THE
C H R O N I C L E S O F C R I M E.

THE
CHRONICLES OF CRIME;
OR,
The New Newgate Calendar.
BEING
A SERIES OF MEMOIRS AND ANECDOTES
OF
NOTORIOUS CHARACTERS
WHO HAVE OUTRAGED THE LAWS OF GREAT BRITAIN FROM THE EARLIEST
PERIOD TO 1841.

COMPRISING

INCLUDING
A NUMBER OF CURIOUS CASES NEVER BEFORE PUBLISHED.
EMBELLISHED WITH FIFTY-TWO ENGRAVINGS,
FROM ORIGINAL DRAWINGS BY “PHIZ.”
BY CAMDEN PELHAM, ESQ.,
OF THE INNER TEMPLE, BARRISTER-AT-LAW.
VOL. II
LONDON:
T. MILES & CO., 95, UPPER STREET.
1891.

CONTENTS.

Note.—The offence mentioned opposite to each name is that alleged against the person charged.

T H E
C H R O N I C L E S O F C R I M E,
OR,
THE NEW NEWGATE CALENDAR.

THOMAS BROCK, JOHN PELHAM, AND MICHAEL POWER,
CONVICTED OF COINING.

IN the year 1816, when Sir Matthew Wood was lord mayor of London, several conspiracies of a most diabolical nature were detected, and some of the conspirators punished. The conduct of the chief magistrate was such as to do honour not only to his understanding and ability, but to his disinterestedness and humanity.

The legislature, with the intention of stimulating the exertions of police-officers, and inducing others to give information, had awarded certain rewards to the parties who should contribute to the conviction of offenders against the laws. The object was laudable, but it was capable of great perversion, and was liable to many objections; it gave the prosecutor an interest in the conviction of the accused, and on that account tended to impress the public with the belief that the condemnation, and not the acquittal of the prisoner, was the object of our criminal laws. It was too true that “blood money,” as this species of remuneration was emphatically denominated, did contribute in reality to the evil we allude to. But had not a development of unparalleled villany put scepticism to flight, we could not have brought ourselves to believe that those who were paid to detect crime should be found the most active in seducing innocence and youth to its commission. Yet it is an indubitable fact that, for ten years preceding 1816, victims were brought up, session after session, to be convicted of crimes to which they were seduced by the very men who gave evidence against them, that they might revel on the “blood money,” or make use of it to provide other victims for the law. Several of those connected with the police-offices, particularly the patroles, were detected in this traffic of blood;[A] but only one officer of any note, named Vaughan, was convicted of this most atrocious crime.

[A] The following were the parliamentary rewards for the conviction of felons:—

1. By 4 W. & Mary, cap. 8, forty pounds on the conviction of every highwayman.

2. By 6 & 7 Wm. III. cap. 17, forty pounds upon the conviction of every person who had counterfeited the coin, or clipped &c. the same, or had brought into the kingdom clipped coin, &c.

3. By 5 Anne, cap. 31, forty pounds on conviction of every burglar or housebreaker.

4. By 14 Geo. II. cap. 6, ten pounds on the conviction of every sheep-stealer, &c.

5. By 15 Geo. II. cap 28, forty pounds for conviction of any person of treason or felony relating to the coin, upon this Act; and ten pounds on conviction of counterfeiting copper money.

6. By 16 Geo. II. cap. 15, twenty pounds upon conviction of a person returning from transportation before the expiration of his term.

The discovery of this diabolical system took place in the course of the trial of three men named Quin, Riorton, and Connolly; it appears that these unfortunate beings were detected in fabricating base shillings and bank tokens, and being brought to trial, they were convicted. During the examination of the witnesses for the prosecution, however, whose names appear at the head of this article, some circumstances came out, which induced a suspicion in the mind of the lord mayor that the prosecutors were in some way mixed up with the guilt of the prisoners. An investigation in consequence took place; but the convicts, on being confronted with their accusers, refused to say anything against them, saying that they were “under an oath.” They were Irishmen and Catholics, and the rigid observance which they pay to an oath is well known; but a priest having at length persuaded them that they were not bound by such an oath administered unlawfully, they disclosed the whole particulars of the plot, and their accusers were in consequence secured.

The three new prisoners were then indicted for their participation in the crime of their dupes, which amounted to high treason; and at the session held on the 25th of September 1816, were brought to trial at the Old Bailey.

A man named Barry then swore that Pelham had applied to him to get some men to make bad shillings, which Power, it was said, could colour. Barry said they must go to the market for them, which was in Cheapside, at the corner of King-street, where poor Irishmen were waiting for employment. Some days after he went with Brock and Power to the market, when Quin and Riorton were engaged by them. Being told they could not be employed unless they would be sworn to secrecy, they took an oath on a piece of paper. A room was hired, and tools procured by the prisoners, and the poor Irishmen were set to work to cut brass into the form of shillings, &c. under the superintendence of Power. Connolly was sent for to assist. He said to Barry, in Irish, “We are doing a job that will hang us all,” to which he replied that if he thought so he would not work another day at it. The Irishmen were then employed in colouring the metal, and everything being in readiness, notice was given, the officers entered, and the Irishmen were seized, tried, and found guilty.

Pelham’s landlady proved that the scissars used by the Irishmen in cutting through brass had been procured by her at Pelham’s request; another woman also swore that the hammer and files taken in the coining room had been sold by her to Brock and Pelham.

Brock, in his defence, declared his innocence. Power denied either going to the market or the room; and Pelham said the Barrys were noted perjurers, and the women were false witnesses.

The jury, without hesitation, however, brought in a verdict of Guilty, and the prisoners were transported.

The three Irishmen were then pardoned; and the lord mayor having interested himself in their behalf, a subscription was opened, and they were enabled to return to their own country, and there to purchase small farms.

GEORGE VAUGHAN, ROBERT MACKEY, AND GEORGE BROWN.
CONVICTED OF A CONSPIRACY.

WHILE the lord mayor was detecting the “men of blood” in the city, the magistrates at Bow-street were not less meritoriously employed in tracing similar crimes to a police-officer, named Vaughan, and several others not immediately employed by the magistrates, but who were well known as loungers about the different offices. Several of these atrocious wretches were apprehended, and many revolting circumstances disclosed.

George Vaughan, Robert Mackey, and George Brown, were tried at the Middlesex sessions, on the 21st of September 1816, on a charge of conspiring to induce William Hurley, Michael Hurley, William Sanderson, William Wood, aged thirteen, and Dennis Hurley, to commit a burglary in the house of Mrs. M‘Donald, at Hoxton; and, by having them convicted of the fact, thereby procure for themselves the rewards given by parliament for the conviction of housebreakers.

The case was clearly proved against the prisoners; and it appeared that through the instrumentality of one Drake, who had been an acting lieutenant in the navy, the dupes were employed to commit the burglary, and that on their proceeding to Mrs. M‘Donald’s house, the three prisoners came up and took them into custody.

The prisoners being found guilty were sentenced to five years’ imprisonment in the house of correction, and ordered at the conclusion of that time to find security for their future good behaviour. Vaughan was tried on a subsequent day for a robbery in the house of one James Poole, on the 16th of December 1815, and being found guilty was sentenced to be transported.

JOHN CASHMAN
EXECUTED FOR A FELONY COMMITTED AT THE SPAFIELDS’ RIOTS.

ON the cessation of the protracted war which consigned Buonaparte to St. Helena, Great Britain found herself subject to those temporary domestic difficulties which always succeed a sudden return from hostility to peace. The revulsion was felt by nearly every individual in the kingdom; agriculture, trade, and commerce became, for the instant, almost torpid, and thousands of the labouring classes were thrown out of employment.

In this moment of paramount distress, the evil-minded and the designing, taking advantage of the disposition of the people, and urged by personal considerations, continued those attacks upon the ministry of the country which they had hitherto made without that success which they required, and the people, whose attention was now withdrawn from the object which had hitherto served to keep their minds occupied, were easily led away and persuaded that the dangers and difficulties which appeared to exist were the result of bad management only, and were of a nature likely to be permanent, and most injurious to their well-being. The existence of the evil was attributed to some defects which were pointed out in the representative system; and as this was considered to be the root of the evil, the name of radical (from radix, the Latin word for a root) was given to the persons who espoused these new opinions. The party in itself, both as regarded reputation and numbers, was contemptible to a degree, and the names of a few only who were its leaders will be handed to posterity. Thistlewood, Watson, and Hunt, were the most notorious of these agitators, who, as it will hereafter appear, met with very different fates. Thistlewood was hanged; Watson escaped to America; Hunt, by a most extraordinary circumstance, eventually became a member of parliament.

Englishmen have an undoubted privilege of assembling for the purpose of declaring their grievances and soliciting redress, whether from the sovereign or the parliament, and this liberty afforded the demagogues a good opportunity for inflaming the passions of the deluded, and disseminating their own pernicious opinions. Meetings were held in various parts of the kingdom for the ostensible purpose of petitioning for parliamentary reform, and the metropolis followed the example. When we come to the case of Watson and Thistlewood, we shall enter fully into the atrocious scheme of those who devised many of these meetings, but at present it is necessary to confine ourselves to a detail of facts, which will serve as an illustration of what is to follow.

The first meeting, which may be called the preliminary to the riot, took place November the 15th, 1816, in the Spafields, then a wild uninclosed space. A flag was unfurled bearing the following words:—“Nature to feed the hungry—truth to protect the oppressed—justice to punish offenders.” Hunt attended in consequence of an invitation, and some violent speeches having been made, he was deputed to carry a petition to the Prince Regent. This meeting dissolved, after having passed a resolution to meet at the same place on the 2nd of December, to receive the answer to the petition; but the circulation of some addresses proved that the object of the meeting was not of that peaceful nature which its promoters pretended to ascribe to it. On the day appointed, soon after twelve o’clock, the assemblage of the mob commenced, and in less than half-an-hour about 5000 persons had collected round a party supporting tri-coloured flags, and a banner bearing the inscription—“The brave soldiers are our brothers; treat them kindly,” who had placed themselves within about thirty yards of the field next to Coldbath-fields’ Prison. A cart was found to have been placed on this spot, and in a short time Dr. Watson, his son, and a Mr. Hooper, all carrying tri-coloured cockades in their hats, ascended this rostrum, and were hailed with loud cheers. The doctor and his son then addressed the meeting in most inflammatory speeches; and the latter having wound himself up to a pitch of the most ungovernable fury, called upon the people to follow him, and jumping from his elevated position, he rushed, pistol in hand, at the head of the mob, towards Clerkenwell. The people were under the impression that he was going to lead them to the Mansion-house; but a cry of “Arms” being set up in Smithfield, they rushed down Snow Hill to the shop of Mr. Beckwith, a gun-maker. Young Watson, with five of his followers, immediately entered the shop, the former exclaiming, “Arms, arms, I want arms!” and a Mr. Platt, who was at the door, attempting to arrest his progress, he deliberately shot at him, and wounded him, and then endeavoured to knock him down with the but-end of his weapon. A struggle took place, in which the pistol fell to the ground, and Watson being pushed into the counting-house, and charged by Mr. Platt with having shot him, he cried out, apparently in much alarm, “I am a misled young man—I have been at Spafields—send for a surgeon,—I am a surgeon myself,” and immediately set about dressing the wound in a manner which exhibited his ability to afford the aid which he proffered. A surgeon was, however, procured, and during a quarter of an hour, for which he remained in the counting-house, he repeatedly cried out that he was a misled young man. The mob at first had been under the impression that their leader was killed, and on the report of the pistol, many of them fled, but having caught sight of him in the shop they demanded that he should be restored to liberty. Measures were now taken to secure his person, but the mob being infuriated at his long detention, they burst into the house, and having compelled its inmates to fly for safety, and set their leader at liberty, they proceeded to ransack the premises for arms. Having procured all that the establishment contained, they marched under the guidance of their leader to the Tower, and then while young Watson endeavoured to win the soldiers from their allegiance, by assuring them of the good feeling which prevailed towards them on the part of the people, and that they should receive 100 guineas per man if they would join them, the mob continued to scour the neighbourhood in search of arms. While, however, the great body of the rioters had thus followed in the steps of their leader, others pursued a different direction, and taking St. Giles, St. Clement’s, and the Strand, in their march, despoiled every shop which they approached of such articles as they deemed might be useful to them. The irruption was so sudden, that the means of opposing the proceedings of the rioters could not speedily be obtained. The lord mayor, Sir Matthew Wood, showed great determination; and notwithstanding the most violent proceedings on the part of these fellows, he and Sir James Shaw, the chamberlain, succeeded in securing three of the insurgents, who had entered the Royal Exchange and who were armed with guns.

The military at length appeared, and many of the rioters were secured, while the others, having thrown away their arms, quickly disappeared. Young Watson, however, was nowhere to be found; and it appears that immediately after he quitted the Tower, being alarmed at his position, he hastily returned to his lodgings, and possessing himself of some papers and other articles he went to a public-house in Fetter-lane, where he found his father and Thistlewood. The trio considered themselves as being likely to be taken into custody, and they in consequence quitted London for Northampton immediately. On their arriving at Highgate, however, they were seized on suspicion of being footpads, but a scuffle taking place, the elder Watson alone remained in the hands of their assailants, while his companions effected their escape. Young Watson had the good fortune to reach London again in safety, and his friends having provided him with the means, he sailed directly for America.

Several of the rioters were brought to trial, but John Cashman, a sailor, alone was capitally convicted and punished. There can be no doubt as to the justice of the sentence and punishment inflicted on this man; but it is also equally clear that while he was indubitably guilty of a most gross offence, others were even more culpable, inasmuch as they were actuated by deliberate motives of mischief, while he was goaded on by hunger and misery; and besides, as many believed, was occasionally in some degree affected by symptoms of insanity. It appears that Cashman was one of the most active of the rioters who attacked and demolished Mr. Beckwith’s shop in Skinner-street. Several persons deposed that he frequently brought out bundles of fire-arms and distributed them among the mob in the street, and he was actually apprehended with one of Mr. Beckwith’s guns in his hand, at the Royal Exchange, being one of those seized by the lord-mayor.

For this offence Cashman, with four others, was brought to trial at the Old Bailey, January 20th 1817. The indictment did not charge them with any species of treason, being confined to capital felony only, for stealing the fire-arms, &c., stated to be considerably above the value of two hundred and fifty pounds. The names of the four others were,—John Hooper, R. Gamble, William Gunnell, and John Carpenter. Two of these were apprehended at the same time as Cashman, and under similar circumstances, and the evidence against them all went to implicate them in the crime of felony; but the jury, to the apparent astonishment of the court, acquitted all but Cashman, who was found guilty and sentenced to death.

When asked what he had to say why sentence of death should not be passed on him, he addressed the court as follows:—

“My lord—I hope you will excuse a poor friendless sailor for occupying your time. Had I died fighting the battles of my country, I should have gloried in it; but I confess that it grieves me to think of suffering like a robber, when I call God to witness that I have passed days together without a bit of bread rather than violate the laws. I have served my king for many years, and often fought for my country; I have received nine wounds in the service, and have never before been charged with any offence. I have been at sea all my life, and my father was killed on board the Diana frigate. I came to London, my lord, to endeavour to recover my pay and prize-money, but being unsuccessful I was reduced to the greatest distress; and being poor and penniless, I have not been able to bring witnesses to prove my innocence, or to acquaint my brave officers, or I am sure they would all have come forward on my behalf. The gentlemen who have sworn against me must have mistaken me for some other person, there being many sailors in the mob; but I freely forgive them, and I hope God will also forgive them, for I solemnly declare that I committed no act of violence.”

Wednesday morning, March the 12th 1817, was the time appointed for the execution of this unfortunate man, and to make the dreadful ceremony as awfully impressive as possible, it was ordered that he should suffer in front of Mr. Beckwith’s shop, where the crime for which his life was forfeited had been committed.

After conviction, the unhappy man stated that on the day of the riots he had been to the Admiralty to endeavour to procure the payment of 200l., to which he was entitled for prize-money, and that on his way home he was persuaded by a brother sailor to go to Spafields. On their way they drank a great deal of liquor, and having had but little food during the two preceding days, it had a great effect upon him. He expressed a desire that his prize-money should be given to his brother and mother.

On the morning of the execution great precautions were taken to prevent any disturbance, and troops and constables were placed throughout London to quell any appearance of riot. At eight o’clock Cashman was brought from his cell, and he appeared perfectly composed, but exhibited a great deal of levity. As he passed through the Press Yard, he exclaimed with an oath, that he wished a forty-four pounder would come and cut him in two, rather than he should go into Jack Ketch’s hands.

On his leaving the prison, he bid every one good-bye whom he met, and exhibited great want of feeling. When he arrived at the scaffold the mob expressed great indignation by groans, and hisses, in which he joined; and the executioner having at length completed his preparations, the drop fell in the midst of his abusive exclamations.

JAMES WATSON THE ELDER, JAMES WATSON THE YOUNGER, ARTHUR THISTLEWOOD,
THOMAS PRESTON, AND JOHN HOOPER.
INDICTED FOR HIGH TREASON.

AFTER the military had dispersed the rioters on the 2nd of December 1816, Dr. Watson, his son, and Thistlewood, quitted London in haste, and were pursuing their journey into the country when the patrole stopped them at Highgate on suspicion of their being highwaymen; what helped to confirm this opinion was, the circumstance of a pistol protruding itself from Dr. Watson’s breast, in consequence of which he made him prisoner, but with considerable difficulty; and in the squabble which ensued, the younger Watson and Thistlewood made their escape. Some people coming out of a public-house at this instant, the doctor was given in charge to them, while the patrole went in pursuit of the fugitives. During his absence the doctor made an unsuccessful effort to regain his freedom, and in the struggle stabbed one of his detainers with a cane-sword.

For this offence or accident, Dr. Watson was indicted at the Old Bailey on Tuesday, January the 21st 1817, charged under the cutting and maiming act; but the counsel for the prosecution having stated the case, the judge who presided suggested the necessity of stopping it, as the indictment could not be supported.

The doctor was acquitted, but not liberated, for a charge of great magnitude was suspended over his head, which, at length, descended in the form of an accusation for high-treason.

The government had received information of a formidable and dangerous conspiracy, in which Dr. Watson and others were stated to be deeply implicated, and the parties were in consequence apprehended, and with the doctor were committed to the Tower.

A bill being found by the grand jury, Watson, Thistlewood, Preston, and Hooper, were brought up from the Tower to the court of King’s Bench, on the 17th May 1817. They severally pleaded not guilty, and were then taken back to the Tower, from which they were again brought up on the 9th June.

Dr. Watson was first arraigned, and John Castles was the witness called to prove the most material facts against him. He said that he knew the prisoner, and had not had any promise of pardon for giving evidence. He became acquainted with the prisoner about a month before the Spafields meeting, and saw him at the Cock in Grafton-street, where he went to meet a society called the Spenceans. On the following night he met Watson and Preston by appointment at the Mulberry Arms, Moorfields, at a society of the same description; and he there saw present young Watson, Hooper, Thistlewood, the two Evanses, father and son, and one John Harrison. After the meeting broke up, he walked away with the elder Watson, who observed, that it was a very easy matter to upset government, provided a few good fellows would act together. He then said, that he had drawn out a plan that would debar the cavalry from acting, by interrupting the horses, and that he had got several people who had solicited at different houses, and that they had formed a committee which was sitting, to devise the best modes and plans. He inquired where the witness lived, and promised to call the next morning, and show him the plan.

In pursuance of this appointment he called at the lodging of Castles on the following Sunday morning, and produced several papers, one of which was a plan of the Tower, and another a plan of the machine, which he had described on the Thursday before, for obstructing the cavalry. It was to run upon four wheels, with sharp knives, which were to be on each side, and spikes in the middle. The knives were to be something like scythes, and placed horizontally. There were also several other drawings of the Tower-bridge, and different places and entrances about the Tower. “He then,” continued Castles, “asked me how many men I could bring; and how many I knew. I told him I knew a great many, but I did not know whether they would act when put to the test; he begged I would exert myself as much as I could. I told him that I was a smith, and that I had nothing but my little business to live on; but he said never mind that, they would find something better for me than that; they had plenty of money for everything. We then made another appointment, and I met him at one Newton’s. Similar conversation took place there, and he said they had got a committee consisting of five; namely Harrison, Preston, Thistlewood, and his son, and himself; and that I should be made one of the generals, and head a party of pikemen and other men, and that I should hear further in a few days, and might consider myself as one of the committee from that time; that I should make the sixth, and they would not have any more.

“Shortly afterwards I met the elder Watson, and we went to King Street barracks, and across the Park to a small magazine in Hyde Park, where the powder is kept, to examine the whole of the avenues, and determine which was the best place for setting fire to the barracks. There was also one Skinner with us, but he left us in the Park, and Watson said he thought that Skinner had been a cleverer man than he was; that he intended to have made an officer of him, but he found him not at all calculated, as he had not any cultivated idea whatever.

“About this time I was introduced to Thistlewood by one John Harrison. Thistlewood asked me how much money it would take to make a few hundred pikes, and how long it would take me. I told him it would entirely depend on their size, and the steel or iron they should be made of. He said they should be about nine or ten inches long, and I told him that they would come to about fourpence or fourpence-halfpenny a pound. He wished me to make one for a pattern, and I told him I would; but that I had no place to make them in, and Harrison replied that he knew a person who would lend me the use of his forge. Hooper and Harrison went with me to a little shop in a cellar, kept by a man of the name of Bentley, in Hart-street. I asked him to allow me to make use of his forge to make a pike, to put round a rabbit-warren, or fish-pond. He told me that if I would look out a piece of iron, he would make it himself, and, when done, it was given to me, and I took it away. I afterwards carried it to one Randall’s, where I met the two Watsons, and Thistlewood, Harrison, and Hooper; and Watson said that it was a famous instrument. Watson then wrote down the name of the house where the committee sat, No. 9, Greystoke-place, on a paper for me. On the night before, I had been to Paddington with Thistlewood among the bargemen to seek to make converts, and we found a great number of them out of employ, and treated them with some beer. We sounded them, and they said that they wanted a good row, for that they would rather be killed than be as they were. We told them that we wanted them for a job, and asked how many they could collect together, and they said that they could get five or six hundred any morning, as there were so many out of employment. We afterwards went to two public-houses in Long Acre and in Vinegar Yard, which are used by the soldiers who attend the theatres, and we treated them with beer. We asked them how they were treated by their officers, and what was their pay, and one of them, a Yorkshireman, spoke violently against the government. The conversation was about their pay, and as to their being discharged without pensions. We also went to the Fox-under-the-Hill, in the Adelphi, where we found a great number of coalheavers, and having entered into conversation with some of them, they said that they could get fifty or sixty of their fellows, who were out of employment, to join us any day. I subsequently went about alone with the same object, and if I found any man more violent than the rest, I took down his name and communicated it to Thistlewood. A day or two afterwards the committee met in Greystoke-place, to deliberate upon the best plan to set fire to the barracks, and to get all the men we could together. A pike was produced, and Thistlewood directed that Bentley should make 250 of them immediately. Dr. Watson and I reported that we had examined the barracks at Portman-street, and King-street, and had ascertained the number of their avenues; one object being to see how many entrances there were in order to guide us in ascertaining how much combustibles would be necessary to set the whole on fire, so that the soldiers should not escape. A general meeting was appointed at Greystoke-place, to arrange the whole of the business, and how it was to be conducted in each way, and we met on Sunday, previous to which I paid part of the money to Bentley for the 250 pikes, and ordered them to be made off-hand as soon as possible. When we met, Thistlewood produced a map of London. It was marked out which were the best roads to take; and we arranged the number of men who were to be collected together at the different barracks and places to be attacked. The whole of the committee were to act as generals; to have their several stations; and were to attack the separate barracks at one given time and moment. Watson proposed Thistlewood as the head general. Thistlewood and young Watson were to take the guns and two field-pieces that were in the artillery-ground in Gray’s Inn-lane; Preston was to attack the Tower; Harrison the artillery-barracks near the Regent’s Park; and I was to set fire to the King-street barracks, and either to take the men prisoners, or kill those that might attempt to escape; the elder Watson was to set fire to the Portland-street barracks. We were to attack the whole of those places at a given hour, and set them on fire at one in the morning; we were to take any person we met, and make them join us—such as gentlemen’s servants; and coachmen were to be taken from their carriages, and those who could ride were to have the horses, which were to form a cavalry, and the coaches and carriages were to be used to barricade the entrances. After I had set fire to the King-street barracks, and after we had seen that all were in flames, and that none had made their escape, I was to meet the elder Watson at the top of Oxford-street. Harrison was to join us with the artillery, which he was to bring from the barracks by the Regent’s Park, and as soon as that was done, there was to be a volley fired, to let the remainder know we had got possession of the artillery. Piccadilly gate was to be fastened and chained, and a party stationed there to fire upon the horse if they attempted to come from the barracks, and then others were to proceed towards Charing Cross and Westminster Bridge, and barricade there all the avenues upon that side, to prevent them coming round by Chelsea and that way, and then young Watson and Thistlewood, after getting possession of the guns, were to break open all the oil-shops and gunsmiths’-shops, in which they could find either combustibles or arms. They were then to blockade Chancery-lane, and Gray’s Inn-lane to St. Giles’s, where Thistlewood was to make his grand stand. One gun was to be pointed up Tottenham Court-road, and the other up Oxford-street.

“Preston, if he had not succeeded in taking the Tower, was to barricade London Bridge, to prevent the artillery coming from Woolwich. He was then to barricade Whitechapel, to prevent any troops coming from the country that way; and then when he had a body sufficient, the main body was to have met at the Bank.

“After this arrangement had been made, Watson calculated how much combustibles it would take for every avenue, such as sulphur and spirits of wine, and how much they would cost. He said they would come to one hundred pounds. Thistlewood said, ‘Let us not spare a hundred pounds; let us roast them well.’ Watson replied, that it would burn so rapidly, and the stench would be so strong, that it would stifle them in a few minutes. Young Watson and I were appointed to look after a house between the King-street and the Portman-street barracks to lodge the arms and combustibles in. We were to take it as an oil and colour shop, so that no suspicion should be excited as to our receiving the combustibles. The attack upon the barracks was to have been made on the Saturday night or the Sunday morning, between the 9th and 10th of the month, as it was supposed that at that time there would be a great number of persons about drunk, and the greater confusion would be produced. It was then arranged that we should have a committee of Common Safety, to be called together, if we got the better of the soldiers. If the soldiers joined us, we were to be called together, and to form a new parliament; the greatest part of the names of the members were mentioned by Watson and Thistlewood. These were, Sir Francis Burdett, the Lord Mayor, Lord Cochrane, Mr. Hunt, Major Cartwright, Gale Jones, Roger O’Connor, Fawkes of Bainbridge, a person named Brookes, Thompson, of Holborn Hill, the two Evanses, Watson the elder, and Thistlewood. A proclamation was to be issued immediately we had got the better, announcing that the new government would be formed immediately, and offering a bounty of 100l. to the soldiers if they would join us, or double pay for life, at their option. Things being thus far settled, and several meetings having been held at public-houses in Spitalfields, and other places, it was at length finally determined to call a public meeting to see how many people could be collected together. The place talked of was Spafields, and young Watson and some others left the committee sitting, to go and inspect the ground. They returned saying that it was a famous place, being so near the Tower and the Bank that they could get into the town and take them by surprise. A placard was to be posted through the town and hand-bills were to be distributed, and the bill having been drawn up, it was read and agreed to, and it was determined that it should be published in the “Statesman” newspaper immediately, as the meeting was to be called on the 15th of November. Thistlewood then produced a 10l. note to pay for the printing of the bill, and to pay for the remainder of the pikes, and I undertook to get a waggon to speak from. We were to have a flag of three colours, green, red, and white, with the motto, “Nature, truth, and justice,” and I undertook to carry it. I also went to Paddington to get some navigators to carry about some placards, and on the following morning I met young Watson at a coffee-shop in Kingsgate-street, Holborn, to receive the money to fetch away the pikes, and to buy two mail-bags to put them in. When we went to the printer, he said that he was afraid of publishing them, for that he feared he might get into trouble, and that he would destroy 200 of them which he had finished. His wife and several of us, and a gentleman who was with him, and another who came in afterwards, all wanted to persuade him to let us have them, and promised that we should cut his name off so that he should not get into any harm. He said “No,” he would have nothing to do with them, and that he should destroy them. It was then resolved that Watson the elder should go to one Seale, a printer in Tottenham Court-road, to see if he would print the bills, and he returned, and reported that there would be two hundred and fifty copies ready by eight o’clock on Wednesday morning. Letters were then written to Sir Francis Burdett and Mr. Hunt, to invite them to attend the meeting.

“By this time we found it necessary to give up our plan of burning the barracks in consequence of our having met with more difficulty than was anticipated in getting possession of the house intended for the depository of the combustibles, but having obtained a promise from Mr. Hunt that he would preside at the ensuing meeting, it was settled that we (the committee) should be on the spot previous to his arrival, and that the two Watsons and Preston should address the mob, and if we saw the spirit of the people was ready to act, we were to jump down, and head them into the town. There were six cockades, and some flags prepared, and those cockades were to be placed in our hats or bosoms, and if the mob called out for weapons, we were to tell them that we should soon find them weapons: for, at that time, there was scarcely a gunsmith’s shop in London which had not been inspected, to see what number of guns it contained. We were to proceed to the Bank, and take it by surprise, and to place men upon the roof to destroy the soldiers if they should attempt to retake it: they were not only to get to the top of the Bank, but also upon the tops of the surrounding houses, and to get glass bottles, and everything that would kill or hurt; the whole of the Bank books were to be brought out, and burnt, in order to do away with the national debt.

“On the morning of Friday, the 15th of November, which was the day of the first Spafields’ meeting, I went to Thistlewood’s lodgings, in Southampton Buildings, and received the colours and six cockades from Thistlewood, in the presence of Mrs. Thistlewood and her son, and I went off to the meeting, carrying the colours in my bosom, and the staff to fix them on in my hand. When the business of the meeting had commenced, and Hunt had got on the top of a coach to address the mob, Thistlewood desired me to hoist the colours; I took them out of my bosom, and tied them on to the staff, as I stood upon the box of the carriage. A motion was afterwards made for us to remove to the house, and I then handed them to some person in the one pair of stairs room. Several speeches having been addressed to the populace, the meeting was adjourned to the Monday fortnight; and we got into a hackney-coach to return. I showed the colours out of the window, and the horses were taken out by the populace, and we were drawn along, but had not proceeded many yards, when by some means or other we were run against a wall, and we all got out.

“Preparations were now made for the second meeting, fixed for the 2nd of December, and young Watson and I were sent out to collect subscriptions for defraying the expenses, and also for the purpose of inspecting gunsmiths’ shops, and to see where the arms and ammunition were situated about the Tower, and amongst the various wharfs and gun wharfs, and the establishments of those gentlemen who served the ships, such as ship chandlers, and ship brokers, to ascertain where balls, canister, and grapeshot might be found, and what quantity there was. We also examined the oil-shops where there were any combustibles, such as oil, turpentine, and such things, and regularly reported to the committee every night what was done.

“Among other things, it was proposed at one of the meetings of the committee, that we should get a couple of hundred young women together, and dress them in white, who were to walk first, in order to take off the attention of the soldiers. We were all actively employed in distributing bills announcing the meeting for the 2nd December, and in going from one public-house to another to secure the co-operation of the soldiers and labourers; and I hired a waggon to be taken to Spafields to be used as a stage for the speakers: young Watson and I were also employed in purchasing fire-arms for our own party. Flags and cockades were then prepared and delivered into my custody. On the morning of the day of meeting, we assembled at the Black Dog in Drury-lane, and it was agreed that the colours should be affixed to the staff, and that in the event of any of the civil authorities interfering they were to be shot, or run through. Some bullets and slugs were put into an old stocking, and tied in an old dirty white handkerchief, in order to be carried to the waggon. I afterwards found Keens preparing the banner, bearing the inscription “The brave Soldiers are our Friends, treat them kindly,” and I then went to the place whither I was ordered, namely London Bridge, to meet the smiths, but I found everything quite quiet, and saw no one I knew. I next proceeded to Tower Hill, and I found the gates shut, and an extra sentry on duty, and on inquiring I found that the gates were closed on account of the meeting. I afterwards went to the Bank, which was also closed, and then to Little Britain, and there I met a great mob headed by Dr. Watson, with his dirk-stick drawn, and Thistlewood. I inquired where young Watson was, and his father answered ‘To the Tower, first to the Tower! or we shall be too late.’ They passed on, and I lost sight of them, and afterwards on my seeing Keens, he told me what had occurred at Spafields, that he had been in the waggon, that he was afraid that he had left the balls and bullets behind him.

"We afterwards overtook Mr. Hunt going towards Spafields; he was in a landau; and I stopped him and asked him why he was so late; he inquired what was the matter; I answered, that Dr. Watson had gone to attack the Tower. Keens and I then went towards the Tower, and stepped into a gunsmith’s shop, and stopped some time. After that, I saw young Watson close by the Bank, at the back of the Exchange; he had in his hand a drawn sword, and was encouraging the mob to follow him. A great many were firing in the air: there were about two hundred men and boys.

“I then left young Watson, and went to Tower Hill, where I saw old Watson and Thistlewood; they went up close to the Tower rails, and seemed to be addressing themselves to the soldiers across the walls of the Tower, but I was not near enough to hear what was said. They turned up the Minories to go to Spafields, to get a greater force, as the soldiers did not seem to take any notice of them; but when near the top, thirty or forty soldiers met them, and the mob threw down their arms and ran away. I walked forward with the soldiers as if I had nothing to do with it, till the soldiers had passed me, and then turned back again, and went down towards Tower Hill. At the corner of Mark-lane, I went into a little public-house, and stopped until nearly dark, when I went to No. 1, Dean-street, where I arrived about six or half-past six o’clock. I found there the two Watsons, Preston, and Thistlewood. The elder Watson and Thistlewood began to pack up their linen, as if going away. I inquired where they were going to, and Thistlewood said, they were going a little way in the country, and we should hear from him in the course of a day or two. I inquired what had become of Hooper, and he said, Hooper was taken with the colours, and some of us must expect to be taken. I inquired if young Watson had shot anybody, and he said he did not know, but that he was perfectly well satisfied that the people were not ripe enough to act. We parted a little after; he and the two Watsons went away together about seven o’clock, but I stopped at the public-house until near dark.”

On his cross-examination it appeared that this witness was a government spy, and that his morals admirably fitted him for such an employment. There were few crimes, short of murder, with which he was not made to charge himself.

On the close of the case for the prosecution Mr. Wetherell proceeded to comment on the evidence which had been given, in a strain of argumentative eloquence which evinced at once the deep lawyer and brilliant advocate.

On the 6th day of the trial Mr. Hunt and several other witnesses were called whose testimony went to impeach the credit of Castles and others for the prosecution, after which counsel was heard for the prisoner, and the attorney-general spoke in reply.

Watson having declined to make any defence after the ability displayed by his counsel, Lord Ellenborough proceeded to charge the jury, who returned a verdict of acquittal, founded apparently upon the incredibility of the testimony of the witness Castles.

The subsequent proceedings against Thistlewood and his companions, which terminated more unfavourably for the safety of the former, will be given hereafter.

PATRICK DEVANN.
EXECUTED FOR THE MURDER OF THE LYNCH FAMILY.

IN the county of Louth in Ireland, and at the distance of about nine miles from the town of Dundalk, stood some years ago a house called Wild-Goose Lodge—a name conferred upon it from its whimsically chosen situation on a small peninsula jutting into a marsh meadow, which was occasionally transformed into a lake by the winter floods of the Louth. In summer, the residence was reached from the meadow without difficulty; but during winter, the case was very different, it being then approachable only by a narrow neck of land hemmed in by the surrounding waters. At a period to which we refer, Wild-Goose Lodge was tenanted by an industrious man, name Lynch, and his family. Lynch had been successful in improving a few fields attached to his dwelling, and somewhat elevated above the yearly inundations; he was in the habit also of raising a considerable quantity of flax, which he manufactured into cloth, and carried to the adjoining markets of Dundalk or Newry, where it was readily sold to advantage. By these means he rose in respectability among his neighbours, and comfort and contentment smiled around his dwelling. But an evil hour came, and he himself was unhappily in some measure instrumental in bringing it on.

An illegal association, bound by secret oaths, sprung up among the Roman Catholics living around Wild-Goose Lodge. Lynch, though a moderate man, believed that such a combination, on the part of those who held the same opinions with himself, was necessary to counteract similar demonstrations on the opposite or Protestant side, and he therefore joined the association. A very short time sufficed to show him the imprudence of his conduct. Wild-Goose Lodge was a central point in a remote and secluded district; and the members of the association, not without the countenance at first of the occupier, began to make the house their usual point of assemblage. Their numbers, however, speedily increased so much as to submit the family to great inconvenience; and their views, besides, so far exceeded Lynch’s own in violence, as to place him under just apprehensions lest he should be held as the leading promoter of all that might be said or done by those who made his dwelling their nightly haunt. Forced to act, in this dilemma, for the sake of himself and his family, he came to the resolution of desiring his neighbours to assemble no more under his roof. This interdict excited a strong feeling of ill-will against him among the leaders of the combination, and they afterwards habitually gave him every annoyance they could think of, with the view of ejecting him from the place.

Once liberated, in some degree, from the consequences of his imprudence, Lynch persisted in the line of conduct he had entered upon. The result was, that one night a party of men, disguised, entered his house, stripped him in presence of his family, and after flogging him, destroyed his furniture, insulted his wife, and cut the web in the loom from the one selvage thread to the other down to the beam on which it rested. These wanton injuries to an honest, industrious, and (leaving aside his junction of an illegal union) well-conducted man, were galling and hard to bear. Lynch was the husband of an amiable, affectionate wife, and the father of a young family, depending on him for subsistence. If he did bear it in silence, further injuries might follow, and himself, with the wife of his bosom and his helpless babes, be deprived of their all, and thrown upon the world to beg for subsistence. Again, to denounce those with whom he had joined in an oath, was a proceeding not only full of danger, but to which Lynch could with difficulty bring his mind. Anxious and irresolute, he appealed to the minister of his religion for protection, but it was of no avail. His midnight persecutors continued to harass him; and at last, seeing the ruin of his family inevitable, unless he bestirred himself, and being able to point out and identify those who had injured him, Lynch determined to brave the anger of his assailants, and appeal to the laws of his country. Having formed this resolution, he held to it, in spite of the most awful and ominous endeavours to intimidate him; and two of the party, who had attacked his house, were prosecuted, convicted, and suffered death.

Terrible was the wrath of the secret associates, among whom it chanced there were some men of such characters as are happily rarely to be met with in the world. One of the oaths taken by this body was, that no one member should bring another before the bar of justice. Certainly this oath, bad as it was in every sense, never contemplated that one member was not to resent the gross injuries done to him by another. But, as might have been anticipated from the previous exhibition of feeling, Lynch was held, in the strongest sense of the word, to have violated the oaths he had taken.

Not far from Wild-Goose Lodge stood a chapel, where the association met after the ejection of its members from the house of Lynch. The leading man of the body, Patrick or Paddy Devann, was clerk to the priest of the district, and had the charge of the chapel. Within this building, consecrated for widely different purposes, the midnight band assembled on a night destined by the leaders of the party for the destruction of the unfortunate Lynch. Devann, the principal agent in the scene, in order to make a deeper impression on the minds of the crowds present in the chapel, assembled them around the altar, and after administering an oath of secrecy to them, descanted on the falling off of Lynch, and the necessity of suppressing all defections among themselves. He then darkly hinted the object of the meeting to be Lynch’s punishment, and hoped that it would serve as a warning to them all to be firm to the obligations on which they had entered, and true to the interest of the body. Having finished his address, Devann then lifted from before the altar a potsherd containing a piece of burning turf, and, moving from the chapel, desired them to follow him.

Some scores of the band were on horseback, having come from distant places at the imperative summons sent to them. Many more were on foot; and all these moved stealthily onwards, Devann preceding them, towards the devoted victim. To the credit of human nature it must be stated, that few of this numerous party had the slightest idea of what was intended by the originators of the movement. As the men went along, they were inquiring among themselves in whispers, what was to be done; even those who had heard Devann’s threats did not believe that they would be enforced, or that any further injury would be done than had been inflicted before.

Silence reigned along the party’s route, as they approached the abode of the unoffending, unsuspecting, and sleeping family.

While the majority of the persons present still remained ignorant of what was to be accomplished, but obeyed their leaders passively, an extensive circle of men was formed by Devann’s directions around the devoted dwelling. Then those few who were aware of all the enormity of the project, crept forward along the ground towards the house, the pike in one hand and the lighted turf in the other. Well did the wretches know that there was no chance of escape for those within, for the house was filled with the flax by which poor Lynch made his bread; and as soon as it was caught by the flame, extinction was a thing next to impossible. The turfs were applied, and in a few minutes the house was on fire—with a family of thirteen souls beneath its blazing roof! The flames rose towards the sky, and illuminated the adjacent scene. Speedily were heard from within the supplicating cries of the miserable victims, “Mercy! for God’s sake, mercy!” But the cry was vain. So far from evincing any feelings of compunction while the work of destruction was going on, the wretches who had caused it stood ready with their pikes to thrust back those who might attempt to escape. One attempt was made to move their pity; and had the men hearts, they must have been moved. The wife of Lynch, while her own body was already enveloped in flames, had endeavoured to preserve the infant at her breast, and she appeared at the windows, content to die herself, but holding out her child for mercy and protection. Frantically she threw it from her. And how was it received? On the points of pikes, and instantly tossed back into the burning ruins, into which at the same time sunk its hapless mother. One other only of those within, and this was a man, one of Lynch’s assistants, appeared on the walls, beseeching for mercy; but he likewise received none. The veins of his face were visible, swollen like cords, and horror was painted on his whole aspect. He, and all who were within, perished. Lynch himself, either cut off early, or resigned to his fate, never appeared, either to denounce the act of his persecutors, or to supplicate their pity.

It is impossible to say with what feelings the main party encircling the house at a little distance beheld the consummation of the purposes of the night. The majority of them certainly felt horror, while others, in whose mind a blind hatred of Lynch was predominant, felt mingled sensations of horror and exultation; and the conjoined feelings expended themselves in cries, that were re-echoed by the groans of the victims. The terrified peasantry of the neighbourhood who had not joined the associated throng, started from their pillows, and gazed towards the ascending flames of Wild-Goose Lodge with fear and shrinking; for they too well

knew the feelings of the district to regard it as a common accident, which it would have been their duty and their pleasure to have aided in suppressing and relieving. Until all sounds of life, therefore, were extinct within the burning house, the authors of the deed looked on undisturbed. When all was over, they skulked away, each to his own home.

The winds of autumn and the storms of winter had swept the ashes of Wild-Goose Lodge over the fields which Lynch had cultivated, ere any one of the actors in this atrocious crime was brought to justice. But the presence of some of the less guilty of them having been discovered, and brought home beyond a doubt, these, in order to save themselves, made a revelation of all they knew and had seen. Anticipating this, the ringleaders fled to various parts of the country; but the arm of the offended law overtook them. Devann was found in the situation of a labourer in the dockyards of Dublin, and others were taken at different times and places. Eleven were executed; and to mark the atrocity of their crime, their bodies were hung in chains at Louth and other spots in the neighbourhood of Wild-Goose Lodge. Devann was executed within the roofless walls of the house in which his victims were immolated, and his body was afterwards suspended beside those of his associates.

The date of his trial was the 19th of July 1817, and he was executed immediately afterwards.

JEREMIAH BRANDRETH, WILLIAM TURNER, AND ISAAC LUDLAM.
EXECUTED FOR HIGH TREASON.

IN an introductory paragraph to our account of the Spafields’ riot we took occasion to mention the most prominent causes of public discontent; and though these had partially disappeared in 1817, still the impulse given to disaffection continued to operate for a considerable time, being protracted by the injudicious resort of Government to the system of spies and informers, who no doubt fanned that flame of disloyalty which had nearly caused a traitorous explosion in the county of Derby, more formidable and appalling than that for which Brandreth and his ill-fated companions suffered.

The agent for Government in the northern districts was a wretch named Oliver, and it is imagined by some that the miserable individuals whose names head this article were his victims.

The scene of this outbreak was Pentridge, Southwingfield, and Wingfield Park, in Derbyshire, a neighbourhood hitherto peaceable, and in which few would have looked for an insurrection of this kind.

Jeremiah Brandreth, better known by the name of the “Nottingham Captain,” was one of those original characters for which nature had done much, and education nothing. Of his parents or early habits we know nothing; for on these subjects he maintained a studied silence, and all that was ascertained in reference to his life previously to his execution was that he had been in the army, and that he had a wife and three children, for whose support he was occasionally compelled to apply to the parish-officers for relief. His age was about twenty-six, and he is described as having presented a most striking appearance, from the exceedingly bold and resolute expression of his face.

Turner and Ludlam were both men of good character up to the time of their becoming parties to the transactions which cost them their lives. The latter had a wife and twelve children, and, being a regular attendant at a Methodist meeting-house, in the absence of the preacher conducted the prayers of the people.

These unfortunate men acted under a complete illusion. Formal statements of the number of the disaffected were given them, as well as the quantity of arms and ammunition collected, &c., accompanied with flattering pictures of the liberty, happiness, and wealth which were to wait upon success.

On the 5th of June, Brandreth came from Nottingham to the neighbourhood of Pentridge, to take command of the rebel forces; and on the 9th, they proceeded on their march for Nottingham, where it was reported, several thousands anxiously waited their coming, that they might unite in forwarding a revolution. Their numbers were truly contemptible, not exceeding forty or fifty; yet, small as they were, they committed several excesses, and Brandreth shot one harmless man. It was during the night that they commenced operations; and next morning, on the approach of a score of cavalry, they precipitately fled, leaving their arms scattered behind them. Several were then apprehended, and many more on the two or three ensuing days, and Brandreth was among their number.

To try these rebels, a special commission was issued, which was opened at Derby on the 15th of October 1817. Brandreth was the first put on his trial; and as the evidence against him was conclusive, he was found guilty. Turner and Ludlam were also convicted, as well as a young man named Weightman, whose sentence was afterwards commuted to transportation. Justice being now satisfied, twelve men pleaded guilty, and the remainder were discharged. Those who pleaded guilty received sentence of death, but were afterwards respited.

The unfortunate Brandreth, on being removed to prison, after his conviction, although he exhibited a manly firmness, was nevertheless much affected. The other prisoners thronged around him in anxious suspense to hear his fate; he uttered the single and appalling word—Guilty; and, in a moment, a perfect change was visible in the countenances of those whose lot was undecided.

Brandreth throughout his confinement seemed to have entertained a confident expectation of acquittal; and this hope appears to have rested solely on the supposed impossibility of identifying him, as he was a total stranger in that part of the country where the outbreak had occurred, and had, from the time of his committal, allowed his beard to grow, which completely shaded his whole face. The singular cast of his features, however, aided by the peculiar and determined expression of his eye, rendered his identity unquestionable; and almost every one of the witnesses swore to the person of the “Nottingham Captain.” This wretched man, both before and after his conviction, evinced the utmost propriety of conduct. He appeared calm and happy, and exhibited great firmness in the contemplation of his unhappy fate.

His companions in misfortune, however, evinced much less fortitude for each appeared the very picture of despair. They attributed their melancholy fate to Brandreth and a fellow named Bacon, who, however, evaded the punishment due to his crime.

The execution of the convicts was fixed to take place on the 7th of November 1817, and at a quarter past twelve o’clock at mid-day they were carried to the scaffold on a hurdle.

The demeanour of Brandreth was calm in the extreme, and just before the drop fell he cried out to the people assembled, “God bless you all, and Lord Castlereagh.” He died without a struggle; and when he had hung the usual half-hour, his head was removed and exhibited at the four corners of the scaffold, the executioner exclaiming, “Behold the head of a traitor!” From the manner of this functionary the mob were apprehensive that the head was to be flung in the midst of them, and they rushed back in great precipitation. They were, however, soon undeceived, and upon the same course being pursued with regard to Turner and Ludlam, they had regained their confidence.

ABRAHAM THORNTON.
TRIED FOR MURDER.

THIS case is remarkable, not only for the lamentable atrocity of the offence imputed to the unfortunate prisoner, but from the fact also of the brother of the deceased person having lodged an appeal, upon which the prisoner demanded “wager of battle,” the consequence of which was the repeal of the old law, by which the wager was allowed in former ages, and which had already grown into disuse, although it still remained in existence.

Thornton was a well-made young man, the son of a respectable builder, and was by trade a bricklayer. He was indicted at the Warwick assizes in August 1817, for the murder of Mary Ashford, a lovely and interesting girl, whose character was perfectly unsullied up to the time at which she was most barbarously ravished and murdered by the prisoner.

From the evidence adduced, it appeared that the poor girl went to a dance at Tyburn, a few miles from Birmingham, on the evening of the 26th of May 1817, where she met the prisoner, who professed to admire her figure and general appearance, and who was heard to say, “I have been intimate, and I will have connexion with her, though it cost me my life.” He danced with her, and accompanied her from the room, at about three o’clock in the morning. At four o’clock she called at a friend’s at a place called Erdington, and the offence alleged against the prisoner was committed immediately afterwards. The circumstances proved in evidence, were that the footsteps of a man and woman were traced from the path through a harrowed field, through which her way lay home to Langley. The marks were at first regular, but afterwards exhibited proofs of the persons whose footfalls they represented, running and struggling; and at length they led to a spot where a distinct impression of a human figure and a large quantity of coagulated blood were discovered, and on this spot the marks of a man’s knees and toes were also distinguishable. From thence the man’s footfalls only were seen, and accompanying it blood marks were distinctly traced for a considerable space towards a pit; and it appeared plainly as if a man had walked along the footway carrying a body, from which the blood dropped. At the edge of the pit, the shoes, bonnet, and bundle of the deceased were found; but only one footstep could be seen there, and that was a man’s. It was deeply impressed, and seemed to be that of a man who thrust one foot forward to heave something into the pit; and the body of the deceased was discovered lying at the bottom. There were marks of laceration upon the body; and both her arms had the marks of hands, as if they had pressed them with violence to the ground.

