is private enough, yet willing that what I do should be still more private, I take the liberty to acquaint you, that you have something about you that will do me an infinite piece of service.”—“What’s that?” answered the doctor; “you shall have it with all my heart.”—“I thank you for your civility,” said Witherington. “Well then, to be plain, the money in your breeches-pocket will be very serviceable to me at the present moment.”—“Money!” rejoined the doctor; “sir, you cannot want money; your garb and person both tell me you are in no want.”—“Ay, but I am; for the ship in which I came over happened to be wrecked, so that I have lost all I brought from India; and I would not enter Carlisle for the whole world without money in my pocket.”—“Friend, I may urge the same plea, and say I would not go into that city without money for the world; but what then? If you are Mr. Witherington’s nephew, as you pretend to be, you would not thus peremptorily demand money of me, for at Carlisle your friends will supply you; and if you have none now, I will bear your expenses to that place.”—“Sir,” said Witherington, “the question is not whether I have money or not, but concerning that which is in your pocket; for, as you say, my cousin is obliged to take purses on the road, and so am I; so that if I take yours, you may ride to Carlisle, and say that Mr. Witherington met you and demanded your charity.” After a good deal of expostulation, the dean, terrified at the sight of a pistol, delivered to Witherington a purse containing fifty guineas, before he pursued his journey to Carlisle, and our adventurer set off in search of more prey.
Witherington being at Newcastle, put up at an inn where some commissioners were to meet that day, to make choice of a schoolmaster for a neighboring parish. The salary being very handsome, many spruce young clergymen and students appeared as competitors: and, being possessed of sufficient qualifications, Witherington bethought him of standing a candidate, for which purpose he borrowed coarse, plain clothes from the landlord, to make his appearance correspond with the conduct he meant to pursue. Repairing to the kitchen, and sitting down by the fire, he called for a mug of ale, putting on a very dejected countenance. One of the freeholders who came to vote, observing him as he stood warming himself by the fire, was taken with his countenance, and entered into conversation with him. He very modestly let the freeholder know that he had come with the intention of standing a candidate, but when he saw so many gay young men as competitors, and fearing that every thing would be carried by interest, he resolved to return home. “Nay,” replied the honest freeholder, “as long as I have a vote, justice shall be done; and never fear, for egad, I say, merit shall have the place, and if thou be found the best scholar, thou shalt certainly have it; and to show you I am sincere, I now, though you are a stranger to me, promise you my vote, and my interest likewise.” Witherington thanked him for his civility, and consented to wait for the trial. A keen contest took place between two of the most successful candidates, when our adventurer was introduced as a man who had so much modesty as to make him fearful of appearing before so great an assembly, but who nevertheless wished to be examined. He confronted the two opponents, and exposed their ignorance to the trustees, who were all astonished at the stranger. He showed it was not a number of Greek and Latin sentences that constituted a good scholar, but a thorough knowledge of the nature of the book which he read, and the ability to discover the design of the author. Suffice it to say, that Witherington was installed into the office with all the usual formalities.
Conducting himself with much moderation and humility, the churchwardens of the parish took a great fancy to him, and made him overseer and tax-gatherer to the parish; and the rector likewise committed to his care the collection of his rents and tithes. This friendly disposition towards Witherington extended itself over the parish, and never was a man believed to be more honest or industrious. Of the latter qualification, we must say, in this instance, he showed himself possessed; but of the former he had never any notion. His opinion had great weight with the heads of the parish, and he proposed the erection of a new school-house, and for this purpose offered, himself, to sink a year’s salary towards a subscription. It was willingly agreed to, and contributions came in from all quarters, and a sum exceeding 700l. was speedily raised. The mind of Witherington was now big with hope, but, being discovered by two gentlemen who had come from Carlisle, he made off with all the subscriptions and funds in his possession, leaving the parish to reflect upon the honesty of their schoolmaster and their own credulity.
He went to Buckinghamshire, and, being at an inn in the county town, fell into the company of some farmers, who, he discovered, had come to meet their landlord with their rents. They were all tenants of the same proprietor, and poured out many complaints against him for his harshness and injustice, in not allowing some deduction from their rents, or time after quarter-day, when they met with severe losses from bad weather or other causes. He learned that this landlord was very rich, and so miserly that he denied himself even the necessaries of life; our adventurer, therefore, determined, if possible, to rifle him before he parted.
The landlord soon arrived, and the company were shown into a private room; Witherington, upon pretence of being a friend of one of the farmers, and a lawyer, accompanied them. He requested a sight of the last receipts, and examined them with great care, and then addressing the landlord, “Sir,” said he, “these honest men, my friends, have been your tenants for a long time, and have paid their rents very regularly; but why they should be so fond of your farms at so high a rent I am unable to comprehend, when they may get other lands much cheaper; and that you should be so unreasonable as not to allow a reduction in their rents in a season like this, when they must lose instead of gaining by their farms. It is your duty, sir, to encourage them, and not to grind them so unmercifully, else they will soon be obliged to leave your farms altogether.” The landlord endeavored to argue the point; and the farmers seeing the drift of Witherington, refrained from interfering. “It is unnecessary,” resumed Witherington, “to have more parley about it; I insist, on behalf of my friends here, that you remit them a hundred and fifty pounds of the three hundred you expect them to pay you, for I am told you have more than enough to support yourself and family.” “Not a sous,” replied the landlord. “We’ll try that presently. But pray, sir, take your pen, ink, and paper, in the mean time, and write out their receipts, and the money shall be forthcoming immediately.” “Not a letter, till the money is in my hands.” “It must be so, then,” answered Witherington; “you will force a good-natured man to use extremities with you;” and so saying, he laid a brace of loaded pistols on the table. In a moment the landlord was on his knees, crying, “Oh! dear sir, sweet sir, kind sir, merciful sir, for God of Heaven’s sake, sir, don’t take away the life of an innocent man, sir, who never intended harm to any one, sir.” “Why, what harm do I intend you, friend? Cannot I lay the pistols I travel with on the table, but you must throw yourself into this unnecessary fear? Pray, proceed with the receipts, and write them in full of all demands to this time, or else—”—“Oh, God, sir! Oh, dear sir! you have an intention—pray, dear sir, have no intention against my life.” “To the receipts then, or by Jupiter Ammon! I’ll—”—“O yes, I will, sir.” With this the old landlord wrote full receipts, and delivered them to the respective farmers.