By his own admission Thornton was with her at four o’clock, and the marks of the man’s shoes in the running corresponded exactly to his. By his own admission, also, he was intimate with her; and this admission was made not before the magistrate, nor till the evident proofs were discovered on his clothes: her clothes, too, afforded most powerful evidence. At four in the morning she called at a friend’s, Hannah Cox, and changed her dancing-dress for that in which she had gone from Birmingham.

The clothes she put on there, and which she had on at the time of her death, were all over blood and dirt.

The case, therefore, appeared to be, that Thornton had paid attention to her during the night; shown, perhaps, those attentions which she might naturally have been pleased with; and afterwards waited for her on her return from Erdington, and after forcibly violating her, threw her body into the pit.

The prisoner declined saying anything in his defence, stating that he would leave everything to his counsel, who called several witnesses to the fact of his having returned home at an hour which rendered it very improbable, if not impossible, that he could have committed the murder, and have traversed the distance from the fatal spot to the places in which he was seen, in the very short time that appeared to have elapsed: but it was acknowledged that there was considerable variation in the different village-clocks; and the case was involved in so much difficulty, from the nature of the defence, although the case for the prosecution appeared unanswerable, that the judge’s charge to the jury occupied no less than two hours. “It were better,” he said in conclusion, “that the murderer, with all the weight of his crime upon his head, should escape punishment, than that another person should suffer death without being guilty;” and this consideration weighed so powerfully with the jury, that, to the surprise of all who had taken an interest in this awful case, they returned a verdict of Not Guilty, which the prisoner received with a smile of silent approbation, and an unsuccessful attempt at concealment of the violent apprehensions as to his fate by which he had been inwardly agitated.

He was then arraigned pro forma, for the rape; but the counsel for the prosecution declined offering evidence on this indictment, and he was accordingly discharged.

Thus ended, for the present, the proceedings on this most brutal and ferocious violation and murder; but the public at large, and more particularly the inhabitants of the neighbourhood in which it had been committed, were far from considering Thornton innocent, and subscriptions to defray the expense of a new prosecution were entered into.

The circumstances of the case having been investigated by the secretary of state, he granted his warrant to the sheriff of Warwick to take the defendant into custody on an appeal of murder, to be prosecuted by William Ashford, the brother and heir-at-law of the deceased. He was in consequence lodged in Warwick jail, and from thence he was subsequently removed by a writ of habeas corpus to London, the proceedings on the appeal being had in the Court of King’s Bench, in Westminster Hall. On the 6th of November, the appellant, attended by four counsel, appeared in court, when the proceedings were adjourned to the 17th, by the desire of the prisoner’s counsel; and on that day the prisoner demanded trial by wager of battle. The revival of this obsolete law gave rise to much argument on both sides; and it was not until the 16th of April 1818, that the decision of the Court was given upon the question. The learned judges gave their opinions seriatim, and the substance of the judgment was, that the law must be administered as it stood, and that therefore the prisoner was entitled to claim trial by battle; but the Court added that the trial should be granted only “in case the appellant should show cause why the defendant should not depart without day.” On the 20th the arguments were resumed by the appellant’s counsel; but the defendant was ordered to “be discharged from the appeal, and to be allowed to go forth without bail.”

Though the rigid application of the letter of the law thus, a second time, saved this unfortunate man from punishment, nothing could remove the conviction of his guilt from the public mind. Shunned by all who knew him, his very name became an object of terror, and he soon afterwards attempted to proceed to America; but the sailors of the vessel in which he was about to embark refused to go to sea with a character on board who, according to their fancy, was likely to produce so much ill-luck to the voyage; and he was compelled to conceal himself until another opportunity was afforded him to make good his escape.

The “trial by battle,” which in this case was so remarkably claimed, may be thus described:—

When the privilege of trial by battle was claimed by the appellee, the judges had to consider whether, under the circumstances, he was entitled to the exercise of such privilege; and his claim thereto having been admitted, they fixed a day and place for the combat, which was conducted with the following solemnities:—

A piece of ground was set out, of sixty feet square, enclosed with lists, and on one side was a court erected for the judges of the Court of Common Pleas, who attended there in their scarlet robes; and also a bar for the learned serjeants at law. When the court was assembled, proclamation was made for the parties, who were accordingly introduced in the area by the proper officers, each armed with a baton, or staff of an ell long, tipped with horn, and bearing a four-cornered leather target for defence. The combatants were bare-headed and bare-footed, the appellee with his head shaved, the appellant as usual, but both dressed alike. The appellee pleaded Not Guilty, and threw down his glove, and declared he would defend the same by his body; the appellant took up the glove, and replied that he was ready to make good the appeal body for body. And thereupon the appellee, taking the Bible in his right hand, and in his left the right hand of his antagonist, swore to this effect:—

“Hear this, O man, whom I hold by the hand, who callest thyself [John], by the name of baptism, that I, who call myself [Thomas], by the name of baptism, did not feloniously murder thy father [William], by name, nor am anyway guilty of the said felony. So help me God, and the saints; and this I will defend against thee by my body, as this court shall award.”

To which the appellant replied, holding the Bible and his antagonist’s hand, in the same manner as the other:—

“Hear this, O man, whom I hold by the hand, who callest thyself [Thomas], by the name of baptism, that thou art perjured, because that thou feloniously didst murder my father [William], by name. So help me God, and the saints; and this I will prove against thee by my body, as this Court shall award.”

Next, an oath against sorcery and enchantment was taken by both the combatants in this or a similar form. “Hear this, ye justices, that I have this day neither ate, drank, nor have upon me either bone, stone, or grass; nor any enchantment, sorcery, or witchcraft, whereby the law of God may be abased, or the law of the devil exalted. So help me God and his saints.”

The battle was thus begun, and the combatants were bound to fight till the stars appeared in the evening.

If the appellee were so far vanquished that he could not or would not fight any longer, he was adjudged to be hanged immediately: and then, as well as if he were killed in battle, Providence was deemed to have determined in favour of the truth, and his blood was declared attainted. But if he killed the appellant, or could maintain the fight from sun-rising till the stars appeared in the evening, he was acquitted. So also, if the appellant became recreant, and pronounced the word craven, he lost his liberam legem, and became infamous; and the appellee recovered his damages and was for ever quit, not only of the appeal, but of all indictments likewise of the same offence. There were cases where the appellant might counterplead, and oust the appellee from his trial by battle: these were vehement presumption or sufficient proof that the appeal was true: or where the appellant was under fourteen, or above sixty years of age, or was a woman or a priest, or a peer, or, lastly, a citizen of London, because the peaceful habits of the citizens were supposed to unfit them for battle.

It is almost needless to add, that this remnant of barbarity has now ceased to exist, an act of parliament, the introduction of which was attributable to the above case, having removed it from the pages of the lawbooks by which our courts are governed.

CHARLES HUSSEY.
EXECUTED FOR MURDER.

THE murders of the Marrs and the Williamsons were not yet forgotten, when others of a nature equally atrocious and mysterious were committed upon the persons of Mr. Bird, a retired tallow-chandler, who lived at Greenwich, and who was eighty-three years of age, and his housekeeper Mary Simmons, aged forty-four, on the 8th February 1818.

Mr. Bird, it appears, had amassed a considerable fortune by his exertions in trade, and had retired to live on the competency which he had secured for himself at a house at Greenwich, where, his wife having died about two years before, a poor woman named Simmons lived with him in the capacity of housekeeper. The fact of the murder was discovered under circumstances of a curious nature. Mr. Bird and his housekeeper, it appears, had been in the habit of attending Greenwich church regularly, always making it a point to be in their pew before the commencement of the service. On Sunday morning the 9th February, it was remarked that they were not in the church as usual; and at the conclusion of the service, the alarm which had been by this time excited was increased by the discovery of the fact that the house in which they lived had not yet been opened. The beadle of the parish, in consequence, conceived that he was bound to make some inquiries; and having knocked at the door without receiving any answer, he forced an entrance at the back of the premises. On his entering the house, a most shocking spectacle presented itself to his eyes. The body of the housekeeper was found lying in the passage, presenting a most fearful appearance, the skull being frightfully fractured, apparently with a blunt instrument. In a parlour adjoining the passage was found the body of the unfortunate Mr. Bird, lying on the ground, with his arms stretched out, and his skull also fractured in the same manner as that of his housekeeper, and with the same weapon. On the other rooms of the house being examined, it became obvious that plunder was the object of the murderer; and it was found that the pockets of the deceased had been rifled of the keys of the various drawers and boxes, which were found above-stairs marked with blood. Some silver spoons, &c. had been stolen, for it was known that such articles were in the possession of the deceased, but it was unknown what other property had been carried off; although the only money found in the house was 3l., which were in a secret drawer, and which had apparently escaped the attention of the murderer. On more minute inquiry being made into the probabilities of the case, it was ascertained that Mr. Bird and his housekeeper were in the habit of retiring to rest at about ten o’clock on every night; but from both of them being dressed, it was obvious that the murders had been effected before that time. Mr. Bird, it appeared, had been reading, as a book was found open on the table, and a pair of spectacles was clenched in his hand as he lay. The murderer, it was supposed, must have obtained admission by the backdoor, as it was known that the front-door was always kept chained, and was found to be still in the same condition.

The horrid discovery created a very great degree of alarm; and Mr. Bicknell, a respectable solicitor of the place, having despatched messengers to Bow-street to communicate the dreadful intelligence, some officers were immediately sent down to the spot to make the necessary inquiries. An inquest was held upon the bodies in the course of the week, but no circumstances were elicited which could lead to the discovery of the perpetrators of the deed; and on the following Sunday the remains of the unfortunate deceased were interred in Greenwich churchyard, in the presence of an immense concourse of spectators.

During the three succeeding weeks several persons were apprehended on suspicion, but nothing material could be alleged against them; but at length a complete discovery took place, and the murderer was pointed out by his own sister. This woman was married to a man named Godwin, and resided with her husband at Peckham. About a week after the murders had been committed, her brother, Charles Hussey, came to her house, and said he was going to see his brother, who resided at Basingstoke. He went to a box of his under a bed and took something out; she supposed it was money, for he had sixty-seven pounds left him four days after the murders were committed, by a sister, who cut her throat, in Queen-street, Cheapside, where she had lived. Hussey told his sister he should return in a week, but he did not do so for nearly a fortnight. She then said to him, “Oh, Charles! I have been so uneasy during your absence! I have had such frightful dreams, and could not think what detained you.” He replied, “Why, what could cause you to dream?” and appeared greatly agitated. After he had gone away, Mrs. Godwin said to her husband, “I think there is something in Charles’s box there should not be;” his behaviour caused her to say so; and with one of her own keys she opened the box, when the first things that met her eye were a pair of watches, which she and her husband suspected to have belonged to the late Mr. Bird. Their suspicion was confirmed by Hussey not returning according to promise, and, with a detestation of so black a crime which did them infinite honour, they repaired to Greenwich and gave information of the circumstance.

Another box of Hussey’s was brought, soon after the murders, to a Mrs. Goddard, who resided at Deptford; and as this woman’s suspicions were excited by some inquiries made after Hussey, she opened the box, and found in it property she supposed to have belonged to the late Mr. Bird. Officers were sent for, and on searching the trunk, they found a silver wine-strainer, a soup-spoon, two shirts, three pair of sheets; a white jean jacket, stained with blood in several places, especially about the right-hand pocket; a pair of gaiters made of drab cloth, with blood upon the buttons of them; a piece of new shirting, which was very bloody, and a glazed hat. In the same trunk were found several articles of silver plate, which proved to have been Mr. Bird’s property. It was remarkable that this trunk was only corded, not locked, and that Hussey never called to inquire after it from the time it had been deposited with Mrs. Goddard.

From Deptford the officers proceeded to Mrs. Godwin’s house, at Peckham, where, in addition to the watches, they found in the box five one-pound Bank of England notes, and two two-pound notes, all marked with Mr. Bird’s initials. In the same box they found Hussey’s discharge from the East India Company’s Service, which contained a description of his person.

In consequence of these discoveries, no doubt remained but that Hussey had been the principal, if not the only, perpetrator of the foul murders. Diligent inquiry was accordingly made after him; but it was found that he had absconded. More than twenty of the most active metropolitan officers were despatched in every direction to look for him, and large rewards were offered for his apprehension; but it was not until after a considerable time had elapsed that he was taken into custody at Deddington, in Oxfordshire, by a publican named Poulton, who had read the advertisement, and on seeing him recognised him as resembling the person described as the murderer. It appears that Poulton had read the advertisement, and his attention was arrested by his seeing the prisoner walk past his house one evening at about nine o’clock, and suspecting that he was the murderer, he called a neighbour, and they followed him. Having walked after him for some distance, they became assured of the truth of their suspicions, and Poulton went up to him, and said he must go with him, as he had strong suspicion he was the man advertised. The prisoner after some hesitation, confessed his name was Charles Hussey; and on his being searched, a watch and a pocket-book, with a ring in it, part of the property stolen from the late Mr. Bird’s house, were found. The prisoner denied any knowledge of the murders or robbery, but admitted that the articles found belonged to him.

The magistrate told the prisoner it would be necessary for him to account for being possessed of the things which had been stolen; and the prisoner said, that between four and five o’clock on the Sunday afternoon after the murders, he saw a man get over a wall into Mr. Smith’s grounds, at Greenwich, and run. He followed him, and saw him put down a bundle against a large tree, and leave it there, and then run again. Curiosity induced him to go to the spot, and on his opening the bundle he saw two watches, and a silver soup-ladle. He, however, left the bundle and walked away, but on the following Saturday, happening to go past the same spot, he found the bundle in the same position, and then on examining its contents, he found them to consist of three watches, a silver soup-ladle, a wine-strainer, four sheets, six or eight shirts, six rings, some old coins, two two-pound bank-notes, and three one-pound notes. He took them away with him, and he subsequently absconded because he was ashamed of coming forward, having such things in his possession. He declined saying any thing in reference to the specific charges made against him, and he was committed to Maidstone jail to await his trial.

On the 31st of July 1818, Hussey was indicted at the Maidstone assizes for the wilful murder of Mr. Bird and his housekeeper. The dreadful deed was fully brought home by evidence the most satisfactory and conclusive. It was proved that the hammer with which the murders were committed had been taken from a cooper several days before, and that it was afterwards found in a pond, into which the assassin had thrown it. With this cooper Hussey had been intimate, and was almost daily at the house, where he kept his trunk until subsequent to the murders, when he had it removed to his cousin’s, Mrs. Goddard, at Deptford. It was also proved that Hussey belonged to a “Society of Odd Fellows,” and that he did not join them on the night of the murders until near ten o’clock. The proprietor of the house where the Odd Fellows met, being asked whether Hussey appeared any way agitated when he saw him, replied, “He might, but I did not observe him, for he is the last man in the world, from his general character and habits, whom I should suspect of either dishonesty or murder.”

It was further proved that the prisoner had been originally a sailor in the East India Company’s service, from which he was discharged, and that he then became a servant, and lived in that capacity with a Mr. Stevens at Greenwich, not far from the house of Mr. Bird. Previous, however, to the murders, he had been discharged, and he was, at that time, out of place. The remainder of the evidence only confirmed the facts we have already narrated, and the case for the prosecution having closed, Hussey was called on for his defence.

He declared his innocence, and gave a confused account of the manner in which he was employed on the night of the murder; but his criminality was too plain to be doubted, and he was found guilty.

He suffered August 3, 1818, on Pennenden Heath, near Maidstone, the usual place of execution for the county of Kent. He made no confession except that when asked by the Rev. Mr. Argles if he knew who did the deed, he replied with eagerness, “I do, I do.”

In person, the unfortunate prisoner was tall, his hands and feet remarkably large, and his countenance pallid, mild, and humane. His appearance was apparently that of a person above his rank in life.

SAMUEL DICK.
CONVICTED OF ABDUCTION AND RAPE.

THIS was a case of revolting indelicacy and deep-laid villany. We shall give it in the words of the counsel retained to prosecute the accused at the Carrickfergus assizes, March the 21st, 1818.

“The prisoner, Samuel Dick (said he) stands indicted for the forcible abduction and subsequent defilement of Elizabeth Crockatt, the prosecutrix. She is a young woman of respectable family in Derry; and upon the death of her father she became possessed of about two thousand six hundred pounds: this property, her youth, being scarcely seventeen, and her personal attractions, have been the causes of two different atrocious outrages, for the purpose of obtaining possession of them. In August last, upon the Sabbath day, while returning from the meeting, she was forcibly carried off, and taken to Ballymena, where she was rescued by her brother and her uncle. On their return home, her mother, alarmed for her safety, sent her for some time to reside within a few miles of Stewartstown, with a Mr. Matthew Fairservice. On the night of the 3rd of November, Mr. Fairservice’s family were invited to spend the evening at Mr. Henry’s, where the prosecutrix met Miss Jane Dick, sister to the prisoner, and who is related to the prosecutrix. The prosecutrix, with Mr. Robert Fairservice, his sister, and Miss Dick, then went from Mr. Henry’s upon the car to a ball at a Mr. Park’s, where she danced the greater part of the night. While at Mr. Park’s, Miss Dick invited prosecutrix to Stewartstown, which she declined. When they had got on the car, Robert Fairservice drove rapidly towards Stewartstown, without paying any attention to the remonstrances of the prosecutrix; when in Stewartstown they drove to the prisoner’s house, where she saw the prisoner: after breakfast Miss Dick asked Miss Fairservice and the prosecutrix to go to Dungannon with her, as she wished to make some purchases. She was prevailed upon, and did go into Dungannon; remained shopping there until the evening; returned to Stewartstown, dined in the prisoner’s house; and about nine or ten o’clock the prosecutrix was asked by Miss Dick to go out to the next door to assist her in purchasing some thread; and the distance being so trifling, she did not think even of putting on her bonnet. When out of the halldoor, she was forcibly seized by some person, and put into a chaise in which was the prisoner, who caught her by the arm; when in the carriage she found her cloak and bonnet had been previously placed there, which was sufficient proof of the pre-concerted plan. The prosecutrix, the prisoner, with Miss Dick, and the other person, were driven to Lurgan, a distance of twenty miles, before day-light in the morning, the prisoner Dick guarding the prosecutrix with a pistol! After some time she was again put into the chaise, and driven to the house of a person named Swayne, where, after having wept and fasted the whole day, she was prevailed upon to go to bed with Miss Dick. From the fatigue she had suffered the two preceding nights, joined to the anxiety of mind she had undergone, she fell asleep; and found on awaking, that in place of Miss Dick being her bedfellow, the prisoner at the bar was. The next morning the prisoner attempted to soothe the prosecutrix by promises of marriage, and went to Dr. Cupples, of Lisburn, to procure a licence, leaving his sister and the other person to watch over her till his return; in spite of them, she contrived to escape to the house of a Mr. English, where she was protected until delivered into the hands of her uncle.”

This statement being supported by the evidence, the jury without hesitation found the prisoner Guilty—and he was sentenced to death.

ROBERT JOHNSTON.
EXECUTED FOR ROBBERY.

THE extraordinary circumstances attending the execution of this unfortunate man give his case a melancholy interest. Our readers, doubtless, recollect the singular conduct of the Edinburgh mob, at the execution of Porteous. A scene, if possible more disgraceful, occurred on the present occasion.

Robert Johnston was a native of Edinburgh, where he spent the first part of his life without reproach. His parents were poor, and Robert was employed as a carter. In his twenty-fourth year he got into bad company, and was engaged in the robbery of a chandler in Edinburgh, and being apprehended he was brought to trial with two others, and found guilty. His companions had their sentence commuted to transportation for life, but on Johnston the law was ordered to be put in force.

The execution was directed to take place on the 30th December 1818, and on that day, the judgment of the law was carried out, but under circumstances of a most extraordinary nature. A platform was erected in the customary manner with a drop in the Lawnmarket, and an immense crowd having assembled, the unfortunate culprit was brought from the lock-up house at about twenty minutes before three o’clock, attended by two of the magistrates, the Reverend Mr. Tait, and the usual other functionaries. The customary devotions took place, and the unhappy wretch, with an air of the most undaunted boldness, gave the necessary signal. Nearly a minute elapsed, however, before the drop could be forced down, and then it was found that the toes of the wretched culprit were still touching the surface, so that he remained half suspended, and struggling in the most frightful manner. It is impossible to find words to express the horror which pervaded the crowd, while one or two persons were at work with axes beneath the scaffold, in the vain attempt to hew down a part of it beneath the feet of the criminal. The cries of horror from the populace continued to increase with indescribable vehemence; and it is hard to say how long this horrible scene might have lasted, had not a person near the scaffold, who was struck by a policeman, while pressing onward, cried out ‘Murder!’ Those who were not aware of the real cause of the cry imagined that it came from the convict, and a shower of stones, gathered from the loose pavement of the street, compelled the magistrates and police immediately to retire. A cry of “Cut him down—he is alive,” then instantly burst from the crowd, and a person of genteel exterior jumped upon the scaffold, cut the rope, and the culprit fell down in a reclining position, after having hung during about five minutes only. A number of the mob now gained the scaffold, and taking the ropes from the neck and arms of the prisoner, they removed the cap from his head and loosening his clothes, carried him, still alive, towards High Street; while another party tore the coffin prepared to receive his body into fragments, and endeavoured unsuccessfully to demolish the fatal gallows. Many of the police were beaten in this riot; and the executioner, who was for some time in the hands of the mob, was severely injured. In the meantime the police-officers rallied in augmented force, and re-took the criminal from the mob, at the head of the Advocates’ Close. The unhappy man, half alive, stripped of part of his clothes, and with his shirt turned up, so that the whole of his naked back and the upper part of his body were exhibited, lay extended on the ground in the middle of the street, in front of the police-office. At last, after a considerable interval, some of the police-officers laying hold of him, dragged him trailing along the ground, for about twenty paces, into the office, where he remained upwards of half an hour, while he was attended by a surgeon, bled in both arms, and in the temporal vein, by which suspended animation was restored; but the unfortunate man did not utter a word. In the meantime a military force arrived from the Castle under the direction of a magistrate, and the soldiers were drawn up in the street surrounding the police-office and place of execution.

Johnston was then carried again to the scaffold. His clothes were thrown about him in such a way, that he seemed half naked, and while a number of men were about him, holding him up on the table, and fastening the rope again about his neck, his clothes fell down in a manner shocking to decency. While they were adjusting his clothes, the unhappy man was left vibrating, upheld partly by the rope about his neck, and partly by his feet on the table. At last the table was removed from beneath him, when, to the indescribable horror of every spectator, he was seen suspended, with his face uncovered, and one of his hands broke loose from the cords with which it should have been tied, and with his fingers convulsively twisting in the noose. Dreadful cries were now heard from every quarter. A chair was brought, and the executioner having mounted upon it, disengaged by force the hand of the dying man from the rope. He then descended, leaving the man’s face still uncovered, and exhibiting a dreadful spectacle. At length a napkin was thrown over his face amidst shouts of “Murder,” and “Shame, shame,” from the crowd. The unhappy wretch was observed to struggle very much, but his sufferings were at an end in a few minutes. The soldiers remained on the spot till the body was cut down; and, as it was then near dusk, the crowd gradually dispersed.

The following is a remarkable instance of a similar scene which occurred in France in the year 1828.

Peter Hebard, who had been confined in the prison at Abbey, in France, for five months, expecting the final order for his punishment, having been convicted of a murder, committed under aggravated circumstances, and who had been allowed to indulge in hopes of a reprieve, was told to prepare for death in the afternoon. For nearly five years an execution had not taken place at Abbey, and the consequence was that an immense crowd assembled, which could with difficulty be kept in proper order by a large body of gendarmes. The prisoner was bound to the board laid across the scaffold; and upon the usual signal, his head was placed between the lunette in the guillotine. The knife fell with a trembling motion, but did not touch the criminal. A cry of horror arose from the crowd. The knife was again lifted—it fell a second time, but without reaching the criminal’s neck. A volley of stones was discharged at the executioner and his two assistants. For the third time the instrument was let down, but it only inflicted a slight wound. The executioners then quitted the scaffold for fear of the stones, and the criminal’s head continued for some minutes bound to the block. The chief executioner again mounted the scaffold, and the knife fell twice more without success. The excitement in the crowd became indescribable. The executioner fled, the criminal lifted his head up, and was greeted with cries of “Bravo!” but he could not get away from the cords. One of the executioners then got on the scaffold, told the unhappy man to turn his head, and at the same time seized him by the neck, and gave him several wounds with a shoemaker’s knife. Hebard’s head, nearly half off, hung on his shoulder; the spectacle was so horrible, and the spectators so enraged at the executioner, that he was obliged to make his escape amongst the gendarmes. Hebard, who was found standing up to the block, still breathed, and remained for two hours in that situation, during which time he frequently opened his mouth. It appears that the scaffold had been intentionally damaged by a person who acted as assistant to the executioner on account of a grudge. A question might arise, whether the executioner’s assistant had a right to stab the criminal, and so alter his punishment, which was to die by the guillotine.

HENRY HUNT.
IMPRISONED FOR A MISDEMEANOR.

THE name of Mr. Hunt is too well known to require it to be introduced to our readers with any long explanation of the particular character which he filled up to the time at which he underwent an imprisonment for a misdemeanor against the government. He was probably the most popular demagogue of the day, with the exception of Wilkes; and, like his prototype, he appears to have been totally undeserving the confidence or the applause of the people. Like Wilkes, too, he was the occasion of several deluded people losing their lives, while he himself escaped with a comparatively trifling punishment.

Hunt was born at Widdington, in the parish of Upavon, near Salisbury Plain, on the 6th November 1773. His father was a respectable farmer and our hero, when young, being designed for the church, obtained the rudiments of a classical education. At sixteen years of age, however, he altered his mind and joined his father, and having attained great proficiency in his new business, he was treated with great confidence by his father, from whom, at this early age, he imbibed principles diametrically opposed to those which he afterwards espoused. At the time of the threatened invasion in the year 1795, Hunt joined the Evelyn corps of militia; but his commanders having refused to permit their men to quit the county in which they were enrolled, our hero, indignant at the supposed cowardice of his fellows, after having delivered himself of his maiden oration, urging them to volunteer in a new corps, threw his sword at his commander’s feet, and immediately afterwards joined a corps established under the patronage of Lord Bruce. It appears, however, that although his lordship’s loyalty was greater than that of the officers of the Evelyn militia, his attachment to his manorial rights was so strong, as to occasion a serious quarrel with his followers; for some of them having exercised their powers of sharp-shooting against his lordship’s pheasants, they immediately obtained their dismissal from his troop. Hunt was enraged at this supposed affront, and riding to the parade, he publicly challenged his late noble commander to fight a duel. Lord Bruce had not expected to meet with so violent a reception, and fairly fled; but in a few days afterwards he obtained a criminal information against his challenger, in the Court of King’s Bench, who was in consequence fined 100l., and sentenced to six weeks’ imprisonment. Old Hunt by this time had discharged the debt of nature, and the penalty was soon paid; but the six weeks during which our hero was detained in the Queen’s Bench prison served to banish all those feelings of loyalty with which he had before been inspired; and having associated himself with some persons, who were professed democrats, he soon joined them in their political creed. At about this time he was married to the daughter of a respectable inn-keeper, for whom he is said to have formed a most romantic attachment. The heat of his passion appears to have worn off very soon; and ere five years had elapsed he seduced another man’s wife, who eloped with him from Brighton. The conduct of Hunt in reference to this person appears to be of a most extraordinary character; for in his Memoirs, he speaks of the unalterable attachment which he bore her, and with the most fulsome declarations of his love for her, dwells on the happiness which he had experienced in her society up to the time of the publication of his work, when she was still living with him (1824). His indignant and injured wife, it appears, received an annuity of 300l. from him, with which she continued to maintain her two daughters, while her son remained under the care of his father, and his mistress.

Mr. Hunt, at this time, appears to have been living in a style of considerable pretension. The high prices of farm produce enabled him to maintain a large establishment, and he followed the sports of the field with great avidity, while he resided in Bath during the months which constituted the “season” of that then gay city.

We do not profess to give any lengthened history of his remarkable career, because to do so would be to exceed the limits and intention of a work of the character of the present; but the following, we believe, will be found to be a faithful, though necessarily short, narrative of the chief circumstances of his life.

While in Bath Mr. Hunt formed an acquaintance with the son of a brewer, who deluded him into a partnership; and it appears that he absolutely lost eight thousand pounds in a brewing concern at Bristol, which was the first occasion of his becoming acquainted with the people of that city.

In 1804 he first attended a public meeting, which was held at Devizes, respecting the conduct of Lord Melville; and, in the next year, he first affixed his name to a public address, calling on the inhabitants of Wiltshire to oppose the corn laws. Having once embarked in politics, he was ever restless, and on every possible occasion he forced himself upon public notice with officious zeal; and in 1807 he came forward at Bristol, to propose Sir John Jarvis, as a fit representative for that city.

His noisy interference on all public questions at this time, drew upon him a host of enemies, particularly among his own neighbours, who forbade him to sport upon their grounds; and, as no gentleman would hunt with him, he was obliged to dispose of his stud of horses. On one occasion he committed a trifling trespass, on which an action was brought against him, when he effectually pleaded his own cause, and, encouraged by success, he determined, from that day forward, to dispense with the assistance of counsel in any legal proceedings in which he might be engaged.

In 1809 he held the first meeting for reform, for by this time he had become a disciple of Cobbett. In 1811 he took a large farm in Sussex, called Rowfant, where he continued to reside for one year, at the expiration of which he sold it, and went to live at Middleton cottage, which is situated on the western road, three miles from Andover.

In 1812 he stood twice candidate for Bristol, but was defeated by a large majority on the opposition of the venerated Sir Samuel Romilly. This year he also became a liveryman of London, and from that time Guildhall was often favoured with his presence. He now attended almost every public meeting throughout the country, and gradually became the idol of the mob, to whose comprehension his speeches were admirably adapted. His patriotism, however, proved injurious to his private affairs, for we find, that in 1815, he had overdrawn his account with his bankers, who refused to advance him any more money.

In 1816 he attended the notorious meeting in Spa-fields, where he acted as chairman; but it is only justice to say, that he had held no previous communication with Thistlewood and his colleagues, except for the purpose of striking out some portion of their resolutions, which he considered as offensive. In the year 1818, he appears to have become so flattered by the success which his previous exertions as a popular speaker had gained for him, that he resolved to stand for Westminster, in opposition to Sir Francis Burdett; but whatever may have been his popularity among his own peculiar party, the experiment was unsuccessful, and at the close of the poll it was found that his friends had given only forty-one votes for him; and he had also to regret his rashness in thus publicly thrusting himself forward, as, while upon the hustings, he was soundly horsewhipped by a gentleman, upon whom he had previously inflicted a cowardly and an unmerited injury.

In the year 1819 the principles of radicalism appear to have reached a point of almost ungovernable fury, and Hunt secured to himself the character of the best and firmest champion of the party, by his conduct at a public meeting, which took place at Smithfield at this period, and at which, in truth, it appears that he acted in a manner without reproach.

An event, however, soon afterwards occurred which procured for him still greater notoriety. The Manchester reformers, who had posted up notices of a meeting to be holden on the 9th of August in this year, for the purpose of proceeding to the election of a representative, as at Birmingham, where the people had, some time before, elected Sir Charles Wolseley as their legislatorial attorney or representative, was informed by the magistrates that as the object of the proposed assemblage was unquestionably illegal, it would not be permitted to take place. In consequence of this expressed determination on the part of the authorities, the meeting was abandoned, but fresh notices were issued for a new assemblage on the 16th of the same month, with the avowed legal object of petitioning for a reform in parliament. An open space in the town, called St. Peter’s Field, was selected as the place of meeting, and never upon any former occasion of a similar nature was so great a number of persons known to have met together. For some hours before the proceedings were appointed to commence, large bodies of people continued marching into Manchester from the neighbouring villages and towns, formed in ranks five deep, and many of them armed with stout staves, while the whole body stepped together as if trained for military purposes. Each party bore its own banners, and among others two clubs of female reformers made their appearance, bearing flags of white silk. By mid-day it was calculated that 60,000 persons had assembled. The magistrates, it appears, were anxious that the peace should be preserved, and a number of special constables were sworn in, who formed themselves in a line, from the house in which the justices were sitting, to the stage or waggon fixed as a platform for the speakers. Soon after the business of the meeting had commenced, a body of yeomanry cavalry entered the ground, and advanced with drawn swords towards the stage, when their commanding-officer called to Mr. Hunt, who was addressing the meeting, and informed him that he was his prisoner. Mr. Hunt endeavoured to procure tranquillity among the people, and offered to surrender himself to any civil officer who should present himself, and should exhibit his warrant; and a constable immediately advanced and took him into custody, with some other persons who were similarly engaged. Some uneasiness being now exhibited among the mob, the yeomanry cried out to seize their flags. The men stationed near the waggon, in consequence began to strike down the banners, which were attached to the platform, and a similar course being pursued with respect to those which were raised in other parts of the field, a scene of the most indescribable confusion ensued. The immense number of persons on the field, rendered it almost impossible for the military to move without trampling down some of them under foot; and some resistance being offered, many persons, including females, were cut down with sabres, and while some were killed, the number of wounded amounted to between three and four hundred. In a short time, however, the ground was cleared of its original occupants, and as they fled in all directions, military patroles were immediately placed in the streets, to preserve tranquillity.

It would be almost impossible to give any lengthened or minute description of this riot, or “massacre,” as it has always been called by the radical opponents of government, without in some degree entering into the very strong feeling of party prejudice, which has been universally excited upon the subject. The real circumstances of the case may be said to be unsettled even to this day; and while the magistrates and their friends declare that, the Riot Act having been read, the subsequent proceedings on the part of the soldiery were both justified and necessary, the friends of the people as invariably deny the allegation of the reading of the Riot Act, and therefore contend, that the introduction of a military force was harsh and unconstitutional. The whole transaction does not appear to have occupied more than ten minutes, in the course of which time the field seems to have been cleared of its recent occupiers, and filled with different corps of infantry and cavalry. Hunt and his colleagues were, after a short examination before the magistrates, conducted to solitary cells, on a charge of high-treason, and on the following day notices were issued by the magistrates, by which the practice of military training, alleged to have been carried on in secret, by large bodies of men, for treasonable purposes, was declared to be illegal. Public thanks were, by the same authority, returned to the officers and men of the respective corps engaged in the attack; and, on the arrival in London of a despatch from the local authorities, a cabinet council was held, the result of which was, the return of official letters of thanks to the magistrates, for their prompt, decisive, and efficient measures for the preservation of the public tranquillity; and to all the military engaged, for the support and assistance afforded by them to the civil power.

The circumstances of the Manchester case eventually turned out to be such, that government, by the advice of the law officers of the crown, found it expedient to abandon the threatened prosecution of Mr. Hunt and his colleagues for high-treason. Those persons were accordingly informed that they would be proceeded against for a conspiracy only, which might be bailed; but Mr. Hunt refused to give bail, even, as he said, to the amount of a single farthing: but some of his friends liberated him. On his return from Lancaster, where he had been confined, to Manchester, Hunt was drawn about two miles by women, and ten miles by men. In fact, his return was one long triumphal procession, waited upon by thousands, on horse, on foot, and in carriages, who hailed him with continued shouts of applause.

The sensation produced throughout the country by this fatal business was intense. Hunt’s conduct was universally applauded, and he received the thanks of nearly every county in England, and those even who opposed him on principle now forgot their enmity, and hailed him as the uncompromising champion of liberty. His entry into London was public, and some of the first characters of the day honoured him with their presence, whilst hundreds of thousands welcomed him with deafening applause.

The agitation had hardly subsided when true bills were found against Hunt and his companions, and their trials came on at York, and continued, without intermission, for fourteen days, during which time Hunt displayed powers of intellect, and acuteness of perception, of which even his friends did not suppose him to be possessed. He was found guilty, however, and ordered to be brought up to the Court of King’s Bench for sentence, but he afterwards moved, in person, for a new trial. Although he argued with all the tact and ability of the most experienced lawyer, his motion was refused, and he was sentenced to two years and a half imprisonment in Ilchester jail.

He had not been long incarcerated when he brought to light a system of the most infamous cruelty which had been practised on the unfortunate inmates of that prison by the barbarous jailor. Mr. Hunt himself, being treated with great cruelty, addressed a letter to Mr. Justice Bayley, detailing cases of atrocious cruelty; and the question being at length brought before the House of Commons, an inquiry followed. Hunt substantiated all his charges, and the inhuman jailor was dismissed and punished, while the country rang with the praises of his accuser.

The period of his imprisonment having expired, he again made a public entry into London; but he found that the times had changed, even during that short time. The public prosperity had banished discontent, and with it that wild enthusiasm, which had before been exhibited in his favour, and he was greeted with none of those demonstrations of delight which had been before exhibited. He made several attempts to arouse the lethargy of his former admirers, but in vain; and he at length betook himself to repair his broken fortunes by the manufacture of English coffee, with roasted corn, and subsequently in 1824 he added that of blacking; and so successful was he in this enterprise, that “Hunt’s matchless” became almost as celebrated as the polish of Messrs. Day and Martin.

Mr. Hunt was subsequently returned as member for Preston in Lancashire, and he died while yet representing that place in parliament.

ARTHUR THLSTLEWOOD, RICHARD TIDD, JAMES INGS, WILLIAM DAVIDSON, AND JOHN THOMAS BRUNT.
EXECUTED FOR HIGH TREASON.

OUR readers will be somewhat prepared for the case of these notorious criminals by the perusal of the proceedings of those persons, whose discontent had already brought them within the lash of the law; as well as by the repetition of the name of Thistlewood, whose acquaintance and connection with Dr. Watson and the other Radical leaders of the day had rendered him a person whom the officers of justice deemed it wise to keep under their surveillance. The plot to which he was a party in the year 1820, and his engagement in which cost him his life, had for its object neither more nor less than the assassination of the whole of his majesty’s ministers, and the consequent overthrow of the government.

It was not until the 24th February 1820, that the public were made aware of the existence of the infernal machinations of this band of desperadoes, and then only did they learn it through the medium of the public press, which at once announced its existence and its frustration. Ere the morning had passed, however, a proclamation was plentifully distributed throughout the leading thoroughfares of the metropolis, offering a reward of 1000l. for the apprehension of the notorious Arthur Thistlewood, on a charge, of high treason and murder; and denouncing the heaviest penalties against all who should harbour or conceal him from justice.

It would appear that it had been long known to the members of the government, that a plan was in meditation by which they would all be murdered, and that Thistlewood was one of the originators of and prime movers in the horrid design; but in accordance with the system which then existed, of waiting until the crime should be all but matured, in order to secure a conviction of the offenders, they determined to make no effort to crush the scheme until a period should have arrived, when their own safety rendered it necessary. The conspirators meanwhile having weighed various plans and projects for the accomplishment of their object, eventually determined to select the evening of Wednesday the 23rd February as that on which they would carry out their plot, and it was deemed advisable that this night should be fixed upon, because it became known to them by an announcement in the newspapers, that a cabinet dinner would then be held at the house of Lord Harrowby in Grosvenor-square. Contemptible as the means possessed by the conspirators were to carry their design fully into execution, it is certain, from the confession of one of them, that the first part of their project was planned with so much circumstantial exactness, that the assassination of all the ministers would have been secured. It would appear that it was arranged, that one of the party should proceed to Lord Harrowby’s house with a parcel addressed to his lordship, and that when the door opened, his companions should rush in, bind, or, in case of resistance, kill the servants, and occupy all the avenues of the house, while a select band proceeded to the chamber where the ministers were at dinner, and massacred the whole of them indiscriminately. To increase the confusion hand-grenades were prepared, which it was intended should be thrown lighted into the several rooms; and one of the party engaged to bring away the heads of lords Castlereagh and Sidmouth in a bag which he had provided for that purpose.

Thus far the conspirators might probably have carried their plans into effect; but of the scheme for a general revolution, which these men, whose number never exceeded thirty, appear to have considered themselves capable of accomplishing, we cannot seriously speak. Among other arrangements the Mansion House, selected we suppose for its proximity to the Bank, was fixed upon for the “palace of the provisional government.”

The place chosen for the final organization of their proceedings, and for collecting their force previous to immediate action, was a half-dilapidated tenement in an obscure street called Cato-street, near the Edgeware-road. The premises were composed of a stable, with a loft above, and had been for some time unoccupied. The people in the neighbourhood were ignorant that the stable was let, till the day fixed upon for the perpetration of their atrocious purpose, when several persons, some of whom carried sacks and other packages, were seen to go in and out, and carefully to lock the door after them.

The information upon which ministers proceeded, in frustrating the schemes of the conspirators, was derived from a man named Edwards, who pretended to enter into their views, for the purpose of betraying them.

Thus accurately informed of the intentions of the gang, measures were taken for their apprehension. A strong body of constables and police-officers, supported by a detachment of the guards, was ordered to proceed to Cato-street, under the direction of Mr. (afterwards Sir Richard) Birnie, the magistrate. On arriving at the spot they found that the conspirators had taken the precaution to place a sentinel below, and that the only approach to the loft was by passing up a ladder, and through a trap-door so narrow as not to admit more than one at a time. Ruthven led the way, followed by Ellis, Smithers, and others of the Bow-street patrole, and on the door being opened they discovered the whole gang, in number between twenty and thirty, hastily arming themselves. There was a carpenter’s bench in the room, on which lay a number of cutlasses, bayonets, pistols, sword-belts, and a considerable quantity of ammunition. Ruthven, upon bursting into the loft, announced himself as a peace-officer, and called upon them to lay down their arms. Thistlewood stood near the door with a drawn sword, and Smithers advanced upon him, when the former made a lunge, and the unfortunate officer received the blade in his breast, and almost immediately expired.

About this time the guards, who had been delayed in consequence of their having entered the street at the wrong end, arrived under the command of Captain (Lord Adolphus) Fitzclarence, and mounted the ladder; but as the conspirators had extinguished the lights, fourteen or fifteen of them succeeded in making their escape, and Thistlewood, the chief of the gang, was among the number. A desperate conflict now took place, and at length nine persons were made prisoners; namely Ings, Wilson, Bradburn, Gilchrist, Cooper, Tidd, Monument, Shaw, and Davidson. The whole of them were immediately conveyed to Bow-street, together with a large quantity of arms, consisting of pistols, guns, swords and pikes, and a large sack full of hand-grenades, besides other ammunition, which had been found in the loft. The same means, by which the conspiracy had been discovered, were now adopted in order to procure the discovery of the hiding-place of Thistlewood, and it was found that instead of his returning to his own lodgings in Stanhope-street, Clare Market, on the apprehension of his fellows, he had gone to an obscure house, No. 8 White-street, Moorfields. On the morning of the 24th February, at nine o’clock, Lavender and others of the Bow-street patrol were despatched to secure his apprehension; and after planting a guard round the house, so as to prevent the possibility of his escaping, they entered a room on the ground-floor, where they found the object of their inquiry in bed, with his stockings and breeches on. In his pockets were found some ball-cartridges and flints, a black girdle or belt, which he was seen to wear at Cato-street, and a military sash.

He was first conveyed to Bow-street, and there shortly examined by Sir R. Birnie, by whom he was subsequently conducted to Whitehall, where he was introduced to the presence of the Privy Council. He was still handcuffed, but he mounted the stairs leading to the council-chamber with great alacrity. On his being informed of the nature of the charges made against him, by the lord chancellor, he declined saying anything and was remanded to prison. In the course of the week several other persons were apprehended as being accessories to the plot; and on the 3rd March, Thistlewood, Monument, Brunt, Ings, Wilson, Harrison, Tidd, and Davidson, were committed to the Tower as state prisoners, the rest of the persons charged being again sent to Coldbath-fields prison, where they had been previously confined.

The case of the parties to this most diabolical conspiracy immediately received the attention of the law officers of the crown; and on the 15th April 1820, a special commission having issued, the prisoners were arraigned at the bar of the Old Bailey on the charge of high treason, and also of murder, in having caused the death of the unfortunate Smithers. There were eleven prisoners, Arthur Thistlewood, William Davidson (a man of colour), James Ings, John Thomas Brunt, Richard Tidd, James Wilson, John Harrison, Richard Bradburn, John Shaw Strange, James Gilchrist, and Charles Cooper, and they all pleaded Not guilty to the charges preferred against them.

Counsel having been assigned to the prisoners, and the necessary forms having been gone through, Thistlewood received an intimation that his case would be taken on Monday morning the 17th of the same month, and the prisoners were remanded to that day.

At the appointed time, accordingly, Arthur Thistlewood was placed at the bar. He looked pale, but evinced his usual firmness. The jury having been sworn, and the indictment read, the attorney-general stated the case at great length, and twenty-five witnesses were examined in support of the prosecution, among whom were several accomplices, whose testimony was satisfactorily corroborated. Some of those who appeared to give evidence had been apprehended on the fatal night in Cato-street, but were now admitted witnesses for the crown. After a trial which occupied the court four days, Thistlewood was found Guilty of high treason. He heard the verdict with his wonted composure, seeming to have anticipated it; for when it was pronounced he appeared quite indifferent to what so fatally concerned him.

The evidence against Tidd, Ings, Davidson, and Brunt, whose trials came on next in succession, differed little from that upon which Thistlewood was convicted, and they were also found Guilty. Their trials being separate, occupied the court six days. On the evening of the tenth day the six remaining prisoners, at the suggestion of their counsel, pleaded Guilty, having been permitted to withdraw their former plea, by which they eventually escaped capital punishment.

On Friday, April the 28th, the eleven prisoners were brought up to receive sentence. When the usual question was put to Thistlewood by the clerk of arraigns, why he should not receive sentence to die, he pulled a paper from his pocket, and read as follows:—

“I am asked, my lord, what I have to say that judgment of death should not be passed upon me according to law. This to me is mockery—for were the reasons I could offer incontrovertible, and were they enforced even by the eloquence of a Cicero, still would the vengeance of my Lords Castlereagh and Sidmouth be satiated only in the purple stream which circulates through a heart more enthusiastically vibrating to every impulse of patriotism and honour, than that of any of those privileged traitors to their country, who lord it over the lives and property of the sovereign people with barefaced impunity. The reasons which I have, however, I will now state—not that I entertain the slightest hope from your sense of justice or from your pity.—The former is swallowed up in your ambition, or rather by the servility you descend to, to obtain the object of that ambition—the latter I despise; justice I demand; if I am denied it, your pity is no equivalent. In the first place, I protest against the proceedings upon my trial, which I conceive to be grossly partial, and contrary to the very spirit of justice; but, alas! the judges, who have heretofore been considered the counsel of the accused, are now, without exception, in all cases between the crown and the people, the most implacable enemies of the latter.—In every instance, the judges charge the jury to find the subject guilty; nay, in one instance, the jury received a reprimand, and that not in the genteelest terms, for not strictly obeying the imperious mandate from the bench.

“The court decided upon my trial to commit murder rather than depart in the slightest degree from its usual forms; nay, it is with me a question if the form is usual, which precluded me from examining witnesses to prove the infamy of Adams, of Hieden, and of Dwyer. Ere the solicitor-general replied to the address of my counsel, I applied to the court to hear my witnesses: the court inhumanly refused, and I am in consequence to be consigned to the scaffold. Numerous have been the instances in which this rule of court has been infringed; but to have infringed it in my case would have been to incur the displeasure of the crown, and to forfeit every aspiring hope of promotion. A few hours hence I shall be no more, but the nightly breeze which shall whistle over the silent grave that shall protect me from its keenness, will bear to your restless pillow the memory of one, who lived but for his country, and died when liberty and justice had been driven from its confines, by a set of villains, whose thirst for blood is only to be equalled by their activity in plunder. For life, as it respects myself, I care not—but while yet I may, I would rescue my memory from the calumny, which I doubt not will be industriously heaped upon it, when it will be no longer in my power to protect it. I would explain the motives which induced me to conspire against the ministers of his majesty, and I would contrast them with those which those very ministers have acted upon in leading me to my ruin. To do this, it will be necessary to take a short review of my life for a few months prior to my arrest for the offence for which I am to be executed, without a trial, or at least without an impartial one, by a jury of my peers. ’Tis true the form, the etiquette of a trial, has been gone through; but I challenge any of the judges on the bench to tell me, to tell my country, that justice was not denied me in the very place where justice only should be administered. I challenge them to say that I was fairly tried; I challenge them to say if I am not murdered, according to the etiquette of a court, falsely called of justice? I had witnesses in court to prove that Dwyer was a villain beyond all example of atrocity. I had witnesses in court to prove that Adams was a notorious swindler, and that Hieden was no better; these were the three witnesses—indeed almost the only ones against me—but the form and rules of court must not be infringed upon to save an unfortunate individual from the scaffold. I called those witnesses at the close of Mr. Adolphus’ address to the jury, and before the solicitor-general commenced his reply, but the court decided that they could not be heard. Some good men have thought, and I have thought so too, that before the jury retired all evidence was in time for either the prosecutor or the accused, and more particularly for the latter; nay, even before the verdict was given, that evidence could not be considered too late. Alas! such people drew their conclusion from principles of justice only; they never canvassed the rules of court, which have finally sealed my unhappy doom.

“Many people, who are acquainted with the barefaced manner in which I was plundered by my Lord Sidmouth, will, perhaps, imagine that personal motives instigated me to the deed, but I disclaim them. My every principle was for the prosperity of my country; my every feeling, the height of my ambition, was the securing the welfare of my starving brother Englishmen. I keenly felt for their miseries; but when their miseries were laughed at, and when because they dared to express those miseries, they were cut down by hundreds, inhumanly massacred and trampled upon, when infant babes were sabred in their mothers’ arms, nay, when the breast from whence they drew the tide of life was severed from the body which supplied that life, my feelings became too intense, too excessive for endurance, and I resolved on vengeance—I resolved that the lives of the instigators should be the requiem to the souls of the murdered innocents.

“In this mood I met with George Edwards, and if any doubt should remain upon the minds of the public whether the deed I meditated was virtuous or contrary, the tale I will now relate will convince them, that in attempting to exercise a power which the law had ceased to have, I was only wreaking national vengeance on a set of wretches unworthy of the name or character of men.

“This Edwards, poor and penniless, lived near Pickett-street in the Strand, some time ago, without a bed to lie upon, or a chair to sit in. Straw was his resting place; his only covering a blanket. Owing to his bad character, and his swindling conduct, he was driven from thence by his landlord. It is not my intention to trace him through his immorality: suffice it to say, that he was in every sense of the word a villain of the deepest atrocity. His landlord refused to give him a character. Some short time after this, he called upon his landlord again; but mark the change in his appearance; dressed like a lord, in all the folly of the reigning fashion. He now described himself as the right heir to a German baron, who had been some time dead, that Lords Castlereagh and Sidmouth had acknowledged his claims to the title and property; had interfered in his behalf with the German government, and supplied him with money to support his rank in society. From this period I date his career as a government spy.

“He got himself an introduction to the Spenceans, by what means I am not aware of; and thus he became acquainted with the reformers in general. When I met with Edwards, after the massacre at Manchester, he described himself as very poor; and after several interviews, he proposed a plan for blowing up the House of Commons. This was not my view. I wished to punish the guilty only, and therefore I declined it. He next proposed that we should attack the ministers at the fête given by the Spanish ambassador. This I resolutely opposed: because the innocent would perish with the guilty: besides, there were ladies invited to the entertainment, and I, who am shortly to ascend the scaffold, shuddered with horror at the idea of that, a sample of which had previously been given by the agents of government at Manchester, and which the ministers of his majesty applauded. Edwards was ever ready at invention; and at length he proposed attacking them at a cabinet dinner. I asked where were the means to carry his project into effect? He replied, if I would accede, we should not want for means. He was as good as his word: from him, notwithstanding his apparent penury, the money was provided for purchasing the stores which your lordships have seen produced in court upon my trial. He who was never possessed of money to pay for a pint of beer, had always plenty to purchase arms or ammunition. Amongst the conspirators, he was ever the most active; ever inducing people to join him, up to the last hour ere the undertaking was discovered.

“I had witnesses in court, who could prove they went to Cato-street by appointment with Edwards, with no other knowledge or motive than that of passing an evening amongst his friends. I could also have proved, that subsequent to the fatal transaction, when we met in Holborn, he endeavoured to induce two or three of my companions to set fire to houses and buildings in various parts of the metropolis. I could prove that, subsequent to that again, he endeavoured to induce men to throw hand-grenades into the carriages of the ministers, as they passed through the streets; and yet this man, the contriver, the instigator, the entrapper, is secured from justice, and from exposure, by those very men, who seek vengeance against the victims of his and their villany. To the attorney and solicitor generals I cannot impute the clearest motives: their object seems to me to have been rather to secure a verdict against me, than to obtain a full and fair exposition of the whole affair, since its commencement. If their object was justice alone, why not bring Edwards as a witness, if not as an accomplice? but no, they knew that by keeping him in the back-ground, my proofs, ay my incontrovertible proofs, of his being a hired spy, the suggester and promoter, must, according to the rules of court, also be excluded. Edwards and his accomplices arranged matters in such a manner, as that his services might be dispensed with on the trial, and thus were the jury cut off from every chance of ascertaining the real truth. Adams, Hieden, and Dwyer, were the agents of Edwards, and truly he made a most admirable choice, for their invention seems to be inexhaustible.

“With respect to the immorality of our project, I will just observe, that the assassination of a tyrant has always been deemed a meritorious action. Brutus and Cassius were lauded to the very skies for slaying Cæsar; indeed, when any man, or any set of men, place themselves above the laws of their country, there is no other means of bringing them to justice, than through the arm of a private individual. If the laws are not strong enough to prevent them from murdering the community, it becomes the duty of every member of that community to rid the country of its oppressors. High treason was committed against the people at Manchester, but justice was closed against the mutilated, the maimed, and the friends of those, who were upon that occasion indiscriminately massacred. The Prince, by the advice of his ministers, thanked the murderers, still reeking in the gore of their hapless victims. If one spark of honour, if one spark of independence still glimmered in the breasts of Englishmen, they would have risen to a man. Insurrection then became a public duty; and the blood of the victims should have been the watchword to vengeance on their murderers. The banner of independence should have floated in the gale, that brought their wrongs and their sufferings to the metropolis. Such, however, was not the case; Albion is still in the chains of slavery. I quit it without regret,—I shall soon be consigned to the grave,—my body will be immured beneath the soil whereon I first drew breath,—my only sorrow is, that that soil should be a theatre for slaves, for cowards, for despots. My motives, I doubt not, will hereafter be justly appreciated. I will now conclude, therefore, by stating that I shall consider myself as murdered, if I am to be executed on the verdict obtained against me, by the refusal of the court to hear my evidence.

“I could have proved Dwyer to be a villain of the blackest dye, for since my trial, an accomplice of his, named Arnold, has been capitally convicted at this very bar, for obtaining money under circumstances of an infamous nature. I seek not pity; I demand but justice. I have not had a fair trial, and upon that ground I protest that judgment ought not to be passed against me.”

The Lord Chief Justice, during the reading of this address, more than once interposed, to prevent the prisoner from either seeking to justify assassination, or slandering the characters of witnesses who had appeared to give evidence in that court. The prisoner, however, proceeded to read till he had finished what had been written on the paper in his hand. His manner was rapid and confused; and the mode in which he pronounced several words, gave abundant evidence that this paper was not his own composition.

Mr. Shelton then put the same question to Davidson, who spoke with great vehemence, and much gesticulation, nearly as follows:—

“My lords, you ask me what I have to say why I should not receive judgment to die for what has been said against me. I answer, that I protest against the proceedings in this trial in toto. In the first place, I always thought that in a court of justice, the balance of justice was held with an even hand. But this has not been the case with me; I stand here helpless and friendless. I endeavoured to show that the evidence against me was contradictory and incredible, and I hoped I had made an impression on the gentlemen in the box; but the moment I was done, the attorney-general got up and told them, that the evidence was pure and uncontaminated, and to this I may add, that Baron Garrow almost insisted that they should pronounce me guilty. I would ask, has any person identified me but the officers? who, every one knows, have at all times been instrumental in the death of innocent persons. I do not now plead for my life; I know I must fall a victim to the vengeance of my enemies. But in what manner have I been guilty of high treason? It would seem I was a silent spectator; none of the witnesses impute to me a single observation. Now is this probable? I had always got a great deal to say for myself, consequently I was not the person who would stand by without uttering a word; and yet such has been the testimony of Adams. Then, with regard to the blunderbuss, I have already explained that this was not mine, and that I acted in that affair entirely as the agent of Edwards. I have also declared how I came by the sword, and I now declare upon my soul, which will shortly appear before its Maker, that I never made any blow at any man, or discharged any carbine. As for Munday, the man who swore that I had a long sword, with a pair of pistols in my girdle, who is he? He is a poor labouring man, who comes here for his day’s pay and his victuals, to swear away the life of a fellow-creature, and to support the unfounded charge against me that I meant to assassinate his Majesty’s ministers. I appeal to any man, whether it is upon such evidence that the life of an innocent man is to be sacrificed? But even supposing, for the sake of argument, that the lives of his Majesty’s ministers were threatened, it did not follow that this was to extend to the king himself. In a passage of Magna Charta, it was ordained that twenty-five barons should be nominated to see that the terms of the charter were not infringed; and if it was found his Majesty’s ministers were guilty of such infringement, then four barons were to call upon them for redress. If this were not granted, then the four barons were to return to their brethren, by whom the people were to be called together to take up arms, and assert their rights. Such an act was not considered, in old times, as an act of treason towards the king, however hostile it might be towards his ministers. But this does not apply to me. I had no intention of joining in any scheme whatever, either to put down my king, or to murder his ministers. I was entrapped by Goldsworthy and Edwards, in order, for some private purposes of their own, that they might have my life sworn away. I have no objection to tender my life in the service of my country; but let me at least, for the sake of my children, save my character from the disgrace of dying a traitor. For my children only do I feel, and when I think of them, I am deprived of utterance——. I can say no more.”

Ings, on being called upon, said, “I have very little to say, for my abilities will not allow me to speak. If Mr. Edwards had not got acquainted with me, I should not be here; he came to me, unfortunately, when I had no business, nor any means of getting a living for my family. I entered into the conspiracy only through him, and it was only necessity and the want of means to support my wife and family that brought me here. It is only through Edwards that I shall lose my life. I do not mind dying, if you will let that man come forward and die with me on the scaffold; for it was through him that I was going to do that which, I must allow, was of a most disgraceful and inhuman nature. On the other hand, his Majesty’s ministers conspire together, and impose laws to starve me and my family, and my fellow countrymen; and if I were going to assassinate these ministers, I do not see that it is so bad as starvation. There is another thing, a meeting was called at Manchester, under the protection of the law of England, for which our forefathers died, and which King John signed in the open air. This meeting was called under the protection of that law, for the people to petition parliament to give them their rights; but previous to the business of the meeting, the Manchester yeomanry rode in among them, and cut down men, women, and children, in a manner that was a disgrace to the very name of Englishmen. Those yeomen had their swords ground beforehand, and I had a sword ground also, but I do not see any harm in that. I shall suffer, no doubt; but I hope my children will live to see justice done to their bleeding country: I would rather die like a man, than live like a slave. I am sorry I have not power to say more; I shall therefore withdraw.”

John Thomas Brunt next addressed the court in the following terms:—“I am precluded from saying much: I had intended to have committed to writing my defence, but I have been denied pen, ink, and paper;—as such, what I have to state will be very short. In the first place, whatever impression I made on the jury yesterday, was knocked down by the Solicitor-General, who appears to me, by his sophistical eloquence, to be capable of making the worst of crimes appear a virtue. And next, with regard to Edwards, to whose machinations I have at last fallen a dupe: he once before nearly entrapped me, when a cabinet dinner was given, I believe, at the Earl of Westmoreland’s. He said he had part of the men mustered, but there was not sufficient. He had like to have hooked me in then, but I happened not to go to the house. No doubt that Hieden was in that plot for me; it was held at the Scotch Arms. Of all the infamous characters on earth, Edwards is the worst; and yet he has been kept altogether out of the view of the court. I protest against the verdict which has been pronounced against me. For my life, if it was sacrificed in the cause of liberty, I care not a farthing; but it is galling to have it sworn away by a set of villains who thirst after blood, merely for the sake of personal gain. Edwards is far more worthy of punishment than any of us. He it was that furnished the arms—and he it was that goaded us on to our own ruin. He always spoke well of me, and said, if he had a hundred such men as me, he would be satisfied. He knew I was not a shuttlecock, to be bandied about at pleasure. He knew he could put confidence in my word, and that I would perish before I shrunk from what I undertook.” (The prisoner then went on in a strain of strong invective against the witness Adams.) After which he referred to the two Monuments. These two persons had been described by the Solicitor-General, as having had no communication with each other, and yet having agreed in all respects in their testimony. Was this the fact? No, for three weeks previous to the trials, they met twice a day at the Tower, rehearsed their story, and thus were enabled to come forward quite perfect in their respective parts. He next adverted to the character of his apprentice Hale, and was casting strong reflections on his conduct—when

The chief justice said he could not suffer such observations to be made under such circumstances.

Brunt begged pardon, but said he stated nothing but facts. He next adverted to the conduct of Lords Castlereagh and Sidmouth; “They,” he said, “had been the cause of the death of millions, and although he admitted he had conspired to put such men out of the world, still he did not think that amounted to high treason. He was one of those who would have been satisfied with taking off the cabinet ministers; but the verdict against him, of intending to depose his majesty, he contended, was utterly at variance with truth and justice. He had never contemplated any such consequence. He was neither a traitor to his king nor to his country; nor would he suffer any man in his presence to speak irreverently of his sovereign. In undertaking to kill Lord Castlereagh, Lord Sidmouth, and their fellow ministers, he did not expect to save his life—he was determined to die a martyr in his country’s cause, and to avenge the innocent blood shed at Manchester.” In conclusion, he said he was willing to suffer for the acts which he had contemplated; but it grieved him to think that he was to suffer for a crime of which he was innocent, namely, High Treason. On these grounds, he protested against the verdict of the jury, as contrary to law and justice.

Richard Tidd was the next called upon. He spoke as follows:—

“My lords and gentlemen, being only found guilty so late last night, I have not had an opportunity to make up any defence. All I can say is, and I positively swear it, that the evidence that has come before you, with the exception of that of Captain Fitzclarence, is utterly false.”

James Wilson said, “I am not gifted with the power of talking much, but I mean to say, that I was certainly drawn into this by this Edwards.”

John Harrison, and John Shaw Strange, contented themselves with declaring that they had been brought into the matter by Edwards.

James Gilchrist addressed the court in the following terms. “What I shall say in the presence of my God and you is, that till the Wednesday evening at four o’clock, I knew nothing about this business. I was going to look for work, and I had neither money nor bread; so I went to what I was told was to be a supper of the radicals. At six o’clock I met Charles Cooper, who was the only man I knew, and I borrowed a halfpenny of him, which with another enabled me to get a pennyworth of bread, and this I eat very sweet. I wish I may never come out of this place if I tell false. We then went into the stable and up stairs, where there was some bread and cheese. I took an old sword and hewed down the loaf, of which others who were as hungry as me partook. I then asked what all these arms were about, and when I heard, I was so shocked that I determined to get away as fast as I could. Soon after the officers and soldiers came, and I thought it my duty to surrender. I now stand here convicted of high treason, after I served my king and country for twelve years, and this is the recompense. Oh, God!—I have nothing more to say.”

Charles Cooper said, he had much to say, but his friends thought it would be imprudent. He said, “he could only declare that he was not guilty of the crime imputed to him.”

The crier of the court now proclaimed silence in the usual manner, while sentence of death was passing upon the prisoners:—and the Lord Chief Justice then proceeded to address the prisoners severally by their respective names.

After a most admirable and affecting speech, he passed sentence in the usual form upon them, directing that after they should have been hanged, their heads should be severed from their bodies, and their bodies divided into four quarters, which should be at the disposal of his majesty.

The execution of Thistlewood, Ings, Brunt, Davidson, and Tidd, took place on the following Monday, at Newgate. Davidson was the only prisoner who did not reject religious consolation; and Thistlewood, when on the scaffold, turned away from the ordinary, with an expression of indifference and contempt.

Thistlewood having been first called upon to ascend the gallows, he did so with much alacrity, and he was immediately followed by Tidd, who shook hands with all his companions, except Davidson, who was standing apart from the rest. At the moment he was going out Ings seized him by the hand, exclaiming with a shout of laughter, “Come, give us your hand; good bye,” but the remark was coldly received by the unfortunate convict, who dropped a tear, at the same time making some observation with regard to his “wife and daughter.” Ings, however, with the most astonishing degree of levity, cried out “Come, my old cock-o’-wax, keep up your spirits, it will be all over soon,” and Tidd appeared to squeeze his hand, and then attempted to run up the steps to the scaffold. In his haste and agitation he stumbled, but he quickly recovered himself, and, with a species of hysterical action, jumped upon the stage, and there stamped his feet as if anxious for the executioner to perform his dreadful office. He was received by the gazing multitude with loud cheers, which he acknowledged by repeated bows. While the executioner was fixing the fatal noose he appeared to recognise a friend at an opposite window, and he nodded to him with much ease and familiarity of manner. He repeatedly turned round and surveyed the assembled mob; and catching sight of the coffins, which were ranged behind the gallows, he smiled upon them with affected indifference and contempt. While waiting for the completion of the preparations for the execution of those whom he had left behind him in the press-room, he, as well as Thistlewood, was observed repeatedly to refresh himself by sucking an orange; but upon Mr. Cotton’s approaching him, like that prisoner, he rejected his proffered services.

Ings was the next who was summoned, and while on the scaffold he exhibited the same indecent levity of manner which he had shown in the press-room. He laughed while he sucked an orange, and on his being called, he screamed with a sort of mad effort,

“Oh! give me Death or Liberty!”

to which Brunt, who stood near him, rejoined, “Ay, to be sure: it is better to die free than to live like slaves.”

On being earnestly and charitably desired to turn their attention to more serious subjects, and to recollect the existence of a God, into whose presence they would soon be ushered, Brunt said, “I know there is a God;” and Ings, agreeing to this, added “that he hoped he would be more merciful to them than they were then.”

Just as the hatch was opening to admit him to the steps of the scaffold, he turned round to Brunt, and smiling, shook him by the hand, and then with a loud voice, cried out, “Remember me to King George the Fourth; God bless him, and may he have a long reign!” Then recollecting that he had left off the suit of clothes in which he had been tried, but which after his conviction he had exchanged for his old slaughtering jacket, because, as he said, he was resolved that Jack Ketch should have no coat of his, he desired his wife might have what clothes he had thrown off. He then said to Mr. Davies, one of the turnkeys, “Well, Mr. Davies, I am going to find out this great secret.”

He was again proceeding to sing

“Oh! Give me Death or Liberty!”

when he was called to the platform, upon which he leaped and bounded in the most frantic manner. Then turning himself round towards Smithfield, and facing the very coffin that was soon to receive his mutilated body he raised his pinioned hands, as well as he could, and leaning forward with savage energy, roared out three distinct cheers to the people, in a voice of the most frightful and discordant hoarseness. But it was pleasing to remark, that these unnatural yells of desperation, which were evidently nothing more than the ravings of a disordered mind, or the ebullitions of an assumed courage, were not returned by the motley mass of people who heard them.

Turning his face towards Ludgate-hill, he bowed, and cried out, “Here’s the last remains of James Ings!” and again sung aloud, preserving the well-known tune of that song as much as possible,

“Oh! Give me Death or Liberty!
Oh! Give me Death or Liberty!”

Observing some persons near him, and amongst them one who was taking notes, he said, “Mind, I die an enemy to all tyrants. Mind, and put that down!” Upon viewing the coffins, he laughed, and said, “I will turn my back on death. Those coffins are for us I suppose.”

At this time Tidd, who had been just spoken to by Thistlewood, was heard to remonstrate with Ings, and to tell him not to make such a noise, adding, “We can die without making a noise;” upon which Ings for a moment was silent; but soon burst out afresh, asking the executioner not to cover his eyes, as he wished to see as long as he could. At another time he said, “Mind you do it well—pull it tight;” or, as some heard it, “Do it tidy.” He also requested to have a greater length of rope to fall; and that at last his eyes should be tightly bandaged round with a handkerchief, which he held in his hand.

Upon the approach of Mr. Cotton he rejected his pious services; but cried out, as if sarcastically, “I hope you’ll give me a good character, won’t you, Mr. Cotton?”

Davidson was the next summoned; and it is truly gratifying to state the difference that marked the character and conduct of him who had derived his fortitude to face death, and all its awful preparations, from other principles and sources than those from which the others appear to have borrowed their wild determination. He had paid earnest and devoted attention to the consolatory offices bestowed upon him by the ordinary of the jail; and when he was called upon to ascend the scaffold, he did so with a firm and steady step, but with that respectful humiliation which might well be derived from his firm reliance in his Creator’s goodness. His lips moved in prayer, and he gently bowed to the people before him; and he continued fervently praying with Mr. Cotton until the last duty of the executioner was performed.

The last summoned to the fatal platform was Brunt, whose conduct presented nothing particularly worthy of remark. The whole of the necessary arrangements were completed within a very few minutes after he had ascended the drop; and the fatal signal being given, the bolt was withdrawn, and the whole of the men almost instantly died. When their bodies had hung for half an hour, a new character entered upon the scaffold—the person who was to perform that part of the sentence which required the deceased men to be decapitated. He was masked; and from the ready and skilful manner in which he performed his office, it was supposed by many that he was a surgeon. The heads were exhibited successively at the corners of the stage; and the whole ceremony having now been completed, the bodies were carried into the interior of the jail in the coffins, which had been prepared for them.

It will be observed that there were six prisoners remaining, upon whom sentence was not executed. Of these, Gilchrist, who in reality turned out to be no party to the plot, received his majesty’s pardon, and the other five were transported for life.

Having thus detailed the circumstances of this most diabolical conspiracy, we shall now give a brief biography of its principal promoters.

Arthur Thistlewood was a native of Horncastle, in Lincolnshire, where he was born in the year 1770. His father was land-steward to a most respectable family in the neighbourhood, and maintained through life an unblemished reputation. The subject of this sketch was, early in life, put to school with a view to his being educated as a land-surveyor; but having exhibited a disinclination for business, at the age of twenty-one, through the instrumentality of his friends, he obtained a lieutenancy in the militia, which he subsequently exchanged for a like commission in a marching regiment. He shortly afterwards married a lady possessed, as he supposed, of a fortune of 10,000l.; but upon his proceeding to make inquiries he found that she was entitled only to a life interest in the money, and that on her decease it would revert to a distant relation. Sixteen months after this marriage, Mrs. Thistlewood died in childbed, and her husband was left without a shilling. He had, however, retained his commission, and at the commencement of the revolutionary war he accompanied his regiment to the West Indies, but he soon gave up his rank, and quitting the army, he proceeded to America. From thence he sailed to France, where he arrived soon after the fall of the tyrant Robespierre; and there he became fully initiated into all the feelings and doctrines of the revolutionists. He afterwards entered the French army, and was present at several battles; and although a person of moderate capacity, he obtained a considerable knowledge of military tactics. He was besides a good swordsman, and possessed undeniable courage. His habitual hatred of oppression, it appears, involved him in many disputes; and it is but justice to say that most of these redound to his credit. After the peace of Amiens, he returned to England, and found himself possessed of a considerable estate, which accrued to him on the death of a relative; but his evil genius still accompanied him. He sold his property to a person at Durham for ten thousand pounds, who becoming a bankrupt before the money was paid, Thistlewood found himself again reduced to comparative poverty.

His father and brother, both of whom resided in Lincolnshire, now took a farm and stocked it for him; but in consequence of the high rent and taxes he found himself an annual loser by the speculation, and, in consequence, abandoned agriculture. Previous to this, however, he had been married to his second wife, Miss Wilkinson of Horncastle, a woman who perfectly coincided in the political opinions of her husband. Driven from the country, he repaired to London with his wife, and contracted an acquaintance with the Spenceans. A propensity to gaming seems to have been the first step to his ruin. In early life he lost considerable sums at the hells of London, and this vicious habit did not abandon him in his later years, as it was well known that the gaming-table was his only resource against the pressing demands of his family, precarious as must have been the subsistence derived from such a pursuit.

In London, his constant companions were, the Watsons, Evans, and others of the same character: and the consequence of this connexion the reader may learn by a reference to the case of Dr. Watson, which we have already given. His imprisonment on that charge might have taught him prudence, but he was scarcely released from incarceration when he sent a challenge, to fight a duel, to Lord Sidmouth; the consequence of which was a motion in the Court of King’s Bench, and Thistlewood was sentenced to six months’ imprisonment in Horsham Jail.

Before this last confinement his dress was genteel, and his air that of a military man; but, after his release from Horsham Jail, his appearance indicated extreme poverty.

Oppressed by want, and instigated by revenge, he forgot the lessons misfortune should have taught him; and listening to the sanguinary suggestions of others, entered but too eagerly into the plot, for his connexion with which he was executed. The police watched his movements, and his every word and action were known to the secretary of state. Strange, indeed, was the infatuation he laboured under; and, if we look upon him as perfectly sane, his conduct must appear unaccountable. He had already been the dupe of a government spy. But the wretched man was occasionally supplied with money, and his case being desperate, danger, in his eyes, lost its forbidding aspect. The jaws of destruction were extended before him, and he rushed upon his fate with all its horrors staring him in the face.

In person Thistlewood was tall and thin; his countenance was dark, but by no means expressive. He had no family by either of his wives, but a natural son took leave of him on the day before his execution.

Richard Tidd, singularly enough, was born at Grantham, in the same county with the birth-place of his leader, in the year 1773, and he was brought up to the trade of a shoemaker. At the age of sixteen years he quitted his master, and went to Nottingham, and having lived there until he had reached the age of nineteen, he proceeded to London. Here he appears to have taken considerable interest in the politics of the day; but having, in the year 1803, committed perjury, in swearing himself a freeholder, in order to enable him to vote for Sir Francis Burdett, as member for Middlesex, he fled to Scotland, to avoid prosecution. Having resided there during five years, he then returned to England, and after a short stay at Rochester, he proceeded once again to the metropolis, where he became a party to the plot for which Colonel Despard and others were executed, but escaped their fate, by being temporarily absent from town. During the war he enlisted into more than half the regiments of the crown, but he had no sooner received the bounty, than he deserted; and it appears most extraordinary that he should have so frequently escaped. In 1818 he commenced his last residence in London, and he then exhibited violent political feelings. Having become acquainted with Brunt, he was introduced by him to Edwards, and the assumed violence of the latter suiting his feelings well, he eagerly closed with every proposition which he made, however desperate it might be. It is not a little remarkable that he had always an impression on his mind that he should be hanged, and he frequently declared his belief to this effect to his friends. He left a wife and daughter behind him to deplore the truth of his prediction.

James Ings was the son of a respectable tradesman in Hampshire, and being possessed of a considerable property, when he came of age, he married a respectable young woman, and entered into business as a butcher, at Portsmouth.

Trade growing bad at the termination of the war, and his property having decreased, some of his tenements were sold, and he came up to London in 1818, with a little ready money, produced by the sale of a house, and opened a butcher’s shop at the west end of the town. He could, however, get no business, and in a few months gave up the shop; and, with a few pounds he had left, he opened a coffee-house in Whitechapel.

Here he became involved in great distress, and at last was compelled to pawn his watch, to enable him to send his wife and children down to Portsmouth, to her friends, to prevent their starving in London. At the coffee-house in Whitechapel he sold, besides coffee, political pamphlets; and having read the different Deistical publications, from being a churchman he became a confirmed Deist.

He was a most affectionate husband and father; and his desperate situation, no doubt, was a principal cause of his joining the Cato-street plot. Edwards, Adams, Thistlewood, and Brunt, had frequently visited him during the time he kept the coffee and pamphlet shop; and, when he was in more desperate circumstances, he became a fitter companion for persons engaged in such an atrocious crime as the one for which he suffered the sentence of the law.

For some weeks before the Cato-street discovery, Ings was in the utmost distress, quite penniless; and the means of subsistence were actually supplied to him by Edwards. At his instigation, also, he hired a room, in which he lodged, which was sufficiently capacious to contain a very considerable portion of the arms and ammunition of the gang.

This unfortunate man left a wife and four children to deplore his ignominious death.

William Davidson was born in the year 1786, at Kingston, in Jamaica, and was the second son of Mr. Attorney-General Davidson, a man of considerable legal knowledge and talent. He mother was a native of the West Indies, and a woman of colour. He was sent to England when very young, for the purpose of receiving an education suitable to the rank of his father, and his own prospects: and having obtained the first rudiments of knowledge, he was sent to an academy, where he studied mathematics. After some time he was apprenticed to a respectable attorney at Liverpool, at whose office he remained near three years, when he became tired of confinement, and ran away from his master. He now entered on board a merchantman, and on the first voyage was impressed. He arrived in England about six months afterwards, and wrote to his father’s friend a supplicatory letter, and then, at his own particular desire, he was apprenticed to a cabinet-maker in Liverpool.

Davidson, though a man of colour, had a prepossessing person, and was upon the point of marriage with the daughter of a respectable tradesman at Liverpool, when, however, the match was broken off by his friends. He then took a passage on board a West-India merchantman, intending to return to his father; but he was again impressed on the voyage. On his return to port, he took the first opportunity of running away, and having obtained some money from his friends, he got work as a journeyman, at Litchfield. He subsequently paid his addresses to a Miss Salt, who was possessed of about 7,000l. of her own money, but her friends disapproving of the match, he became unsettled in his mind, and indisposed for business; and although his mother supplied him with 1200l. to commence trade on his own account, at Birmingham, in the course of twelve months he spent the whole of that sum, and repaired to London. Here he again obtained work, and was eventually married to a Mrs. Lane, a widow, with four children, who lived at Walworth, with whose assistance he began trade on his own account. Success, however, did not attend him, and he was compelled to remove to London, and to take a lodging at Mary-le-bone. While here, he appears to have joined the conspirators, into whose plans he entered with great willingness. He left two children of his own, by his wife, both of whom were under four years of age.

John Thomas Brunt was born in Union-street, Oxford-street; where his father carried on business as a tailor. He was for some time employed in the shop of a shoemaker, and he subsequently became an excellent workman in that business, and up to the age of twenty-three was the chief supporter of his mother, his father having died while he was yet young. At that age he married a respectable young woman, named Welch. On the 1st of May 1806, she brought him a boy, who was fourteen years of age on the day his unfortunate father suffered the sentence of the law. Brunt was thirty-eight years of age.

The following particulars with regard to Edwards, whose name so frequently occurs during the preceding narrative, will enable the reader to form, a just estimate of his character.

It appears that he had been originally a modeller, and kept a little shop in Fleet-street, where he sold plaster-of-Paris images. His poverty had been always apparent until a few months previous to the Cato-street plot, when there is no doubt he accepted the wages of government, and became a spy. For this office he appears to have been admirably adapted, as he was shrewd, artful, and unprincipled. His former acquaintance with the Spenceans procured him the confidence of some of its deluded members; and through them he got acquainted with Thistlewood and the others.

There is little doubt that the Cato-street plot was “got up” by him, although he found the unfortunate men who were hanged willing instruments in his hands. He furnished the means of providing the destructive weapons which were found in their possession, and he actually made the grenades himself; and when Thistlewood had escaped from Cato-street, he conducted him to the lodgings where he was next day apprehended.

Immediately after the execution of the traitors, several persons made depositions before Alderman Wood, stating the numerous attempts of Edwards to seduce them from their allegiance, and the worthy alderman applied to the secretary of state to have the villain apprehended, but he refused to interfere. A motion was made in the House of Commons a few nights afterwards by the same alderman; but, although some debate took place upon the subject, no effect was produced other than the exposition of the system which had been resorted to. An indictment was next preferred before the grand jury of the county of Middlesex, upon which a true bill was found; but although a reward of 100l. was offered for the apprehension of Edwards, he was nowhere to be found; and it was eventually discovered that he had gone to New Brunswick, to avoid the unpleasant consequences to which his conduct might have subjected him.

JOHN SCANLAN, ESQ., AND STEPHEN SULLIVAN.
EXECUTED FOR THE MURDER OF MRS. SCANLAN.

THE case of these offenders exhibits the most reckless and horrible depravity.

Mr. Scanlan, it appears, was the son of a most respectable gentleman, resident in the county of Limerick, Ireland, and was allied to persons of the first distinction. His father died during his infancy; and having early become possessed of a handsome competency, he entered the army. He held the commission of a lieutenant, and Sullivan, his fellow murderer, was a soldier under his command. At the conclusion of the war, Mr. Scanlan was put upon half-pay, and Sullivan being also discharged with a pension, he accompanied his late commander home, in the capacity of his servant. He was also a native of Limerick, and though not more than thirty-two years of age, was much older than his master, who had not attained twenty-five years.

Young Scanlan, on his way to Limerick, where he proposed residing, stopped for some time in Dublin; and he there found an opportunity of ingratiating himself into the favour of a thoughtless but lovely girl of fifteen years of age, the niece of a Mr. Conery, a ropemaker. The gentlemanly appearance and polished address of Scanlan, aided by his protestations of love and tenderness, flattered the vanity of the poor girl; but she would not listen to him on any but honourable terms. She acknowledged her partiality for him, and charged him, if he was sincere, to make her his wife; and to this proposal he affected to consent, after a condition had been agreed on: which was, that she was to keep her marriage a secret from her uncle, lest his friends should hear of it—an event which he seemed to regard as pregnant with ruin to him.

The foolish girl consented to all he chose to enjoin, and in an evil hour quitted the roof of her kind uncle, carrying off with her one hundred pounds in notes, and twelve guineas in gold. Her lover pretended to act honourably, and carried her before an excommunicated priest, who joined their hands in wedlock. In resorting to what he conceived a means of escaping from the importunities of Miss Conery, as his wife, he was under the impression that the marriage would not be binding; but the knot had scarcely been tied, when he learned that the marriage was valid by the law of Ireland.

When the fugitive lovers quitted Dublin, they took up their abode in the romantic village of Glin, situated on the banks of the river Shannon, on the Limerick side. Scarcely, however, had the honeymoon passed over their heads, when Scanlan formed the dreadful resolution of getting rid of his wife. Her beauty, her love, her innocence, appealed to him in vain; he persisted in his resolution, and too fatally carried it into effect.

It appears that he was prompted to the dreadful deed by avarice and ambition: his sister, who had been married to a nobleman in the county of Limerick, apprized him of a match she was forming for him with an heiress of wealth and beauty, and requested his acquiescence. Knowing that he could not avail himself of the proposed advantage while his wife (for he knew that that was the real character of the woman he had seduced from her home) was alive, he determined that she should not long remain an obstacle to his advancement to rank and opulence. Sullivan was his confidant throughout the whole affair, and to him was intrusted the execution of his atrocious plan. Scanlan had purchased a pleasure-boat, in which they used to take excursions on the Shannon. Of this amusement his wife was very fond; and it was during one of these moments of recreation, while she should be impressed with the beauty of the scenery, that the monsters resolved to rob her of that life which bloomed so exquisitely on her youthful and animated cheek.

One evening, in the July of 1819. Scanlan affected to be called from home on business, but desired his wife to make Sullivan amuse her for an hour on the river in the boat. With this request she complied; and Sullivan, by his master’s directions, got ready to execute their horrid purpose. Having provided a club to knock out her brains, and a rope and stone to tie to the body to sink it, he proceeded down the river. This man was treated by his master and mistress with great familiarity, so that he was not obliged to keep that distance so necessary to good order, but used every freedom consistent with respect. When the boat had drifted to a secluded inlet, Sullivan prepared to execute his purpose; he raised the club in a menacing position, and was about to strike, when the lovely creature, thinking he only intended to frighten her, gave him a smile of such innocent sweetness and simplicity, that the assassin was disarmed. He dropped the instrument of destruction, conducted his mistress home, and told his unfeeling master that he had not strength to execute his commands.

The horrid resolution was postponed, but not abandoned. A few evenings after, Scanlan, accompanied by his wife and Sullivan, went out in the boat as usual; but the unfortunate woman was never seen alive after. Scanlan returned to his lodgings, and said that for misbehaving he had shipped Ellen (his wife’s name) on board some vessel, the captain of which had taken her under his protection. This story was disbelieved; and a few days discovered their guilt—the corpse of the murdered Ellen was washed ashore, mutilated in a most shocking manner. The legs were broken in several places, one arm had been knocked off entirely, and a rope was tied round her neck. Her skull was fractured in a thousand pieces, her eyes knocked out of her head, and nearly all her teeth forced from her mouth. Horrid and deformed as was her once lovely person, still it was instantly recognised, when the murderers endeavoured to fly from justice. Of their guilt there could be no doubt; they were seen together in the boat; Sullivan had sold the murdered girl’s clothes; and he and his master had quarrelled about some money, in the course of which quarrel Scanlan had been accused of the murder.

Sullivan escaped for twelve months the pursuit of justice; but Scanlan was almost immediately apprehended, though he had resolved never to be taken alive. The following August he was tried at the assizes; and being found guilty, Baron Smith ordered him for almost instant execution, lest the powerful interest of his family should procure a respite, if he left him even the period usually allowed to criminals convicted of murder. The time allotted Scanlan to live was too short to admit of a messenger going to Dublin and back again, and consequently he was executed, to the satisfaction of all lovers of justice.

Twelve months after, his guilty servant met a similar fate. Before his execution he made a full confession, from which the above particulars are partly taken. Such was the powerful influence of Scanlan’s family, that, though they could not avert his fate, they succeeded in keeping it a secret from a large portion of the community, for they had influence enough to prevent an insertion of his case in all the Limerick newspapers, and it long remained unknown, except in the immediate neighbourhood of the transaction.

The trial of Sullivan, however, revealed his own and his master’s guilt; and the whole circumstances of the frightful deed then came fully to light.

This story has supplied the author of “Tales of Irish Life” with the materials of a most interesting sketch called “The Poor Man’s Daughter.”

JAMES NESBETT.
EXECUTED FOR THE MURDER OF MR. PARKER AND HIS HOUSEKEEPER.

THE night of Friday the 3rd of March 1820, was marked by the perpetration of a murder, not exceeded in point of atrocity by any whose circumstances are detailed in our Calendar of Crimes. It bears a striking resemblance to that committed by Hussey; for the victims were an old gentleman and his housekeeper—a Mr. Thomas Parker, aged seventy, and Sarah Brown, about forty-five years old.

Mr. Parker had been a working jeweller in London, where he had made a fortune sufficient to enable him to retire to Woolwich, where he resided for twenty-three years. His house was situated in Mulgrave-place, Red Lion Street, at a short distance from the Artillery Barracks. He was an inoffensive, gentlemanly man, and was much respected by the whole neighbourhood.

At one o’clock on Saturday morning, the 4th of March, the sentinel on duty at the north arch of the Artillery Barracks observed a dense smoke rising from Mr. Parker’s house. He gave an alarm; and several of the artillerymen rushed forth, and found the flames bursting from the parlour window. The men rapped at the door with great violence, but no answer was returned. The cry of “Fire” spread; two engines arrived on the spot, and commenced playing into the window. The men then forced the street-door, and rushed into the passage; and from thence they went up stairs into the front room on the first floor. Here the ravages of the fire were perceptible; the furniture of a bed had been partly consumed; but in the bed itself there was no appearance of a human being. The men then ran into the bed-room on the second floor, which was found in flames; but having extinguished them, they continued their search for the inmates of the house; but neither Mr. Parker nor his servant could be found. It was now discovered that the flames were bursting forth with great violence from the parlour below, and that they were spreading rapidly to the upper floor; and every exertion became necessary to procure their suppression. A hole was cut in the floor of the bed-chamber, through which water was poured; and by this means, added to the incessant playing of the engines without, the danger was subdued. In a short time the parlour-door was thrown open, and a man belonging to the artillery having entered, he perceived a heap of something lying behind the door. He attempted to lift it up, when he found it to be the mutilated remains of a human body which was much burnt. A second body, which proved to be that of a female, was found stretched in the same place, although not so much disfigured. A further investigation of the premises now took place, when it was perceived that blankets had been nailed up against every window, as if to conceal the appearance of the flames within. Fire had been communicated in three different places—the parlour on the ground floor; the bed-chamber on the first floor; and the bed-chamber on the second floor. The drawers about the house were found standing open, and articles of apparel were lying about; and in the kitchen, some silver utensils were strewed on the floor. At break of day the bodies of Mr. Parker and his servant were examined, and it was found that the former was burnt nearly to a cinder; the left leg and foot, on which there was a black silk stocking and a shoe, only remained entire. The skull, however, although the flesh was burnt off, remained whole, and afforded convincing testimony of murder: on the left side, towards the back, there was a terrific fracture. The woman lay stretched upon her face; her apparel was partly consumed, and her hair, which was very long, was hanging around her in matted and dishevelled locks. A horrible wound, apparently inflicted with a blunt instrument, was discovered over her eye, and at the back of her head there were three distinct fractures. The fact that the whole circumstance was the effect of a diabolical plot to murder Mr. Parsons and Mrs. Brown, and to conceal the crime by firing the house, now became obvious; and the utmost exertions were made by the police to apprehend the perpetrators of the foul deed. Several persons, whose conduct was deemed suspicious, were taken into custody; but as the evidence against them was very trifling, they were discharged. At length, however, the real murderer was apprehended at Portsmouth, and several articles of Mr. Parker’s property were found in his possession, particularly two watches, some silver spoons, a silver ladle, &c.

This person went at Portsmouth by the name of James Watson, but his real name was James Nesbett. He had been in the artillery for twenty-three years, and after his discharge lived in Woolwich, where his wife kept a chandler’s shop. They had five children; the eldest aged eighteen years, and the youngest at this time only sixteen months old. Nesbett himself followed that vicious and dangerous occupation—smuggling; bringing lace, silk, &c. from France, and carrying back other contraband goods from this country. In pursuit of this traffic he stopped some time at Portsmouth, where he cohabited with a girl of the town, who was afterwards the principal witness against him.

While sleeping with this girl she observed him to be very much troubled in his mind, as he frequently started in his sleep, and sometimes terrified her; so much so, that she left him on that account only. He, however, allured her back by presents; and, to account for the unnatural agitation in his sleep, he told her that he had killed two men in a duel, and one woman with a blow; and also promised to communicate another important secret to her. From this he was prevented by his being taken into custody; but he had already told her enough to induce the strongest suspicions as to his guilt.

When brought to Woolwich the people received him with a shout of exultation—a circumstance which affected him so much, that he was obliged to be carried before the justices, who were then sitting. He denied the crime with which he was charged; but after his committal to Maidstone, he confessed that he had been privy to it, having stood sentinel at the door while the work of destruction was going on inside. His accomplices he stated to have been old soldiers, whom he did not know—a tale as improbable as untrue; for it was distinctly proved that he was himself the only person engaged.

Nesbett’s trial came on July the 28th 1820, when his guilt was established by a chain of circumstantial evidence so conclusive, that the jury did not hesitate many minutes about their verdict.

In addition to other facts proved against him, it appeared that when he first visited Portsmouth, he was remarked for possessing excellent sight, but that after the murder he wore, whenever he appeared abroad, spectacles—the identical pair he had taken from Mr. Parker. In addition to the spectacles, he wore different dresses to disguise himself; but, notwithstanding all his caution, he was known, and apprehended, not, however, without much difficulty, for he attempted to shoot the officers, having a case of pistols loaded to the muzzle. Fortunately he was prevented from firing, and thus was preserved from having an additional murder to answer for.

Nesbett’s countenance indicated great firmness of purpose, but nothing of atrocity. During his trial he showed great fortitude and self-possession, which was not disturbed by his hearing the awful sentence of the law, which consigned him to an ignominious death.

This wretched criminal was executed according to his sentence on Pennenden Heath, July the 31st 1820. It is gratifying to know that, in the interval which elapsed between his condemnation and execution, he acknowledged the justice of his sentence.

JAMES MACKCOULL, alias MOFFAT.
CONVICTED OF BURGLARY.

THE name of this offender is already known to our readers, by his connexion with his no less notorious compeer, Huffey White, whose case is already given.

Mackcoull, though he had an honest father, was educated a thief, and from infancy was initiated into all the mysteries of picking pockets, shop-lifting, and house-breaking. He was born in the parish of St. Sepulchre, London, in the year 1763. His father, Benjamin Mackcoull, a man of good character, was a pocket-book maker; but, being unfortunate in business, he was appointed a city officer, in which situation he continued until his death. This poor man did all in his power to bring his children up in honesty; but, unfortunately, his praiseworthy exertions proved abortive, in consequence of his wife being a base unprincipled woman, who might be said to have educated her offspring for the gallows; for though they all, except one, singularly escaped such an ignominious death, they are all allowed to have richly merited it.

James had three sisters and two brothers. The daughters emulated the example of the mother, and were, with her, frequently convicted of petty crimes, being among the most expert and notorious thieves in London. They all lived till within a few years of James’s death, notwithstanding their abandoned and vicious lives. The younger brother, Benjamin, was executed in 1786 for street-robbery; but the eldest, John, was always fortunate in eluding justice, though well known as a notorious character. He was frequently tried for various offences, but uniformly escaped conviction.

James Mackcoull received a very limited education, and could just read and write. At school he was frequently detected purloining the playthings of other boys; and at a very tender age he robbed a poor man who sold cats’-meat through the streets. The young villain saw the vender of offal put his money, as he received it, into a bag which hung on the handle of his barrow, and, watching his opportunity, when the owner’s back was turned, he cut the cord, and carried off the booty. Emboldened by success, he ventured again and again, and soon associated himself with gangs who were known to infest the entrances to theatres and places of amusement.

The father, ignorant of the vicious habits of the son, bound him apprentice to a leather-stainer, in Clerkenwell; but James, encouraged by his mother, adhered to his former comrades, and soon gave occasion to his master to discharge him.

He now became a notorious thief, and, by shifting his quarters, continued to elude detection; but, having been engaged with another in snatching the seals of a gentleman’s watch in St. James’s Park, they were pursued. Mackcoull’s companion was apprehended; and he only escaped detection by going at night on board the Tender, at Tower Hill, and entering as a volunteer.

For two years he remained on board the Apollo frigate, in the character of an officer’s servant, and afterwards on board the Centurion, in the same capacity. In the absence of temptation even a rogue may be honest; and Mackcoull acquired so good a character in the navy, that he was in a few years appointed purser’s steward, and in the course of nine years saved a considerable sum of money. In 1785 he returned to London, where, in a short time, he dissipated all his earnings in the society of the dissolute and abandoned, and to repair his finances had recourse to his former habits of dishonesty. He soon eclipsed all his companions in iniquity, and shone pre-eminent as a pugilist, horse-racer, cock-fighter, gambler, swindler, and pickpocket. To carry on his depredations with success he assumed various characters, and succeeded in all. Not even the sanctuary of religion was free from his desperate villany; for he frequently went there to pick pockets, and on one occasion deprived the preacher of his watch, on his way from the pulpit. The knowledge and acuteness he displayed, as well as the successful manner in which he avoided discovery, procured him among his associates the appellation of “The Heathen Philosopher.”

His fortunes, like those of more celebrated individuals, were precarious; and after various successes and disappointments, in his twenty-eighth year he married the mistress of a brothel, and assisted her in furnishing her house in Clifford’s Inn Passage, which, in addition to its being a receptacle for unfortunate women, he made a depot for stolen property. He was not destined to remain long unknown in his new avocation, however; and his secret depository having been discovered, he was compelled to quit London to avoid his being taken into custody. He subsequently, in 1802, went to Germany, where he passed as an English merchant named Moffat; but being compelled to have recourse to his original trade of picking pockets, as the only means of obtaining a living, he was suspected and at length, in 1805, after having visited most of the continental towns, was obliged to make a precipitate retreat home again. London, however, he soon found was no stage for him to act upon, and he proceeded to Scotland, where for a long time he carried on his “profession” under the mask of his being a leather-seller. The idea of the possibility of the robbery of the Scotch bank having struck him, it was carried out, with the aid of White and a man named French, in the manner which we have already detailed; and having by his ingenuity succeeded in securing his own safety, as well as the possession of 8000l. of the stolen money, he retired into private life. By many it was supposed that he was now gone to the West Indies; but, in fact, he was industriously employed in Scotland in passing the notes of which he had retained possession. In 1812 he again visited London, but having broken faith with the bank in retaining the 8000l., he was apprehended and sent to Glasgow, where he arrived on the 8th of April 1812, and was committed to jail. While here he did not seriously deny the robbery, but offered to make restitution to the bank, and promised their agent 1000l., and gave them a bill for 400l. The bank not being at this time prepared to substantiate his guilt, he was discharged in the following July, and the agent of the bankers absolutely received from Mr. Harmer, of London the 1000l., which however Mackcoull subsequently recovered by suit at law from that able solicitor, he having paid it without sufficient authority.

Mackcoull now considered himself beyond all danger, and in company with one Harrison, made several trips to Scotland, and purchased commercial bills in the name of James Martin, a merchant, and everywhere introduced his friend Harrison as a most respectable person. In 1812 he opened a deposit account with Messrs. Marsh and Co. bankers, in the name of James Ibel, and had in their hands at one period above 2000l.

In March 1813, he again visited Scotland to vend more of the stolen notes, but was taken into custody, and bills and drafts, in favour of James Martin, to the amount of 1000l., which he had purchased, taken from him.

He was, however, soon afterwards again discharged out of custody, the money being retained in the hands of the bankers.

In 1815 he resolved to recover the bills and drafts from the magistrates, by whom they had been taken from him; and as they refused compliance with his request by letters, he visited Glasgow in person, and demanded, in the most insolent manner, the restitution of what he called his property. This being refused, he commenced an action against them, which, more than any other case that ever came before a court of justice, proves the glorious uncertainty of the law; for it continued to be litigated for five years; and, the bankers having become the defendants, the country, for the first time, witnessed the singular fact of an acknowledged thief contending with persons for the property he had actually stolen from them.

During the progress of this protracted case, Mackcoull attended the courts of law in person, and gave instructions to his agent. He always conducted himself with the greatest sang froid, and treated with contempt and derision the allusions made by counsel to his character. At length it was ruled that Mackcoull should be interrogated in person before the court; and after some hesitation he consented. This circumstance was no sooner known, than crowds flocked to hear his examination, which lasted for several days. He behaved in the most cool and determined manner; and when his absurd replies elicited a laugh in court, he always smiled with seeming self-approbation. The account he gave of himself was that he traded as a merchant, and that he chiefly transacted business with one James Martin, whose residence he could not tell. He objected to many questions put to him with the acuteness of a lawyer, and at length the session rose without having come to any decision; and Mackcoull returned to London in great spirits, to arrange with his brother John with respect to his future proceedings.

The bank was at this time in a critical situation: unless they proved Mackcoull’s participation in the robbery, and that the bills &c. were purchased with notes stolen from the bank, they would have to deliver up to Mackcoull not only the bills, &c., but to pay all attendant expenses, besides incurring the disgrace of losing the action—an action unparalleled in the annals of any court of Europe, brought by a public depredator—a convicted rogue and vagabond—who was at large, and who was prosecuting with their own money a respectable banking company, for attempting to keep part of the property of which he had robbed them. But this was not all. Mackcoull’s intention, if successful, was to follow up the decision with an action for damages, in which it was the opinion of many that he would also succeed.

In December 1819, Mackcoull and his agent urged the matter so strenuously, that the trial was fixed for the 20th of February 1820; and the issue to be tried was, whether Mackcoull was concerned in the robbery.

To prepare for the trial, the bank sent Mr. Donovan, an intelligent officer in Edinburgh, from Glasgow to London, to trace the route the robbers had taken nine years before, and to procure witnesses. Donovan was successful, and brought down with him Scoltop, who had prepared the instruments by means of which the robbery was effected, Mrs. Huffey White, several waiters at inns, and even Mrs. Mackcoull, who consented to give evidence against her husband. The most eminent lawyers at the Scotch bar were engaged on each side; and on the morning of the trial, May the 11th 1820, every avenue to the court was crowded to excess, so intense was the interest excited by the case. The result was against Mackcoull, for the witnesses completely established his guilt; and so unexpected was the appearance of some of them to him, that he frequently ran out of court, and on seeing Scoltop actually swooned away.

Mackcoull’s career of villany was now near its end. On the 19th of June he was indicted for the robbery, in the High Court of Justiciary; and the same witnesses being again examined, the jury returned a verdict of Guilty—Death. Towards the conclusion of the trial Mackcoull often looked about him with a kind of vacant stare, and was observed frequently to mutter and grind his teeth. When the verdict was announced he gave a malignant grin; and when sentence was passed, he bowed respectfully to the court. On being carried back to jail his fortitude forsook him, and he appeared overwhelmed with despair. At this moment he said with emotion, “Had not the eye of God been upon me, such a connected chain of evidence never could have been brought forward!” His spirits, however, soon returned, and he received the number of visitors, who were led by curiosity to see him, with great cheerfulness.

Although he had treated his wife with great unkindness, she now came forward and supplied him during his imprisonment with every luxury in profusion. She also made application for a reprieve; and whether from her exertion or not, on the 14th of July a respite arrived, and in three weeks after a reprieve during his majesty’s pleasure.

In the month of August, the wretched prisoner fell into a natural decline, and his mental faculties completely forsook him. In the course of a short time his hair, which had been previously nearly jet black, became a silver gray, and at length he died in the county jail of Edinburgh on the 22nd day of December 1820, and was decently interred at the expense of his wife, in the Calton burying-ground.

DAVID HAGGART, alias JOHN WILSON, alias JOHN MORRISON, alias BARNEY M‘COUL, alias JOHN M‘COLGAN, alias DANIEL O’BRIEN, alias THE SWITCHER.
EXECUTED FOR MURDER.

DAVID HAGGART was born at a farm-town called the Golden-Acre, near Cannon Mills, in the county of Edinburgh, on the 24th of June 1801. His father was a gamekeeper, and lived in the service of a gentleman of large fortune and great respectability. The first depredation committed by young Haggart was that of stealing a neighbour’s bantam cock, and from this small beginning he was guilty of nearly every crime referred to in the Statute book. To go through a history of all his offences would be nearly to fill our volume, and we shall therefore give only a short sketch of his brief career. Having, after the commencement of his depredations in the manner we have described, quitted that restraint to which his parents had hitherto subjected him; he found himself, at the age of sixteen, plunged into the very depth of misery and crime. He soon formed an acquaintance with a lad name M‘Guire, who was a native of Ireland, and was of a bold enterprising spirit, of surprising strength, and besides an experienced pickpocket. Instructed by this veteran in the arts of wickedness, they agreed to travel to England together, and share the fruits of their unlawful occupation. It was when in company with, and encouraged by the daring acts of this lad, that he first attempted to pick a pocket in open day-light; and this attempt was made on a race ground, on the person of a gentleman who had been very successful in his bets. Haggart was so eager on his prey as to pull out the pocket along with the money, and the gentleman turned quickly round and examined his hands; but the booty was already passed to his companion, and the gentleman appeared satisfied of his innocence, but said that some one had picked his pocket. The produce of this his first public achievement was eleven pounds.

The scenes of most of the depredations which he subsequently committed were the fairs and races held in the north of England, and in Scotland; and he followed his new business with varied success. Kendal and Carlisle afforded him admirable opportunities of pursuing his avocation, and having secured a good booty, he proceeded with M‘Guire to Newcastle, where they obtained lodgings in the family of a respectable widow lady, who had three daughters, by whom they were supposed to be respectable persons, travelling for pleasure, and in whose society they assumed the names of Wilson and Arkinson. Although they were admitted to the table and society of this lady, they continued to exercise their profession; and not unfrequently when they had accompanied their landlady’s daughters to the theatre, did one of them retire, leaving his companion in care of the young ladies, while he proceeded to attack some gentleman, from whom he supposed he might be able to secure a booty.

In January 1818, on their way to Durham, to attend a fair, they came to a house in a lonely place, and determined to break into it. They entered it by a window, and met a strong resistance from the master of the house; but, having knocked him down, they succeeded in binding him hand and foot, and gagging him with a handkerchief. The rest of the family were females, and were too much terrified to interrupt them, and they proceeded to rifle the house. Having taken about thirty pounds, they went to Durham, where Haggart was apprehended the next day; but having changed his clothes, and considerably disguised himself, the man whose house they had entered could not identify him; and he was liberated, and returned to Newcastle.

In two or three days they were both apprehended, and carried back to Durham, having on the same clothes in which they had committed the burglary; and the man whom they had robbed having then immediately recognised them, he was bound over to prosecute. They were tried under the feigned names of Morrison and Arkinson, and were found guilty, and sent back to prison, in order to be brought up for sentence of death at the end of the assizes.

They, however, lost no time in contriving their escape, and after long deliberation with their fellow-prisoners, they resolved on the attempt. They set to work on the wall of their cell, and had got out to the back passage, when the turnkey made his appearance. They seized him, took his keys, bound and gagged him; and having gained the back yard they scaled the wall, but Barney and another prisoner fell, after gaining the top: by this time the alarm was given, and the two latter were both secured; but Haggart having made his escape, returned to Newcastle, in company with a Yorkshireman, where he obtained a tool with which to assist M‘Guire in making his escape; and they were returning to Durham when they were pursued by two officers, who got close to them on a wild part of the road unobserved. Just as they were springing on Haggart, he laid one of them low with his pistol, and left him, uncertain whether he had his murder to answer for. The Yorkshireman knocked down the other, and they then proceeded to Durham; where, in the night-time, Haggart, by means of a rope-ladder, got over the back wall of the jail, and conveyed a spring saw to M‘Guire, who made his escape that same night, by cutting the iron bars of his cell window, and followed Haggart to Newcastle, and thence accompanied him to Berwick-on-Tweed, Dunse, and Coldstream. At these places they lost no opportunity of plying their trade; but on their reaching Kelso, M‘Guire was secured while in the act of picking a farmer’s pocket, and sentenced to three months’ imprisonment.

Being now left without an associate, Haggart returned to Newcastle, where he resided for four months, in the house of his old friend, Mrs. A——. During his stay there, one of the young ladies was married to a respectable shopkeeper, when Haggart took the lead in conducting the festivities of the wedding. One evening, having accompanied one of the Miss A——’s to the theatre, on their return, a gentleman much in liquor attempted to insult the young lady; struggling in her defence, Haggart contrived to pick the pocket of his antagonist of nineteen guineas, with which he escaped unsuspected. At length having, as he conceived, remained as long as was expedient in this place, he took his departure in the month of June, and he then proceeded to Edinburgh, where he pursued the occupation of a shop-lifter. At this time, it appears, that he was suddenly seized with a severe and dangerous fit of illness, and being struck with remorse at his past conduct, he returned to the house of his parents; but he was soon after apprehended on a charge of shop-lifting, of which he had been previously guilty, and being sent to jail, all his determinations to be more circumspect and honest, were put to flight. On his release he joined one of his fellow prisoners, named Graham, and with him recommenced the system of plunder, by means of which he had before supported himself.

Having stolen a pedlar’s pack, and several articles of linen drapery and hosiery, Haggart assumed the character of a pedlar, and travelled the country to dispose of his ill-gotten goods. After this he returned to Edinburgh, where he remained till January 1820, committing depredations of every description. On the 1st of March he was arrested at Leith, in company with an accomplice named Forest. The offenders made a desperate resistance, but were at length secured and committed for trial. The confinement was too much for our hero, however, and on the evening of the 27th of March, having obtained a small file, he cut the irons from his legs, and then forced up the door of his cell, and got into the passage. He next set to work upon a very thick stone wall, through which he at length made a hole, and got on the staircase just as the clock struck twelve. He had still the outer wall to penetrate, on which he fell to work with great caution, lest he should be heard. Having made considerable progress, he returned to the room where his companion Forest was, and brought him to his assistance; he also awoke one of the debtors whom he knew, and obtained his assistance in removing his handcuffs, having all along been working with them upon him. After great labour and violent pain they succeeded in wrenching the chain in two pieces. He then renewed his operations on the outer wall, and, having removed a large stone, got out a few minutes before five o’clock in the morning. When he gained the outside stair he saw a man coming towards him, and, supposing him to be an officer in pursuit of him, he leaped over the back of the stair; but recollecting that Forest had yet to get out, he prepared to give the man battle, lest he should attempt to seize Forest; but the man said to him, “Run, Haggart, run; I won’t touch you.” Forest then came out, and he took hold of his hand, and ran off at full speed, pulling him along with him.

Although he had thus extraordinarily succeeded in escaping from jail, it was not long before he was again secured for a new offence, committed in company with his old companion M‘Guire, whom he had met at Dumfries. While the latter, however, was again convicted and received sentence of transportation for fourteen years, the former again obtained his liberation from prison, but under circumstances which eventually cost him his life. He was detained in the jail of Dumfries, and a fellow named Laurie, who was confined in the adjoining cell, suggested to him the possibility of their making their escape, by knocking down the jailor and taking the keys from him. Haggart, however, opposed a scheme, which he deemed unnecessarily violent, for he had already made arrangements, by which he hoped to secure his own safety; but another prisoner, named M‘Grory, who was under sentence of death, urging the absolute necessity of violent means, he consented to seize and gag Thomas Morrin, the head turnkey, and to take his keys from him, and then to open the doors for all the prisoners to fly. Laurie, however, still persisted that they should use violence, and he employed a debtor, who was in the same jail, to procure him a large stone, with which he expressed an intention of attacking the jailor; and it appears that Haggart now agreed to his proposition. Hunter, the keeper of the jail, having gone to the races, it was determined to seize the earliest opportunity, and Simpson and Dunbar, two other prisoners, were made acquainted with the plot. M‘Grory’s irons having been removed, Morrin was called up on some pretended errand, and Haggart immediately burst upon him. He struck him one blow with the stone, dashed him down stairs, and without the loss of a moment, took the key of the outer door from his pocket. Dunbar picked up the stone, but it appears that no more blows were given, although Morrin received some other wounds in falling.

Dunbar was standing over him, apparently rifling for the key which Haggart had already secured, Simpson had hold of Morrin’s shoulders, and was beating his back upon the stairs, when Haggart rushed past them, crossed the yard as steadily as he could, took out the key, and opened the door. On getting out he ran round great part of the town; Dunbar overtook him, and at that moment they saw an officer coming directly up to them. They wheeled round and ran, but in a moment Haggart had the mortification of seeing his fellow-adventurer secured. He at first thought of rushing in to rescue him, but the crowd was too great to allow him to make the attempt; so he consulted only his own safety, and ran nearly ten miles in less than an hour. He then got on the high road to Annan, when he saw a post-chaise at full gallop almost within twenty yards of him; upon this he threw off his coat, and leaped a hedge into a field where some persons were employed in digging potatoes. They all joined the officers who had got out of the chaise in pursuit of him; but he fled across the field with amazing speed, and made for Cumlangan wood. The pursuers followed him into the wood, but he kept concealed close to the edge, and although they were very near him, he thus eluded their pursuit.

He then made for Annan, and reached that place before the alarm had spread so far; but while lying concealed in a haystack, where he slept during the night, he learned from a woman, who was conversing with a boy, that Morrin was dead. He proceeded on his flight, as soon as he conceived that a good opportunity was afforded, and disguised in some clothes, which he took from a scarecrow, he at length succeeded in reaching Newcastle, where he considered himself safe. Having there seen, and narrowly escaped being apprehended by a police-officer, who he knew was acquainted with his person, he again set out on his way from detection and reached Edinburgh in safety. Here he continued during a considerable period, and never ventured out unless in disguise; but having at length attracted the attention of a constable, who he was persuaded recognised him, he determined to quit so dangerous a vicinity; and, having gone round by the north and west of Scotland, to go to Ireland. The attraction of Edinburgh was too strong for him, however, and he once again entered that city before paying his proposed visit to the sister Kingdom; but he was again scared away, by his seeing bills posted up offering a large reward for his apprehension. At Dunkeld, Dundee, Kenmore, and Cupar-Fife, which he visited in succession, he was successful in obtaining considerable booties, and he at length prosecuted his intended journey to Ireland; but having landed at Belfast, he was there seized on suspicion of being the escaped murderer from Dumfries, upon the information of one Robert Platt, who had been in that jail at the same time with him. Assuming a rich brogue, and asserting that he was a native of Armagh, he somewhat puzzled the magistrates, but notwithstanding his deceit, they were little disposed to part with him so easily. He was therefore committed to the custody of two yeomen, but having plied them plentifully with drink, he watched his opportunity, and giving them the slip, he jumped out at the window and once again obtained his liberty. Dublin was his next point, and there he fell in with a pickpocket, named O’Brien, and they agreed to go in company. On the quay of Dublin they saw some persons looking at a number of horses just arrived in a vessel from England; and amongst others, a man whose dress and appearance bespoke poverty and meanness. Haggart was not a little surprised to hear him offer eighteen guineas for a horse, and immediately began speculating on what part of his person this sum might be deposited. After some experiment, he found it in a greasy coat pocket, which hung behind unprotected, the frail duffle of his coat having given way to the rough hand of time, and having made prize of the purse, it proved to contain ninety-five guineas in gold, beside bank-notes. A few days afterwards, they took fifty-four pounds at the theatre door; after which they changed their dress, and, in company with two girls, hired a jaunting car, and a boy to drive them, and took a tour through the counties of Fermanagh, Cavan, and Derry. They were a month on their excursion, and spent upwards of 190l. On their return, being much reduced, Haggart started for King’s county on foot, leaving his clothes in Dublin.

At Mullinger market he picked a farmer’s pocket, and would have been apprehended, but for the connivance of a constable. At Tullamore fair he picked the pocket of a pig-drover, who afterwards accused him of the fact, but Haggart having concealed the property very securely, took a high ground, and insisted on his going before a magistrate for the accusation and assault. The poor drover was outwitted, and, alarmed lest he should get into further trouble, he apologised and was permitted to go.

It was Haggart’s fate to commit only one more robbery, which was at a fair near Downpatrick, for which he was instantly apprehended and committed to the county jail to await his trial at the next assizes. The society and practices of this place it appears were horrible beyond description. Having received their supply of provisions for three days, the male prisoners blocked out the jailors, by digging up the stones of the floor, and placing them against the door, and then they broke their way to the wretched women in confinement, with whom they remained two days, giving way to every kind of wickedness. After spending this time in the most riotous manner, they were secured. Haggart was locked up closely in his cell, and kept in confinement till the day of trial. On the 29th March he was arraigned, and after a trial, in which it is evident that he was mistaken by the learned judge for some other person, and in which the judge himself offered to give evidence, that he had been before convicted before him; he was found guilty and sentenced to seven years’ transportation. On his being carried back to the jail, he was recognised to be the man who had escaped from Belfast, and removed to Kilmainham jail, and there loaded with fetters. He soon thought of making his escape by digging through the back wall, with the assistance of several others, having first secured the entrance of their apartment; but some of the prisoners gave information, and Haggart being the first man who made his appearance through the hole, he got a severe blow; the others rushed after him, but having still a high wall to get over, they were all secured by a party of soldiers, and locked up in their cells. He was subsequently guilty of some other misconduct in being insolent, and otherwise infringing upon the rules of the prison, in consequence of which he was handcuffed, and confined with a horrible iron instrument fitted on his head, from the front bar of which an iron tongue entered his mouth and prevented his speaking. This, which was certainly an arbitrary and cruel exercise of power, excited only opposition, and the moment it was removed, the prisoner took his seat on the window of his cell, and remained there during the rest of the day, singing the most profane songs he could think of. Even the fear of the iron helmet of Kilmainham could not keep him quiet.

But something awaited him far worse, and which, had he known, would have made his heart tremble, hard and wicked as it was. Next morning the prisoners, consisting of some hundreds, were taken down into a yard, and ranked in companies of twenty each. In a few minutes, John Richardson, the police officer from Scotland, made his appearance, accompanied by the two jailors and turnkey; a terrific sight to Haggart! He passed through all the ranks, and the second time stopped, and taking Haggart’s hand, said, “Do you know me, David?” He again attempted to escape by the assumption of the Irish brogue, but it was of no avail. He was too well known, and being taken to the condemned cell, he was there loaded with irons, and subsequently carried off to Scotland. An iron belt was fixed round his waist, with his wrists pinioned to each side of it; a chain passed from the front of the belt, and joined the centre of a chain, each end of which was padlocked round his ancles, and a chain passed from each wrist to each ancle. In this dreadful (but by his own hardened and daring conduct necessary) state of torture and confinement, he was conducted to Dumfries. The officers treated him with the utmost tenderness and humanity, but he obstinately kept up his pretended ignorance for a considerable time.

On their approach towards Dumfries, which was in the dark, there were many thousands of people on the road, many of them with torches in their hands, waiting his arrival; and at the jail it was scarcely possible to get him out of the coach for the multitude, all crowding for a sight of Haggart, the murderer. Some discovered sorrow, and some terror; but whose could equal his own? He plunged through them all, rattling his chains, and making a great show of courage, but he afterwards owned that his heart was shaken at the thought of poor Morrin. As he went up the stairs to the cells, he had to pass the very spot where he struck him; “and oh!” confessed the guilty murderer, “it was like fire to my feet!”

After remaining at Dumfries three weeks, where the greater part of his Irish irons were removed, he was carried to Edinburgh, to be tried for the murder, with which he stood charged. He was immediately found guilty upon satisfactory evidence, and ordered for execution. During the next fortnight he exhibited the utmost indifference for his condition; but at length he was brought to a just sense of the manifold wickednesses of which he had been guilty; and he declared on the morning of his execution that he would not wish to escape, if the prison doors were open, as his death was the only atonement he could make in this world for his violations of the laws of God and man.

Early on the morning of his execution, Haggart joined earnestly in devotional exercise with his ministerial attendant. After the chaplain of the jail had prayed, one of the officers of justice appeared, and requested all strangers to retire, as he had something to communicate to the unhappy prisoner. Haggart immediately exclaimed, in a hurried tone, “Oh! I suppose it is the executioner.” His firmness for a moment abandoned him, and he walked rapidly across the cell with his arms folded, and with deep despair strongly painted on his countenance. He speedily, however, regained his composure; and when the executioner did appear, at once allowed his arms to be bound. He was then removed to a hall in the lower part of the lock-up-house, where he was received by two of the clergymen of Edinburgh and the magistrates. After prayers the procession proceeded to the scaffold. The conduct of the unfortunate youth there was in the highest degree becoming. While the beneficial influence of religion was apparent in his whole demeanour, his natural firmness of character never for a moment forsook him. He kneeled down, and uttered an earnest prayer; and after addressing a few words of deep and anxious exhortation to the great multitude by whom he was surrounded, he met his fate with the same intrepidity which distinguished all the actions of his short, but guilty and eventful life, having just completed his twentieth year. He was executed at Edinburgh, July the 18th, 1821.

Haggart, after his condemnation, wrote the history of his short and wicked life, which was subsequently published for the benefit of his father, who he requested might receive any profit arising from it, for the purpose of educating his younger brothers and sisters. The foregoing particulars are taken from this singular auto-biography, which evinced a strong, though uncultivated mind, which, if it had been directed to laudable pursuits, could not have failed to place the writer in an honorable station in society.

DANIEL DOODY, JOHN CUSSEN, alias WALSH, JAMES LEAHY, MAURICE LEAHY, WILLIAM DOODY, DAVID LEAHY, DANIEL RIEDY, WILLIAM COSTELLO, AND WALTER FITZMAURICE, alias CAPTAIN ROCK,
CONVICTED OF ABDUCTION.

IT was the opinion of Dr. Johnson that many of the romantic tales of the middle ages had their origin in truth, and that the absolute distress of females might, in all probability, have called for the institution of “knight errantry.” To protect the defenceless is a natural impulse, which has its foundation in the sympathies of our nature; but when a female, young, beautiful, and innocent, is the victim of oppression, there is no man, with common feelings, who would not risk his life to snatch her from despair and misery. In this happy country there are few instances of abduction; but in Ireland this unmanly crime is too prevalent. The disturbed state of certain parts of the country gives aid to the schemes of unprincipled ruffians, acting on the presumption that injured females, when degraded and dishonoured, would, of necessity, save the violators of their innocence from ignominy by a marriage—the only means, they suppose, left them to escape from unmerited shame. The persons thus forcibly carried away are generally the daughters of opulent farmers—a fact which clearly shows the mercenary views of those who commit so base and cowardly an outrage on the most defenceless part of the creation.

Among the numerous outrages of this nature was one on the person of Miss Honora Goold, a young lady remarkable for her personal beauty. She lived in the house of her mother at Glangurt, in the county of Cork, and had two sisters older than herself, she being scarcely sixteen, and a brother. On the 4th of March 1822, about twelve o’clock at night, their dwelling was attacked by an armed banditti, who, on threatening to burn the house, were admitted. One of the ferocious ruffians burst into Miss Honora’s apartment, and asked if she was the eldest Miss Goold. She replied in the negative, and said that her sister was on a visit in Cork. The inquirer then withdrew, and having searched several other apartments, returned, followed by five or six others, and repeated his interrogations, but on this occasion answered them himself in the affirmative, and then ordered her to rise and dress herself, and to accompany them. At the suggestion of one of the party, they withdrew from the room; but Miss Goold was scarcely dressed when they returned; and one of them seizing her round the waist, carried her screaming to the outside of the house, where she was received by a stranger on horseback. She was placed in front of the horseman, and then the party, in spite of her cries and entreaties, set off in the direction of the Galties, a range of hills between the counties of Cork and Limerick. At the distance of several miles they halted, and there, having procured a pillion, their captive was compelled to ride behind the leader of this atrocious band. In her eagerness to escape she fell several times during their progress; and having continued her screams all the time, one of the ruffians threatened to murder her unless she desisted.

By daylight they had entered the recesses of the Galties; and several of the party having occasionally dropped off, she was conducted by the few that remained to the house of David Leahy, a substantial farmer.

The leader of this outrage was a young man named Brown, of a respectable family, and who had received an education which should have rendered him incapable of such base and unmanly conduct. The elder Miss Goold was entitled, on her marriage, to a large fortune; and Brown, hoping to possess himself of it, resolved to carry off the young lady. Being disappointed by the precipitancy and mistake of his assistants, he determined to make sure of the lovely victim who had fallen into his power, knowing that the opulence of her family could make him independent, provided he could insure the consent of the astonished girl he had forcibly carried off. With virtuous indignation, however, she repulsed his advances, and begged the protection of Mrs. Leahy, in whose parlour she now was; but, strange to say, this woman, who was herself a mother, connived at the ruin of her unprotected guest.

Foiled in his direct attack, Brown had recourse to an expedient which, for the honour of human nature, we would wish never to record, did not impartial justice demand an honest discharge of our duty as faithful narrators of criminal occurrences. It was proposed, immediately after breakfast, that Miss Goold should take some rest. A bed was in the parlour, and she was directed to repose upon it. This, indeed, after the fatigue of the night, was most desirable; but to her utter astonishment, the family in which were two females, left the room, at the same time locking the

door upon herself and Brown. The monster, in spite of her entreaties and screams, proceeded to undress her, and insisted on lying beside her. The reader need not be told the rest—the purity of female innocence was grossly violated in the person of this young and lovely creature; and her destroyer arose from his bed of lust, the polluter of one whose peace of mind neither the world’s sympathy nor the world’s wealth could restore.

The friends of Miss Goold, who comprised the wealth and respectability of the county of Cork, instantly set about recovering the injured lady. The pursuit was continued from day to day for three weeks; and the vigilance of her friends was only evaded by her being removed from house to house, and from cabin to cabin; and even once, by her being exposed for a whole day and night to the inclemency of the weather on a bleak mountain, when she had the agony of seeing her friends at a distance, but was prevented from calling to them, or flying to join them, by a ruffian, who stood sentinel over her with a loaded pistol. At length, however, her sufferings were to be terminated. Though weak and almost exhausted by opposition to her foul abuser, she still remained firm in her virtuous resolve to be no consenting party to the violence offered to her, and at the conclusion of three weeks, she was placed by her ferocious guards in a poor cabin on the roadside, where her friends might find her. When discovered she was in a condition of the greatest misery, being so weak as to be unable to walk, stand, or sit. Seventeen hours were occupied in removing her thirteen miles, to her mother’s house, but when once restored to home and its enjoyments her recovery was rapid, and in a short time her health was re-established, as far as it was possible under all the frightful circumstances of her affecting case. From the description, which she gave of the perpetrators of this act of violence, several of the party were apprehended. Brown, the guilty contriver of the plan, escaped from the country; and Fitzmaurice, alias Captain Rock, evaded the pursuit of justice for a considerable time, but at last surrendered to a magistrate. The men whose names head this article, except Fitzmaurice and Costello, were brought to trial on the 29th of July 1822, at Limerick. Miss Goold appeared to give evidence, and her narrative, which she delivered with modest dignity, procured her the willing sympathy of a crowded court. The prisoners were found Guilty—Death; but the three Leahys and Cussen were subsequently discharged, on a point of law operating in their favour.

On the 23rd of August following, Walter Fitzmaurice, better known at the time as Captain Rock, pleaded guilty at the Cork assizes; and, along with Costello, who was found guilty on the solitary evidence of Miss Goold’s brother, who swore to his having seen him on the night of the abduction, received sentence of Death.

On the ensuing Saturday, Costello underwent the awful sentence of the law, but Fitzmaurice was respited, something having arisen in his favour, principally on the ground of his having pleaded guilty in consequence of the judge refusing to put off his trial in the absence of a material witness. Costello, to the last, declared his innocence, not only of the crime for which he was convicted, but of any connexion whatever with the White Boys.

PHILIP STOFFEL, AND CHARLES KEPPEL.
EXECUTED FOR MURDER.

ON Tuesday night, April the 8th, 1823, a most inhuman murder was committed at Clapham, on the body of Mrs. Elizabeth Richards, a widow of seventy-five years of age. The unfortunate lady had resided for thirty years in the same house at the above town, where she was greatly respected by the neighbours. She kept no servant, and had no inmate but an elderly lady named Bell. The latter was in the habit of going out in the evening to attend a place of religious worship. A little after eight o’clock on the evening in question a neighbouring woman calling to see Mrs. Richards found her dead, lying on her back in the parlour, with an apron stuffed into her mouth. On examination it was found that robbers had perpetrated the dreadful deed, as the pockets of the deceased had been violently torn from her side, her watch and some money taken, as well as several articles of wearing apparel. The villains, however, had missed the principal object of their attack, for a large sum of money had escaped their search, which was concealed in an upper room. Upon an examination of the person of the deceased lady, it appeared that she had been smothered. She had been left by age only two teeth, and one of these was forced down her throat by the violence with which the wretches had thrust the apron into her mouth, with the view, no doubt, of preventing her from giving alarm. A paper parcel was found in the hall, on which was written “Mrs. Bell, hat Mrs. Richards, Clapham.”

The sensation produced by this unprovoked murder was so great, that a public meeting was called in a day or two at Clapham, and a reward of two hundred guineas offered for a discovery of the murderers. The active officers of Union Hall police-office in the course of a week apprehended a suspicious character, Philip Stoffel, nephew to Mrs. Richards, a ruffianly-looking fellow of about twenty years of age. When brought to the police-office he denied all knowledge of the crime with which he was accused; but, being requested to write “Mrs. Bell, at Mrs. Richards,” &c., he wrote the word hat for at, in a hand precisely similar to that in which the superscription on the parcel found after the murder was written. Seeing himself detected, he exclaimed, “It is of no use—I was at the murder!” He then, unsolicited, gave a full account of the whole transaction, and acknowledged who were with him at the time. Previously, however, to this confession, another of the gang, named Thomas Scott, a rat-catcher, was in custody, and had been admitted king’s evidence. In his confession, which gave a minute account of the whole transaction, he stated that the robbery was planned by Stoffel, who called in the aid of himself, Keppel, and one Pritchard, but that the murder was the act of Keppel alone, Stoffel particularly desiring that they would not hurt his aunt. Whilst Scott was giving the parcel to Mrs. Richards, who went into the room to read the direction, Stoffel walked in gently and said, “My good old lady, we don’t want to hurt you; we only wish for you to be quiet.” She exclaimed “Oh Lord! oh dear!” when Stoffel put his hand upon her mouth, and the other two men coming in, he desired Keppel to hold her whilst he went up stairs, as he knew best where the money was, but not to hurt her. They then proceeded to rifle the house of all they could get at, but did not break any locks, for fear of alarming the people in the next house. Though Mrs. Richards did not move, Scott declared that he did not think she was dead, but only that she had fainted.

In consequence of the information contained in Scott’s confession, the officers went in pursuit of Keppel and Pritchard; and after having travelled from Gravesend to Portsmouth, they succeeded in apprehending Keppel, who was disguised in a smock-frock, &c. Keppel and Pritchard were by trade bricklayers, but had led a most abandoned life among the lowest prostitutes about Westminster. Pritchard, we are sorry to say, escaped the pursuit of justice, as he was never apprehended. Keppel denied all knowledge of the murder, and behaved in the most hardened manner.

Stoffel had every expectation of being admitted king’s evidence; but he was not so fortunate, and he was arraigned along with Keppel at the Croydon assizes, July the 25th, for the murder of Mrs. Richards. The evidence against them was conclusive; for the confession of Stoffel, and the corroborated testimony of the accomplice, Scott, left no doubt whatever of their guilt.

Having been declared guilty by the jury, the learned judge (Mr. Serjeant Onslow) put on the black cap, and passed the awful sentence of the law upon the prisoners. Keppel, whose conduct throughout the whole transaction had been most thoughtless and hardened, then directly addressed the court in the most abominable language. He told the judge, that he was a bloody old rogue, and damned him and his laws together; and was only prevented from continuing his abuse, by his being forcibly removed from the dock.

The unhappy wretches continued, up to the day of their execution, which took place at Horsemonger-lane jail on the 28th July, 1823, to exhibit the utmost levity of demeanour, but were at length brought to a just sense of their condition on the morning of their death, and were turned off, professedly lamenting their past misspent life.

JOHN THURTELL AND JOSEPH HUNT.
CONVICTED OF MURDER.

FOR cold-blooded villany in its conception, its planning, and its perpetration, this murder must be allowed to stand unparalleled. The sensation which it created throughout the country was such, as was probably never exceeded in any previous case.

John Thurtell, the principal actor in the affair, was the son of a respectable and worthy man, Alderman Thurtell of Norwich, who twice filled the office of mayor of that city. Early in life he went to sea, and on his return obtained a lieutenant’s commission in the German Legion, then serving in Portugal. He also served in Spain, and was at the storming of St. Sebastian. In 1821 he was residing at Norwich as a bombasin manufacturer, and in that year, he came to London to receive 400l. for goods which he had sold to a respectable house, and which, on his return, he was to pay among his creditors. Instead of doing so, however, he fabricated a story that, as he was walking along a lonely spot, near Norwich, he was stopped by footpads, and robbed of it; but his creditors did not hesitate to tell him that he had invented this tale for the purpose of defrauding them; and, to avoid their importunities, he set off for London, in company with a girl, with whom he had lived for some time. Here he commenced business, in conjunction with his brother Thomas, but soon failed. On the 26th of January, 1823, their premises in Watling-street were burnt down, and very strong suspicions were entertained that the fire was wilful, and that the object of the Thurtells was to defraud the insurance-office.

About two years before this event, by which the brothers were thrown out of the immediate means of subsistence, John Thurtell had become a frequenter of a public-house in Bow-street, called the Brown Bear, which has since been removed, but which was then well known, as the resort of sporting men, and as a house much frequented by persons addicted to gaming. There was a room at the back of the premises, where high play was frequently countenanced among the customers, and where Thurtell, almost on his first introduction to the society, lost 300l. at blind hookey in the course of a very short time. Mad at his loss, he appears to have almost formed a resolution to quit a house for ever, where he firmly believed that unfair play was resorted to; but at the persuasion of his new friends, he became reconciled, and seemed to enter into the sporting circles, with somewhat of a determination to endeavour, by any means, to retrieve his own losses, and to profit by the inexperience and indiscretion of any, who might come in his way. He was doomed to be again disappointed, however, and to be again taught a somewhat severe lesson. The fights between Hickman, the Gasman, and Oliver, and between Jack Randall, and Martin “the master of the Rolls,” were at this time on the tapis, and Hickman and Martin were in training at Wade’s Mill, Herts. Thurtell was too good a flat to be given up yet, and on his exhibiting some anxiety to become acquainted with the men, he was conducted to them and introduced to them; the object being to deprive him of any little money, which he might still possess. Weare, who was his subsequent victim, was no less a frequenter of the Brown Bear, and no less an admirer of all the sports of the ring, and of the field; and having by a pretty long acquaintance with the “flash” world obtained a good knowledge of its members, and of its habits and proceedings, he was selected as the “plant,” to be put upon the pigeon, who was to be plucked; or in other words, he was to be introduced to Thurtell as a new hand, and by pretending little acquaintance with the ways of the sporting world, was to draw him out, and then, bringing his real knowledge of all the habits of playmen into operation, was to fleece him of all he possessed. The plan being agreed upon was soon carried out, and another 300l. being eventually won from Thurtell, he swore vengeance against those who, he now clearly found, had conspired to rob him. They saw, however, that it was useless to proceed further against their dupe with any chance of getting anything from him, and in order to conciliate him, they determined to let him into a secret, which cost them nothing, and by which he might be able to secure some return for the losses, which he had sustained, by their instrumentality. He was therefore informed of a “cross,” which was about to take place, that is, an unfair fight, which was to be fought, and by introducing him among their acquaintance, they procured for him a bet, by which he secured a sum of 600l. Thus successful, no effort could induce him to quit a circle, for which he appeared to have formed a strong partiality; and he soon became known as one of a gang of the most unprincipled and successful gamblers. In his rounds, he frequently met Mr. Weare, and it appears that that gentleman had originally possessed a very considerable property, but, unfortunately, from his being a dupe, had himself become a gambler. It was not until Thurtell had been for some time acquainted with this person, however, as will be seen by the evidence, that the plan was laid for his murder; and the inducement for the commission of this diabolical offence is now well known to have been a “private bank,” which Mr. Weare carried about him, in a pocket in an under waistcoat, and to which he had been frequently seen to convey money, when any “chance” turned up in his favour; and from which he had also been seen to take the necessary funds for carrying on any game, when he saw the likelihood of winning by the hazard of a large stake.

The circumstances immediately attending the murder are so fully and so well detailed in the opening speech of Mr. Gurney, (now Mr. Baron Gurney,) who was employed to conduct the prosecution, on the trial, which took place at Hertford, on the 5th January 1824, that it is almost unnecessary to do more than to give it at length.

The prisoners, who stood indicted, were John Thurtell and Joseph Hunt. The former has been already described; the latter was at that time well known as a public singer, and was somewhat celebrated for the talent which he possessed.

Mr. Gurney, in opening the case to the jury, stated that the deceased, Mr. William Weare, was known to be addicted to play, and to be in the habit of frequenting gaming-houses, and that the prisoner, Thurtell, was acquainted with him, and, as it was said, had been wronged by him, in respect to some play, in which they had been engaged, and had been deprived by him of a large sum of money. The prisoner, Hunt, was also known to Mr. Weare, but was not in habits of friendship or intimacy with him. He would next describe a person, whom he should have to call in evidence against the prisoners. He alluded to Probert, who was a party to the murder, after its commission, although it did not appear that he had any hand in its actual perpetration. He was engaged in trade as a spirit-dealer, and he rented a cottage in a secluded spot, called Gill’s Hill Lane, situated about three miles from Elstree. He was himself usually engaged in London, in his business, during the day, and his wife lived at the cottage, which was a small one, and was fully occupied by his wife, her sister, (Miss Noyes,) some children of Thurtell’s brother, Thomas, a maid-servant, and a boy. The vicinity of this cottage was selected by the prisoners as a fit spot for the perpetration of the murder, which had been already determined upon; and the mode of the commission of which, he should now proceed to describe. Thurtell and the deceased met at a billiard-room, kept by one Rexworthy, on the evening of Thursday, the 23rd of October, and being joined there by Hunt, Mr. Weare was invited by Thurtell to go to Probert’s cottage, for the purpose of enjoying some shooting in the neighbourhood, for two or three days. He accepted the invitation, and the following day was fixed for him to meet Thurtell, who promised to drive him down to the place. On the forenoon of the Friday, the deceased called at Rexworthy’s, saying, that he was going out shooting with Thurtell, and at about three o’clock he went home, to the chambers, which he occupied in Lyon’s Inn, and having partaken of a chop dinner, he packed up some clothes in a green carpet bag, and the laundress having called a coach, he went away in it, carrying with him the carpet bag, a double barrelled gun, in a case, together with a back-gammon board, containing dice, &c. He left his chambers in this manner before four o’clock, and drove first to Charing Cross, and afterwards to Maddox-street, Hanover square; thence he proceeded to the New Road, where he got out of the coach, but returned after some time, accompanied by another person, and took his things away. At this time, Thomas and John Thurtell had need of temporary concealment, owing to their inability to provide the bail requisite to meet a charge of misdemeanour; and Probert had procured for them a retreat at Tetsall’s, at the sign of the Coach and Horses, in Conduit-street, where they remained for two or three weeks previous to the murder. On the morning of Friday, the 24th of October, two men, answering in every respect to the description of John Thurtell and Hunt, went to a pawnbroker’s in Mary-le-bone, and purchased a pair of pocket-pistols. In the middle of the same day Hunt hired a gig, and afterwards a horse, under the pretence of going to Dartford, in Kent: and he inquired at the stables where he could purchase a sack and a rope, and was directed to a place over Westminster Bridge, which, he was told, was on his road into Kent. Somewhere, however, it would be found that he did procure a sack and cord; and, on the same afternoon, he met at Tetsall’s Probert, the two Thurtells, and Noyes. Some conversation took place at the time between the parties, and Hunt was heard to ask Probert if he, “would be in it,”—meaning what they (Hunt and John Thurtell) were about. Thurtell drove off from Tetsall’s between four and five o’clock, to take up a friend, as he said to Probert, “to be killed as he travelled with him:” and he requested Probert to bring down Hunt in his own gig. In the course of that evening the prisoner, Thurtell, was seen in a gig, with a horse of an iron-grey colour, with a white face and white legs. He was first seen by a patrol, near Edgeware; beyond that part of the road he was seen by the landlord of a public-house; but from that time, until his arrival at Probert’s cottage, on the same night, there was no direct evidence to trace him. Probert, according to Thurtell’s request, drove Hunt down in his gig, and, having a better horse, on the road they overtook Thurtell and Weare, in the gig, and passed them without notice. They stopped afterwards at a public-house on the road, to drink grog, where they believed Thurtell must have passed them unperceived. Probert afterwards drove Hunt until they reached Phillimore Lodge, where he (Hunt) got out, as he said, by Thurtell’s desire to wait for him. Probert from thence drove alone to Gill’s Hill cottage, in the lane near which he met Thurtell on foot, and alone. Thurtell inquired—Where was Hunt, had he been left behind? and added, that he had done the business without his assistance, and had killed his man. At his desire, Probert then returned to bring Hunt to the spot, and went to Hunt for that purpose. When they met, he told Hunt what had happened. “Why, it was to be done here!” said Hunt, (pointing to a spot nearer Phillimore Lodge,) admitting his privity, and that he had got out to assist in the commission of the deed. When Thurtell rebuked Hunt for his absence, “Why,” said the latter, “you had the tools.” “They were no good,” replied Thurtell, “the pistols were no better than pop-guns: I fired at his cheek, and it glanced off.” He then proceeded to detail to them the mode, in which he had committed the murder. He said that when he fired, Weare jumped out of the gig, cried for mercy, and offered to give up his money; but that he had pursued him up the lane, and finding the pistol useless, had knocked him down; that they then struggled together, and he tried to cut his throat with a pen-knife; but that eventually he had killed him, by driving the barrel of the pistol into his forehead, and then turning it in his brains. Mr. Gurney then continued to state, that a few minutes before the time at which the murder must have been committed, a gig was heard to pass Probert’s cottage at a rapid pace, and the servant boy, who was in momentary expectation of his master’s return, imagined that it was he. He found, however, that he did not arrive at the cottage, and he proceeded about the work on which he was before engaged. In about five minutes after this, some persons who were near the road distinctly heard the report of a gun or pistol, and then voices, as if in contention. Groans were next distinguished; but they became fainter and fainter, and at length they altogether died away. The spot from which these noises proceeded, was Gill’s Hill Lane, near the cottage of Probert. At about nine o’clock Thurtell arrived at the cottage, and although he had started from town accompanied by a friend, he now was alone; but he had with him the double-barrelled gun, the carpet bag, and the backgammon board, which Mr. Weare had taken with him from his chambers. He gave his horse to the boy, and it had the appearance of having been sweated; but it was now cool, and it appeared as if, after having been driven fast, it had been allowed to stand. The boy inquired after his master, and was told that he would soon arrive, and then Thurtell went out again. His meeting with Probert had been already described; and Hunt having been again taken into the gig by the latter, from Phillimore’s Lodge, they all returned to Probert’s cottage together; Thurtell walking by the side of the gig. Probert on his arrival immediately went into the parlour, and acquainted his wife with the circumstance of Thurtell and Hunt having come down, as they were not expected; and presently on their joining him, Hunt, who was a stranger to Mrs. Probert, was formally introduced to her. They then supped on some pork-chops, which Hunt had carried down in the gig from London; and afterwards they all three went out together, professedly with the intention of calling on Mr. Nicholls, a neighbour, but in reality to visit the body of the murdered man. Thurtell conducted his two companions down the lane, and having led them to the spot where the murder was committed, they dragged the body through a hedge into an adjoining field, and there rifled the pockets of his clothes. Thurtell had already taken away his purse and watch, and they now secured a pocket-book, and any other valuables which he had in his possession. They then went back to the cottage, and Thurtell, with a sponge which was in the gig, endeavoured to remove some marks of blood which were on his clothes, many of which were distinctly seen by Probert’s boy; and having been partially successful, they all proceeded again into the parlour. In the course of the evening Thurtell produced a gold watch and seals, but without a chain; and he also displayed a gold curb chain, which when single might be used for a lady’s neck, or when joined, was fit to be used for a watch. Opening the chain, he remarked, that it was more fit for a lady than a gentleman; and he pressed it on Mrs. Probert, and eventually made her accept it. Some conversation then took place, and Hunt sang two or three songs, and then an offer was made, that Miss Noyes’ bed should be prepared for the two visitors, and that Miss Noyes should sleep with the children. This, however, was declined, and Thurtell and Hunt declared that they would rather sit up all night in the parlour. Mrs. Probert and Miss Noyes at length retired to rest, leaving the three men down stairs; but something had raised suspicion in the mind of Mrs. Probert, in consequence of which she did not go to bed, nor undress herself. She went to the window, and, looking out, saw that Probert, Hunt, and Thurtell were in the garden. It would be proved that they went down to the body, and finding it too heavy to be removed, one of the horses was taken from the stable. The body, enclosed in a sack, was then placed across the horse; and stones having been put into the sack, the body, with the sack, was thrown into the pond. Mrs. Probert distinctly saw something heavy drawn across the garden. The parties then returned to the house; and Mrs. Probert, whose fears and suspicions were now most powerfully excited, went down stairs, and listened behind the parlour door. The parties proceeded to share the booty; and Thurtell divided with the rest, money to the amount of six pounds each. The purse, the pocket-book, and certain papers which might lead to detection, were carefully burned. They remained up late; and Probert, when he went to bed, was surprised to find that his wife was not asleep. Hunt and Thurtell still continued to sit up in the parlour. The next morning, as early as six o’clock, Hunt and Thurtell were seen in the lane together. Some men who were at work there observed them, as they called it, “grabbling” for something in the hedge; and being spoken to by these men, Thurtell observed, “that it was a very bad road, and that he had nearly been capsized there last night.” The men said, “I hope you were not hurt.” To which Thurtell answered, “Oh! no, the gig was not upset,” and then went away. These men, thinking something might have been lost on the spot, searched, after Thurtell and Hunt were gone. In one place they found a quantity of blood, further on they discovered a bloody knife, and next they found a bloody pistol—one of the pair which were purchased by Hunt. That pistol bore upon it the marks of blood and of human brains. The spot was afterwards still further examined, and more blood was discovered, which had been concealed by branches and leaves; so that no doubt could be entertained that the murder had been committed in this particular place. On the following morning, Saturday, the 25th of October, Thurtell and Hunt left Probert’s cottage in the gig, carrying away with them the gun, the carpet bag, and the backgammon board, belonging to Mr. Weare. These articles were taken to Hunt’s lodgings, where they were afterwards found. When Hunt arrived in town on Saturday he appeared to be unusually gay: he said, “We Turpin lads can do the trick. I am able to drink wine now, and I will drink nothing but wine;” and he seemed to be very much elated at the recollection of some successful exploit. It was observed that Thurtell’s hands were very much scratched; and some remark having been made on the subject, he stated “that they had been out netting partridges, and that his hands got scratched in that occupation.” On some other points he gave similarly evasive answers. On the Saturday, Hunt had a new spade sent to his lodgings, which he took down to the cottage on Sunday, when he again accompanied Probert in his gig. When he got near Probert’s garden, he told him that it was to dig a hole to bury the body in; and soon after their reaching the house, Thurtell joined them. On that night Probert visited Mr. Nicholls; and in the course of a conversation which took place between them, that gentleman remarked that some persons had heard the report of a gun or pistol in the lane on Friday night, and that he supposed that it was a joke of some of his friends. He denied all knowledge of the circumstance to him, but on his return home he communicated what had passed to Thurtell and Hunt. They were much alarmed at it, and the former declared that “he was baked;” and they all became extremely desirous to conceal the body effectually, more especially as Probert considered that he should be in danger, in the event of its being discovered in his garden. Thurtell and Hunt promised to go down to do it on the next evening; and in order that Probert’s boy should be out of the way, they took him to town with them on the next day, and lodged him at Tetsall’s in Conduit-street. They returned, in obedience to their promise; and while Hunt engaged Mrs. Probert in conversation, Thurtell and Probert went into the garden, and having drawn the body from the pond, placed it in Thurtell’s gig to be carried away. Hunt was then apprised that all was ready; and he and Thurtell drove away with the body, refusing to tell Probert the place in which they intended to conceal it. He should now describe the circumstances under which this fearful and cold-blooded crime had been discovered, and its perpetrators brought to justice. The discharge of the pistol in Gill’s Hill Lane, and the subsequent suspicious finding of the blood-marks, and of the knife and pistol, were circumstances which had induced great alarm in the minds of the inhabitants and magistracy of the surrounding neighbourhood; and although at first there was little to prove the absolute fact of murder having been committed, the whole of the appearances of the case were such as to leave little doubt that the two prisoners and Probert could explain, if they would, the real cause of the events which had produced so much confusion and suspicion. They were all, in consequence, taken into custody; and although Hunt had shaved off his whiskers, which had been previously very large, and had otherwise disfigured himself, he was proved to have hired the horse and gig which Thurtell had taken to Gill’s Hill, and in which it was known that a person who was now nowhere to be found had accompanied him. Strict inquiries were made, and the most active investigation carried on by the magistrates, but nothing could be elicited which could in the slightest degree lead to the discovery of who was in reality the murdered man, for that murder had been committed was now presumed to be beyond a doubt; but at length, on the Thursday morning, Hunt, upon a species of understanding with the magistrates, pointed out a pond near Elstree, at a considerable distance from Probert’s house, and there, sunk to the bottom by means of stones, in a state of nudity and covered only by a sack, were discovered the murdered remains of a man, who afterwards proved to be the unfortunate Mr. Weare, the former friend and companion of the prisoner Thurtell. The learned counsel having stated these circumstances, declared that in order to prove them all, he should be compelled to call before the jury Probert as a witness, who was confessedly privy to the concealment of the body, if not to the actual murder; but he should so build up and corroborate his testimony by that of other witnesses, that he conceived that no doubt could be entertained of its veracity. With regard to the prisoner Hunt: he was charged as an accomplice before the fact. He hired the gig, and he procured the sack. The gun, travelling-bag, and backgammon board, were found in his lodgings. These constituted a part of the plunder of Mr. Weare, and could be possessed only by a person participating in this crime. Besides, there was placed about the neck of Probert’s wife, a chain, which had belonged to Mr. Weare; and round the neck of the murdered man there was found a shawl, which belonged to Thurtell, but which had been seen in the hands of Hunt.

The collateral circumstances were then proved by a variety of witnesses, whose examination occupied the court during several hours.

Ruthven, the officer, deposited on the table a pistol and a pistol-key, a knife, a muslin handkerchief spotted with blood, a shirt similarly stained, and a waistcoat, into the pockets of which bloody hands had been thrust. A coat and a hat marked with blood were also produced, all of which belonged to Thurtell. Ruthven then produced several articles belonging to the deceased—the gun, the carpet bag, and his clothes.

Symmonds the constable, when sworn, took from his pocket a white paper, which he carefully unfolded, and produced to the court the pistol with which the murder had been committed. It was a blue steel-barrelled pistol, with brass about the handle; the pan was open, as the firing had left it, and was smeared with the black of gunpowder and the dingy stain of blood. The barrel was bloody; and in the muzzle a piece of tow was thrust, to keep in the horrid contents, the murdered man’s brains. Against the back of the pan were the short curled hairs, of a silver hue, which had been dug from the dead man’s head, and were glued to the pan firmly with crusted blood.

We shall now give the evidence of Probert and his wife, who were called, and which discloses the circumstances attending the murder, and the disposition of the property of the deceased, with more exact minuteness than the statement of the learned counsel. Probert’s evidence was as follows:

“I occupied a cottage in Gill’s Hill Lane for six months before October last; my family consisted of Mrs. Probert, a servant maid, and a boy. In the month of October, Miss Noyes lived with us, and two children of Thomas Thurtell, a brother of the prisoner’s. I have been for some time past acquainted with the prisoner John Thurtell; and he had often been down to my cottage sporting with me: he knew the road to my cottage, and all the roads thereabouts well. Gill’s Hill Lane, in which my cottage stood, is out of the high road to St. Alban’s, at Radlett; my cottage was about a quarter of a mile from the high road, and fourteen miles and a quarter from Tyburn turnpike. In the latter end of October, the prisoner, John Thurtell, lodged at Tetsall’s, the Coach and Horses, in Conduit-street; Thomas Thurtell lodged there also. On Friday the 24th of that month, I dined at Tetsall’s with John Thurtell and Hunt; and Thomas Thurtell and Noyes were also there. After dinner, Thurtell said something to me about money, and I paid him 5l. which I had borrowed of him four days before. He then said, ‘I think I shall go down to your cottage to-night; are you going down?’ I said that I was, and he asked me to drive Hunt down with me, which I promised to do. Some further conversation took place, and he said, ‘I expect a friend to meet me this evening a little after five; and if he comes, I shall go down. If I have an opportunity, I mean to do him; for he is a man that has robbed me of several hundreds. I have told Hunt where to stop; I shall want him about a mile and a half beyond Elstree.’ He then desired me to give Hunt, who had just come in, a pound, and I did so; and Thurtell told him, in case I should not go, to hire a horse and to go to Elstree, saying, ‘You know where to stop for me.’ Hunt made no answer. At a little after five o’clock, Thurtell started from the Coach and Horses in a gig. He drove a dark grey horse; and I went away some time afterwards with Hunt in my vehicle. In Oxford-street Hunt got out and bought a loin of pork for supper; and at the end of Oxford-street he remarked, ‘This is the place where Jack is to take up his friend.’ We then drove on, and about four miles from London we overtook Thurtell, who was driving, accompanied by another man. Hunt said, ‘There they are; drive by and take no notice. It’s all right; Jack has got him.’ We, in consequence, passed on; and when we got to the Baldfaced Stag, about seven miles from London, and two miles short of Edgeware, we stopped. It was then about a quarter before seven o’clock. On our way I asked Hunt who the man was who was in the gig with Thurtell; but he answered, ‘You are not to know his name; you never saw him; you know nothing of him.’ I went into the Baldfaced Stag, as I supplied the house with liquor; but Hunt walked on, saying, ‘I won’t go in, because I have not returned those horse-cloths I borrowed.’ I stopped about twenty minutes; and then I drove on, and overtook Hunt at about a quarter of a mile from Edgeware. I took him up, and we drove on to Mr. Clarke’s at Edgeware, and there we had a glass of brandy and water. A little further on we bought half a bushel of corn for the horse, and put it in the gig; and then we went on to the Artichoke, kept by Mr. Field. It wanted now only about eight minutes of eight; and Hunt said, ‘I wonder where Thurtell is; he can’t have passed us.’ We pulled up at the Artichoke, and had four or five glasses of brandy and water; and we stayed there more than three quarters of an hour, waiting for Thurtell to come up with us. We then drove on; and at Mr. Phillimore’s Lodge, which is about a mile and a half further on, Hunt said that ‘he should remain there for John Thurtell;’ and he got out on the road. I drove through Radlett, towards my own cottage; and when I was within about a hundred yards of it, I met Thurtell on foot. He cried out, ‘Hallo! where is Hunt?’ and I answered that I had left him at Phillimore’s Lodge, waiting for him. He replied, ‘I don’t want him now; for I have done the trick.’ He said that he had killed his friend that he had brought down with him; he had ridded the country of a villain, who had robbed him of three or four hundred pounds!’ I said, ‘Good God! I hope you have not killed the man?’ and he said, ‘It’s of no consequence to you, you don’t know him; you never saw him: do you go back and fetch Hunt—you know best where you left him!’ I returned to the place where I left Hunt, and found him near the same spot. Thurtell did not go. I said to Hunt when I took him up, ‘John Thurtell is at my house—he has killed his friend;’ and Hunt said, ‘Thank God, I am out of it; I am glad he has done it without me: I can’t think where the devil he could pass; I never saw him pass anywhere, but I’m glad I’m out of it.’ He said, ‘This is the place where we were to have done it’ (meaning near Phillimore’s Lodge). I asked him who the man was, and he said, ‘You don’t know him, and I shall not tell you;’ he said it was a man that had robbed Jack of several hundred pounds, and they meant to have it back again. By that time I had reached my own house; John Thurtell stood at the gate as we drove into the yard. Hunt said, ‘Thurtell, where could you pass me?’ Thurtell replied, ‘It don’t matter where I passed you; I’ve done the trick—I have done it. But what the devil did you let Probert stop drinking at his d—d public-houses for, when you knew what was to be done?’ Hunt said, ‘I made sure you were behind, or else we should not have stopped.’ Having taken the loin of pork in the kitchen, and given it to the servant to cook for supper, I went into the parlour and introduced Hunt to Mrs. Probert; he had never been there before. Thurtell followed immediately; we had stopped in the yard a short time before we went in, and when I spoke to my wife, I told her that we were going to Mr. Nicholls’s to ask for a day’s shooting. We then went out together, Thurtell carrying a sack and a cord with him, which he had taken from the gig. We went down the lane, and I carried the lantern. As we went along, Thurtell said, ‘I began to think, Hunt, you would not come;’ when Hunt answered, ‘We made sure you were behind.’ I walked foremost; and Thurtell said, ‘Probert, he is just beyond the second turning.’ When he came to the second turning, he said, ‘It’s a little further on,’ and he at length said, ‘This is the place.’ We then looked about for a pistol and knife, but could not find either; we got over the hedge and there found the body lying; the head was bound up in a shawl, I think a red one. Thurtell searched the deceased’s pockets, and found a pocket-book containing three five-pound notes, a memorandum-book, and some silver. He said, ‘This is all he has got; I took the watch and purse when I killed him.’ The body was then put into the sack head foremost; the sack came to the knees, and was tied with a cord; we left the body there, and went towards home. On our way Thurtell explained how he had killed him. He said, ‘When I first shot him, he jumped out of the gig and ran like the devil, singing out that ‘he would deliver all he had, if I’d only spare his life.’ I jumped out of the gig and ran after him: I got him down, and began to cut his throat, as I thought, close to the jugular vein; but I could not stop his singing out: I then jammed the pistol into his head; I gave it a turn round; and then I knew I had done him.’ Turning to Hunt, he said, ‘Joe, you ought to have been with me, for I thought at one time he would have got the better of me. Those d—d pistols are like spits, they are of no use.’ Hunt remarked, that he should have thought one of the pistols would have killed him dead, but that at all events he had plenty of ‘tools’ with him; and then we entered the house and had our supper. In the course of the evening Thurtell produced a handsome gold watch and seals, and a gold chain. He offered the chain to Mrs. Probert, saying, that it was more fit for a lady than a gentleman: but she at first refused it, although after a time she consented to accept it as a present. He then put the watch and seals into his pocket. A proposal was then made, that Hunt and Thurtell should sleep in Miss Noyes’ bed, and that Miss Noyes should sleep with Thomas Thurtell’s children; but they refused to consent to such a course, and declared that they would rather sit up and take a turn on the sofa. Hunt then sang two or three songs, and Mrs. Probert and Miss Noyes went to bed between twelve and one o’clock. When they had retired, Thurtell produced a pocket-book, a purse, and a memorandum-book. The purse contained sovereigns, but I cannot say how many. He took three five-pound notes from the pocket-book, and giving a note and sovereign to Hunt, and a similar sum to me, said, ‘That’s your share of the blunt.’ The papers and books were burned, to avoid any discovery, and then the carpet bag was examined. Its contents were replaced, and, as well as the backgammon board and the gun, were taken away on the ensuing day, by Hunt and Thurtell, in a gig. When this examination was completed, Thurtell said, ‘I mean to have Barber Beaumont after this, and Woods.’ The former is a director to an insurance company, with whom Thurtell had had some dispute; and the latter kept company with Miss Noyes. A general conversation then took place, the particulars of which I cannot recollect; and he may have mentioned other names, but I do not now remember them. At length Thurtell said, ‘Well, Joe, we must go and get the body, and put it in the pond, meaning the pond in my garden. I said, ‘By G—d, you shan’t put it in my pond, or you will be my ruin;’ but at length they induced me to consent, Thurtell saying, ‘Had it not been for Hunt’s mistake, I should have killed him in the other lane, and then returned to town and inquired of his friends why he had not come.’ The two prisoners then went out together, and I waited for their coming back; but in a short time they returned, and Hunt said, ‘Probert, he’s too heavy; we cannot carry him; we have only brought him a little way.’ Thurtell invited me to accompany them, and said, that he would put the bridle on his horse to fetch the body; and then we all went out together. We took the horse from the stable, and Thurtell and I went and fetched the body, while Hunt remained at the gate. The horse having been put into the stable again, we dragged the body down the garden, and putting some stones into the sack, we threw it into the pond. The man’s feet were then found to be, perhaps, half a foot above the water; and Thurtell got a cord, threw it over the legs, and giving me one end, while he held the other, we drew the body into the centre of the pond, where it sunk out of sight. We all three then returned to the cottage, and I went to bed almost immediately. I found my wife up. Next morning I came down about nine o’clock. Thurtell said, in presence of Hunt, that they had been down the lane, to look for the pistol and knife, but neither could be found. They asked me to go down the lane and seek them, in the course of the day; which I promised to do: but when I went down the lane, I saw a man at work near the spot. That morning they went away after breakfast. On Sunday they came down again; and Thomas Thurtell and Mr. Noyes came also. Hunt brought a new spade with him. He said it was to dig a grave for the deceased. Hunt returned with the gig after setting down Thomas Thurtell, and brought out John Thurtell and Noyes. Hunt was very dirtily dressed when he came down, and went up stairs to change. When he came down, he was well dressed—in almost new clothes; and he said the clothes belonged to the deceased: he told me he had thrown a new spade over the hedge into my garden, and I found it there afterwards. John Thurtell and I walked to the pond. He asked me, if the body had risen? I said no; and he said it would lie there for a month. In the afternoon Hewart called, and I went with him to Mr. Nicholls’s. On my return, I told Thurtell and Hunt that Mr. Nicholls had told me, that some one had fired a pistol or gun off, in Gill’s Hill Lane, on Friday night, and that there were cries of murder, as though some one had been killed. He said it was about eight o’clock, and added, ‘I suppose it was done by some of your friends, to frighten each other.’ John Thurtell said, ‘Then I am booked.’ I said, ‘I am afraid it’s a bad job, as Mr. Nicholls seems to know all about it; I am very sorry it ever happened here, as I fear it will be my ruin.’ Thurtell said, ‘Never mind, Probert, they can do nothing with you;’ and I declared that the body must be immediately taken out of my pond again. Thurtell answered, ‘I’ll tell you what I’ll do, Probert: after you are all gone to bed, Joe and I will take the body up and bury it.’ But I told them that would be just as bad, if they buried it in the garden. John Thurtell said, ‘I’ll bury him where you nor no one else can find him.’ As John Thurtell was going into the parlour, Hunt said, ‘Probert, they can do nothing with you or me, even if they do find it out, as we were neither of us at the murder.’ Thurtell and Hunt sat up all that night: I, Noyes, and Thomas Thurtell went to bed. Thomas Thurtell slept with his children. In the morning, John Thurtell and Hunt said that they had gone to dig a grave, but the dogs were barking all night, and they thought some one was about the ground; and he added, ‘Joe and I will come down to-night and take him quite away, and that will be better for you altogether.’ Thomas Thurtell and Hunt, and my boy, Addis, went away in one chaise after breakfast and John Thurtell, Thomas Noyes, and Miss Noyes in another. The boy was sent to town to be out of the way. That evening John Thurtell and Hunt came again in a gig about nine: they took supper; after supper, John Thurtell and I went to the stable, leaving Hunt talking to Mrs. Probert. Thurtell said, ‘Come, let’s get the body up; while Hunt is talking to Mrs. Probert, she will not suspect.’ We went to the pond, and got the body up; we took it out of the sack, and cut all the clothes from it, and then we returned to the house, leaving the body naked on the grass. After a short time we all three went into the stables and took out Thurtell’s gig; and Thurtell having produced from it a new sack and a cord, we put the body into the former, and then Hunt and Thurtell put it into the gig; but I refused to have anything more to do with it: they then drove away with it. On the ensuing morning I destroyed the clothes which we had cut from the body, and subsequently on the same day I was taken into custody.”

Mrs. Probert, on being examined, corroborated the testimony of her husband with regard to all the circumstances which occurred in the cottage up to the time of her going to bed on the Friday night. She then went on to say—“On my going up stairs, I did not go to bed directly, and my curiosity being aroused at my husband remaining below, I went to the head of the stairs to listen. I leaned over the banisters, and I heard a whispering going on, and what I took to be a trying on of clothes. The first words which I could distinguish were, ‘This, I think, will fit you very well.’ There was then a sound as of the rustling of papers on the table; and then they seemed to be thrown on the fire and burned. I afterwards went into my own chamber, and subsequently hearing something in the garden, I looked out. I saw two men go from the parlour to the stable; and then they led a horse out, and opening the yard gate, they took the horse into the lane. Some time after that, I again heard them in the garden; and there seemed to be something heavy dragged along the path. It appeared to be dragged in a direction from the stable to the garden, along the dark walk. I looked out, and had a view of it as they took it out of the dark walk, and it looked to be in a sack. After this I heard a noise, which sounded to me like a heap of stones thrown into a pit—I can describe it in no other way. In addition to the conversation which I have already detailed as having taken place in the parlour, I also heard a voice, which I think was Hunt’s, say, ‘Let us take a five-pound note each.’ I did not hear Thurtell say anything; but then I heard my husband say, ‘We must say that there was a hare thrown up in the gig, on the cushion—we must tell the boy so in the morning.’ I next heard a voice, I can’t exactly tell whose say, ‘We had better be off to town by four or five o’clock in the morning;’ and then, I think, John Thurtell it was, who said, ‘We had better not go before eight or nine o’clock;’ and the parlour door then shut. I heard John Thurtell say also (I think it was his voice), ‘Holding shall be next.’ I rather think it was Hunt who next spoke; he asked, ‘Has he (Holding) got money?’ John Thurtell replied, ‘It is not money I want, it is revenge; it is Holding who has ruined my friend here.’ I did not at first understand who this friend was; I believe it meant Mr. Probert, my husband. I cannot say whether Holding had anything to do in the transactions of my husband’s bankruptcy. ‘It was Holding,’ said John Thurtell, ‘who ruined my friend here, and destroyed my peace of mind.’ My husband came to bed about half-past one or two o’clock; I believe it was; I did not know the hour exactly.”

The whole of the evidence in support of the case for the prosecution having now been adduced, the learned judge inquired of the jury, whether they conceived that it would be better at once to proceed to the conclusion of the case; or whether they would prefer that the defence of the prisoners should be postponed until the morning. The jury expressed their wish that the case should be at once concluded; but at the desire of the prisoner Thurtell, who respectfully pressed on their attention the long and harassing time he had stood at that bar, and begged for a night’s cessation to recruit his strength, previous to making his defence, the court adjourned, the jury being locked up until the following morning.

The trial then proceeded, and Ruthven and Thomas Thurtell being recalled to be examined on some trifling points, in a short time Mr. Justice Park informed John Thurtell, that he was ready to hear any observations he had to make.

The prisoner then commenced his defence;—speaking in a deep, measured, and unshaken tone, and using a studied and theatrical action.

“My Lord, and Gentlemen of the Jury—Under greater difficulties than ever man encountered, I now rise to vindicate my character and defend my life. I have been supported in this hour of trial, by the knowledge that my cause is heard before an enlightened tribunal, and that the free institutions of my country have placed my destiny in the hands of twelve men, who are uninfluenced by prejudice, and unawed by power. I have been represented by the press, which carries its benefits or curses on rapid wings from one extremity of the kingdom to the other, as a man more depraved, more gratuitously and habitually profligate and cruel, than has ever appeared in modern times. I have been held up to the world as the perpetrator of a murder, under circumstances of greater aggravation, of more cruel and premeditated atrocity, than it ever before fell to the lot of man to have seen or heard of. I have been held forth to the world as a depraved, heartless, remorseless, prayerless villain, who had seduced my friend into a sequestered path, merely in order to despatch him with the greater security—as a snake who had crept into his bosom only to strike a sure blow—as a monster, who, after the perpetration of a deed from which the hardest heart recoils with horror, and at which humanity stands aghast, washed away the remembrance of my guilt in the midst of riot and debauchery. You, gentlemen, must have read the details, which have been daily, I may say, hourly published regarding me. It would be requiring more than the usual virtue of our nature to expect that you should entirely divest your minds of those feelings which such relations must have excited; but I am satisfied, that as far as it is possible for men to enter into a grave investigation with minds unbiassed, and judgments unimpaired, after the calumnies with which the public has been deluged—I say, I am satisfied, that with such minds and such judgments, you have this day assumed your sacred office. The horrible guilt which has been attributed to me is such as could not have resulted from custom, but must have been the innate principle of my infant mind, and must have ‘grown with my growth, and strengthened with my strength.’ But I will call before you gentlemen whose characters are unimpeachable, and whose testimony must be above suspicion, who will tell you, that the time was, when my bosom overflowed with all the kindly feelings; and that even my failings were those of an improvident generosity, and an unsuspecting friendship. Beware then, gentlemen, of an anticipated verdict. Do not suffer the reports which you have heard to influence your judgment. Do not believe that a few short years can have reversed the course of nature, and converted the good feelings which I possessed, into that spirit of malignant cruelty, to which only demons can attain. A kind, affectionate, and a religious mother, directed the tender steps of my infancy in the paths of piety and virtue. My rising youth was guided in ‘the way that it should go,’ by a father, whose piety was universally known and believed—whose kindness and charity extended to all who came within the sphere of its influence. After leaving my paternal roof, I entered into the service of our late revered monarch, who was justly entitled the ‘Father of his people.’ You will learn from some of my honourable companions, that while I served under his colours, I never tarnished their lustre. The country which is dear to me I have served; I have fought for her; I have shed my blood for her; I feared not in the open field to shed the blood of her declared foes. But oh! to suppose that on that account I was ready to raise the assassin’s arm against my friend, and with that view to draw him into secret places for his destruction—it is monstrous, horrible, incredible. I have been represented to you as a man who was given to gambling, and the constant companion of gamblers. To this accusation, in some part, my heart with feeling penitence pleads guilty. I have gambled. I have been a gambler, but not for the last three years. During that time I have not attended or betted upon a horse-race, or a fight, or any public exhibition of that nature. If I have erred in these things, half the nobility of the land have been my examples: some of the most enlightened statesmen of the country have been my companions in them. I have indeed been a gambler. I have been an unfortunate one. But whose fortune have I ruined?—whom undone?—My own family have I ruined, undone myself! At this moment I feel the distress of my situation. But, gentlemen, let not this misfortune entice your verdict against me. Beware of your own feelings, when you are told by the highest authority, that the heart of a man is deceitful above all things. Beware, gentlemen, of an anticipated verdict. It is the remark of a very sage and experienced writer of antiquity, that no man becomes wicked all at once. And with this, which I earnestly request you to bear in mind, I proceed to lay before you the whole career of my life. I will not tire you with tedious repetitions, but I will disclose enough of my past life to inform your judgments; leaving it to your clemency to supply whatever little defects you may observe. You will consider my misfortunes, and the situation in which I stand—the deep anxiety that I must feel—the object for which I have to strive. You may suppose something of all this; but oh! no pencil, though dipped in the lines of heaven, can pourtray my feelings at this crisis. Recollect, I again entreat you, my situation, and allow something for the workings of a mind little at ease; and pity and forgive the faults of my address. The conclusion of the late war, which threw its lustre upon the fortunes of the nation generally, threw a gloomy shadow over mine. I entered into a mercantile life with feelings as kind, and with a heart as warm, as I had carried with me in the service. I took the commercial world as if it had been governed by the same regulations as the army. I looked upon merchants as if they had been my mess companions. In the transactions I had with them, my purse was as open, my heart as warm to answer their demands, as they had been to my former associates. I need not say that any fortune, however ample, would have been insufficient to meet such a course of conduct. I, of course, became the subject of a commission of bankruptcy. My solicitor, in whom I had foolishly confided as my most particular friend, I discovered, too late, to have been a traitor—a man who was foremost in the ranks of my bitterest enemies. But for that man, I should still have been enabled to regain a station in society, and I should have yet preserved the esteem of my friends, and, above all, my own self-respect. But how often is it seen that the avarice of one creditor destroys the clemency of all the rest, and forever dissipates the fair prospects of the unfortunate debtor! With the kind assistance of Mr. Thomas Oliver Springfield, I obtained the signature of all my creditors to a petition for superseding my bankruptcy. But just then, when I flattered myself that my ill fortune was about to close—that my blossoms were ripening—there came “a frost—a nipping frost.” My chief creditor refused to sign, unless he was paid a bonus of 300l. upon his debt beyond all the other creditors. This demand was backed by the man who was at the time his and my solicitor. I spurned the offer—I awakened his resentment. I was cast upon the world—my all disposed of—in the deepest distress. My brother afterwards availed himself of my misfortune, and entered into business. His warehouses were destroyed by the accident of a fire, as has been proved by the verdict of a jury on a trial at which the venerable judge now present presided. But that accident, unfortunate as it was, has been taken advantage of in order to insinuate that he was guilty of crime, because his property was destroyed by it, as will be proved by the verdict of an honest and upright jury in an action for conspiracy, which will be tried ere long before the Chief Justice of the King’s Bench. A conspiracy that was, but where? Why, in the acts of the prosecutor himself, Mr. Barber Beaumont, who was guilty of suborning witnesses, and who will be proved to have paid for false testimony. Yes; this professed friend of the aggrieved,—this pretended prosecutor of public abuses,—this self-appointed supporter of the laws, who panders to rebellion, and has had the audacity to raise its standard in the front of the royal palace—this man, who has just head enough to continue crime, but not heart enough to feel its consequences,—this is the real author of the conspiracy, which will shortly undergo legal investigation. To these particulars I have thought it necessary to call your attention, in language which you may think perhaps too warm—in terms not so measured, but that they may incur your reproof. But

“The flesh will quiver where the pincers tear,
The blood will follow where the knife is driven.”

When, before this, did it ever fall to the lot of any subject to be borne down by the weight of calumny and obloquy, which now oppresses me. The press, which ought to be the shield of public liberty, the avenger of public wrongs—which above all should have exerted itself to preserve the purity of its favourite institution, the trial by jury—has directed its whole force to my injury and prejudice: it has heaped slander upon slander, and whetted the public appetite for slanders more atrocious: nay more, what in other men would serve to refute and repel the shaft of calumny, is made to stain with a deeper dye the villanies ascribed to me. One would have thought, that some time spent in the service of my country would have entitled me to some favour from the public under a charge of this nature. But no; in my case the order of things is changed—nature is reversed. The acts of times long since past have been made to cast a deeper shadow over the acts attributed to me within the last few days; and the pursuit of a profession hitherto held honourable among honourable men has been turned to the advantage of the accusation against me. You have been told that after the battle, I boasted of my inhumanity to a vanquished, yielding, wounded enemy—that I made a wanton sacrifice of my bleeding and supplicating foe, by striking him to the earth with my cowardly steel; and that after this deed of blood, I sat down to plunder my unhappy victim: nay more, that, with folly indescribable and incredible, I boasted of my barbarity as of a victory. Is there an English officer, is there an English soldier or an Englishman, whose heart would not have revolted with hatred against such baseness and folly? Far better, gentlemen, would it have been for me, rather than have seen this day, to have fallen with my honourable companions, stemming and opposing the tide of battle upon the field of my country’s glory. Then my father and my family, though they would have mourned my loss, would have blessed my name, and shame would not have rolled its burning fires over my memory!—Before I recur to the evidence brought against my life, I wish to return my most sincere thanks to the high sheriff and the magistrates for their kindness shown to me. I cannot but express my unfeigned regret at a slight misunderstanding which has occurred between the Reverend Mr. Lloyd, the visiting magistrate, and my solicitor. As it was nothing more than a misunderstanding, I trust the bonds of friendship are again ratified between us all. My most particular gratitude is due to the Reverend Mr. Franklin, whose kind visits and pious consolations have inspired me with a deeper sense of the awful truths of religion, and have trebly armed my breast with fortitude to serve me on this day. Though last, not least—let me not forget Mr. Wilson, the governor of the prison, and the fatherly treatment which he has shown me throughout. My memory must perish ere I can forget his kindness. My heart must be cold ere it can cease to beat with gratitude to him, and wishes for the prosperity of his family.”

The prisoner then proceeded to read first a long written comment on the weaker parts of the evidence which had been produced against him, and then a number of instances from the Percy Anecdotes, exhibiting the fallibility of circumstantial evidence; but either the paper was so ill-written, or he was so imperfect a reader, that the effect was quite fatal to the flowery appeal which he had just before delivered to the jury. After having exhibited the utmost confusion, and stammered and blundered in a most extraordinary manner, he concluded his address in the following terms. “And now, gentlemen, having read those cases to you, am not I justified in saying, that unless you are thoroughly convinced that the circumstances before you are absolutely inconsistent with my innocence, I have a claim to your verdict of acquittal? Am I not justified in saying, that you might come to the conclusion that all the circumstances stated might be true, and yet I be innocent? I am sure, gentlemen, you will banish from your minds any prejudice which may have been excited against me, and act upon the principle that every man is to be deemed innocent until he is proved guilty. Judge of my case, gentlemen, with mature consideration, and remember that my existence depends upon your breath. If you bring in a verdict of guilty, the law afterwards allows no mercy. If upon a due consideration of all the circumstances you shall have a doubt, the law orders, and your own consciences will teach you to give me the benefit of it. Cut me not off in the summer of my life! I implore you, gentlemen, to give my case your utmost attention. I ask not so much for myself as for those respectable parents whose name I bear, and who must suffer in my fate. I ask it for the sake of that home which will be rendered cheerless and desolate by my death. Gentlemen, I am incapable of any dishonourable action. Those who know me best, know that I am utterly incapable of an unjust and dishonourable action, much less of the horrid crime with which I am now charged. There is not, I think, one in this court who does not think me innocent of the charge. If there be, to him or them I say, in the language of the apostle, ‘Would to God ye were altogether such as I am, save these bonds.’ Gentlemen, I have now done. I look with confidence to your decision. I repose in your hands all that is dear to the gentleman and the man. I have poured out my heart before you, as to my God. I hope your verdict this day will be such as you may ever after be able to think upon with a composed conscience; and that you will reflect upon the solemn declaration which I now make—I am innocent! so help me God!”

Hunt was next called upon, but his feeble voice and shrinking manner were strongly contrasted with the overwrought energy which had been displayed by his fellow-prisoner. He spoke of his agitation and fatigue, and desired that a paper, which he handed in, might be read by the clerk of the arraigns. It was accordingly read in a very feeling manner, but it contained little in reference to the charge against him, and insisted strongly upon the promise held out by the magistrate, on his first giving information upon the subject of the murder. The prisoner subsequently read a few words of comment upon Probert’s evidence, but in a very dejected voice; and at its conclusion, he hung down his head, evidently completely overcome by his situation.

Mr. Justice Park then summed up the case to the jury at very great length, and in a manner which brought the whole of the material facts of the case under their attention in the clearest and most impartial manner. After an address of several hours’ duration, the jury retired to consider their verdict. In about twenty minutes they returned into court, and declared both prisoners guilty.

They were then immediately called up to receive judgment in the customary manner, when Thurtell addressed the court in the following terms:—

“My Lord, before you pass sentence, I pray you to take into your serious consideration what I am about to say: I now for the last time assert that I am innocent. I entreat a short delay in the execution of the sentence you may pass, as I have friends now at a distance, with whom it is necessary that I should transact some business. It is for the sake of some friends who are dear to me, that I ask this indulgence; not for myself, for I am at this moment ready. My request I hope your lordship will take into consideration; and beyond Sunday is all I ask.”

The learned judge, at the conclusion of this address, which was once or twice interrupted by the ebullition of the prisoner’s feelings, announced that it was impossible that the request which had been made could be complied with, and immediately passed sentence of death upon both convicts. They then shook hands and quitted the bar, from whence they were at once conducted to their respective cells. Hunt, however, received an intimation that in consequence of the representations made with respect to the promise given by the magistrates, his punishment would, in all probability, be commuted to transportation for life.

The extraordinary interest and excitement which had been produced by this most remarkable case, from the first discovery of the perpetration of the murder, through the disclosure of the whole of the circumstances attending it, and up to the committal, trial and conviction of the prisoners, was now increased to an extent which may be pronounced to have been quite unparalleled. During the whole of Thursday, the day succeeding the termination of the trial, persons of all ranks and appearances were seen driving from every quarter into Hertford, in order, if possible, to obtain a sight of the execution of the malefactor, many being influenced in a very great degree by the anticipation that Thurtell would make some extraordinary disclosure in his dying moments. All the inns of the town were completely filled; and in many private houses beds were let at an enormous price. The most active preparations were made in the course of the day by the magistrates to prevent accident, and at the same time to afford as great a portion of the assembled multitude an opportunity to obtain a view of the scaffold and the execution; and arrangements were made, by which the space ordinarily occupied by the public in such instances should be very materially increased.

Meanwhile the proceedings in the jail on the part of the prisoners was of a nature to be most interesting. At ten o’clock on Thursday night, Thurtell expressed an anxious desire that Hunt might be permitted to pass the night in his room. His wish was immediately granted, and Hunt was introduced and was received with a strong manifestation of cordiality. Thurtell took him by the hand, and said, “Joe, the past is forgotten. I am on the brink of eternity, and we now meet only as friends. It may be your fate to lose your life as ignominiously as myself; but I hope the royal mercy will be extended to you, and that you will live to repent of your past errors. Although you have been my enemy, I freely forgive you.” Hunt, who had entered the room with feelings bordering on apprehension that some unfortunate turn had taken place in his affairs, and that he was himself to suffer, was suddenly relieved by this address, and, squeezing Thurtell’s hand most vehemently, burst into tears; he then sat down by the fire, and Thurtell and he continued to pray and to read until one o’clock. Soon after one the former showed symptoms of fatigue, and lying on the bed, in a few moments afterwards he dropped into a profound sleep.

On Friday morning, at daybreak, every road leading to Hertford was thronged with travellers. At half-past six, Mr. Wilson, the jailor, entered Thurtell’s room and found him fast asleep. The prisoner Hunt was also in a deep slumber. Mr. Wilson, unwilling to disturb their repose, retired, and at seven o’clock returned again; but the wretched men were still asleep. Mr. Wilson now approached the bed of Thurtell, and called him by name, when he started up, and for a moment seemed lost to his situation, not even knowing where he was, but his recollection quickly returned. His breakfast was then brought in: it consisted of some tea and bread and butter; but he partook only of the former, and that but slightly.

At half-past eleven Thurtell and Hunt were conducted into the chapel, where the Rev. Mr. Franklin administered the sacrament to them. Thurtell read the appropriate prayers in a distinct and audible voice, and seemed fully impressed with the importance of this solemn rite. At its conclusion, Thurtell turned round to Hunt, and grasped his hand repeatedly, and renewed, in the most forcible terms, the assurance of his perfect forgiveness of the past, and of his being about to die in peace and charity with all the world. The chaplain and Mr. Nicholson, the under sheriff, then retired from the chapel, leaving Mr. Wilson and the prisoner Thurtell alone, Hunt having previously been reconducted to his cell overpowered by his feelings. Mr. Wilson, turning to Thurtell, said, “Now, Thurtell, as there is no eye to witness what is passing between us but that of God, you must not be surprised if I ask you a question.” Thurtell turned round, and regarded him with a look of surprise. Mr. Wilson continued—“If you intend to make any confession, I think you cannot do it at a better period than the present.” Thurtell paused for a few moments, when Mr. Wilson went on to say, “I ask you if you acknowledge the justice of your sentence.” Thurtell immediately seized both Mr. Wilson’s hands, and pressed them with great fervour within his own, and said, “I am quite satisfied. I forgive the world; I die in peace and charity with all mankind, and that is all I wish to go forth upon this occasion.”

The chaplain then returned to the prisoner, and offered him some further words of comfort, asking him, whether there was anything he could do to ease his mind with respect to his family and friends? Thurtell replied that he was anxious that the reverend gentleman should write to his father, and inform him of his extreme contrition, resignation and penitence, which Mr. Franklin promised faithfully to do. The unfortunate man uttered a short prayer, that the minds of his family might be strengthened under the deep affliction they must feel, and of which he had been the unhappy author.

At twelve o’clock precisely, Mr. Nicholson tapped at the door with his wand, as the signal that the hour of execution had arrived. Thurtell immediately seized Mr. Franklin’s hands, and thanked him, not alone for all the personal kindnesses for which he was indebted to him, but for that Christian spirit with which he had inspired him, and with which he was about to depart this world: and the chapel door being thrown open, the prisoner went forth with a steady and assured step. He looked round with perfect calmness. The distance from the chapel door to that leading to the scaffold was not more than ten yards, and thither he was accompanied by the chaplain, the under sheriff, Mr. Wilson, an assistant of Mr. Wilson’s, and the upper turnkey. The church bell tolled as he advanced. On their arrival at the door, Thurtell again squeezed Mr. Franklin’s hand, and again exclaimed, ‘God bless you, sir; God bless you.’ He then mounted the steps, preceded by the under sheriff and the executioner, and followed by Mr. Wilson and the head turnkey.

Thurtell, on taking his station under the gallows, looked round with a countenance unchanged by the awfulness of his situation. His manner was firm and undaunted, at the same time that it betrayed no unbecoming levity. After regarding the crowd for a moment, he appeared to recognise an individual beneath him, to whom he bowed in a friendly manner. Previously to his mounting the scaffold, he had begged that as little delay as possible might take place in his execution, after his appearance upon the platform, and he now repeated the request to the executioner. His hands, instead of their being confined in the customary manner with cord, were held together by handcuffs, and his arms were not pinioned. He was still ironed, as he had been since his conviction, his shackles consisting merely of a moderate-sized chain, which was confined at his ankles, and held up to his waist by a Belcher handkerchief, tied round his middle. He was respectably attired in mourning, and wore a pair of black gloves on his hands. The moment he placed himself under the fatal beam, the executioner commenced the performance of his office, by taking off his cravat. He stood perfectly calm and collected while this was going on, and held up his head, in order that it might be the more easily removed. A white cap was then put on his head, and drawn over his eyes; but it was so thin as still to enable him to look about him; and he appeared anxiously to avail himself of the opportunity afforded him, by quickly looking round in all directions. As the clock sounded the last stroke of twelve, the rope was placed round the neck of the unhappy convict, and while the executioner was attaching the other end to the beam above, he looked up, and turning to him, begged him to “give him fall enough.” The hangman replied, “that he might be assured he should have plenty of fall, and that all would be right.” Thurtell next turned to Mr. Wilson, and repeated the same request; and that gentleman assured him, that his wishes had been fully attended to. All being now in readiness, Mr. Wilson drew close to the prisoner, and, squeezing his hands, exclaimed, “Thurtell, God Almighty bless you:” the prisoner pressing his hands in return, responded, “God bless you, sir.”

Mr. Wilson then stood back upon some boards placed immediately behind the drop, and the executioner having previously retired, the under sheriff, with his wand, gave the last fatal signal, the drop suddenly fell, and the unhappy man was in an instant dead. His sufferings were but momentary, for, with the exception of a few convulsive motions of his hands and legs, he seemed to be deprived of all sensation. Thus perished, in an untimely manner, a man, who, but for untoward circumstances and the violence of his passions, might have been the pride of his family.

During the whole of this appalling ceremony there was not the slightest symptom of emotion discernible in his features; his demeanour was perfectly calm and tranquil, but though his fortitude was thus conspicuous, it was evident, from the alteration in his appearance, that in the interval between his conviction and his execution he must have suffered much. He looked careworn; his countenance had assumed a cadaverous hue; and there was a haggardness and lankness about his cheeks and mouth, which could not fail to attract the notice of every spectator.

There were many in the crowd who looked upon him with an eye of the greatest commiseration for his youth and manly appearance; but it cannot but be obvious that such a feeling must be considered to have been thrown away, upon a wretch capable of a crime like that of which he was guilty.

We cannot close our notice of this case, without bringing under the attention of the reader a report which was in circulation for a considerable period after the last sentence of the law had been carried out on this unhappy man, and which obtained almost universal credit. We have already alluded to Thurtell’s connexion with the sporting world, and especially with that portion of it which patronised the manly exercises of the “Ring.” Admirable as we shall ever hold that custom to be, which has been so often cried down, but which has always had for its object the maintenance of those principles, by which the courage of the British nation has been in no small degree supported, in opposition to that frightful and un-English alternative, “the knife,” we cannot but admit that some of the members of the body, through whose instrumentality those principles have been sought to be upheld, have at times exhibited themselves to be unworthy the notice and patronage which they have received. It would appear that Thurtell, in his acquaintance with fighting men, had so far obtained their esteem, that even after his commission of a crime which should have been most detestable in their eyes, and in the sight of every man of honest principles, some of them volunteered to assist to perform an act which would certainly have been unprecedented, had it been carried into effect. It was neither more nor less than to bear him away from the scaffold, before his execution, in defiance of the law, and in the face of the vast mob, which, it was known, would be collected on the occasion of his execution, the confusion produced by which, however, they well knew would aid rather than oppose their object. The volunteers from a body so limited as the members of the prize ring, it must be obvious, would be too few to put this design into execution without the assistance of others; and the means of procuring that assistance was yet to be obtained. With this object a communication was opened with the friends of the prisoner, before his trial; but the sum demanded, which was said to be 500l., not being forthcoming, the plan was given up; although not until the very morning of the day, on which the execution took place, for up to that time it was believed probable that the demand would be complied with. It was reported, also, that the scheme proposed was communicated to Thurtell by a confidential friend, and that he, knowing the facility with which the few javelin-men, who were mostly aged and decrepit, in whose care the preservation of the peace and of the limits without the scaffold was reposed, could be overpowered, fully believed, up to the moment of his execution, that it would be carried into effect. The extreme calmness of demeanour of the unfortunate prisoner at the place of execution, and the confidence which he displayed, added to the anxiety which he exhibited when the ceremony approached its fatal termination, favour this belief; and although his conduct in the gaol was of a character to lead to the supposition that he was in reality prepared to meet that death which he was doomed so soon to receive, it is by no means unlikely that he was at the same time treasuring up in his own mind the possibilities of his escape from the fate which awaited him.

With regard to the inducement which we have already noticed as having been generally believed to have led the wretched man on to the commission of so foul a crime, namely, the hope of procuring a large booty; for the supposed “bank” of Mr. Weare was generally believed to amount to nearly 1,000l.; from the testimony of the witness Probert, it would appear that he was unsuccessful in his object, while at the same time the observation made by Thurtell, on their going to search the body, (itself a corroborative fact,) that he had got all except the pocket-book, clearly exhibits that the anticipation was that which we have pointed out. Where or how the “bank” was disposed of, has never been shown; but there were not wanting those among the companions of Probert and Hunt, who suggested that it had been in reality found, and hidden by Thurtell, until an opportunity was afforded for its removal, unknown to his companions in the plot. It is a well ascertained fact, that he was not previously in possession of means sufficient to defray the expenses of a defence, which was known to have cost a very large sum of money; and it was very generally believed that the produce of the double robbery of Mr. Weare, and of the prisoner’s companions, from whom he kept their share of the booty, (if the suggestion thrown out be well founded,) was applied to the payment of his attorney’s bill.

We have only to add that Hunt was reprieved, and was subsequently ordered to be transported for life. It was for some time reported that he had died on his voyage to Australia; but he in fact arrived in Sydney in good health; and by his excellent conduct while there procured for himself a ticket of leave, by which he was exempted from all the immediate consequences of his conviction, although he was not absolutely restored to freedom. He was subsequently appointed chief constable at Paramatta, a large town in the interior, when he became generally well liked from his quiet manners; and it has been reported that he died in the colony, within the last few years, but the truth of the rumour cannot be ascertained by reference to any document in this country. Probert met the fate which he so justly deserved within a short time of his escaping from punishment for his connexion with this case, in a manner and for an offence which we shall hereafter in due course describe.

ALEXANDER PIERCE.
EXECUTED FOR MURDER.

ALTHOUGH the offence for which this person was executed did not occur within the district of our own country, yet as the malefactor was a British subject, the particulars of the horrid deed of which he was guilty, and which was of a nature most disgustingly appalling, may not be considered out of place in our catalogue.

In the month of November 1823, the prisoner surrendered himself at a place called Macquarrie Harbour, in Van Diemen’s Land—of which place it was the penal settlement, and which was therefore inhabited only by persons twice transported, and the guards necessary to keep them in subordination—and charged himself with having been guilty of the murder of one Cox, a convict, who had escaped with him from the same settlement only a short time before, and whom he had despatched, for the purpose of preserving himself from starvation by devouring his flesh. It would be useless for us to go into a detail of the circumstances proved on his trial at Hobart Town on the 21st June 1824, which were of a nature far less horrible than those which he confessed immediately before his execution for the offence with which he charged himself.

This confession was in the following terms. “I was born in the county of Fermanagh, in the north of Ireland, where in the 26th year of my age I was convicted on a charge of stealing six pairs of shoes, and received sentence to be transported for seven years. I arrived at Hobart Town, in the ship Castle Forbes, and was assigned to Mr. John Bellenger, with whom I remained about nine months, at the expiration of which time I was returned to the government superintendant, in consequence of some misconduct of which I had been guilty. In a few months afterwards, I was assigned to a constable named Cane; but I had stayed with him only sixteen weeks, when being carried before a magistrate for some offence, of which I had been guilty, I was ordered to receive fifty lashes, and to be returned again to Crown labour. I was subsequently again assigned to a Mr. Scattergood, at New Norfolk, but I absconded from his service into the woods, where I joined Laughton, Saunders, Latton, and Atkinson, who were at large in the bush. After about three months spent in ‘ranging,’ I surrendered upon a proclamation issued by the Governor, and was pardoned; but I shortly afterwards forged some orders, upon which I obtained property. On learning that the fraud was discovered, I was induced once more to make off, and I did so; but after a stay of about three months in the woods, I was taken by a party of the 48th regiment, and being tried for the forgery, was found guilty, and ordered to be transported to the Penal Settlement at Macquarrie Harbour, for the remainder of my original sentence. I was not there more than a month before I made my escape with seven others, named Dalton, Traverse, Badman, Matthews, Greenhill, Brown, and Cornelius. We all kept together for about ten days, during which we ate nothing but our kangaroo-skin jackets, and then we were nearly exhausted with hunger and fatigue. On the eleventh night, we began to consult what was best to be done for our preservation, and we made up our minds to a dreadful result. In the morning we missed three of our company, Dalton, Brown, and Cornelius, who, we concluded, had left us with an intention of returning, if possible. We then drew lots, which of us should die; and the chance fell on Badman. I went with one of the others to collect dry wood, to make a fire, during which time Traverse had succeeded in killing Badman, and when we returned, he had begun to cut him up. We dressed part of the flesh immediately, and continued to use it as long as it lasted. We then drew lots again, and it fell to the fate of Matthews. Traverse and Greenhill killed him with an axe; we cut the flesh from his bones, carried it on, and lived upon it as long as it lasted. By the time it was all eaten, Traverse, through fatigue, fell lame in his knee—so much so, that he could not proceed; Greenhill proposed that I should kill him, which I agreed to. We then made the best of our way, carrying the flesh of Traverse between us, in the hope of reaching the Eastern settlements while it lasted. We did not however, succeed, and I perceived Greenhill always carried the axe, and thought he watched an opportunity to kill me. I was always on my guard, and succeeded, when he fell asleep, in getting the axe, with which I immediately despatched him, made a meal, and carried all the remaining flesh with me to feed upon. To my great disappointment, I was afterwards many days without food, and subsisted solely upon grass and nettle-tops, which I boiled in a tin pot that I brought with me from the settlement. At length I fell in with some natives’ huts, from which apparently the inmates had just retired; and there I collected some entrail, and bits of kangaroo, which afforded me a meal. Two days afterwards, when nearly exhausted, I came in sight of a hut, which proved to be M‘Guire’s near the High Plains. I staid there a fortnight, and made up my mind to surrender myself to Captain Wood, a magistrate on the river Clyde; but on my way thither, I met Davis and Churton, who were then desperadoes, and living at the Shannon hut. They wished me to join them, to which I agreed. In a few weeks we were all taken, near Jericho, by a party of the 48th regiment, and brought into Hobart town jail; Churton and Davis were tried, found guilty of capital offences, and suffered death. It was my fate to be returned to the Penal Settlement. I again made my escape with Thomas Cox, who eagerly pressed my departure. I had irons on at the time; and when we had proceeded some distance, Cox knocked them off with an axe he had brought with him, and we made the best of our way through a thicket, which was very wet. At night we tried to make a fire, but could not. We travelled on several days without food, except the tops of trees and shrubs, until we came upon King’s River; I asked Cox, if he could swim; he replied he could not; and I remarked, that had I been aware of that, he should not have been my companion. The arrangements for crossing the river created words, and I killed Cox with the axe: I ate part of him that night, and cut the greatest part of his flesh up in order to take on with me. I swam the river with the intention of keeping the coast round to Port Dalrymple, but my heart failed me, and I resolved to return and give myself up to the commandant. I threw most of the flesh away; one piece I carried in my pocket, to show the commandant that Cox was dead. I confessed that I had killed him, and accompanied a party in a boat to bring up his remains, which was done.”

The prisoner underwent the extreme penalty of the law on the following morning, for the detestable crimes of which he had been guilty. We regret to say, however, that this is not a solitary instance of persons in the situation of Pierce resorting to similar means for the preservation of their lives.

HENRY FAUNTLEROY.
EXECUTED FOR FORGERY.

THE station in society which was occupied by this unfortunate gentleman, together with the long established respectability of the banking-house in which he was a most active partner, and the vast extent of the heartless forgeries which he committed, gave to his case an intensity of interest, which has rarely been exceeded.

The apprehension of Mr. Fauntleroy took place on the 10th of September 1824, when he was taken into custody on a warrant, issued in consequence of information being lodged at Marlborough-street police-office, that it had been discovered that in the month of September 1820, stock in the three per cents, to the extent of 10,000l., which stood in the name of himself, J. D. Hulme, and John Goodchild, as trustees for Francis William Bellis, had been sold out under a power of attorney, to which the names of Mr. Fauntleroy’s co-trustees, and of one of the subscribing witnesses, had been forged. The name of the firm with which Mr. Fauntleroy was connected was Marsh, Stracey, Fauntleroy, and Graham, and their banking-house was situated in Berners-street, where they enjoyed no inconsiderable portion of public patronage; and the apprehension of Mr. Fauntleroy, on one charge, no sooner became generally known, than, on inquiries being made, it was found that he had, under similar circumstances, sold out stock to the enormous amount of 170,000l., since the year 1814, the whole of which he had converted to his own use. The most extraordinary degree of interest was, in consequence, exhibited, and the public, unconscious of the degree of mischief which might be apprehended, became so alarmed that a run on the banking-house took place, which was checked by a suspension of payments, and eventually by a commission of bankruptcy.

Meanwhile Mr. Fauntleroy’s private character and conduct became the subject of general comment in the newspapers, and exaggerated accounts of his depravity of habit were published. He was described as a licentious libertine, and as a deep and determined gamester, and it was alleged that his extravagance knew no bounds. His private life was also inquired into, and it was found that he had been married to a young lady of respectable family named Young, by whom he had previously had a child; but that after his marriage, he had never lived with his wife; and it is not a little remarkable, that it was for a forgery, by means of which his wife’s family was defrauded, that he underwent the final dreadful sentence of the law.

His trial took place at the Old Bailey, on the 30th of October 1824, when he was indicted for forging a power of attorney for the transfer of stock in the three per cent. consols, to the amount of 5,000l., with intent to defraud Frances Young. As early as seven o’clock in the morning the doors leading to the court-house were thronged with persons anxious to obtain a glimpse of the prisoner; and on the arrival of the judges, before whom the unfortunate gentleman was tried, every corner of the court was filled with spectators. The Attorney-General was employed to conduct the case for the prosecution, and in his opening address to the jury, he described the prisoner as the acting partner in the house of Messrs. Marsh and Co. Mr. Fauntleroy, the father of the prisoner, had become a partner in that firm, at the period of its establishment, and had continued so up to the time of his death, which took place in the year 1807. The prisoner was then admitted into the concern, and became a most active member in carrying on its extensive transactions. In the year 1815, Frances Young, of Chichester, a customer of the house, lodged in their hands a power of attorney, to receive the dividends on 5,450l. stock, invested in her name in the three per cent. consols. The dividends were regularly handed over by the banking-house; but it was found, that soon after the period mentioned, another power of attorney, authorising the prisoner to sell the stock, was presented to the bank, and the sale was effected by him. To this power the prisoner had forged the names of Frances Young, and of two witnesses to it. But the most extraordinary part of the case was, that among the prisoner’s private papers, contained in a tin box, there had been found one in which he acknowledged his guilt, and adduced a reason for his conduct. The Attorney-General then read the paper, which presented the following items, &c.:—De la Place, 11,150l. three per cent. consols; E. W. Young, 5,000l. consols; General Young, 6,000l. consols; Frances Young, 5,000l. consols; H. Kelly, 6,000l. consols; Lady Nelson, 11,995l. consols; Earl of Ossory, 7,000l. four per cents; W. Bowen, 9,400l. four per cents;—Parkins, 4,000l. consols. Sums were also placed to the names of Mrs. Pelham, Lady Aboyne, W. R. and H. Fauntleroy, and Elizabeth Fauntleroy; and the learned gentleman observed, that all the sums were added together, and the sum total, 120,000l., appeared at the foot of this list in the prisoner’s hand-writing. The statement was followed by this declaration:—

“In order to keep up the credit of our house, I have forged powers of attorney for the above sums and parties, and sold out to the amount here stated, and without the knowledge of my partners. I kept up the payment of the dividends, but made no entries of such payments in our books. The Bank began first to refuse to discount our acceptances, and to destroy the credit of our house: the Bank shall smart for it.”

The Attorney-General then called his witnesses, who confirmed in every point his statement of the case.

On being asked what he had to say in his defence, the prisoner read from a paper the following address:—

“My lord, and gentlemen of the jury,—Overwhelmed as I am by the situation in which I am placed, and being uninformed in what manner I should answer the charges which have been alleged against me, I will endeavour to explain, so well as the poignancy of my feelings will enable me, the embarrassments of the banking-house in which I have been for many years the active and only responsible partner, and which have alone led to the present investigation; and although I am aware I cannot expect to free myself from the obloquy brought upon me by my anxiety to preserve the credit and respectability of the firm, still I trust that an impartial narrative of the occurrences will obtain for me the commiseration of the well-disposed part of the community.

“Anticipating the Court will extend its indulgence to me, I will respectfully submit such observations as I think will tend to remove from influenced minds those impressions, which, with sorrow I say, must have been made upon them by the cruel and illiberal manner in which the public prints have untruly detailed a history of my life and conduct; hoping therefrom I may deserve your compassion, and although I may be unable to justify my proceedings, and secure my liberation, by a verdict of the jury, yet they may be considered, in the mercy of the court and a discerning public, as some extenuation of the crimes with which I stand arraigned.

“My father established the banking-house in 1792, in conjunction with Mr. Marsh, and other gentlemen. Some of the partners retired in 1794, about which time a loss of 20,000l. was sustained. Here commenced the difficulties of the house. In 1796, Mr. Stracey and another gentleman came into the house with little or no augmentation of capital. In 1800 I became a clerk in the house, and continued so six years; and although during that time I received no salary, the firm were so well satisfied with my attention and zeal for the interest and welfare of the establishment, that I was handsomely rewarded by them. In 1807 my father died; I then succeeded him; at this time I was only twenty-two years of age, and the whole weight of an extensive, but needy, banking establishment devolved upon me; and I found the concern deeply involved in advances to builders and others, which had rendered a system of discounting necessary, which we were obliged to continue in consequence of the scarcity of money at that time, and the necessity of making further advances to those persons, to secure the sums in which they already stood indebted. In this perplexed state the house continued until 1810, when its embarrassments were greatly increased, owing to the bankruptcies of Brickwood and others, which brought upon it a sudden demand for no less a sum than 170,000l. the greater part being for the amount of bills, which our house had either accepted or discounted for those parties said to have become bankrupts. About 1814, 1815, and 1816, from the speculations with builders, brickmakers, &c. in which the house was engaged, it was called upon to provide funds to the extent of near 100,000l. to avert the losses which would otherwise have visited it from those speculations. In 1819 the most responsible of our partners died, and we were called upon to pay over the amount of his capital, although the substantial resources of the house were wholly inadequate to meet so large a payment. During these numerous and trying difficulties, the house was nearly without resources, and the whole burden of management falling upon me, I was driven to a state of distraction, in which I could meet with no relief from my partners, and, almost heartbroken, I sought resources where I could, and so long as they were provided, and the credit of the house supported, no inquiries were made, either as to the manner in which they were procured, or as to the sources from which they were derived. In the midst of these calamities, which were not unknown to Mr. Stracey, he quitted England, and continued in France, on his own private business, for two years, leaving me to struggle as well as I could with difficulties almost insurmountable. Having thus exposed all the necessities of the house, I declare that all the moneys temporarily raised by me were applied, not in one instance for my own separate purposes or expenses, but in every case they were immediately placed to the credit of the house in Berners-street, and applied to the payment of the pressing demands upon it. This fact does not rest on my assertion, as the transactions referred to are entered in the books now in the possession of the assignees, and to which I have had no access since my apprehension. These books, I understand, are now in court, and will confirm the truth of my statement; and to whatever account all the sums may be entered, whether to that of stock, or of Exchequer bills, or to my own private account, the whole went to the general funds of the banking-house. I alone have been doomed to suffer the stigma of all the transactions; but tortured as I have been, it now becomes an imperative duty to explain to you, gentlemen, and through you to the world at large, that the vile accusations heaped upon me, known to be utterly false by all those who are best acquainted with my private life and habits, have been so heaped upon me for the purpose of loading me with the whole obloquy of those transactions, from which, and from which alone, my partners were preserved from bankruptcy. I have been accused of crimes I never even contemplated, and of acts of profligacy I never committed; and I appear at this bar with every prejudice against me, and almost prejudged. To suit the purposes of the persons to whom I allude, I have been represented as a man of prodigal extravagance: prodigal indeed I must have been, had I expended those large sums which will hereafter be proved to have gone exclusively to support the credit of a tottering firm, the miseries of which were greatly accelerated by the drafts of two of its members to the amount of near 100,000l. I maintained but two establishments, one at Brighton, where my mother and sister resided in the season—the expenses of which to me, exclusive of my wine, were within 400l. per annum, and one at Lambeth, where my two children lived, from its very nature private and inexpensive, to which I resorted for retirement, after many a day passed in devising means to avert the embarrassments of the banking-house. The dwelling-house in Berners-street belonged solely to my mother, with the exception of a library and single bed-room. This was the extent of my expenditure, so far as domestic expenditure is concerned; I am next accused of being an habitual gambler, an accusation which, if true, might easily account for the diffusion of the property. I am, indeed, a member of two clubs, the Albion and the Stratford, but never in my life did I play in either, at cards or dice, or any game of chance; this is well known to the gentlemen of these clubs—and my private friends, with whom I more intimately associated, can equally assert my freedom from all habit or disposition to play. It has been as cruelly asserted, that I fraudulently invested money in the funds to answer the payment of annuities, amounting to 2,200l. settled upon females. I never did make any such investment; neither at home or abroad, in any funds whatever, have I any investment; nor is there one shilling secretly deposited by me in the hands of any human being. Equally ungenerous, and equally untrue it is, to charge me with having lent to loose and disorderly persons large sums which never have, and never will be repaid. I lent no sums but to a very trifling amount, and those were advanced to valued friends. I can, therefore, at this solemn moment declare, most fervently, that I never had any advantage beyond that in which all my partners participated in any of the transactions which are now questioned. They indeed have considered themselves as partners only in the profits, and I am to be burdened with the whole of the opprobrium, that others may consider them as the victims of my extravagance I make this statement not with a view to criminate others, or to exculpate myself; but borne down as I am by calamity, I will not consent to be held out to the world as a cold-blooded and abandoned profligate, ruining all around me for the selfish gratification of vice and sensuality, and involving even my confiding partners in the general destruction. Gentlemen, I have frailties and errors enough to account for. I have sufferings enough, past, present, and in prospect; and if my life were all that was required of me, I might endure in silence; though I will not endure the odium on my memory, of having sinned to pamper delinquencies to which I never was addicted. Thus much has been extorted from me by the fabrications which have been cruelly spread amongst the public,—that very public from whom the arbiters of my fate were to be selected. Perhaps, however, I ought to thank the enemy who besieged the prisoner with his slanders, that he did so whilst my life was spared to refute them, and that he waited not until the grave, to which he would hurry me, had closed at once on my answer and my forgiveness. There is one subject more connected with these charges to which I am compelled to advert, and I do so with great reluctance. It has added to the other charges made against me, lest the world should think there was any vice in which I was not an adept. I have been accused of acting treacherously towards the female who now bears my name, having refused to make reparation until threatened by her brother, and of having deserted her at a moment when she had the greatest claim on my protection. Delicacy forbids me entering into an explanation on this subject further than to declare, that the conduct I adopted on that occasion was uninfluenced by the interference of any individual, and arose, as I then considered, and do still consider, from a laudable and honourable feeling on my part; and the lady’s brother, so far from coming forward at the time alluded to, was on service in the West Indies. Could all the circumstances be exposed, I feel convinced that every liberal-minded man would applaud my determination; and I feel satisfaction in saying, that the lady in question has always been, and still is actuated by the best feelings towards me. I have now to apologise to the court for having entered so much at length into the statement of my unfortunate case, and, in conclusion, I have to express my perfect confidence that it will receive every favourable consideration at your hands; and I fully rely that you, gentlemen of the jury, will give an impartial and merciful decision.”

The unfortunate gentleman having completed the reading of this document, sat down, and wept with much agitation. Seventeen gentlemen of the highest respectability were then called, and they all attested their high opinion of his honour, integrity, and goodness of disposition, and that he was the person whom, of all others, they would have supposed incapable of a dishonourable action. During their examination the prisoner buried his face in his handkerchief, apparently anxious to conceal his features from their view.

In summing up, the judge told the jury, that as the evidence did not show the forgery to have been committed within their jurisdiction, they, being a London jury, would have to decide on the count for uttering; and after twenty minutes’ consideration they returned a verdict—Guilty of uttering—Death.

Every exertion was used by Mr. Fauntleroy’s counsel, his case being twice argued before the judges, upon points of law; but both decisions were against him, and on the 30th of November, 1824, his execution took place. The number of persons assembled on the fatal day was estimated at nearly one hundred thousand! Every window and roof which could command a view of the dreadful ceremony was occupied, and places from which it was impossible to catch a glimpse of the scaffold were blocked up by those who were prevented by the dense crowd before them from advancing further.

At a quarter before eight o’clock, the sheriffs arrived at Newgate, and proceeded immediately to the prisoner’s room. The prisoner gently bowed to them on perceiving that they were present, but made no observation. Besides the Ordinary of Newgate, the Rev. Mr. Cotton, there were the Rev. Mr. Springett and Mr. Baker with the prisoner, the former of whom had remained all night.

Mr. Fauntleroy was dressed in a black coat, waistcoat, and trousers, with silk stockings and shoes. The demeanour of the unhappy man was perfectly composed. His eyes continued closed, and no emotion was visible in his countenance. His appearance had undergone little or no change since the trial. The necessary arrangements having been completed, the sheriffs moved forward, and Mr. Springett and Mr. Baker each took hold of one of the prisoner’s arms; and thus accompanied, he followed the sheriffs and the ordinary. He never turned his head to the right nor the left till he reached the foot of the steps leading to the scaffold; and the moment he appeared the vast crowd took off their hats. In less than two minutes after the criminal ascended the platform, everything was prepared for his execution. Mr. Cotton now placed himself before the prisoner, who stood with his face towards Ludgate Hill, and commenced reading the passage—“Yet, O Lord God, most Holy! O Lord, most mighty! O holy and most merciful Saviour! deliver us not into the bitter pains of eternal death. Thou knowest, Lord, the secrets of our hearts;” towards the conclusion of which the trap-door fell, and the unhappy man died without a struggle.

An almost universal sympathy was excited in his favour, in consequence of the melancholy termination of his career; but many, even to the present day, have but too powerful reasons to mourn the crimes of which he was guilty, depriving them as they did, in many instances, of every shilling of what otherwise would have been comfortable competencies, sufficient to maintain them in respectability through life.

GEORGE ALEXANDER WOOD, AND ALEXANDER WELLESLEY LEITH.
INDICTED FOR MANSLAUGHTER.

THE scene of the melancholy event by which one youth, a member of a noble family, was hurried into an untimely grave, and two others were brought to the bar of a public court of justice upon a charge of manslaughter, was at Eton College, and it occurred on Monday the 28th February, 1825.

On the 9th of March, 1825, George Alexander Wood, son of Colonel Wood, and nephew of the Marquis of Londonderry, and Alexander Wellesley Leith, were placed at the bar at the Aylesbury Assizes, charged with killing and slaying the Hon. F. Ashley Cooper, son of the Earl of Shaftesbury. The circumstances will be best explained as they appeared in evidence before the coroner.

On Sunday, the 27th of February, about two o’clock, two young gentlemen, scholars at Eton, the Hon. F. A. Cooper and Mr. Wood, were in the play-ground, when same words arose between them. From words they proceeded to blows; and they had fought for several minutes, when the captain came up and separated them. It was subsequently determined that they should meet on the following afternoon, and terminate their differences by a pugilistic contest. Many of the scholars were present to witness the battle; the combatants stripped at four o’clock on Monday afternoon, and commenced fighting. Mr. Cooper was under fifteen years, and his opponent, who was half a head taller, was near seventeen. Mr. Wood had the advantage in point of strength; but the quickness and precision of Mr. Cooper were remarkable for one so young, and he declared that he would never give in. In the eighth, ninth, and tenth rounds, he became weak and exhausted, and it was then evident he was not a match for Mr. Wood. Some of the “backers” had brought a quantity of brandy in bottles into the field; and the second of Mr. Cooper having, in the eleventh round, poured a portion of it down Mr. C.’s throat, he recovered his wind and strength. The young men continued fighting from four till nearly six o’clock; and when they were in a state of exhaustion, they were plied between the rounds with brandy. They fought about sixty rounds; and at the end of the last round, Mr. Cooper fell very heavily upon his head, and never spoke afterwards. He was carried off the ground to his lodgings, at the house of the Reverend Mr. Knapp, by his brothers, who were present at the fight. He was put to bed; but no medical assistance was sent for till four hours had elapsed: shortly afterwards he expired.

At two o’clock on Tuesday, a jury assembled to hold an inquest on the body. The jury and coroner proceeded to the house of the Reverend Mr. Knapp, and viewed the body. The temples, eyes, and upper part of the cheek-bones were very black, and there were other external marks of violence about the ribs, breast, &c. The following evidence as to the circumstances attending the battle was then taken:—

Christopher Teasdale.—“I am a student at Eton college; I knew the deceased—he was the son of Lord Shaftesbury; and I know his antagonist Mr. Wood, the son of Colonel Wood. I saw them set-to about the hour of four o’clock on Monday afternoon. I saw repeated blows, during the fight, given to Cooper, on different parts of the head: I remember, in one period of the fight, a severe blow being given on his temple; the deceased instantly fell, and lay on the ground about half a minute. There were loud shouts from Wood’s party, in consequence of his being the best. It was a fair fight; I saw no unfair advantage taken. A young gentleman named Leith seconded the deceased; the fight lasted about an hour; the deceased’s spirits were kept up in a most extraordinary manner by Leith giving him brandy in the eleventh and subsequent rounds. I remember that before the last round, Wood said he wanted to go to his tutor, Mr. Ottery, to attend his private business (studies), and he would make it up afterwards. Mr. Leith, the second, said, that as Wood wanted to go, he would appeal to the deceased’s party, and hear what they had to say. The deceased’s party exclaimed, ‘We will have another round; we are in no hurry.’ The parties fought another round, and the deceased at the conclusion fell from a severe blow; Wood fell heavily on him. After the round, Wood said, ‘he must go, and he would make it up.’ Leith advised it to be made up on the spot, and directly the proposition was made the deceased fell back senseless. Wood walked up to the deceased and lifted his head, but I did not hear him say anything.”

Other witnesses proved that the deceased was taken home to Mr. Knapp’s, where he remained for some time under the care of his brother, and that after the lapse of some hours surgical aid was procured. It was then too late, however, and he died. On his body been opened, it was he found that he had died from the rupture of the blood-vessels on the brain.

Upon the arraignment of the defendants they pleaded Not Guilty, and the witnesses for the prosecution did not answer. Mr. Justice Gasalee having ordered their recognizances to be estreated, a verdict of Not Guilty was returned, and the defendants left the bar attended by Lord Nugent, Colonel Brown, Sir John Dashwood King, and other persons of distinction.

WILLIAM PROBERT,
EXECUTED FOR HORSE-STEALING.

THE reader will recognise in this criminal the participator with Hunt and Thurtell in the murder of Mr. Weare, and the witness who was examined on the trial of those offenders, who impeached his accomplices.

He was apprehended on the night of Friday the 18th of February, 1825, and conveyed to Bow-street office, on a charge of stealing a horse, the property of a man named Meredith, a miller, living near Ruarden in Gloucestershire. It appeared that the guilty wretch, after his discharge from Hertford jail, where he had been confined as an approver in order that his evidence might be secured at the trial of his companions in crime, wandered through the country without an object or a name, and followed by public execration. Reduced to the most abject state of misery, he at length found an asylum in the house of his aged mother at Ruarden. Meredith, the miller, was distantly related to him by marriage; and while paying him a visit, the unprincipled villain having seen and admired a mare which was in his possession, marked it for his own. Seizing a favourable opportunity, he carried the animal off with him to London, and there he disposed of her for 20l., having assumed a fictitious name. He was, however, traced by the miller, and at length on the 18th February was taken into custody.

For this offence he was put on his trial at the Old Bailey on the 7th of the following month of April, and the evidence for the prosecution, which was clear and conclusive, having been gone into, the prisoner read the following defence from a written paper:—

“My lord and gentlemen of the jury,—If I have this day pleaded not guilty to the indictment preferred against me, it is not that I wish by subtleties to evade, or screen myself from the verdict and sentence which my country may award against me, but that I may have an opportunity to say something in this court, to evince to the public, that whatever may have been the unhappy circumstances of the latter days of my life, I was not driven into my present crime from depravity of disposition, but from a species of fatal necessity, which had placed me far beyond the reach of all human assistance and charity. The appeal I now make is not with a view to lessen my past error that I unfortunately fell into, as there is a God on whom I alone rely for mercy; but I do beg of the jury to banish all former unfortunate circumstances from their minds. It cannot have escaped your notice, that immediately after and ever since my discharge from Hertford, the public animosity has been kept alive against me by the public press, which has reached every part of England. Wherever I went, even to the remotest village throughout the kingdom, I was spurned as an outcast of society; and the chief instrument which prevented my obtaining employment, or indeed effecting a reformation, was the public press, which has not slackened to follow me, and portray me to the world. As the victim of prejudice, I could scarcely move from one place to another without seeing myself noticed in the daily papers. Those of my former friends, who might otherwise have wished to continue their services towards me, shrunk back from an apprehension of public reprobation for being connected with one such as myself. Every door was shut against me, every hope of future support blasted. My country had spared my life, but individuals rendered that life of no value or utility to me. I was hunted down like a wild beast of the forest. With this desolation around me, and with these dreary prospects before me, I felt my fortitude forsaking me, and I knew not what course to pursue. Heaven and myself only know what I suffered. I was a prey to the most heart-rending care—I was a prey to a deep and intense feeling, the cause of which, I trust, it will not be necessary to refer to. I appeal to you, my lord and gentlemen, whether my situation was not most deplorable. Perhaps you will weigh in your own humane breasts the miseries which surrounded me, and what you would have done under similar circumstances. If you, gentlemen of the jury, should observe any features in my case deserving commiseration, then I trust you will express a sense of it to his lordship, and recommend me to mercy; and should you, my lord, concur in the same sentiments, then I humbly pray that your lordship will recommend me to the clemency of my gracious sovereign, as no former conviction appears on the record against me. On my way from the police-office to Newgate, my ears were stunned with the horrid yells of the populace, and my life threatened. Indeed, my lord and gentlemen of the jury, since the calamitous event that took place at Hertford, I have been a lost man, and at times on the eve of self-destruction. But the Almighty God has sustained me under my heaviest afflictions, and should his wisdom direct that my life is to be spared, the remainder of my days will be spent in atonement for past errors that I have fallen into. I hope I have not intruded too long upon your lordship’s time. I felt it my duty to state to your lordship and the gentlemen of the jury, how miserable my life has been and the severe trials I have undergone since my discharge from Hertford: and likewise my innocent wife has suffered all privations, without comfort and without a friend to assist her, and even on the point of starvation, she having lately been brought to bed with an increase to the family, and no one to assist her in that trying moment or to render her any way comfortable; but, on the contrary, nothing but distress and trouble, and even at the present time destitute of friends and home. Such, gentlemen of the jury, has been and is now, the situation of my wife. Indeed, my lord and gentlemen of the jury, I have endeavoured to leave the country, and several times offered to work my passage over. But all my endeavours to accomplish my wishes have been unsuccessful. For the indulgence you have this day shown to me, by attending to the address I have now made, I feel greatly obliged; therefore, I cannot help reminding you, my lord and gentlemen of the jury, of the happiness I once possessed, and was ever ready to alleviate the distresses of my fellow-creatures, and to contribute to the support of charitable institutions. I hope I am more the object of commiseration than that of severe censure. I am aware, my lord and gentlemen of the jury, the whole country is against me; but that, I trust, will not bias your minds; as a trial by jurymen of my country does credit to the wise laws of the realm, and does not less reflect the same sensible feelings on my own mind. I therefore trust, if there should be any marks favourable in my case, you will give me the benefit.”

He read the address with great composure, but in a low tone of voice. The judge having charged the jury, a verdict of Guilty was instantly returned.

On the 13th of the same month the prisoner was brought up to receive sentence, when he protested his innocence (so far as guilty intention went), stated that he was driven to the commission of the offence for which he was about to receive judgment by the greatest distress, and alluded in a feeling manner to the misery in which his wife and children were placed. The recorder, after observing that these topics should be reserved for another place, proceeded to pass the fatal sentence.

The convict continued in prison till the 14th of June, before the recorder’s report was made to the king; and during this long period he had indulged the most sanguine hopes that his life would be spared. On being informed that he was ordered for execution on the following Monday, he felt satisfied, he said, that the public voice was in his favour, and that every one was surprised at the decision of the privy council. When told by a gentleman, who visited him, that he sustained his fate with less fortitude than any of his companions in affliction, (eight being left for execution out of thirty-seven reported,) he replied that that was not to be wondered at, for they were conscious of their guilt, and knew they could have supported themselves by other means than theft; but that he was absolutely impelled by dire necessity to commit the act for which he was about to suffer death—he must have done it or starved. He solemnly declared that he was completely ignorant of any circumstances connected with the murder of Weare, until after it had been effected, and that the confession of Hunt was in many of its points utterly false, particularly those which related to his (Probert’s) wife. It was thought that he could have made some disclosure relative to some persons who were said to have been missing a short time before Weare’s murder; but in justice to the memory of the wretched man, it must be stated that there are no grounds for believing him to have been concerned in any transaction of a murderous nature, but that in which his own evidence at Hertford proves him to have been implicated.

When he ascended the platform on the fatal morning, the 20th of June, 1825, his limbs were completely palsied, and his agitation dreadful. After the noose was tied, he moved as far as he was able, and turning himself, raised his hands in quick and tremulous motion, and so continued till the ordinary had taken his final leave, and the falling of the platform closed the scene.

His fellow-sufferers were two men, named Sargeant and Harper, for the same offence of horse-stealing, and another, named Smith, for burglary. The four others who were at the same time ordered for execution met their fate on the Monday following.

On this occasion the concourse of spectators was immense, the windows opposite being crowded as early as three o’clock in the morning, and chiefly with females.

CHARLES LYNN.
TRIED FOR MURDER.

THE following are the circumstances attending a murder committed at Whaddon Chase, Buckinghamshire, in the month of January 1825, which at the time of its perpetration attracted a considerable portion of the public attention.

The information which was first published of this remarkable case, was that on the evening of Wednesday, the 5th of January, two young men took outside places by the Express coach, from London for Brick-hill, which is situated about nine miles from Stoney Stratford; and that having arrived at that place, they slept at the White Lion Inn, and on the following morning walked on towards Fenny Stratford, one of them carrying a gun in a green baize bag, while the other had a box on his shoulder. On their being overtaken by the Eclipse coach, they mounted it, and rode as far as Whaddon Chase, where they both suddenly jumped down, and one of them, carrying the gun, ran into the Chase, which is a wild, unfrequented spot, intersected by many roads, whither the other followed him. In a short time after, a labouring man named Meechan, who was employed in mending a hedge, heard a sound which appeared to him like a cry of murder. He listened, and distinctly heard the cry repeated in the direction of a place called Snell’s Copse; and on his looking towards that spot, he saw two men whom he had before observed walking in the neighbourhood, one of them with an upraised gun, with which he suddenly felled his companion to the ground. The stock of the gun appeared to be broken by the blow, and then he saw the same person repeatedly strike the fallen man with the barrel. He was so alarmed as to be unable to render any assistance to repel the murderous attack; and he presently saw the man who, as he supposed, had killed his companion, change his coat, which was a blue body-coat, for a fustian shooting-jacket, and walk away. He felt totally unable to follow him; but as soon as his alarm had in some degree subsided, he ran to his master’s house, which was situated about two hundred yards off, and gave information of what he had seen. Mr. Clarke, his employer, and his three sons, instantly accompanied him in pursuit of the murderer; and after an unavailing search of nearly two hours’ duration, they at length saw him emerge from a thick copse, when they instantly seized and secured him. They conveyed him to the Haunch of Venison public-house at Whaddon, where he underwent an examination before Mr. Lowndes, Mr. Smith, and Major Mansel, magistrates of the county, to whom he stated that his name was Charles Lynn, and that that of his late companion was Abraham Hogg. A coroner’s inquest was held on the body of the deceased on the following day; and then it appeared that the prisoner was the son of a respectable woman residing at No. 4, Morehall-place, Vauxhall, where she kept a confectioner’s shop, and that he, as well as the deceased, had been employed in the vinegar manufactory of Sir Robert Burnett, at Vauxhall, as coopers. Since his apprehension he had conducted himself in a most violent and extraordinary manner. He had repeatedly attempted to destroy himself by dashing his head against the walls and furniture of the room in which he was confined; and on his being informed that his late companion was dead, he answered, “I am glad of it, for he should not have had any of the money.” He afterwards attempted to kill himself by drinking boiling water from a tea-kettle, and was only prevented from attaining his horrid purpose by the vigilance of the constables in whose charge he had been placed. He then begged to be permitted to write a letter to his mother; but having written “Dear mother, I have committed murder,” he appeared dreadfully agitated, threw down the pen, and exclaiming, “O that I could kill myself!” attempted to strangle himself with his neckcloth. He was now handcuffed, in order to prevent his making any fresh attempt; but in spite of the utmost exertions of the officers, he obtained possession of the snuffers, with which he tried to stab himself in the throat; and having been disappointed in this project, he swallowed two half-crowns, hoping to choke himself. The evidence which was taken before the coroner went to prove the circumstances which we have stated; and witnesses having also deposed as to the finding of the body, and to the injuries which appeared to have been inflicted, and which were obviously the cause of death, a verdict of “Wilful murder against Charles Lynn” was returned.

The prisoner was then removed to Aylesbury jail, but not until he had made repeated new attempts to destroy his own life. He viewed the body of his murdered victim without the smallest degree of agitation or excitement; and on his arrival in the prison, he dictated a letter to King, the jailer, for his mother. He was subsequently visited by Mr. Ashfield, the chaplain of the jail, by whom he was brought to a proper sense of his situation. His mother, sister, and a clerk in Sir R. Burnett’s establishment, subsequently reached Aylesbury jail from London, and at the entreaty of the first named individual, the wretched prisoner made the following singular statement as to his inducement to commit the horrid crime of which he had been guilty. He said, “I and Abraham went to the Saracen’s Head, Snowhill, and got upon the Liverpool coach: I saw two men in deep conversation with him, and two gentlemen were on the coach; the two men who spoke with Abraham I knew to be resurrection-men; and I was convinced that Abraham was agreeing to sell my body to them for the surgeons, two of whom were on the coach. Just before the coach started, one of the resurrection-men, who was dressed like a sailor, got a bottle of gin, and on the road they wanted me to drink two glasses for their one. The men afterwards threw the bottle away, but purchased another on the road. I and Abraham got down at the White Lion, Brick-hill, and the landlord and others were talking about robberies and murders: I did not like the conversation, and I went and slept at the public-house opposite. On the following morning I went to the White Lion, and the landlord said to me,—‘It’s lucky for you that you were not up sooner, or your body would have been half way to London by this time.’ I got on another coach with Abraham, and passing by a common, I jumped down and ran away; Abraham followed with my gun. When I got near a wood I heard the sound of horns and trumpets, and I thought the resurrection-men were after me, and that Abraham intended to kill me, and I am sure if I had not killed him he would have killed me.” This remarkable statement was reduced to writing, and was produced at the trial of the unfortunate prisoner, which took place at Aylesbury, on Tuesday, the 8th of March, in the same year.

The evidence, which was then adduced, was precisely similar in its details to that which we have stated in substance; and the prisoner in his defence addressed the jury in an unconnected strain, repeating his belief that an intention existed to murder him. Witnesses were then called, who swore that they believed that the prisoner was insane, and the jury returned a verdict, finding the prisoner guilty of killing the deceased, but declared that he was of unsound intellect at the time.

The prisoner was thereupon ordered to be detained during His Majesty’s pleasure, and was subsequently confined in an asylum for lunatics.

It appears that the prisoner had been employed by Sir Robert Burnett from a very early age, and that he was always considered there to bear an excellent character. Hogg was also engaged in the same establishment, and was a constant companion of the young man, by whom he was eventually killed. A considerable degree of suspicion was excited against them on the discovery of the murder, in consequence of the sudden disappearance of one Mangan, alias “Long Dan,” who was their fellow workman, and who having been seen last with Lynn, on Sunday the 2nd of January, at Manor-place, Walworth, had become suddenly missing. Every inquiry was made for him, and at length Lynn was questioned upon the subject, but he most solemnly declared his ignorance of the cause of his quitting his friends, as well as of his hiding-place; but the observation which he had made, that “Hogg should not have any of the money,” for a considerable time favoured the suspicions which were entertained. At length, however, Mangan came forward, and stated that he had enlisted in the East India Company’s service, for a reason which he refused to disclose; and Lynn’s statement explained the meaning of the expression which he had used. The reason for Hogg and Lynn quitting their work, and going out of town by the Liverpool coach, however, yet remains concealed.

JAMES EVANS.
TRIED FOR THE MURDER OF THOMAS PRICE.

THE scene of the mysterious death of Mr. Thomas Price was Manchester, where he carried on an extensive business, as a fustian manufacturer; the accused James Evans being in his employment, as warehouseman.

It would appear that on Friday, the 3rd February 1826, at about noon-time, the attention of some persons passing through Marsden-square, Manchester, was attracted to the premises occupied by Mr. Price, in consequence of its being discovered that smoke was issuing in considerable quantities from the window of a room on the first floor, occupied as a counting-house. The greater part of the men employed on the premises were at this time absent, it being their dinner hour; but the alarm being spread some assistance was obtained, and several persons, having procured admittance to the house, attempted to force their way to the point at which the fire was burning. Their efforts were rendered for a considerable time unavailing, in consequence of the density of the smoke; but the windows on the stairs having been opened, the air became gradually cleared, and at length the door of the counting-house was reached. Upon it being pushed open, it was found that a number of pieces of fustian had fallen against it inside, and then through the dense clouds of vapour, in which the apartment was enveloped, the indistinct outline of burning goods was perceived. It was some time before any person could venture to explore the room, but the engines having arrived, any fire that existed was extinguished, and the vapour was by degrees dispelled. By this time, a report had become prevalent that Mr. Price had perished in the flames, and several persons, in consequence, now proceeded to ascertain how far it was justified. They had not searched long, before they found that the suggestion of the death of Mr. Price was well founded; although there was reason to believe, that it had been caused by other means than those of burning or suffocation. The removal of a half-consumed piece of fustian exposed the body of the unfortunate gentleman to view, his clothes being burnt, and his person blackened and scorched. He was quite dead, his head resting upon a piece of fustian, and his left arm being raised as if to ward off a blow. On his body being removed, appearances were perceived which induced a belief that he had been murdered, and that his premises had been set on fire to conceal the bloody deed. It was found that he had received a dreadful fracture on the left side of the skull, through which the brain protruded; and in the immediate vicinity of the spot where he lay, several small portions of the brain were observable, as if they had flown from his head, on his receiving the blow, by which injury was inflicted. A most minute examination of the room took place, but all search for the weapon with which the wound was given proved ineffectual. A supposition was raised that the deceased might have put an end to his existence by shooting himself, and that the wadding might have set fire to the goods, but the impossibility of such a circumstance became apparent. Mr. Price was a man of cheerful disposition, and unlikely therefore to commit suicide; besides which no pistol was found, and the wound was discovered to be of a nature which could not have been caused by a shot. The only remaining solution of the mystery therefore was, that which had been first suggested, that the unfortunate man had been murdered, however improbable it might appear that such a deed would be committed at noonday, in a building, in which there must have been other persons at the time, and which was situated in one of the most crowded places of public business.

At the coroner’s inquest, which was held on the next day on the body of the deceased gentleman, Mr. Gresswell, a surgeon, gave evidence as to the cause of death of the deceased. He stated that there were two severe wounds on the head, one on the left side, and one on the right side, and that they appeared to have been given with some blunt instrument. This gentleman was of opinion, that it was possible that the wounds might have been produced by a blow from one of the axes carried by the firemen, on their proceeding to search the room and that they might have been given as well after as before death: but Mr. Jordan, another medical man, was of a contrary opinion, and thought that they had been given before death, and that a hammer was the instrument with which they had been inflicted. The other evidence which was adduced, and by which it was sought to implicate Evans, was that he was last seen with the deceased, at about one o’clock; and that at the time of the fire being discovered he exhibited the utmost apathy. It was proved also, that the deceased had purchased a hammer, a day or two before his death, which could not now be found; and that on the collar, neck-handkerchief, and shirt of the prisoner marks of blood were found, for the existence of which he did not attempt to account. A coat belonging to him, which was found in the counting-house, was also discovered to be similarly stained; and it was besides proved, that no axes were used by the firemen, on their being called to Mr. Price’s premises, a fact which negatived the suggestion thrown out by Mr. Gresswell, and upon this evidence the jury returned a verdict of wilful murder against James Evans.

The prisoner was firm in his protestations of innocence, but he was immediately committed for trial to Lancaster Castle. The case subsequently excited a great degree of interest; and the most anxious curiosity was exhibited by the public to procure admittance to the court during the trial. The trial came on at the ensuing assizes at Lancaster, held in the month of March, when a verdict of Not Guilty was returned, and the prisoner was discharged out of custody.

The prisoner appears to have been respectably connected in Manchester, but we are unable to give any minute history of his life. The real circumstances attending the death of Mr. Price have since continued, and doubtless ever will remain, a mystery.

SAMUEL GILBERT.
INDICTED FOR ROBBERY.

THE case of this detestable villain is extraordinary in many respects, but particularly on account of the determined and effectual resistance offered by a young woman to the savage attacks of the prisoner, whose original intention was to violate her person, an object which he subsequently changed to that of robbery. The circumstances of the case as they were detailed by the prosecutrix, whose name is Charlotte Smith, exhibit a wonderful degree of perseverance on the part of the prisoner to secure his desires, and on the part of the young woman in resisting his foul attempt.

The case came on at the Taunton assizes, held on the 30th of March 1826, when the prisoner was indicted in the usual form for a robbery. It appeared that the prosecutrix was twenty-three years of age, and was the daughter of a decent clothier, living at about a mile out of Frome, and that the prisoner was a labourer, aged eighteen years, residing at no great distance from the same place, but that they were unacquainted with each other. On the second day of the fair at Frome (26th November 1825), the prosecutrix accompanied one of her brothers to that place, in search of some other relations. They went into the Castle, public-house, and there found the persons whom they sought with the prisoner. They remained a short time, and then the prosecutrix got up to go home alone. She had not gone far before the prisoner came up with her, and addressed some conversation to her in a civil manner, and he accompanied her home to her father’s house. They sat there together for a short time, her younger brother only being present, and then the prisoner asked her to return to the fair. She consented, and they walked together arm-in-arm, and while at the fair, he invited her to accompany him to the house of his aunt at Coal-ash-walk. She at first refused, but was subsequently induced to consent to his proposal, on his assuring her that he would see her safe home again. They proceeded on their walk together, but they had not gone far beyond the termination of the houses of the town, when the prisoner took her by the shoulders, and threw her down, accompanying this action with a very improper expression. She demanded to know whether he knew who she was, and he answered, “Yes;—Mr. Smith’s daughter, and if you don’t submit I’ll murder you.” Her answer was, that “she would die first;” and he then proceeded to take liberties. She screamed out, on which he thrust his fist into her mouth, and grasped her throat until he had almost choked her; but being convinced of the baseness of his intentions, she resisted him for three quarters of an hour, during which she still lay on the ground. At this period a man approached them, and having disengaged herself for a moment from the prisoner’s grasp, she screamed for help. The man said, “Why, you murderous villain, you have got a woman there; are you going to kill her?” upon which the prisoner jumped up, and threatened to murder him if he did not go away. The prosecutrix now got up, but the prisoner threw her down again, and, in the presence of the man, continued his brutal liberties. The latter endeavoured to force him away, on which the prisoner flew at him with his fists. The girl ran to the man for protection, but he pushed her away from him, and then, thinking he would afford her no assistance she ran off as fast as she could. She had gone more than a mile, but in her alarm towards Warminster, instead of Frome, when the prisoner overtook her. He said that she was going wrong, but she thought the contrary, and said so, and then he repeated his determination to do what he pleased with her, saying, that if she did not give up, he would throw her into the river. She, however, again resisted him, and he took her towards the river in his arms. When they reached the bank, she cried for mercy, and he put her down, but immediately dragged her up a lane, and threw her over a gate. He there pulled her through some brambles, and into a ditch of mire, and swore what he would do to her. Having detained the wretched girl here for upwards of three hours, during which he beat her in an unmanly and brutal manner, she at length found herself becoming insensible, and taking some of the blood from her mouth, she showed it to him, and asked him how he could have the heart to do it. He said that he would be d—d if he cared, and that he would murder her if she did not give up. She said that she had a shilling in her pocket, and that she would give it to him if he would let her go, to which he replied that he would be d—d if he would not have it then, and without waiting for her to get it, he tore off her pocket, jumped upon her, and tore off her clothes. He dragged off her gown first, and then her under clothes, and there was no shape of clothes left. He then continued his barbarous treatment to her, by forcing her head under water, and keeping it there until she was nearly drowned; and while she was so defenceless, he took away one of her ear-rings. On her raising her head, she heard a dog bark, and she exclaimed, to intimidate him, “The Lord be praised, here’s my father!” and he then ran off. She followed in the same direction, because she did not know her way home, and at length, at three in the morning, she reached her father’s house in a pitiable plight. In consequence of the injuries which she received, she remained bedridden during three weeks; and it was much longer before she recovered her health.

This detail of the frightful barbarity employed towards her by the prisoner produced a strong impression in court, and a verdict of Guilty was returned by the jury.

The prisoner subsequently escaped the capital punishment, which he richly deserved for this offence on a point of form, but upon being indicted for the assault with intent to commit a rape, he was again found Guilty and sentenced to two years’ imprisonment.

ALEXANDER AND MICHAEL M‘KEAND.
EXECUTED FOR MURDER.

FEW cases have occurred, in which more deliberate and cold-blooded cruelty has been exhibited by the murderers, than in that which we are now about to detail, and for their participation in which these unhappy malefactors underwent the dreadful sentence of the law.

The victim of their crime was a defenceless and unoffending servant, named Elizabeth Bates, and the circumstances under which they deprived her of life are as follows:—

On the evening of Monday, the 22nd of May 1826, Alexander M‘Keand entered the Jolly Carters, public-house, which was situated at Winton, near Worsley, in Lancashire, and was kept by a person named Joseph Blears; and being known to Mrs. Blears, the landlady, took a seat in the bar, and called for a glass of ale. Having been served, he placed it before him, but he drank none of it for half an hour, at the expiration of which time his brother Michael entered, and sat opposite to him. They appeared from their manner to be strangers to each other, and Michael was unknown to Mrs. Blears. The new-comer, almost immediately on his entry, called for some bread and cheese and ale; and then his brother Alexander also had some bread and cheese. For a time they sat together, but did not appear to be in conversation; but then Mrs. Blears having quitted the bar for a moment, on her return she found that they had shifted their seats to a sofa, and that they were closely engaged in whispering to each other. Her suspicions were alarmed, but she made no remark; and then Michael asked where her husband was. She answered, that he had gone to Manchester; and, in reply to a further inquiry, said that he would be back at about eight o’clock. They remained until his return, and then Michael invited him to drink. He at first declined, but on the man pressing him, he drank a glass of whiskey, and subsequently a second. The two M‘Keands also drank whiskey, and then they called for some cider, and entered into conversation. In the mean time Blears, who had doubtless been hocussed, became quite overcome with the liquor he had drunk and lay down on the sofa, where he went to sleep. After about half an hour spent in whispering together, Michael inquired of Mrs. Blears, whether he could have a bed, as it was too late then to go to Manchester, and she answered, that he and his companion were welcome to the accommodation which her house afforded. They made some observations in reference to her husband being intoxicated, and then they desired to be conducted to their rooms. Betty Bates, the servant, was called to bring a candle, and she accompanied them up stairs. The circumstances immediately attending the murder of this poor girl were learned from a boy named Higgins, fourteen years of age, who was permitted, from motives of humanity, to live in Blears’ house, and who slept in the room in which the bed intended for the two M‘Keands was placed. It would appear that on their reaching the top of the stairs, the two men separated; and while Alexander went on with the servant, the other returned down stairs. The former was conducted to the room where Higgins was sleeping; and the boy, being awoke by the noise, looked from under the bed-clothes, and saw the man put his arm round the girl’s waist. She resisted, and said, “Be quiet!” upon which, with great force, he threw her back on the floor, and did something which the boy could not see. The girl cried “Murder!” and succeeded in rising; but the fellow threw her back again, and then again did something under her ear, with his right-hand, in consequence of which, as it appeared to the boy, blood flowed over her bosom. The woman struggled very much, and cried out that she would mark him; but the boy being dreadfully alarmed, looked to see no more, but concealed his head beneath the bed-clothes. The murderer was doubtless disturbed by the movement of the boy, and directly approached the bed in which he lay, pressed his hand upon his mouth, as if intending to despatch him also. The servant at this moment, however, managed to rise, and stagger towards the door, and the villain instantly quitted the boy, and went in pursuit of her. Higgins at this moment, taking advantage of the diversion of the man’s attention, succeeded in passing him, and jumped over the banisters, but in his doing so, the man grasped at his shoulder. He, however, escaped and ran out of the house, and hiding himself in a ditch, was not further pursued.

In the mean time the second villain had attacked Mrs. Blears. The latter, it appears, hearing the cries of the servant from the upper room, was on the point of rushing up stairs to ascertain the cause, when Andrew M‘Keand seized her, and made a cut at her throat with a knife, which she saw him produce from beneath his coat. The wound was not serious, but she attempted to cry out, and then he took her by the throat, and drove the knife in under her left ear. He attempted to withdraw it, but could not; and having pulled several times, the handle at length came away, and he ran off, leaving the blade still remaining in the wound. Blears during the whole of this time had remained asleep on the sofa, suffering from the effects of the narcotic with which he had been plied; but now, awoke by the outcry, he started up, and found his wife wounded as we have described. The alarm was given to the neighbours, and the boy Higgins having returned, the body of the girl Betty was found lying on the landing, outside the bed-room door. Several persons attempted to pull the knife from the wound in Mrs. Blears’ neck, but unsuccessfully; and Mr. Garthside, a surgeon, having been called in, he at length succeeded in extracting it. It was a whittle knife, and was sharp-pointed;

and upon subsequent inquiry, it turned out that one of the murderers had obtained it on the morning of the murder, and had sharpened it on the hearth-stone of a Mrs. Stewart, living near Blears’ house.

Notwithstanding the immediate alarm given of this diabolical murder, the villains, for the time, succeeded in escaping detection; but their persons being known, it was not long before they were secured and brought to justice.

The particulars of their apprehension are rather curious. It appears, that a butcher residing at Kirkby-Steven, having got up about five in the morning, saw passing his house, two strangers, who appeared to have walked a great distance, as they were evidently fatigued and foot-sore; and on that account he took more notice of their persons than he would otherwise have done. About two hours afterwards he went to a barber’s shop, and whilst he was there, the constable of Kirkby-Steven came in with a hand-bill which had been sent from Worsley, containing a description of the persons of the M‘Keands, which he read to the people in the barber’s shop. On hearing it, the butcher immediately said, that it corresponded exactly with the men he had seen passing his house some time before; and as those persons appeared to have come a long way, he had no doubt they were the men. Some conversation ensued about following them; and at length the constable, and a publican named Farraday, a very stout and resolute man, set out on horseback in pursuit of them, about three hours after they had passed the butcher’s shop. Monday being the market-day at Kirkby-Steven, a number of people were coming towards the town, and from them the constable and his companion learnt that the objects of their pursuit were before them, on the road to Appleby. After they had gone some miles, the horse which the publican rode became unable to proceed, and he exchanged horses with the constable, who did not appear quite so anxious to come in contact with the men. The publican, however, pushed on, and when he got within about three miles of Appleby, saw them before him on the road; Alexander, the taller, walking first, and Michael about fifty yards behind him. After scrutinising their persons a little, and satisfying himself that they answered the description in the hand-bill, he rode forward to the next public-house, which was a short distance, where he dismounted, and waited the coming of Alexander, whom he immediately accosted, “You seem to have walked a long way, sir. Will you take a glass of ale?” Alexander unsuspectingly accepted the invitation, and walked into the house, followed by Farraday, who immediately seized him, saying, “You are my prisoner;” and at the same time he was laid hold of by two men who were in attendance. Farraday then went to the door to apprehend Michael, who was outside, when Alexander having recovered from the momentary surprise which at first overpowered him, broke loose by a desperate effort from the two men, and came rushing from the house. Farraday, on hearing the two men in the house call out, “He is off,” immediately turned round, when he met Alexander coming out of the door, and instantly felled him to the ground with a blow of his fist; and fortunate it was for himself, that he was so prompt and decisive; for Alexander had, at that time, a loaded pistol in his pocket; and there is little doubt that he would have used it if he had had an opportunity. As soon as he was secured a second time, and again handed over to the men, with an injunction to be more careful of him, the publican again went out, to wait for Michael, who came up immediately. With him, the publican did not make use of any stratagem, but seized him at once by the collar. Michael raised a stick which he carried, as if for the purpose of striking him; but before he could execute his purpose, Farraday tripped up his heels, and threw him upon the ground. A violent struggle then ensued, in which Michael repeatedly kicked Farraday, and bit him severely upon the hand. He was, however, finally overpowered, and being forced into the house, the two brothers were tied together with a rope, and a chaise being sent for, they were conveyed to Appleby.

The prisoners having been subsequently examined in the presence of Blears, appeared to be greatly dejected and agitated, and they were eventually committed to Lancaster Castle for trial.

It was not until the 17th August that they took their trial, and then the facts which we have detailed having been stated in evidence, a verdict of Guilty was returned. The defence set up was that the prisoners were intoxicated, and that they never contemplated the commission of murder; but the plea was unavailing, and sentence of death was immediately passed.

During Friday night and Saturday morning after the trial, the Reverend R. Rowley, the chaplain of the Castle, visited them, and found Michael much altered in appearance. He persisted in his statement, that he was not the man who stabbed Mrs. Blears, and declared that he knew nothing of his brother’s murderous intention until all was over. He requested pens, ink, and paper, and wrote several letters to females of his acquaintance, and during the forenoon he had interviews with two women. After this the Reverend Divine exhorted him to prayer, but he seemed reckless, and declared again that he was perfectly innocent, and ought not to suffer, insinuating that his brother had alone perpetrated the foul crime. In consequence of this some inquiries were made, and Mrs. Blears was again questioned as to the identity of Michael; but she persisted in declaring that he was the man that she met on the stairs (while running to the assistance of the murdered woman), and that his was the hand that wounded her.

Alexander M‘Keand had long since prepared himself for the worst, and had fixed his attention entirely upon religious exercises. Upon being informed of the statements of his unhappy brother, he exclaimed, “Oh, God, forgive him! he is guilty, and well he knows it; it was he who stabbed Mrs. Blears below stairs, while I murdered the woman above in the room, for which I hope God will forgive me—I was drunk when I did it.” He declined stating anything as to his motives, and it was judged prudent not to disturb him by further questions. The wretched man appeared to possess much determination and firmness of nerve, and throughout the whole of the last awful scene was calm and penitent. He declined seeing any person, and expressed a wish not to be disturbed by any visitor whatsoever; and begged the reverend chaplain to have it made known that it was his first crime, as it had been circulated that he had been concerned in a murder and robberies before. On Sunday the unhappy brothers met in the chapel for the first time since their condemnation, but Michael averted his head, and seemed desirous of avoiding any conversation or notice of Alexander. They were placed in a pew by themselves.

At six o’clock on Monday morning the criminals were led to the chapel, and received the sacrament, and remained at prayer for above an hour. Alexander exclaimed, “Oh, God, have mercy on me,” almost incessantly. Michael was quite sullen, and seemed scarcely able to stand or walk. A few minutes after seven o’clock, they were pinioned, and the under sheriff and his officers entered the chapel and demanded the culprits. Mr. Thomas Higgins, the governor, caused the M‘Keands to advance to the chapel door, and withdrew a few paces; the procession then moved from the chapel to the place of execution, at the exterior of the north-western part of the castle. Michael walked with a hesitating step, and appeared dreadfully dismayed. Alexander was more collected, and his lips appeared as if moving in silent prayer.

At half-past seven o’clock precisely, a window which opens on hinges as a door, and which led immediately to the scaffold, opened, and the moment of expiation had arrived—no bell tolled, nor was there any other funeral rite to mark the approach of the murderers’ death; all was conducted with imposing silence, and not a murmur of pity appeared to escape from the crowd. Everything being arranged, the caps were drawn over the culprits eyes; the chaplain read a part of the burial-service, the drop fell, and the wretched men were launched into eternity. After their bodies had hung the usual time, they were cut down and delivered over to the surgeons for dissection.

It would appear that these unfortunate brothers were born of poor parents, and that they pursued the occupation of hawkers as affording a means of procuring a living. Alexander was a hawker of tea, and was well known in the neighbourhood of the place where the murder was committed. His brother’s district lay in another part of the county. Their mother and sister lived at Byrom-place, Winton, and received a communication from the culprits on the morning of the murder, through the medium of a Mrs. Stewart, with whom they were all acquainted, informing them that they were quite safe and had secured their escape, and accounting for the murder by declaring that they had only acted in their own defence, and that they had been attacked by Blears, the landlord.

A circumstance occurred about a week before the murder which may, perhaps, throw some light upon the motives which dictated it. An action had been brought against Alexander M‘Keand some time before, for a debt due to a man named Claworth, a farmer, residing near Eccles; in consequence of which, he called upon the attorney who had brought it, and offered to pay the debt if it could be proved to be due. The attorney told him, that if he would call upon him on Saturday, he would produce a witness who would prove the debt. He did call; and they produced Blears, who distinctly stated that he had heard Alexander admit that he owed the money. Alexander denied that he had made any such admission, and, as we are informed, uttered some violent and threatening language towards Blears.

It appears to be impossible to ascribe any other motive for the commission of the murder than this; and even this anecdote can afford no solution of the mystery why the servant-woman was first attacked, unless their object was to dispose of the whole of the family, in order that their identification as the murderers might be concealed.

CHARLES THOMAS WHITE.
EXECUTED FOR ARSON.

THIS unfortunate young man, who was executed at the early age of twenty-three for the heinous crime of arson, was born of respectable parents, and having received a good education, was brought up to the business followed by his father—that of a bookseller. His father died when he was yet young, but his mother continued to carry on the shop which her late husband had opened at No. 265, High Holborn, near Red Lion-street, with a view to its future occupation by his son. Young White was respectably married at the early age of twenty-two, and then he received a sum of 800l. to commence business on his own account, besides a settlement on his wife of 1000l., producing 65l. a year, and a further interest in 4000l., which would fall to him on the death of his wife’s mother. Although thus comfortably situated, however, he was guilty of a crime of the most diabolical nature, which cost him his life, and which had for its object the destruction of his own premises, and a consequent fraud upon the Insurance Office.

It appears that the unhappy young man made three attempts to secure his object; but although considerable injury was done on each occasion, he failed in attaining the end which he had in view to the full extent of his intention. The house in which he resided was too large for his purposes, and a portion of it was therefore let off to a Mr. Lazarus, whose family consisted of his grandmother, his sister, and a servant. The prisoner also had a servant named Catherine Taylor, but he had no family except his wife.

In the month of September 1823, a policy of insurance was effected by the prisoner’s mother in the British Fire Insurance Company, upon the furniture and stock in the house, respectively for the sums of 400l. and 600l.; but on the 30th of May 1826, young White, without any assignable cause, increased the amount of the policy to 3500l. Within two months after this, the house was discovered to be on fire; but Mr. Lazarus having been alarmed, he jumped up, and on proceeding down stairs, he found his servant in a position which induced him to suppose that she was in some way a party to the wilful firing of the house. He for the time concealed his suspicions, but on the morning of the 5th of August the house was again discovered to be in flames. The girl was on this occasion found by her master near the place where the fire had commenced, almost entirely dressed; and his fears being now much excited, Mr. Lazarus caused her to be taken into custody. She underwent several examinations before the magistrates of Marlborough-street Police-office; but the evidence adduced against her was of a nature so inconclusive as to leave great doubts as to her guilt, and she was discharged. Evidence was soon after this obtained which proved her innocence, and the guilt of one of the persons at whose instance she was conveyed before the magistrates, namely, Mr. White. The fire on this occasion, it appears, happened between one and two o’clock in the morning. Mr. Lazarus was at that time aroused from his sleep by a strong sense of suffocation, and on rising from his bed, he ran down stairs, and found that flames were issuing from a cupboard situated under the stairs leading to the first floor. An alarm had already been given outside the house, and some watchmen had assembled, and by their aid the fire was extinguished. When tranquillity had been in some degree restored, a search was made with a view to ascertain the cause of the conflagration, and the remains of two links, partly consumed, were discovered. White, on this, expressed his belief to Lazarus that the servant of the latter had wilfully set the house on fire, and she was, as we have already mentioned, given into custody. After her first examination, Mr. White suggested that it would be useless to follow up the prosecution, as he did not believe the girl had had the links; but on his being questioned, he denied all knowledge of them himself. The investigation of the case was intrusted to a very active and meritorious officer named Furzeman, and after the examination of the girl, the affair having been much talked of, it was at length discovered that a person very like White himself had purchased some links at the house of a Mr. Bradford, in Broad-street, St. Giles’s. While the inquiry was still proceeding, on Wednesday the 4th of October 1825, a third fire broke out on the same premises. At this time the only persons sleeping in the house were Mr. White and his wife, and their servant Catherine Taylor. Mrs. White had retired to bed early in consequence of indisposition, and the servant went to sleep in her mistress’s room at eleven o’clock at night, Mr. White then going to another apartment. At about one o’clock, an alarm of fire was raised, and the stairs were found to be in flames. Mrs. White suggested that some assistance should be demanded from the street; but her husband refused to consent to such a course, and conducted the two females to a trap-door in the roof of the garret, through which they made their escape, abandoning the house to its fate. The watch in the mean time had discovered the fire, and bursting open the street-door, they succeeded in extinguishing the flames. Further inquiries were now made, and upon the examination of the girl Taylor, it was ascertained that she had found a considerable quantity of turpentine, which was kept for her use, thrown over a hearth-rug in the parlour a day or two before the fire; and other facts were elicited, from which it became perfectly evident that the fire was the effect of design and not of accident, and that very great pains had been taken, by the distribution of combustibles in various parts of the lower rooms of the house, to secure the complete destruction of the premises. White was subsequently seen by Mr. Bradford, the oilman, in a dress similar to that worn by the man by whom the links had been purchased at his house, and then he immediately identified him as the person to whom he had sold them. Mr. White was on this taken into custody, and the circumstances above related having been proved in evidence before the magistrates, he was committed to Newgate.

At the sessions held at the Old Bailey on the 31st of October, the prisoner was indicted for the offence with which he stood charged, and the jury returned a verdict that he was guilty. His defence consisted only of a denial of the facts alleged against him, and he heard the finding of the jury delivered without much emotion. At the conclusion of the session he received sentence of death, in common with the other capital convicts; and he then urged upon the court the improbability of the charge, and suggested that his condition was such as to render it most unlikely that for the profit which he should derive, he should commit so diabolical an offence. The unfortunate man subsequently made representations to government, with a view to procure a commutation of his sentence; but although considerable exertions were made in his favour, an order for his execution on the 2nd of January 1827 was received at Newgate on the 20th of December. The wretched man, who had been constantly attended in jail by his young wife, was dreadfully affected at receiving the fatal intelligence.

The subsequent conduct of the convict was such as ill befitted his awful situation. The bare contemplation of the moment of execution completely unmanned him, and instead of applying himself to religious exercises, he sat day after day brooding over his past life, and occasionally starting upon his feet, bitterly inveighed against his sentence. He had from the time of his trial persisted in denying his guilt; but at length he confessed that he was rightly charged and convicted, pleading in excuse that he was of unsound mind at the time. On his finding that his execution was inevitable, he had recourse to many ingenious measures to procure his escape, and it was discovered that he had some powerful auxiliaries, both among his fellow-prisoners, and his friends without the jail. Ground for suspicion of the design was first given by an intercepted letter; and at this time the prisoner occupied a cell which, from its position, was most favourable for his project. It was situated close to the outer wall of the prison, and could he but have removed the iron bars of the window, he might easily have reached the parapet, by means of a rope ladder, and descended into Newgate street. A ladder was actually made of black sewing-thread, firmly and curiously wattled, which must have been the work of very considerable time: but the difficulty of removing the window-bars was found by the prisoner to be insurmountable without the aid of instruments. It is almost needless to say, that on the discovery of the scheme, the most minute watch was kept over the movements of the prisoner and his coadjutors. Frequent and anxious inquiries were observed to be made by White for a pair of shoes, which did not appear to be wanted; and when they arrived, they were examined; and spring saws, capable of cutting through iron bars without making any noise, were found sewed up between the upper and lower soles. The wretched man was now made acquainted with the frustration of his plans, and he at once admitted his intention, and spoke of the practicability of his scheme with much pride and satisfaction.

On the fatal morning the prisoner was conducted from his cell to the press-room by the sheriffs’ assistants, when he declared that he was quite prepared, and had but one request to make before he died. Some hesitation was exhibited in answering him, when he said, that he had a wish that his arms should not be bound with ropes, but with a handkerchief, which he had prepared for that purpose. A short conference took place between the sheriff (Winchester) and the governor of the jail, and his request was acceded to; but he soon exhibited the design with which he had made it. Upon the executioner proceeding to pinion his hands, he made an effort, by keeping his wrists asunder, and by raising his left hand on a level with his right wrist, to procure the cord to be as slack as possible; but his object being seen, some assistance was procured, and his hands were firmly tied together, notwithstanding his struggling. The worthy ordinary remonstrated with him upon the impropriety of such conduct; but his only answer was, that he was hurt by the cords with which he was bound. Upon the handkerchief, which he had produced, being placed round his arms, it was found to be too small, and a second was taken from his pocket, to add to it. He complained that his eyes would be uncovered, if this were used for the purpose proposed; and his intention to procure the liberation of his arms being at length clearly visible, he was pinioned with a cord in the customary manner. On this he became much affected, and wept bitterly. At length the procession moved on to the scaffold, and the wretched man mounted the platform at twenty minutes past eight, with a faltering and unsteady step. On the executioner and his assistant now approaching him in such a way as to convince him of their firmness, he became dreadfully agitated, and he raised his arms and extended his chest, as if desirous to burst the cords. In the attempt he loosened the bandages round his wrists; and on the cap being drawn over his face, his terror seemed to increase. No sooner had the executioner left him, than he suddenly raised his arms, and by a violent movement pushed off the cap; and accompanying this act with a motion of the body, he made a strong effort to liberate his neck from the halter. Two assistant executioners were now called; and having approached the unhappy man, they held him, while the cap was again placed over his face and tied with a handkerchief. The miserable wretch during the whole of this time was struggling with the most determined violence, and the scene excited the strongest expressions of horror among the crowd. Upon his being again left, he advanced from the spot on which he had been placed, until he had got his feet nearly off the drop, and had rested them on the firm part of the platform; and almost at the same moment he succeeded in tearing the handkerchief from his eyes. The outraged feelings of the assembled populace were still to be excited by a more frightful exhibition than they had yet witnessed. The accustomed signal having been given, the drop sunk; but the wretched man, instead of falling with it, suddenly jumped upon the platform, and seizing the cord round his throat with his hands, which he had sufficiently loosened by the violence of his struggles, he made an effort to prolong that life to which he seemed to be so strongly attached. At this moment the spectacle was horrifying in the extreme. The convict was partly suspended, and partly resting on the platform. During his exertions, his tongue had been forced from his mouth, and the convulsions of his body and the contortions of his face were truly appalling. The cries from the crowd were of a frightful description, and they continued until the executioner had forced the wretched man’s hand from the cord, and having removed his feet from the platform, had suffered his whole weight to be sustained by the rope. The distortions of his countenance could even now be seen by the crowd, and as he remained suspended with his face uncovered, the spectacle was terrific. The hangman at length terminated his sufferings by hanging to his legs, and the unhappy wretch was seen to struggle no more.

A woman named Amelia Roberts was executed with White, and her conduct and demeanour formed a striking contrast to that of her fellow sufferer.

WILLIAM BURT.
EXECUTED FOR THE MURDER OF HIS INFANT SON.

THE trial of this melancholy case took place at Lewes on the Home Circuit, on Friday the 5th January 1827.

The prisoner at this time was only twenty-eight years of age, and the indictment alleged that he had been guilty of the wilful murder of his son, Isaac Burt, by stabbing him with a shoemaker’s knife, at Brighton, on the 22nd of August, in the preceding year.

From the evidence adduced to sustain the prosecution, it appeared that the prisoner was married to his wife, a fine young woman, in July 1825. He then became a toll-collector at Long Ditton; but his wife and he did not live happily together, and at Christmas in the same year he quarrelled with her and cruelly beat her with a poker. From that time she did not live with him, although repeatedly solicited by him so to do. At the end of May, the child whose murder led to the present indictment was born, and the mother went to Ditchelling workhouse, taking the infant with her. On the 20th of August the poor woman went to live at the house of Mrs. Young at Brighton. Two days subsequently the prisoner called to see her; he was refused admission, but forced his way to the room in which she was with her child, and in a paroxysm of rage stabbed her repeatedly with a knife, and also inflicted several mortal wounds on the child which was in her arms. She rushed out of the house with her murdered babe, and the prisoner was secured.

The prisoner, in his defence, stated that his marriage with his wife was one arising from pure love. Shortly afterwards, however, she became cool in her demeanour, and admitted that she did not like him, but that her affections were fixed on another object, a naval officer, whom she had known before. She subsequently left him; and tortured by jealousy, which was confirmed by a letter he detected her writing, commencing with the words “My dear,” he determined to wound her in such a way as to render her disagreeable in the eyes of her lover. For this purpose he went to her on the 22nd of August, but he declared that he had not the slightest intention to kill his child.

The jury nevertheless returned a verdict of Guilty, and the wretched prisoner was sentenced to be executed at Horsham on the following Monday.

A second indictment, charging him with stabbing his wife, was withdrawn.

From the time of his condemnation, the wretched prisoner exhibited the greatest contrition, and appeared deeply impressed with the dreadful situation in which he was placed. He took leave of his wife on the morning of his execution, and both of them appeared to be much affected.

At ten minutes before twelve o’clock, the unfortunate man was conducted to the scaffold by the persons belonging to the prison, attended by the Reverend Mr. Witherby, the chaplain of the jail. He then advanced to the front of the railing, and addressed the people to the following effect:—“My friends, I hope you’ll all take warning from me, and let not your passion get the better of your reason, as mine has done. I own my fault, and am ready and prepared to die; and I hope the Lord stands ready to receive my soul.” The last preparations having been made, the drop fell from beneath his feet, and he was launched into eternity.

The following letter was sent by Burt to his wife on Saturday, the day after his condemnation:—

“Horsham, the 6th day of January, A.D. 1827.

“My dear wife—I have now sent you my last letter that ever you will receive from me. I hope you are in good health and happy in your mind—as I am myself at present much happier than what any person would suppose. I seem not to fear, nor to dread death. I comfort myself by saying in mine heart, I shall probably in a few hours have the pleasure of seeing my own dear little baby and your two sisters. I do not make the least doubt but what the Lord will make me amends for all my trouble and great losses which I have had in this world. I do not mean to say that I would choose this disgraceful death rather than life, if I were to have my choice. My dear Harriet, I am very sorry that you did not come in to shake hands and bid me farewell. Let me prevail with you, my dear, to come, if possible, to see me, and let us depart without bearing malice, or having any hatred towards each other. Remember, the time will come when you will die as well as me; and, perhaps, when you are on your death-bed, it may be a great trouble to your mind because you did not shake hands with your poor unfortunate husband, when you had it in your power of so doing. If you can, reach Horsham jail before twelve o’clock on Monday—after that time is past, if you would give ten thousand worlds, it would not be granted unto you. If you should come only one minute before I die, I shall be very glad to embrace the pleasure of seeing once more her whom my heart dearly loveth. I willingly, with all my heart, forgive you and your mother, likewise all other persons who have in any way tried to persuade you to never have made up matters—to be reconciled—and to have lived with me again. Pray come and see me before I die.

“Farewell, farewell, farewell, my dear and precious wife.
“William Burt.”

The wish of the wretched convict, as will have been already seen, was gratified.

JOHN PEELE, alias GEORGE WATSON.
EXECUTED FOR FORGERY.

THE history and remarkable successes of this bold forger render his name well worthy a place in our list of criminals.

It appears that he was most respectably connected, and that he had the advantage of a good education and much general acquaintance with the world. He served his apprenticeship with Messrs. Cowley and Sancton, in Cateaton-street, and he remained in the employment of those gentlemen until about six or seven years before his execution, when he went into business jointly with a Mr. Henry, under the firm of Henry and Peele, in Mark-lane. He soon availed himself of the opportunities which his new condition presented to him, and began to send forgeries round the country. He succeeded to an amazing extent; but his father, whose fortune had been some time sinking under the extravagance of this profligate, ascertained the extent of the plunder, paid all the bills, and in the hope that his son was still corrigible, sent him to America and the West Indies, and supplied him with the means of obtaining a comfortable livelihood. From the inquiries which were made before his apprehension, it was ascertained, beyond all doubt, that for two years he had subsisted in a most dashing and extravagant style by forgeries alone; he fancied detection was impossible, and he used to say, with a laugh, to a prostitute who was the companion of his pleasures, that there was not a county in England in which he had not “left his mark.” He had assumed the name of George Watson, and travelled sometimes in a handsome stanhope, and at other times in an elegant double-bodied phaeton, accompanied by a female whom he had picked up at Portsmouth, and used to call Mrs. Watson, and to whom he had at first represented himself as a man possessed of immense wealth in America and the West Indies. He ingeniously drew and circulated as foreign, bills, most of which he forged, and dated them as either from the East India Islands, or some part of the United States of America; so that he not only evaded the stamp-duties, but totally destroyed one clue to a discovery which might have taken place, had he been obliged to purchase stamps at each place where he found it convenient or necessary to raise money.

It may appear singular how Peele could so long and so successfully, under any circumstances, have proceeded in this course without impediment; but the surprise will abate when it is mentioned that he always had hundreds of blank bills about him, and that he very seldom issued any for a large amount; so that the sufferers preferred the course of leaving him to take his “dangerous chance,” to the expensive and unprofitable labour of bringing him to justice. When, at length, at the instance of the committee of bankers associated for mutual protection against forgery, the police followed him through England, they found that in almost every place of any consequence at which they inquired about him, he had “left his mark” upon the bankers or the innkeepers, or both.

The circumstances which led to the prosecution which succeeded against him are remarkable.—In the latter end of May 1825, Peele visited Tunbridge Wells, and presenting himself at the banking-house of Messrs. Beeching and Son, he said he had taken a house at the Wells for five months, and wished to know whether they had any objection to open an account for him during that period. They consented, and he presented two bills of exchange for 30l. and 35l. purporting to be accepted by Coutts and Co. in London. The bills were immediately discounted by Messrs. Beeching, through their clerk, and Peele endorsed the name “George Watson” upon them, and received the amount in cash. As a further inducement to Messrs. Beeching and Son to open an account with him, and to give colour to his practices, he gave to them a deposit-note of the Carlisle bank in his favour for 275l. 11s. 6d., which he wished them to present to that bank through Masterman and Co., who were their London agents as well as the agents of the Carlisle bank. The deposit-note was accordingly sent down to Messrs. Connell and Co. at Carlisle; but they in due course apprised Messrs. Masterman that it had been obtained from them for a bill of exchange, for which Peele had got besides a considerable sum of money, but which, on its maturity, was discovered to be a forgery.

It was wondered how the prisoner could get acquainted with the signatures and mode of business of the different parties whose names he used; but, upon inquiry, it was found that he had invariably presented himself to the notice of the bankers in the places where he negotiated the bills, by taking to them bank-notes, and getting in exchange bills on some London house; and he took care to select those bills which had many names upon them, the whole of which he would immediately copy in twenty different ways on various bills, and having done so, he would take the genuine bills, and others of his own manufacture, to the banking house, where the good bills never failed to be a passport to those which were spurious. Thus he sometimes made the genuine paper subservient to his plans of passing off counterfeit, and sometimes the latter, as in the case of the Carlisle Bank, subservient to the procuring of genuine bills, and both with uninterrupted success. In addition to the bills on Connell and Co., Peele also deposited with Messrs. Beeching two other bills,—one for 30l., purporting to be drawn by Alexander and James Liddell, of Dundee, and accepted by Messrs. Robinson and Brown, of Glasgow; and the other for 37l. 11s. 6d. dated Antigua, 15th of February; and purporting to be drawn by Nathaniel Underwood, upon and accepted by Messrs. J. Bell and sons, of Leith. His professed object in this deposit, was merely that the bills should be in safe custody, but he contrived to get upon them an advance of 20l., for which he drew a check in his assumed name of “George Watson,” and on their arriving at maturity, it was ascertained that no one of the persons mentioned in them had any existence, except in the brain of the prisoner. Having succeeded in realising so much cash, however, he thought it high time to decamp; and accompanied by his woman, he drove to London, by Maidstone and Rochester. At the former place he put up at Widdish’s hotel, and succeeded in getting cash for a check for 20l., on Messrs. Beeching and Son, by whom it was afterwards paid, on the faith of the securities which had been left with them. A day or two after his departure, however, the note was returned from Carlisle, and it was discovered that the whole of the bills and securities were forgeries. Instant search was then made for Peele, but he flew from place to place. At length Mr. Gates, the solicitor to the Bankers’ Committee, received intelligence that he was at Newark, in Nottinghamshire, and started from London, attended by an officer, for that place.

Adversity had already begun its work with the wretched man. A Derbyshire publican, upon whom he had passed a forged bill, spied him at his wine, and never left him till his body was under lock and key in Derby jail. Peele was committed for trial for uttering this bill, which was for 45l., and Mr. Gates went to Derby prepared to lodge detainers against him, or have him taken into custody, in the event of an acquittal there; but on his arrival at Derby, he found that it was Peele’s intention to plead guilty to the charge of uttering the bill; that the prosecutor would, in all probability, be paid his debt as an inducement to join in a recommendation of the prisoner to mercy, and that Peele might escape if the remaining charges against him were permitted to sleep.

He, therefore, applied to the Lord Chief Baron, who was in commission at Derby, to have the prisoner removed to Maidstone, previously to his trial at Derby, and under the circumstances of so many charges existing in Kent, and after consultation as to the most eligible course, it was arranged that no bill should be preferred at Derby, but that upon Peele’s discharge by proclamation, he should be handed over to a police officer in attendance, with a warrant from Sir Richard Birnie. This was done, and Peele was committed to Maidstone jail.

At the ensuing assizes, he was indicted for the forgeries upon Messrs. Beeching, and a verdict of Guilty having been returned, he was sentenced to death.

On the 26th of January 1827, the sentence was carried out upon the unhappy man, at Pennenden Heath, near Maidstone. Up to within a short time of his death, he is reported to have entertained sanguine hopes of his life being saved, and he exhibited the utmost cheerfulness. As the day of execution approached, however, he became sensible of his situation, and applied himself strenuously to his religious duties.

He met his fate with becoming resignation, and his body was afterwards delivered over to his friends for interment.

Amongst his letters, which were found in the possession of the woman with whom he lived, were the following, which are curious:—

“(Drunk.)

“Liverpool.

“My dear Martha—By the failure in Liverpool I have lost 500l. Why, let it go. Be you happy, Martha. I have been some hundreds of miles since I saw thee; but what is travelling in labour or anxiety, compared to the fear that thou shalt suffer? No, no, Martha, never suspect that I can ever forget or forsake thee. My dear, dear girl, take care of thyself. Despair not; my exactions shall have thy image to give them pleasure and success.

“Thine for ever,
“George Watson.”

It appears from his letters, that he had moved with extraordinary rapidity from place to place. A variety of blank bills of exchange, ready for use, together with some bills partly filled up, and others with indorsements, were found upon the person of the unfortunate man at the time of his apprehension.

WILLIAM SHEEN.
TRIED FOR THE MURDER OF HIS CHILD.

THE case of this man has always attracted a considerable portion of public attention.

The facts of the dreadful affair which we have been enabled to obtain, are as follows:—The alleged perpetrator of the horrid act is a native of Radnorshire, South Wales, and was born about the year 1803. He obtained his livelihood by chopping wood, and selling it in bundles about the streets of the metropolis, as also did his father and youngest brother, who lived in White’s-yard, Rosemary-lane, near Tower-hill. The wretched man himself lived, with his wife and infant, at the house of John Pomeroy, No. 2, Caroline-court, Lambeth-street. About February 1827, he was married to the mother of the unfortunate child, previously to which she had given it birth, which reaching the ears of the parish officers of St. Katherine, the parochial officers, upon condition that he would marry her, presented him with 5l. From the moment the little creature was born the wretched father seemed to have the greatest hatred towards it, and frequently he would wantonly, whilst it lay in its mother’s lap, strike it on its head with his fist, or anything that first came to hand; and whenever the mother offered the child to him to kiss, he always turned his head away in great anger. Yet not the slightest thought ever entered the mind of any person that he premeditated its destruction. On the Sunday before the murder, while the mother was dressing the little creature, he took up a piece of wood that lay on the table, and struck it over the head with such force, that a large bump was raised. About half-past seven o’clock on a Thursday evening in the month of May he came home, and the child was then asleep at the breast in its mother’s lap. He gave her money to procure the necessaries for tea, and desired her to leave the child on the bed, as it was in a sound sleep. She did so, and the wretch lay down by the side of it. She left the room, and was gone about a quarter of an hour, but, on her return, and opening the room-door, her feelings of horror can be more easily conceived than described, when she beheld the head of her offspring weltering in blood on the table, with its eyes fixed towards the door. The poor creature, half mad, ran down stairs and called out, “Murder, murder!” and meeting Mrs. Pomeroy, she exclaimed, “Oh, my God! Mrs. Pomeroy, come up stairs, and see what my Bill has done; he has cut my poor child’s head off!” The woman and several of the neighbours ran up stairs and found proof of the horrid deed. The head of the child was lying as above described, and the bleeding body was placed on the bed. Information was directly given at the Police-office, and Dalton and Davis, the officers, proceeded to the room, which they searched, but the weapon with which the murderer committed the deed could not be found; but in one corner of the room they found his fustian coat and hat, both of them covered with blood. Several persons went in pursuit of the wretched man; but the only trace they could obtain of him was, that directly the murder was committed, he was observed running, in his shirt-sleeves, towards his father’s house, in White’s-yard, Rosemary-lane, where he was seen to beckon his father out, who was also in his shirt-sleeves, and they both went away together.

From subsequent inquiries it was discovered that Sheen had borrowed a coat and 10s. from a man named Pugh, who lived in Carnaby Market, pretending that he had had a fight with an Irishman, and was obliged in consequence to abscond; and it was further found, that he had made off, in order to avoid being taken into custody.

Davis, the officer of Lambeth-street, was in consequence directed by the magistrates to endeavour to procure the apprehension of the supposed offender; and we shall give his statement of the means which he employed to secure this object, exhibiting as they do the most praiseworthy ingenuity and perseverance, on his part, in securing the object which he had in view. The officer was examined at Worship-street Police-office, and his evidence was as follows:—

“I left town last Friday night, (May the 18th,) by the Birmingham coach, understanding that the prisoner had gone in that direction. While on my way thither, at about a mile beyond Stratford-on-Avon, a person got on the coach, having the appearance of a discharged soldier, who, in the course of conversation, told me he had exchanged a hat on that morning with a man who said he was going to Birmingham, whom, from the description he gave me of his clothing, I believed to be Sheen. On my arrival at Birmingham, on Saturday, about four o’clock, I without delay commenced a most diligent search, which I continued, but without success, until half-past twelve at night. I resumed it on Sunday, and found the person spoken of, about two o’clock, in the Lamb public-house, in Edgeston-street: he, however, proved not to be the man I wanted. On Monday morning I proceeded through Worcester to Kington, Herefordshire, having reason, from the information I had received, to believe that the prisoner had taken that direction. From circumstances that occurred it struck me that I was in advance of him, and, under this impression, I waited on the bridge, at the entrance of the town, for five hours. While there, considering the best plan I should adopt, I came to the conclusion of going to the remotest inn in the town, to evade publicity, and conceal the object of my journey. While remaining in the town, I deemed it prudent to communicate with one of the county magistrates, and inform him who I was, and what I came down about. I in consequence called on Edward Cheese, Esq., a magistrate and banker, residing in Kington, and from him received every assistance. From the number of Sheen’s relatives living in the neighbourhood, and for twenty miles round Kington, I was kept constantly on the move, and traversed and searched a number of places and houses where I thought it likely he might be concealed.

“While traversing the country, I, from the fear of being recognised, assumed the dress of a countryman, and, with a smock-frock on, I casually went into a public-house, where there were a number of Cardigan drovers, and here I thought my labours would be unsuccessful, for one of them having read from a London paper an account of the murder, and a description of the murderer, who was at once known, I concluded that such warning would be conveyed to him as would defeat my object, particularly as they were going among all his friends. I returned on the same night to Kington; and on the following day a circumstance occurred which enabled me to secure Sheen. On the morning of that day, while cleaning myself, I left my coat (in the side-pocket of which I generally carry my handcuffs and pistols) in the kitchen, and on my return was surprised at finding that the handcuffs had been removed, and were lying on the seat. This was accounted for afterwards by its being told me that they had dropped out, a circumstance that alarmed me a good deal, as they had my name on them, and would lead, as I supposed, to the discovery of who I was and what was my business. I was not much mistaken, for while in my bedroom the person called on me who picked up the handcuffs, and said, “I know who you are, and guess what your business here is—I can give you some information which I think will be of service.” I then collected from him such facts, and so distinct a trace of Sheen, as induced me to go to Penny Bont, taking with me an active constable, of Kington, named Yates. On my arrival there I stopped at the Severn Arms Inn, and in the after part of the evening a man came in and asked for the London paper; this he read carefully, and when he had concluded, first looking inquisitively round the room, he hastily departed in a very agitated manner. His appearance and conduct excited my suspicions, and I inquired from the landlady who he was, and where he lived. I heard that his name was James—that he was married to Sheen’s aunt, and that he lived at about two miles’ distance from the village. I at once followed him, and saw him enter a house, called the Lane House, in Llanbadenwaur, in Radnorshire; and having ascertained where he resided, I returned to the inn, and accompanied by Yates, went back with the intention of searching the house, but thought it prudent not then to do so, as in the event of his not being there, he would be put on his guard. On second consideration I went back again to the Lane House, and having placed Yates at the rear of the premises, I burst in the door, first giving Yates directions, should he see any one coming out answering the description of Sheen, to secure him, and should he attempt to make his escape, to fire at him without hesitation. On going in I found several people in the house, but not the person I wanted, and a third time I returned to my lodgings. In about three hours afterwards, accompanied as before, and making similar arrangements, having received further information, I returned to the same house, and there secured Sheen; he was sitting at breakfast in the chimney corner, and on examining his person, I found on him a shirt spotted with blood, particularly on the neck and right wristband. He came with me very quietly and when I apprehended him, said, ‘Oh, Mr. Davis, is it you?—I shall go with you without any resistance.’ ” Thus terminated Davis’s account, and to some questions from the magistrate, Mr. Wyatt, he said, that Sheen had made no confession to him directly, but that he heard him make one indirectly to the landlady of a public-house in Radnor, to whom he was known, and who asked him, ‘How, in the name of God, came you to do such a cruel thing?’ and he replied, ‘It was not God, but the devil.’ ”

During the time occupied in this search by Davis, a coroner’s inquest had been held upon the body of the deceased child, and circumstances having been proved implicating the father of the infant, a verdict of Wilful Murder was returned against him.

On Friday the 1st of June following, the prisoner was put upon his trial at the Old Bailey, charged upon the indictment with the wilful murder of “William Sheen.”

The circumstances which we have detailed were then proved in evidence, but an objection being taken by the prisoner’s counsel as to the sufficiency of the description of the deceased, who had been baptised “William Charles Beadle Sheen,” it was held to be fatal to the indictment, and a verdict of Not Guilty was, in consequence, returned.

Application was, however, made to the court that the prisoner should be kept in custody, with a view to the presentment of a new indictment to the grand jury.

At the ensuing sessions a second bill of indictment, in which the formal error which we have pointed out was corrected, was presented, and the prisoner was put on his trial on the 13th July. A plea of autre fois acquit was then pleaded in bar, and evidence having been given that the real name of the deceased was sufficiently well known to have enabled the prosecutors to have stated it properly in the first indictment, Mr. Justice Burrough declared that the prisoner could not be again put upon his trial.

Sheen was then discharged, but not until he had received a proper and most affecting admonition from the learned judge as to his past life, and a warning to let his future conduct wipe off the stain, which his position had cast upon his character.

The wretched man is, we believe, still alive, and residing in the vicinity of the spot which was the scene of his unhappy child’s death; and we regret to add that he has not unfrequently been the subject of charges before the police magistrates of the district, upon allegations of riot and intoxication.

RICHARD BOWERS.
TRANSPORTED FOR “DUFFING.”

THIS offender was one of the most notorious of the class of thieves of which he was a member.

The particulars of his trial do not reach us in any very perfect form; but the following is the report of his examination before the magistrates at Marylebone police-office, upon the charge, upon which conviction finally ensued, as it appeared in one of the newspapers of the time. The circumstances detailed well describe the artifices to which a person following the practices of “Dick Bowers,” as he was familiarly called, had recourse. Dick was perfectly notorious throughout London; and we believe that there was scarcely a police-office in the metropolis at which he had not been in custody. It may be remarked that he had but one leg, the deficiency being supplied with what he usually denominated a “timber toe.”

“Dick Bowers, who has been several times in custody for duffing, was charged with having robbed Mr. Philips, of Bryanstone-street. The complainant said, that on the 6th July, (1827,) he was accosted, in Duke-street, by a person who said he had a quantity of kid gloves, shawls, &c., which he could afford to sell cheap. He accompanied the person to a public-house in Robert-street, Oxford-street, and on entering the room he was introduced to another person, and they produced from a bag a pair of gloves as a sample; and it was agreed upon that he should have two dozen pairs for a sovereign, the price demanded being ten pence a pair. One of the men wrapped up the pair of gloves, and produced a small silk shawl and a piece of cloth, and delivered them into his hands, saying, that he was only an agent, and, therefore, could not let him have the two dozen pairs at that time, but he might take the piece of cloth as a security; and on furnishing him with his address, he (Mr. Philips) might rely on receiving the gloves in a few days. He, accordingly, gave the man a sovereign and took up the parcel. Both the men then left the room, and the prisoner entered, who pushed rudely against him and seized the parcel out of his hands. He told the prisoner that the parcel was his property, having just paid a sovereign for it; but the prisoner insisted on retaining it unless he consented to give him more money. He of course refused to pay anything more, and attempted to take it away by force, but not succeeding, he quitted the house.”

It subsequently turned out that Bowers was a member of the gang of “duffers,” by whom Mr. Philips had been accosted, and that his violent effort to procure the return of the property to himself was only a part of the scheme intended to be put in operation.

At the ensuing Old Bailey sessions, Bowers was convicted of the offence imputed to him, and on Tuesday, 17th July 1827, he received sentence of transportation for fourteen years.

EDWARD GIBBON WAKEFIELD, WILLIAM WAKEFIELD, AND FRANCES WAKEFIELD.
CONVICTED OF THE ABDUCTION OF MISS TURNER.

NO case of a similar nature ever excited one quarter of the degree of interest which was produced by the extraordinary abduction of Miss Turner, a wealthy heiress, and the daughter of Mr. Turner, a gentleman of the highest respectability living at Shrigley in the county of Cheshire, by Mr. Edward Gibbon Wakefield. The notoriety of the case renders it unnecessary for us to do more than to give a general history of the circumstances attending the abduction, and the final termination of the proceedings against the defendants, Mr. E. G. Wakefield, and his brother William, and Mrs. Frances Wakefield.

It would appear that Miss Turner, at the time of this affair, had just entered her fifteenth year. Her father was a man of large property, and was high sheriff of Cheshire; and with a view to the proper education of his daughter, who was a young lady of lively disposition, of quick perception, and besides of great personal beauty, he placed her at the school of a Mrs. Daulby, at Liverpool. She had continued there during a considerable time, when in the month of February 1827, Mr. E. G. Wakefield and his brother William went to Macclesfield on a visit, where they learned the situation, the wealth, and the beauty of Miss Turner. A design was soon formed, by means of which they proposed to secure possession of the person of Miss Turner, and it was but too successfully carried out. With this view they quitted Macclesfield on the evening of the 5th March, with the professed object of proceeding to the metropolis on their route to Paris; but instead of taking the road to London, at seven o’clock on the morning of the 6th of the same month they presented themselves at the Albion Hotel, Manchester, in a Wilmslow post chaise. Having purchased a carriage in this place, they went on towards Liverpool; and at eight o’clock on the morning of Tuesday the 7th March, the newly bought carriage was driven up to the house of Mrs. Daulby, and a servant alighting from it presented a letter, which was in the following terms, and which he professed to have brought with him from Shrigley. It was addressed to Miss Daulby, and was as follows:—

“Shrigley, Monday night, half-past Twelve.

“Madam,—I write to you by the desire of Mrs. Turner, of Shrigley, who has been seized with a sudden and dangerous attack of paralysis. Mr. Turner is unfortunately from home, but has been sent for, and Mrs. Turner wishes to see her daughter immediately. A steady servant will take this letter and my carriage to you to fetch Miss Turner; and I beg that no time may be lost in her departure, as, though I do not think Mrs. Turner in immediate danger, it is possible she may soon become incapable of recognising any one. Mrs. Turner particularly wishes that her daughter may not be informed of the extent of her danger, as, without this precaution, Miss Turner might be very anxious on the journey; and this house is so crowded, and in such confusion and alarm, that Mrs. Turner does not wish any one to accompany her daughter. The servant is instructed not to let the boys drive too fast, as Miss T. is rather fearful in a carriage I am, madam, your obedient servant,

“John Ainsworth, m. d.

“The best thing to say to Miss T. is, that Mrs. T. wishes to have her daughter home rather sooner, for the approaching removal to the new house; and the servant is instructed to give no other reason in case Miss Turner should ask any questions. Mrs. Turner is very anxious that her daughter should not be frightened, and trusts to your judgment, to prevent it; she also desires me to add, that her sister, or niece, or myself, should they continue unable, will not fail to write to you by post.”

The allusion to the indisposition of the young lady to ride quickly, gave the letter an air of authenticity, and its contents were immediately communicated to Miss Turner. On her seeing the servant, however, she expressed her surprise at his being strange to her, but the fellow, whose name was Thevenot, and who was in the service of Wakefield, answered, with great readiness, that in consequence of Mr. Turner’s having taken a new mansion, he had made some alteration in his establishment, and that he had engaged him as butler, in lieu of the person who had before filled that situation. He added, that the carriage would return by way of Manchester, where it would take up Dr. Hull, who, it was known, had previously attended Mrs. Turner, and that then it would immediately proceed to Shrigley. The extreme plausibility of the man’s manner and story left no room for suspicion, and the young lady was in a few minutes handed into the carriage, and was driven off. The vehicle reached Manchester in due course; but instead of going to Dr. Hull’s residence, it stopped at the door of the Albion Hotel, and there the young lady was directed to alight. She was shown into a private room, but she had scarcely been there five minutes when Mr. E. G. Wakefield presented himself. Miss Turner was at this time completely unacquainted with him, and she was about to leave the room; but on his stating to her that he came from her papa, she remained. She proceeded immediately to make inquiries of him as to the state of her mother’s health; but the necessity of some reason being given why she was not taken to Shrigley having arisen, Mr. Wakefield told her, that the fact was that the real cause of her removal from the school was the state of her father’s affairs, and that the only reason why this was not at once communicated to her was a desire on the part of her parents to keep the circumstance secret from her schoolmistress and companions. He then introduced his brother William to her, and telling her that they were directed immediately to conduct her to Mr. Turner, they ordered post-horses to be instantly got ready. They then proceeded on the road to Huddersfield, and Miss Turner, buoyed up with the assurance of seeing her father at almost every stage, travelled all night until they arrived at Kendal, where she was assured that her parent would be in waiting for them. Here, however, a fresh disappointment awaited the unhappy young lady; and Wakefield, perceiving that she began to exhibit great anxiety, now found it necessary to become “more explicit” upon the subject of the state of her father’s affairs. He stated to her that the bank of Messrs. Daintry and Kyle at Macclesfield had failed, and that an uncle of his, who was a banker at Kendal, had lent her father 60,000l. That this had partially relieved him; but that the Blackburn bank having also failed, everything was now worse and worse. That her father was completely ruined, but that he (Wakefield) was his greatest friend; that his uncle could turn Mr. Turner out of doors, but that Mr. Grimsditch, the legal adviser of the latter, had hit upon a plan which, if it were followed out, would make all right. That some settlements were to be drawn up and made, and some property transferred to her, so that her estate would belong to her husband, whoever he might be; that Mr. Grimsditch had proposed that he (Mr. Wakefield) should marry her, but that as he had never seen her, he had laughed at the proposition; but that his uncle, the Kendal banker, had insisted upon his seeing her, and that it now remained for her to determine whether she would accede to this proposition, or whether her father should be turned out of doors. He added, that she might come to a determination when she saw her father, who was then on his way to Scotland pursued by sheriffs’ officers. Imposed upon by these representations, Miss Turner permitted herself to be carried to Carlisle on the way to Gretna Green; and on their arrival in that city, the younger Wakefield quitted the party for a short time. On his return, he said that he had seen Mr. Turner and Mr. Grimsditch at an inn close by; but that in consequence of their dread of sheriffs’ officers, the former was afraid to show himself: that Mr. Grimsditch, in his fear, had thrust him from the house, declaring his anxious desire that the marriage should take place immediately, for that as soon as the certificate arrived at Carlisle, Mr. Turner would be released. He also added, that Mr. Turner had desired him to inform his daughter, that he entreated that she would not hesitate; for that if she did, there would be an execution at Shrigley, and they would all be ruined.

With such an injunction, Miss Turner, with a degree of filial solicitude which did her honour, hesitated no longer, but at once proceeded to Gretna with Mr. Wakefield, where the ceremony of marriage was performed by the far-famed blacksmith in the customary manner. This done, she returned with Mr. Wakefield to Carlisle, and there expressed her anxious solicitude with regard to her father’s situation, desiring at once to see him, in order that she might be assured of his safety. A new subterfuge was adopted, however, and she was informed that her father, having now secured his liberty, and intelligence of her marriage having already reached him, had gone on to Shrigley, whither they were to follow him. Leeds was the point to which they next proceeded; and on their arrival there, Wakefield recollected that he had an appointment at Paris, which he must keep in the ensuing week. He declared it impossible therefore that they could then go to Shrigley, and he pretended to despatch his brother to Cheshire, with directions to conduct Mr. Turner to London, where they would all meet. Wakefield and Miss Turner arrived at Blake’s Hotel, in Prince’s-street, Hanover-square, at half-past eleven o’clock, on the night of Friday the 19th of March; but there a person who was in waiting having declared that Mr. Turner and Mr. W. Wakefield had proceeded to France, a chaise was directly ordered, and they started for Dover, and from thence by the first packet to Calais.

For several days the circumstance of the abduction remained totally unknown to the friends of the young lady; but the fact of her not having arrived at Shrigley having been discovered by Mrs. Daulby, some members of the family were despatched in pursuit of her, and she was traced to Manchester, and thence to Huddersfield; but there all trace of her and her companion was lost. The dreadful anxiety entertained by the unhappy parents of the young lady was soon still further excited by the receipt of a letter from Mr. Wakefield, dated Carlisle, begging that Mr. and Mrs. Turner would render themselves quite easy, for that the writer had married their daughter. In a state of mind bordering on distraction, Mr. Turner instantly proceeded to London, for the purpose of procuring such aid as could be afforded by the police of the metropolis. His inquiries soon taught him that Mr. Wakefield had carried his daughter to the Continent, and thither he despatched the paternal uncle of the young lady, accompanied by his solicitor and Ellis, an active and prudent officer, attached to Bow-street, and armed with a letter from Mr. Canning to the British Ambassador in France. In the mean time, a letter was received by Mrs. Turner from Mr. Wakefield, dated Calais, in which the writer repeated the declaration that he had married Miss Turner, and taking all the blame of the transaction on himself, as far as “over-persuasion” went, he added, “Miss Turner is fondly attached to me, and I do assure you, my dear madam, that it shall be the anxious endeavour of my life to promote her happiness by every means in my power.”

Upon the landing of Mr. Turner and his companions at Calais, the first persons whom they saw were the young lady whom they sought, and Mr. Wakefield, who were walking on the pier. The exclamation of Miss Turner afforded a convincing proof that she remained with Mr. Wakefield unwillingly; for crying out “Good God! here’s my uncle,” she rushed from her companion, and was soon locked in the embrace of her relation, declaring how rejoiced she was that he had come to convey her home. Mr. Wakefield, on finding matters take this turn, declared that the young lady could not be taken from him by force, and appealed to the civil authorities of the town, whether any person could be hurried from the country against her consent? The mayor immediately interfered; but upon his applying to the young lady to ascertain her feeling upon the subject, she clung to the protecting arm of her uncle, exclaiming that “she would freely go with him, to avoid the sight of that man” (Mr. Wakefield). Mr. Wakefield still urged his right to the possession of the young lady, as she was his wife; but Miss Turner cried out, “No, no, I am not his wife: he carried me away by fraud and stratagem; forced me to accompany him to Gretna Green; and there, in the presence of a third person, I was compelled to acknowledge him as my husband, and to be called his wife. By the same forcible means I was compelled to quit England, and to trust myself to the protection of this person, whom I never saw until I was taken from Liverpool, and now never wish to see again.” Wakefield finding his plans completely frustrated, on this said to the uncle, “Then, sir, you may dispose of your niece as you think proper, but you receive her at my hands as a pure and spotless virgin.” Mr. Wakefield also drew up an acknowledgment, declaring that no familiarities whatever had passed between him and the young lady, and having signed it, he put it into the hands of Mr. Turner.

Mr. Turner and his niece then forthwith returned to England; while Mr. Wakefield proceeded to his hotel, and, having packed up his luggage, started directly for Paris.

A question now arose as to the proper mode of proceeding in the courts of law against the offending parties in this extraordinary transaction. Warrants were, however, issued against the Wakefields, upon one of which Mr. William Wakefield was apprehended at Dover within a few days after his brother’s flight to Paris. He was instantly conveyed before the magistrates of Cheshire, where an examination of great length took place; and after a long argument upon the nature of the offence, he was committed to Lancaster Castle to await his trial, the magistrates refusing to take bail for his appearance at the assizes. Under a writ of habeas corpus, Mr. Wakefield was brought before the Court of King’s Bench on the first day of the following Easter Term; and the depositions in the case being produced on the succeeding day, Mr. Wakefield was admitted to bail, in a personal recognizance of 2000l., and with two sureties in the amount of 1000l. each.

At the following assizes for the county of Lancaster, indictments were preferred against Mr. E. G. Wakefield and Mr. W. Wakefield, for “having at Liverpool feloniously carried away one Ellen Turner, spinster, then a maid and heir-apparent unto her father, William Turner Esq., for the sake of the lucre of her substance; and for having afterwards unlawfully and against her will married the said Ellen Turner.” An indictment was also preferred against the same parties, together with Edward Thévenot, their servant, and Frances Wakefield, their stepmother, who was alleged to be concerned in the transaction, for a conspiracy; and the grand jury returned true bills in both cases, in the former, however, reducing the offence to a misdemeanour only. All the parties, with the exception of Thévenot who was in France, appeared and pleaded Not Guilty to the indictments; and Mr. Justice Park, upon an application by the defendants, refused to postpone the trial. Mr. E. G. Wakefield then claimed a right to traverse, and after some argument it was allowed him. Upon the 21st of August, public curiosity was excited to the highest degree, in consequence of its being anticipated that the trial of Mr. William Wakefield would then come on. The court was crowded to excess, and the ladies formed, as usual on such occasions, the principal part of the audience; but on Mr. Wakefield being called, it was found that he was not in attendance. Great disappointment was felt by the public in consequence, and an order was made by the learned judge that the recognizances of the bail and of the defendant should be estreated. The interest which the public took in this case from its commencement was now doomed to be suspended for a considerable time; for it was not until Friday, March the 23rd, 1827, that the general curiosity which was entertained with regard to the termination of the case was satisfied. The three defendants were then put upon their trial at Lancaster, Mr. Brougham appearing with others for the prosecution, and Mr. Scarlett for the defence. After a trial which occupied the whole day, and in the course of which the circumstances which we have already detailed were proved in evidence, the jury returned a verdict of Guilty against all three defendants. The most remarkable part of the case was the examination of David Laing, the blacksmith at Gretna. His evidence simply amounted to proof, that the Messrs. Wakefield and Miss Turner had come to Gretna, being apparently agreeable to the match, and that he joined their hands, and heard their acknowledgment in the usual form. The young lady, he said, presented him with a twenty-shilling note, and afterwards “embraced her husband very agreeably.” The fellow, in his examination, declared that he had formerly been a merchant (that is, a Scotch pedlar), and that he had been forty-five years employed in joining hands at Gretna Green. He had 30l. or 40l. for this job. In appearance the old man had been made to assume an air of respectability. Some one had dressed him in a black coat, and a velvet waistcoat and breeches of the same colour; the shape of his hat being that commonly known as the “clerical cock.” He seemed a vulgar fellow, though not without shrewdness, and that air of familiarity which he might be supposed to have acquired by the freedom necessarily permitted by persons of a superior rank in life, to one who was conscious that he had the power of performing for them clandestinely a most important ceremony. On his entering the witness-box, he leaned forward towards the counsel with a ludicrous expression of gravity on his face, accompanying every answer with a knitting of his wrinkled brow, and a significant nodding of his head, which gave peculiar force to the quaintness of phraseology which he assumed, and occasionally convulsed the court with laughter.

On the following day, Messrs. E. G. and W. Wakefield submitted to a verdict of Guilty on the second indictment; and upon the two findings the male defendants were committed to Lancaster Castle, there to remain until the ensuing term, when they were to be brought up for judgment in the Court of King’s Bench.

On Monday the 14th of May, Messrs. E. G. and W. Wakefield were carried to the Court of King’s Bench at Westminster, to receive judgment, when affidavits were put in on their behalf, declaring that the latter had acted entirely under the guidance and direction of his elder brother. Mr. E. G. Wakefield also swore, that the expenses of his trial to him had exceeded 3000l. The counsel on behalf of the prosecution having addressed the court in aggravation, pressing for the severest penalty allowed by the law, Mr. Justice Bayley addressed the prisoners. He dwelt in impressive terms upon the falsehood and art used by them to entrap the young lady into the marriage, and the gross delusions resorted to for the purpose of lulling her suspicions, and inducing her to yield to the design in carrying her off. Having then referred separately to the conduct of the defendants, the learned Judge passed sentence, that Edward Gibbon Wakefield should be imprisoned in Newgate for the space of three years and that W. Wakefield should be imprisoned in Lancaster Castle for the like term of three years. Mrs. Frances Wakefield, against whom a verdict of Guilty had also been returned, was not brought up for judgment; the generous feelings of Mr. Turner, much injured as his family had been, preventing him from proceeding with harshness against a female.

On the next day, a motion was made in the House of Lords by Lord Redesdale, for leave to bring in a bill to annul the marriage between Miss Turner and Mr. Wakefield, when, after some discussion, the bill was granted in the usual way, Mr. Wakefield, upon his petition, was subsequently brought from Newgate to oppose the second reading of the bill; but the opposition was fruitless, and it eventually passed both houses of parliament. Messrs. Wakefield afterwards completed the term of their imprisonment; at the conclusion of which they were liberated from the jails in which they were respectively confined.

We are unable to present the reader with any distinct or positive history of the Messrs. Wakefield. At the time of the commission of the offence for the participation in which they suffered so severe a punishment, Mr. E. G. Wakefield was a barrister, and although he was not known as possessing any practice in the profession of the law, he was understood to be in the receipt of an income of about 1000l. a year. He was at this time a widower with two children, having eloped with his first wife from a school. His children were in Paris; but upon his committal to Lancaster Castle, they followed him to that place with their governess. Mr. Wakefield was at that time about thirty years of age, and in a letter which was addressed by a person named Collier on his behalf to the newspapers, he denied the allegation that he was unacquainted with Miss Turner before the elopement, declaring that he had previously met her at a public ball. In the course of the time occupied by the public in the discussion of the case, he put forth a statement of facts, denying that any force or fraud had been used towards Miss Turner; and subsequently, while in Newgate, he published a pamphlet, the object of which was to show that Miss Turner was really his wife, that she was a consenting party to the marriage, and that no ground therefore existed for the divorce. Mr. Wakefield has since become well known in the mercantile world from his connexion with several public companies.

Mr. W. Wakefield at the time of this offence was much younger than his brother, and appears to have acted almost entirely under the directions of the latter. He was married only a few days before his apprehension to a lady entitled to move in the most respectable ranks of society. He has since, we believe, served with honour and credit to himself in the army of one of our European allies, in which he obtained the rank of colonel, and at this time he holds an important trust in a colony newly formed at New Zealand.

The following case, which is mentioned in the Continuation of Rapin, will no doubt prove interesting as illustrative of the circumstances which we have just detailed:—“During this session of parliament (1690, 3rd William and Mary) happened an incident which made a great noise. Captain James Campbell, brother to the Earl of Argyle, on the 14th of November, forcibly seized on Miss Mary Wharton, daughter and heiress of Sir George Wharton, a fortune, as it was said, of 50,000l., and about thirteen years of age. She was carried away from her relations in Great Queen-street, and married against her will. The next day his majesty issued his royal proclamation for apprehending Mr. Campbell and the abettors of this unwarrantable action, and Sir John Johnston being apprehended, was tried, condemned, and executed at Tyburn, notwithstanding great application was made to the king and the relations of the bride to save his life; which was thought the harder, as it appeared upon his trial that Miss Wharton had given evident proofs that the violence Captain Campbell used was not so much against her will as her lawyers endeavoured to make it. Not long before, there was a bill brought into the House of Commons to prevent clandestine marriages, which it was thought this incident would have accelerated, but it dropped. However, another bill was brought into the House of Commons the 4th December, to render void the marriage between Miss Wharton and Mr. Campbell, which, notwithstanding the Earl of Argyle petitioned against it on behalf of his brother, passed both houses by the 13th of December.”

It may be well to state that considerable doubt was at first entertained as to the nature of the offence committed by the defendants in this case. By an act of 3 Henry 7, c. 2, it was made a capital felony to carry off and marry women, being of substance or heirs apparent, forcibly. There was another statute, 4 & 5 Philip and Mary, which referred to the abduction and marriage of such women without force; but there were subsequent statutes by which those provisions which rendered the offence capital were repealed. The proceedings against the defendants therefore assumed the more lenient form which we have described.

It is only necessary for us further to state, that Miss Turner was subsequently married to Mr. Legh, a gentleman of wealth and consideration in the north of England, but that she unfortunately died in giving birth to her first child.

JOSHUA SLADE.
EXECUTED FOR THE MURDER OF THE REV. J. WATERHOUSE.

THE circumstances attending this atrocious case will be best described and understood by the repetition of the confession of the murderer, while lying in the jail at Huntingdon after his conviction of the offence for which he was executed.

It would appear that the unfortunate gentleman who was the victim of his crime was a person of most eccentric habits. He was possessed of a rectory, at Stukeley, near Huntingdon, of the value of about 400l. a year; and attached to the land which he held was an elegant rectory-house. His habits of parsimony had induced him to give up the occupation of the greater portion of this dwelling as a residence; and he had stored many of the best rooms, furnished as they were, with grain, the produce of his farm. A like feeling had excited in his mind an indisposition to pay taxes for more windows than were absolutely necessary to give light to the apartment which he used; and out of about forty windows in his house, two only were suffered to remain. He lived constantly in the kitchen, without any regular female domestic, and performed the office of cook for himself and his workmen. Every Saturday the reverend gentleman walked to Huntingdon market, a distance of between three and four miles, frequently driving his pigs before him; and after having transacted his farming business, he used to carry home his tea and sugar, and other necessaries for the week, in a basket. His known parsimony appears to have induced the criminal to commit the foul crime of which he was guilty.

It seems that Mr. Waterhouse was about fifty-five years of age; and the house which he occupied was situated nearly in the centre of the village of Stukeley, but stood alone in the farm-yard about fifty yards from the street. On the morning of Tuesday, 3rd July, 1827, the reverend gentleman arose at about five o’clock, and was occupied until about ten with his farming business. He then gave some instructions to one of his workmen, and retired to his own house; and between this hour and eleven o’clock the murder was accomplished. The body was first discovered by two farmboys, who found it lying in a mash-tub; but in consequence of the eccentricity of the deceased, they were induced to suppose that he was only joking, and they took no notice of the circumstance. The truth, however, was eventually discovered, and it was found that the unfortunate man had been murdered in a most barbarous manner. Suspicion at once attached to Slade, who eventually confessed himself to have been guilty of this most atrocious crime, and he was taken into custody. Circumstances were then discovered which left little doubt of his being the guilty person, and upon his trial the jury returned a verdict to that effect. Considerable anxiety was entertained in reference to the case by the learned Judge, who deemed the evidence inconclusive; and the trial having taken place on the 1st of August, he respited the unhappy prisoner until the 1st of September, in order that further inquiries might be made. On the 2nd of August, however, the convict confessed the crime in the following terms:—

“On the morning of the 3rd of July, 1827, I went direct from the Swan public-house at a quarter past two, and got over the garden-wall. I was then fresh. I saw Peter Soby at his door. I went to a straw wall near the dove-house, and laid there till five in the morning. I had a sword hid in the straw wall about five weeks, which I had stolen from the Horse and Jockey public-house, Huntingdon. I drew the sword out, and left the scabbard in the wall, and I put the sword down my trousers by my thigh. On my going out, I saw Mr. Waterhouse in the yard; but he did not see me. The garden-door of the house was not fastened, and I went to it and opened it; and I went up stairs and hid myself in the wool chamber from five until ten o’clock, intending to rob the house at night. While lying there, I went to sleep, and I dare say I snored. Mr. Waterhouse happening to come up stairs, heard me breathe; and coming into the room, he exclaimed, ‘Hollo! who are you? what do you do here?’ I then got up, drew the sword and laid hold of him. He wanted to go into the room where his blunderbuss was, but I would not let him. I led him down stairs, but nothing was said. He attempted to get away, but I would not let him; and when we got to the ground floor, I said, ‘Now, Mr. Waterhouse, if you’ll forgive me, I’ll forgive you; and if not, this is your death-warrant’ (holding up the sword.) He said, ‘No, I will suffer any thing first.’ I then let him go, and he went to run by to the kitchen-door to call somebody; but just as he turned into the kitchen I caught him a backhanded blow across the jaw, and he reeled back, caught himself against the tub, and fell backwards into it. While in this situation, I struck him several times; and he guarded the blows off with his arm. He laid hold of the sword twice; upon which I drew it out of his hands and cut his fingers. I also stabbed him in the throat, which was the last blow; and he then said, ‘I’m done,’ and died immediately. There was no blood on me except on my finger, and one spot on my waistcoat, and that I wiped out directly. I didn’t hear the dog bark all the time; and he wouldn’t bark at me, for he knew me. The kitchen-door leading to the yard was wide open all the time, but no person came near the house. Having committed the murder, which was all finished by ten minutes past ten o’clock, I immediately ran out of the house, and I turned to the right and threw the bloody sword among some young trees. I ran away, and continued at work until seven at night; and then I went home, had my supper, and went to bed.”

A search was made immediately after the confession for the sword, and it was discovered in the place pointed out. It was lying within a few paces of the scene of the murder, and it is strange that it should have remained so long undiscovered.

The wretched man after this confession applied himself zealously to the performance of his religious exercises, and underwent the dreadful sentence of the law at Huntingdon on the 1st of September 1827.

WILLIAM MILLER.
EXECUTED FOR THE VIOLATION AND MURDER OF MARY ANNE LANE.

THIS extraordinary and most horrid case, which for a considerable time excited a very great degree of interest in the county of Warwick, where it occurred, and which in many respects much resembles that of Abraham Thornton and Mary Ashford, occurred at a place named Bishop’s Itchington, near Harbury-field. The trial came on at Warwick on Friday, August 24th, 1827, when the prisoner William Miller, who was a man thirty-five years of age, was indicted for the wilful murder of Mary Ann Lane, on the night of the 26th of May, by casting her into a pond at Harbury. The material facts which were proved in evidence, were that the prisoner was a labourer, in the service of Mr. Heath, a farmer, at Harbury; and that the deceased had been formerly a wet-nurse in that gentleman’s family, being married to a labourer in the same employment. On the 26th of May, Mr. Heath gave an entertainment to all the servants, labourers, and other persons, who were then, or who had been previously employed by him. The prisoner, the deceased, and the husband of the latter were at the entertainment, and some conversation took place between the two former persons with regard to the return home of the female. At about a quarter before eight, the deceased started on her way home, taking the accustomed path into the high-road leading towards Bishop’s Itchington, which was situated at a distance of about two miles. The prisoner was then talking with a man named Bentley, and remarking the departure of the woman, he said “he’d be d—d if he didn’t go home with her;” and going away, he took a short cut across the fields, so as to intercept her in the high road. From this time nothing was seen of him until ten o’clock at night; and then he was near his own residence at Harbury, which was about a mile nearer to Mr. Heath’s than Bishop’s Itchington, but lay a considerable distance to the left of the road leading to that place. Mrs. Lane did not return home that night; but the murder was not discovered until the following day, when Mr. Abraham Pratt was passing over Harbury-heath, in company with his brother, and he saw something black in a pond there, and an umbrella sticking up above the surface. His brother also picked up a pair of pattens; and then, upon their raking out the black substance which they had seen, they found it to be the clothes, covering the murdered body of Mary-Anne Lane. Upon their examining the spot, they observed appearances, as if some struggling had taken place, and they also saw marks in the clay of a man’s boots, and of what seemed to be knees, covered by corduroy trousers. The body of the deceased was removed from the pond, and upon an examination taking place, little doubt was left, that the unhappy woman had been violated, and then barbarously murdered. In the course of the day, the prisoner was taken into custody by direction of Mr. Heath, when he admitted having accompanied the deceased as far as the gate leading to the heath; but declared that he had there quitted her, and had returned home by the foot-path. His house was afterwards searched, and a pair of corduroy trousers was found steeped in a tub of water. Upon the shoes, which he wore on the previous day, being demanded, he took them from his feet, and their soles were found to correspond exactly with the footmarks in the neighbourhood of the pond. The prisoner was then conveyed in custody to the New Inn, and there a long conversation took place with regard to his family. He repeatedly admitted that he had “done it,” and expressed some anxiety to know whether, if he pleaded guilty, he should escape transportation. On his being conveyed to Warwick jail, he declared, that it was drink that had instigated him to the deed. He said that on his going from Mr. Heath’s house, he met the deceased and accompanied her as far as Harbury’s Poor Piece, that he there offered some familiarities to her, but that she was very awkward, and would not consent, on account of his being so drunk; with that he caught hold of her, and threw her down, and she began to make a noise. He put his hand upon her neck to prevent her from hooting, and scratched it, and she fainted away. He was frightened and carried her down to the pit, and threw her in. She revived and came to the edge of the pit, but he caught hold of her and threw her in again, falling in with her. He was up to his middle in water, and he held her head down till she was dead, and then he came out of the pit very much frightened. Upon this the prisoner was fully committed for trial.

The circumstances already detailed having been proved in evidence before the jury, a verdict of Guilty was immediately returned, and the wretched man received sentence of death.

He was executed in pursuance of his sentence on the 27th of August, 1827, professing sincere repentance of the crime of which he had been guilty.

WILLIAM JONES.
TRIED FOR THE MURDER OF ELIZABETH JEFFE.

A MURDER, equal in atrocity, and somewhat similar in its circumstances to those of Mr. Bird and his housekeeper at Greenwich, was committed on the night of Monday, 1st January, 1828, upon the body of a woman seventy-five years old, named Elizabeth Jeffe, who had the care of an unoccupied house belonging to a respectable gentleman named Lett, and situated at No. 11, Montague-place, Russell-square.

It appears that Mr. Lett resided at Dulwich, and the house in Montague-place, which he had formerly occupied, being to let, he had placed the unfortunate Mrs. Jeffe in it to take care of it, and to exhibit its rooms to any person who might be desirous of renting it. On the evening of Monday, the 1st January, she was last seen alive by Gardner, the pot-boy of the Gower Arms public-house, Gower-street, who delivered a pint of beer to her, and then she was in conversation at the door with a young man, dressed in a blue coat, and wearing a white apron. On the following day the house remained closed contrary to custom, and some suspicion being entertained that something serious had occurred to cause this unusual circumstance, information was conveyed to Mr. Justice Holroyd, who resided in the same street, whose butler, with the porter of Mr. Robinson, an upholsterer, proceeded to the house. Some difficulty was at first experienced in obtaining admittance; but the back area door having been forced, the unfortunate woman was found lying in a front room on the basement story, with her throat dreadfully cut and quite dead. Mr. Plum, a surgeon of Great Russell-street, was immediately sent for, and on his arrival, he proceeded to an examination of the person of the deceased. He found that she had been dead during several hours, and that her death had obviously been caused by the loss of blood occasioned by the wound in her throat, which extended through the windpipe and gullet, and the large vessels on the right side of the neck. The handkerchief of the deceased had been thrust into the wound, but from the appearances which presented themselves, it became obvious that the foot and not the hand had been employed to place it in the position in which it was found. On the left collar-bone there were some bruises, as if produced by some person’s knuckles, and upon the thighs there were similar marks, as well as some drops of blood, but no wound was discovered besides that in the throat, to which death could be attributable. Upon a further inspection of the deceased’s clothes, it was discovered that her pockets had been rifled; but although the kitchen drawers were open, and bore the bloody impress of fingers, and a work-basket was similarly stained, there was nothing further to show that the object of the murderer, which was evidently plunder, had been attained. The neck-handkerchief and cap-ribbon of the wretched woman were cut through, apparently in the effort to inflict the wound, and independently of the opinion of Mr. Plum, that the deceased could not have cut herself to such an extent, the fact of her death being caused by the hand of another was clearly shown, by the absence of any instrument with which the wound could have been inflicted, although part of a razor-case was found lying on the floor. Upon an examination of the house being made, it was found that the hall door was merely on the latch, and the furniture in the parlour presented an appearance which showed that the murderer had gone into that apartment after the death of his victim. A publication headed “The State of the Nation” was found there smeared with blood, and a doe-skin glove for the right-hand, on which marks of blood were also visible, was discovered lying on the floor.

From circumstances which came to light, the officers who were employed to endeavour to trace out the perpetrators of this atrocious murder, were induced to suspect that Charles Knight, the son of the deceased, was in some measure implicated in its commission. By direction of Mr. Halls, the magistrate of Bow-street, who throughout the whole case exhibited the most unremitting desire to secure the ends of justice, therefore, he was apprehended at his lodgings in Cursitor-street; but upon his being questioned, he gave a clear and unembarrassed statement of the manner in which he had been engaged during the night of the murder, and inquiry having proved this to be true, he was ordered to be discharged.

The police were now completely at a loss to fix upon any person as being open to suspicion. The man who had been seen in conversation with the deceased at the door of her house, however, appeared to be pointed at by common consent, and an accident soon pointed out a person named William Jones as the individual suspected. It was learned that he had been in the habit of calling upon the deceased at her master’s residence, and that he was a seafaring man; but beyond these circumstances, and that he had been living in Mitre-street, Lambeth, nothing could be learned of him or his pursuits. On inquiry being made at his lodgings, it was discovered that he had absconded, and the suspicion of his guilt, which was already entertained, was greatly strengthened by this circumstance. A reward of 10l. was offered for his apprehension, and by a remarkable accident on Monday the 13th January he was taken into custody by a city officer, on a charge of stealing a coat. He was then taken to Guildhall office, but Salmon, the Bow-street officer, having claimed him on this charge, he was delivered over to his custody, and by him conveyed to Bow-street. He there most strenuously denied that he was at all implicated in the murder, although he admitted that “he had done other things,” but he was remanded for the production of further evidence. From subsequent inquiries, it was learned that he was the son of Mr. Stephen Jones, a gentleman well known in the literary world as the author of a dictionary called “Jones’ Sheridan Improved,” and as the editor of a journal published in London. This gentleman, who died only a short time before the Christmas preceding the murder, left two sons, who possessed considerable talents, but who were too much inclined to habits of dissipation. William Jones had gone to sea, but latterly, on his return, being so much straitened in his circumstances as to be sometimes in actual want, he had occasionally visited Mrs. Jeffe, who was a kind-hearted woman, and who, from the respect which she bore his family, had often relieved his necessities. At the time of his apprehension he was twenty-five years of age, and was dressed in a blue coat, as described by Gardner, the pot-boy, by whom he was seen talking to the deceased. Upon his subsequent examinations, the material facts which were proved against him were, that he had been living with a young woman, named Mary Parker, who generally went by the name of Edwards, in Wootton-street, Lambeth; but that on the 27th of December, he suddenly removed with her to Mitre-street. During the latter part of his residence in Wootton-street, he was in extremely bad circumstances, and on the 31st of December, he and his paramour were entirely without food or money. On that night he quitted Parker in Fleet-street, and appointed to meet her at the same place at half-past twelve o’clock, and at that hour he came to her, as she was standing near Serjeants’ Inn, in a direction from Shoe-lane. He then had money and treated her to something to drink; and on the following morning he went out for an hour, but returned, and now produced a considerable quantity of silver money, with which they were enabled to redeem some clothes, which had been pawned, and afterwards to go to the Olympic Theatre. In the course of the ensuing week, the prisoner was observed to be anxiously endeavouring to prevent the discovery of his new residence, by going home by circuitous routes, and other means, and was heard to declare his apprehension that some officers were in search of him; but the most important circumstances proved were, first, that of the prisoner having a severe cut on his left thumb, when he was taken into custody, which appeared to have been recently inflicted; and secondly, that the razor-case, which was found lying near the body of the deceased woman, had been lent to the prisoner, on the Sunday before the murder, with a razor, by Mrs. Williams, with whom he had formerly lodged. Upon proof of these facts, the prisoner was fully committed for trial; but strong as the suspicion was against him, it proved to be insufficient in the minds of the jury, before whom the case was tried, to warrant them in returning a verdict of guilty.

The case came on at the Old Bailey sessions, on Friday the 22nd of February, when considerable curiosity was exhibited by the public. The court was crowded to excess at an early hour, and its avenues were thronged until the conclusion of the proceedings. The prisoner was put to the bar at ten o’clock, and pleaded Not guilty, to the two indictments preferred against him; the first for the murder, and the second for stealing a coat, the property of George Holding. Having been given in charge to the jury in the first case, the evidence which we have given in substance, was detailed by the various witnesses. The prisoner on being called on for his defence read a paper, in which he complained of the prejudices which had been excited against him, and solemnly asserted his innocence of the crime imputed to him. He entered into a long argumentative statement, contending that no grounds whatever existed for believing him guilty of the murder; and witnesses having been called on his behalf, who swore that his disposition was both mild and humane, the trial terminated at twelve o’clock at night, when the jury returned a verdict of Not guilty.

The prisoner was arraigned on the next day upon the second indictment, when he withdrew the plea which he had put on the record, and confessed himself guilty. At the following sessions, held in the month of April, he was sentenced to be transported for seven years; in pursuance of which, he was sent to Van Diemen’s Land. Some surprise was excited at his having escaped thus easily from the hands of justice, as it was known that there were charges of forgery to a considerable extent pending against him; and it was suggested that some persons of respectability and good standing had interested themselves in his behalf.

It has been reported, that he has been executed in Hobart Town, for bush-ranging, and that before his death he confessed himself guilty of the murder for which he was tried; but although the idea gained currency at the time of its being thrown out, we have no means of ascertaining the degree of credit to which the story is entitled.

WILLIAM HOWARD.
CONVICTED OF AN ASSAULT WITH INTENT TO ROB.

THE case of this prisoner exhibits a degree of profligacy and bloodthirsty hardihood, scarcely excelled in any instance in the whole course of the annals of crime. The culprit was a man whose appearance and conduct showed him to have received a good education, and to have been in the habit of moving in a respectable sphere of life. Of his history, however, we are unable to give any distinct account; and there is great probability that the name under which he was tried, was assumed for the purpose of concealing his real character.

The prosecutor on the indictment preferred against the prisoner, was a Mr. Mullay, an Irishman, and it appears that, being desirous to obtain some mercantile employment, he advertised in the newspapers, offering a loan of 800l. or 1000l. to any person who should be able to introduce him to such a situation as he desired. On the 6th of February 1828, he received an answer in the following terms:—“If J. L. will have the goodness to call upon Mr. Howard, No. 36, Red Lion-square, Holborn, to-morrow or the next day, between the hours of twelve and four o’clock, he will no doubt hear of something that will suit him.” For some time Mr. Mullay paid no attention to this note, but at length on Friday the 15th of February, he called at the house to which he was directed. It was a house in which a society, called the “London Co-operative Society,” held their meetings; and upon his making known his errand, he was introduced to Howard. Having mentioned the object of his call, the latter immediately became very communicative upon the subject of the advertisement. After a short conversation, in which he stated that he was a relative of a gentleman who had great interest in procuring lucrative situations, Mr. Mullay explained that his object was not to purchase a place, but only to advance money, in consideration of his receiving an appointment, upon proper security, but without interest. “Step up stairs then,” said Mr. Howard, and they immediately proceeded to an attic at the back of the house, peculiarly adapted for the commission and concealment of the sanguinary attack, which was eventually made. The conversation on the subject of the required loan was here renewed; and it was at length agreed that Mr. Mullay should be at the same place at one o’clock on the next day, prepared to produce the cash, and that Mr. Owen, who was represented as the party whose interest was to be employed, should then also be in attendance. On the following day, Mr. Mullay and Mr. Howard were punctual to their appointment, and again proceeded to the room which we have already described, but Mr. Owen did not make his appearance, and two hours were spent in awaiting his arrival. In the course of this time some conversation took place between Howard and his intended victim, in which the former managed to discover that Mr. Mullay had provided himself with 500l. to meet the anticipated demand. The manner of Howard during the whole of this conference was such as to excite some degree of suspicion on the part of Mr. Mullay. He observed that he frequently eyed him, as if to ascertain their comparative strength, and the presence of a large clasp knife, and of a heavy trap-ball bat in the room, for which their owner gave no very satisfactory reason, did not serve to alleviate the apprehension which he entertained. Although he was considerably alarmed at these circumstances, he felt indisposed to give credit to the suspicions which flashed across his mind; and at length he quitted the house, promising to call again on the following Monday, in the anticipation of then seeing Mr. Owen. On that day that gentlemen was still not forthcoming, and another appointment for Tuesday at twelve o’clock was made, Howard cautioning him “to be sure not to forget the money.” At twelve o’clock on Tuesday Mr. Mullay called, and he was immediately introduced to the same little room at the back of the house. Howard was there, and appeared to be labouring under an extraordinary degree of excitement and agitation. A conversation was commenced, but was sustained with great inequality; and at length Howard directed Mr. Mullay to write Mr. Owen a note from a copy which he handed to him. Mr. Mullay acquiesced, and taking off his great-coat, hung it up in the room; but he had scarcely commenced writing, when he observed his companion thrust the poker violently into the fire. Mr. Mullay did not relish this extraordinary proceeding, and removed the poker; but he had scarcely resumed his seat, when Howard, as if driven on by some feeling which he could not control, suddenly locked the door, and seizing the bat and knife, already referred to, commenced a violent attack upon him. Mr. Mullay at once perceived that robbery and murder were intended, and rushing at his antagonist, he determined to make a desperate resistance. Blow followed blow from the bat upon his head; and he would, doubtless, have been severely injured with the knife, which his assailant retained in his left hand, had he not by a violent wrench succeeded in breaking it in two—an effort, however, which he did not make without receiving some severe cuts upon his hands. The struggle meanwhile continued for life or death, the blood flowing copiously from the wounds which Mr. Mullay had received from the bat, by which his vision was almost obscured. Cries of “Murder” were repeated by the unfortunate gentleman, but his assailant, who seemed determined upon finishing him, declared that it was of no use, for that he had assistants at hand, who would aid him in “doing for him.” Desperate with the idea that his life would be violently taken from him, Mr. Mullay redoubled his cries, and rushing from his assailant, he thrust his hands through the windows to render his voice audible to the neighbourhood. Seizing the poker, he resolved to make one final effort, and dashing his assassin antagonist to the ground, he fell upon him, and a frightful struggle ensued. Mr. Mullay being the stronger man, however, he got his knee upon the other’s chest, when the approach of footsteps outside the door was heard. He now gave himself up for lost, supposing that new enemies were come to attack him, but he had resolved to sell his life as dearly as he could, when, to his surprise, Howard begged for quarter. Imagining that this might be only a subterfuge, he determined not to give up the advantage which he had obtained; but Howard, repeating his anxiety to be allowed to rise, and declaring that he had no intention of doing him any harm, he at length permitted him to get up from the floor. The door being then immediately opened, the people of the house entered the room, and the street keeper of Red Lion-square being called in, the culprit was secured. The room, as well as the persons of the prisoner and Mr. Mullay, were found to be deluged with blood; and the latter gentleman having been attended by a surgeon, was discovered to have received wounds of a dangerous character.

The prisoner was immediately conveyed to Hatton Garden police-office, where he made a vehement appeal to the magistrates, and positively denied any intention to assassinate the prosecutor. He declared that he was labouring under extreme ill-health; and that unless he was immediately supplied with an ounce of opium, his death would be the consequence. He was committed to Newgate to take his trial, and upon inquiry being made it was learned that he was in a state of extreme want.

On Tuesday the 26th of February, the prisoner took his trial at the Old Bailey. Mr. Mullay having been examined as to the circumstances already detailed, the prisoner read the following account of the transaction. He said that he had resided in Red Lion-square for about three weeks, at the time of his being taken into custody. His circumstances during that time were certainly bad; and having consulted with an acquaintance, who passed by the name of Owen, and who was equally badly off, as to the best mode of relieving their pecuniary wants, they adopted the following plan. Perceiving the prosecutor’s advertisement, they determined, if possible, to induce the advertiser to lodge his money in some banking-house in the joint names of himself and Owen. They imagined that this deposit would enable them to refer to the banking-house, as to their respectability, and by that means obtain credit to a considerable amount. Having answered the advertisement, Mr. Mullay called upon him, and he intimated to him, that there was a situation under Government, which was vacant, the value of which was about 350l. per annum; and that Mr. Owen would be able to procure it for him, provided he consented to pass as his relative; and that the return which they expected was the deposit of three years’ salary in the hands of a banker, to be paid over at the end of three months as a premium. Mr. Mullay appeared to consent to this proposition, and several appointments were made to carry out the agreement, at which Owen, it was expected, would attend. On the Tuesday, Mr. Mullay waited for a considerable time, and having already experienced great disappointment in not seeing Mr. Owen, in order that the affair might be finally settled, he expressed himself in no measured terms of the neglect which had been exhibited towards him. Being in bad health and of an irritable disposition, he (the prisoner) became enraged at an offensive epithet which was applied to him, and struck the prosecutor a blow in the face. A violent scuffle took place, in the course of which, finding that the prosecutor was superior to him in size and strength, he admitted having exerted himself to the utmost in his own defence.

The jury, however, notwithstanding this ingenious version of the case, found the prisoner guilty of an assault with intent to rob, and he was sentenced to be transported for life.

CAPTAIN JOHN BURGH MONTGOMERY, alias COLONEL WALLACE, alias COLONEL MORGAN.
CONVICTED OF FORGERY.

THE circumstances which were proved in evidence against this individual showed that he was to a very great extent implicated in the uttering of forged bank-notes. The unfortunate gentleman, who appears to have been most respectably connected, there can be little doubt had long subsisted upon the produce of his illegal trade: but it was not until Monday the 1st of April 1828 that he was apprehended. He was then charged at Marlborough-street police-office, with having passed a forged 10l. note at the shop of Mr. William Newby, a silversmith, at No. 3, Southampton-row, Russell-square, in payment for half-a-dozen silver tea-spoons. The note turned out to be forged after it was paid to Mr. Newby, and the prisoner, having already subjected himself to some suspicion, was taken into custody at a house where he lodged in Great Ormond-street. Subsequent inquiry proved that he had been guilty of other almost innumerable acts of forgery, and several cases having been completed against him, he was committed for trial.

At the ensuing Old Bailey sessions, no fewer than six indictments were preferred and found against him; and upon his being arraigned upon the 29th of May upon the charges, he at once pleaded guilty, declaring that he had made up his mind to suffer the punishment due to his crimes. At the conclusion of the session, sentence of death was passed upon the unhappy man; and on Saturday the 28th of June, an order arrived at Newgate that his sentence should be carried into effect. From the time of his conviction, Montgomery addressed himself with great anxiety to his religious offices, and, from his general demeanour, it was believed that he would meet his fate with firmness. Friday the 4th of July was fixed upon as the day on which the sentence of the law should be carried into effect; and on the Thursday night he employed himself in writing several letters, one of which was addressed to Mr. Edward Gibbon Wakefield, who was his fellow prisoner, and his frequent companion in jail. Mr. Cotton, the rev. ordinary, afterwards visited him, and read to him the celebrated sermon of the late Dr. Dodd. At the hour of locking up, Mr. Harris, the jailor, in whose care he was, searched him, and there was nothing then perceptible to warrant a supposition, either that self-destruction was contemplated by the unhappy man, or that his health was so impaired as to lead to the possibility of his sufferings being terminated by natural means. The last thing he said to Mr. Harris was, “Shall I see you in the morning?” and then, without waiting for a reply, he continued, “If I do not, I shall leave a letter for you.” He then shook hands with the jailor, and was left apparently quite cheerful.

On Friday morning at six o’clock, the door of his cell was opened, and on the bed, stretched at full length, was seen the body of John Montgomery, cold and breathless. The sensation created by this discovery within the jail was most extraordinary; and the assistance of Mr. Box, the surgeon of the prison, having been immediately procured, every effort was made to restore suspended animation, and, when that was found unavailing, to ascertain the cause of death. An investigation was immediately set on foot by the sheriffs; but they failed to discover any circumstance from which it could be inferred that the deceased had been assisted in his design, by any person in or connected with the jail. All search to discover the means of causing death for some time proved ineffectual, but at length, in one corner of the cell, a small phial was found, labelled “Prussic Acid,” which at once unravelled the mystery of the unhappy man’s death. It was supposed that he had carried about his person, ever since he had commenced the practice of passing forged notes, what he looked upon as an “antidote against disgrace;” but, to say the least of it, he must have been exceedingly ingenious to have concealed the poison so long after his apprehension, as he was frequently searched, supposing that he had employed the same drug to destroy himself, which he possessed before his committal to Newgate. Upon an examination of the letters, to which we have alluded as having been written by him on the night before his death, it was found that in one, which he had addressed to Mr. Box, he gave up his body to be dissected, expressing a wish, however that the heart should be preserved in spirits and conveyed to a female to whom he had long been fondly attached. In that which he wrote to Wakefield, he alluded to their short acquaintance in the jail, and declared that he was perfectly ready to pass into another world; although his letter contained no reference to the means by which the transition should take place. A third letter was found, addressed to the female mentioned in the communication to Mr. Box; but in neither of them was there any allusion to the mode by which he intended to terminate his existence.

On the following day a coroner’s inquest was held on the body of the deceased man, when a verdict of felo de se was returned; and his remains were interred at ten o’clock at night, in the grave-yard adjoining St. Sepulchre’s church.

This unfortunate man, who gave his age in Newgate as only thirty-three, was, in fact, nearly forty years old; but his appearance bore out the assertion which he made. He was born in the town of Naas, in the county of Kildare, about fifteen miles from Dublin. His father had been a corn and flour merchant, and a considerable holder of land; and having by dint of industry amassed a large sum of money, he became a magistrate for the county of Kildare, and was much respected. He had four children besides the unfortunate subject of this sketch, namely, two females, who were respectably married, and two sons, one of whom was a lieutenant-colonel in the British service, while the other was a solicitor, and the senior partner in a firm of great respectability in Dublin. The deceased was early in life of a dissipated turn, and quitted home to take a commission in a foot regiment, which had been procured for him, in order to keep him out of harm’s way. He soon retired from the army, however, although he retained the title given to him by his commission. At an early period of his career, he became an adept at forgery; and counterfeited the signature of the Hon. Mr. Neville, at that time M.P. for the county of Kildare, who wrote an extremely cramped and illegible hand, to such a degree of perfection, that that gentleman himself was only able to detect the imposition by the fact, that he had never placed his signature to an instrument like that which had been forged. Young Montgomery escaped prosecution in this instance, on account of the respectability of his family, and he shortly after came to London. He there assumed the airs of a person of fortune; mixed in good society, and for a considerable time lived upon “his appearance.” His cheats and swindling were of daily occurrence; and in one instance, having been detected in a transaction of no very honest character, he only escaped punishment by refunding such portion of the money which he had obtained as he had not spent, and by giving up his watch and trinkets to make up the deficiency. He was frequently in prison for debt; first in Newgate, and afterwards in the King’s Bench, and after his discharge from the latter place, where he had undergone a detention of three years’ duration, he was on the point of marriage with the daughter of a gentleman of respectability, to whom he had represented himself as his brother, Colonel Montgomery, when the fraud was discovered, and the match broken off, at the very moment when it was about to be completed. Being now reduced to the lowest ebb, and having no longer any chance of living upon credit, he resorted to the circulation of forged bank-notes as affording him the only means left of obtaining a livelihood.

WILLIAM CORDER.
EXECUTED FOR THE MURDER OF MARIA MARTEN.

THE murder for which this most diabolical criminal merited and justly underwent condign punishment, rivalled in cold-blooded atrocity that of the unfortunate Mr. Weare, and was as foul and dark a crime as ever stained the annals of public justice. The wretched victim of his offence was born in July 1801, and was brought up by her father, who was a mole-catcher at Polstead in Suffolk, where she received an education far superior to her situation in life. Possessed of more than ordinary personal advantages—a pretty face, and a fine form and figure—it is little to be wondered at that she was beset by admirers; and that, artless and inexperienced as she was, she should have imprudently fixed her affections upon an unworthy object. An unfortunate step ruined the character of the young woman, and a second mishap with a gentleman of fortune, residing in the neighbourhood of her father’s house, left her a child, which at the time of her death was three years and a half old. About the year 1826 she formed a third liaison with the man who became her deliberate murderer.

William Corder was the son of an opulent farmer at Polstead, and having become acquainted with the unfortunate girl Marten, the consequence of an illicit intercourse which took place between them, was a child. From that time he became much attached to her, and was a frequent visitor at her father’s house. The child died within a short period of its birth, and from the circumstances of its having died suddenly, and of Corder having taken it away at night, and disposed of its body in a manner which he would never explain, an idea was entertained that it had come unfairly by its death. However strongly this notion may have taken possession of the public mind, after the apprehension of Corder, it does not appear that any real evidence was ever produced publicly, to support the impression which had got abroad; but certain it is, that the unhappy girl made use of the circumstance as a means of endeavouring to procure

the father of the child to fulfil a promise which he had made, that he would make her his wife. On the 18th of May 1827, Corder called at the house of old Marten, and then expressed his willingness that the ceremony should be performed; and he said that, in order that no time should be lost, and that the marriage might be as private as possible, he had made up his mind to have it celebrated by licence instead of by bans. The next day was appointed for the wedding, and he persuaded the unhappy girl to dress herself in a suit of his clothes, so as to secure the greatest secrecy, and to accompany him to a part of his premises called the Red Barn, where she could exchange them for her own, and from whence he would convey her in a gig, which he had in readiness, to a church at Ipswich. The girl having consented to this singular proposition, Corder immediately quitted the house, and he was soon after followed by his unhappy victim, who carried with her such part of her own clothes as would be necessary to appear with in church. In the course of a conversation which took place between Corder and the mother of the girl, before their going away, the former repeatedly declared his intention to make the girl his lawful wife, and he urged as a reason why she should go with him immediately, that he knew that a warrant had been issued against her, for her bastard children. Within a few minutes after Corder had quitted the house, he was seen by the brother of the girl walking in the direction towards the Red Barn, with a pick-axe over his shoulder; but from this time nothing was ever heard of the unfortunate girl, except through the fictitious communications received from Corder, who still remained at his mother’s house at Polstead. The return of Maria Marten had been expected to take place within one or two days after the time of her quitting her fathers house; but as she had occasionally before exhibited considerable irregularity in the duration of her visits to Corder, and as, besides, there was an understanding that the latter should procure her a temporary lodging, little anxiety or alarm was at first felt at her prolonged absence. A fortnight having elapsed, however, her mother proceeded to question Corder upon the subject, when he declared that she was quite safe and well, and that he had placed her at some distance, lest his friends might discover the fact of his marriage, and exhibit displeasure at the circumstance. Having thus from time to time put off the inquiries which were made of him, in the month of September, declaring that he was in ill health, he quitted Suffolk with the avowed object of proceeding to the Continent; and it is not a little remarkable, that before he left Polstead, he expressed great anxiety that the Red Barn should be well filled with stock, a desire which he personally saw fulfilled. He took with him about 400l. in money; and several letters were subsequently received by his mother, who was a widow, as well as the Martens, in which he stated that he was living at the Isle of Wight with Maria. It was remarked that although he represented his residence to be in the Isle of Wight, his letters always bore the London postmark; and at length strange surmises and suspicions began to be entertained, in consequence of no personal communication having yet been received from his supposed wife. The parents of the unhappy girl became more and more disturbed and dissatisfied; and the circumstances, which eventually led to the discovery of this most atrocious crime, are of so extraordinary and romantic a nature, as almost to manifest an especial interposition of Providence in marking out the offender. In the course of the month of March 1828, Mrs. Marten dreamed on three successive nights that her daughter had been murdered and buried in the Red Barn. Terrified at the repetition of the vision, an undefined suspicion, which she had always entertained, that her daughter had been unfairly dealt with, appeared fully confirmed in her own mind; and so lively were her feelings, and so convinced was she of the truth of the augury, that on Saturday, the 19th of April, she persuaded her husband to apply for permission to examine the Red Barn, with the professed object of looking for their daughter’s clothes. The grain which had been deposited in the barn had by this time been removed, and the permission having been obtained, the wretched father proceeded to the accomplishment of the object he had in view. He applied himself to the spot pointed out to his wife in her dream, as the place in which her daughter’s remains were deposited; and there, upon digging, he turned up a piece of the shawl which he knew his daughter had worn at the time of her quitting her home. Alarmed at the discovery, he prosecuted his search still further, and having dug to the depth of eighteen inches, with his rake he dragged out a part of a human body. Horror-struck, he staggered from the spot; but subsequent examination proved that his suspicions were well founded, and that it was indeed his murdered daughter, the place of deposit of whose remains had been so remarkably pointed out. The body, as may be supposed, was in an advanced state of decomposition; but the dress, which was perfect, and certain marks in the teeth of the deceased, afforded sufficient proofs of her identity.

As may be imagined, the whole neighbourhood was in an uproar of confusion at this most extraordinary circumstance; and information was immediately conveyed to the coroner, in order that an inquest might be held. By the time a coroner’s jury had assembled, a surgical examination of the body had taken place; and Mr. John Lawden, a surgeon, proved, that there were appearances yet remaining sufficient to indicate that the deceased had come to her death by violent means. He said that there was a visible appearance of blood on the face and on the clothes of the deceased, and also on a handkerchief which was round the neck; that the handkerchief appeared to have been tied extremely tight, and beneath the folds, a wound was visible in the throat, which had evidently been inflicted by some sharp instrument. There was also a wound in the orbit of the right eye; and it seemed as if something had been thrust in which had fractured the small bones, and penetrated the brain. On the finding of the body, it was partly enveloped in a sack, and it was clothed only in a shift, flannel petticoat, stays, stockings, and shoes.

No sooner had the body been discovered than all eyes turned to Corder as the murderer; and information having been despatched to London, Lea, an officer of Lambeth-street, was forthwith sent in pursuit of the supposed offender. With a loose clue only he traced him from place to place, until at length he found him residing at Grove House, Ealing-lane, near Brentford, where, in conjunction with his wife, whom he had married only about five months before, and to whom, it was said, he had introduced himself through the medium of a matrimonial advertisement, he was carrying on a school for young ladies. It was necessary to employ a degree of stratagem to obtain admission to the house; but at length, Lea, having represented that he had a daughter, whom he wished to put to school, he was introduced to a parlour, where he found the object of his search sitting at breakfast with four ladies. He was in his dressing-gown, and he had his watch before him, with which he was minuting the boiling of some eggs. The officer having called him on one side, informed him that he had a serious charge against him, and inquired whether he was not acquainted with a person named Maria Marten at Polstead; but he denied that he had any knowledge of such a person even by name. He was then secured; and upon his house being searched, a brace of pistols, a powder-flask, and some balls, were found in a velvet bag, which on its being subsequently seen by Mrs. Marten, was immediately identified by her as having been in the possession of her daughter at the time of her quitting her house for the last time. A sharp-pointed dagger was also found, and this was identified by a person named Offord, a cutler, as being one which he had ground for the prisoner within a few days before the murder was committed. The prisoner immediately on his apprehension was conducted to Polstead, in order that he might undergo an examination before the coroner; and the most lively interest was exhibited by the vast crowds of people who had assembled, to catch a glimpse of him on his being brought into the town. On his appearance before the coroner, he was dreadfully agitated; and the circumstances which we have described having been deposed to by various witnesses, a verdict of “Wilful Murder” was returned against William Corder.

The unhappy prisoner was immediately conveyed to the county jail to await his trial; but he had hardly been lodged within its walls, before a new charge, namely, that of forgery upon the Manningtree Bank, was laid against him. It appears, however, that through the intervention of his friends, this case was eventually compromised. The wife of the prisoner, upon his first apprehension, was under an impression that the offence imputed to her husband was that of bigamy; but she was soon informed of the real nature of the allegations made against him. During his detention in jail, she visited him nearly every day; and she continued to declare her belief, that the statements which appeared in the papers with regard to his guilt were untrue; and that he would eventually be relieved by a jury of his country from the foul calumnies which were published against him.

Thursday 7th of August in the same year was appointed for the trial of this malefactor, and the anxiety to witness the proceedings in court, or to obtain early information in reference to the case, which almost universally prevailed, was strongly manifested by the assembling of hundreds of well-dressed persons of both sexes, round the front and back entrances to the Shire Hall, Bury St. Edmunds, as early as five o’clock in the morning of that day. The rain fell in torrents, but many persons braving the weather, remained without shelter until nine o’clock, when the Lord Chief Baron (Alexander) arrived, to try the prisoner. At the moment his lordship gained admission to the court, the scene which presented itself beggars description. The barristers who attended the circuit, amongst whom were to be observed the counsel for the prosecution and the defence, in vain struggled against the pressure of the opposing crowd, and many of them, at the moment they had almost attained their object, were carried back in an exhausted state to the extremest verge of the assembled multitude. When his lordship had taken his seat on the bench, the names of the jury who had been summoned to try the prisoner were called over; but the crowd was so great, and the sheriff’s force so ineffective, that it was almost impossible to make way for them into the court. They were after the lapse of nearly an hour brought over the heads of the crowd into the passage leading into the hall; some with their coats torn, their shoes off, and nearly fainting.

Nor was the curiosity of the public confined to the court-house. Hundreds had early assembled at the door of the jail, and along the road leading thence to the Shire Hall, anxious to catch a glimpse of the accused. He left the jail at a quarter before nine o’clock, having previously attired himself with much care in a new suit of black, and combed his hair over his forehead, which he had previously worn brushed up in front. Upon his being called from his cell, he made some inquiries with regard to the number of witnesses who were to be called for the prosecution, and also with regard to the judges by whom he was to be tried, and his queries having been answered, he exclaimed, “Well, whatever may be my fate, I shall meet it with fortitude.” He was then removed in a chaise cart from the jail to the Hall, and although he hung down his head all the way, he seemed little affected by the shouts and groans with which he was on all hands assailed. On his being taken to the felon’s room, beneath the building, he remarked to Mr. Orridge, the governor of the prison, “What a great number of persons! I scarcely ever saw such a crowd.” At a quarter past ten o’clock, the prisoner was brought into court and placed in the front of the dock. For a few moments he conversed with his solicitor, but then he looked up to the bench, and bowed respectfully. On account of the number of challenges made by the prisoner, it was some time before a jury was empanelled. At length, however, the prisoner was arraigned upon the indictment preferred against him. It contained ten counts. In the first, the murder was alleged to have been committed by the prisoner on the 18th of May 1827, by discharging a pistol, loaded with powder and shot, upon Maria Marten, and thereby giving her a mortal wound on the left side of the face; and that by those means, wilfully, feloniously, and of his malice aforethought, he caused the death of the said Maria Marten. The second count laid the offence as having been committed by striking the deceased with a sword upon the left side of the body, between the fifth and sixth ribs, and thereby giving her a mortal wound, of which she instantly died; the third count stated that the murder was committed by striking the deceased with a sword on the left side of the face; the fourth, that it was done by sticking and stabbing her with a sword on the right side of the neck; the fifth, that the prisoner fastened a handkerchief around her neck, and thereby choked her; the sixth, that he killed her by discharging a gun loaded with powder and shot on the left side of her face; the seventh, that he pushed and thrust her into a hole made in the floor of a barn, and, by covering her with large quantities of earth and gravel, suffocated and choked her; the eighth was only technically different from the preceding one; the ninth laid the offence to have been committed by the joint means of sticking the deceased with a sword on the left side, and fastening a handkerchief round her neck; the tenth described it as being done by the joint force of all the felonious acts laid in the whole of the preceding counts—recapitulating the wounds, stabbing, shooting, strangulation, and smothering, as the cause of the death of the deceased.

The prisoner having pleaded Not Guilty, in a firm and distinct voice, the trial commenced. The evidence which was now adduced differed but slightly in effect from the circumstances which we have detailed. Proof was, however, given in support of the first and sixth counts of the indictment, that at the time of the discovery of the body of the deceased marks were distinctly visible, which showed that she had received a pistol-shot or a gun-shot wound; and it was also proved, by the brother of the deceased girl, that the prisoner, at the time of his quitting the house of old Marten on the day of the murder, carried a loaded gun. A number of letters were likewise put in, which had been written by the prisoner to the father of the deceased in reference to his intended marriage with his daughter.

The prisoner, on being called upon for his defence, read a manuscript paper in a low and tremulous tone of voice. He declared that he deeply deplored the death of the unfortunate female in question; and he urged the jury to dismiss from their minds all that prejudice which must necessarily have been excited against him, by the foul imputations which had been cast upon him by the public press. He admitted that the evidence which had been adduced, was sufficient to create some suspicion against him; but he trusted that the explanation which he should give of the circumstances, would at once explain, to their satisfaction, the real bearings of the case. He then proceeded to say, “No man regrets more sincerely than I do the death of the unfortunate Maria, the circumstances attending which I am now about to state; and much have I to regret, that I for a moment concealed them, but I did so because I was stupified and horror-struck at the time, and knew not how to act. You have heard of the nature of my connexion with the unfortunate Maria; that connexion was contrary to the will of my mother, and to conceal her situation, I took lodgings for her at Sudbury, where she was confined. In the usual time she returned to her father’s house; in a fortnight after which the infant died—not, as has been intimated, by violence, but a natural death. Being anxious to conceal the circumstance from my friends and neighbours, it was agreed between her father, and mother, and myself, that Maria and I should bury the child in the fields, and we took it away for that purpose. After this Maria returned to my house at Polstead; and by means of a private staircase I took her to my own room, where she remained concealed for two days. The pistols which have been spoken of were hanging up in the room loaded. I had before that shown her the use of them, and on returning to her father’s, she, by some means unknown to me, contrived to get the pistols into her possession. It is well known that at that period Maria was much depressed in spirits, and was anxious that I should marry her, although I had reason to suspect that she was at the time in correspondence with a gentleman in London by whom she had a child. My friends objected to the match, and I declined it at the time. But although poor Maria’s conduct was not altogether free from blame. I was much attached to her, and at length agreed to her wishes; and it was arranged that we should go to Ipswich and obtain a licence for that purpose. Whether I did or did not say anything about a warrant having been issued by the parish officers for her apprehension, I cannot now pretend to say; but if I did, it must have been because such a report was abroad at the time. It was agreed that Maria should go in male attire to the Red Barn so often mentioned in the course of the trial. You have heard from the mother of unfortunate Maria, that she and I had had words. As we proceeded to the Barn she was in tears. To that Barn we had often repaired before, and frequently passed the night there. When we reached the Barn, words arose, and Maria flew into a passion. I told her that if we were to be married, and to live together, she must not go on so. Much conversation ensued, and on changing her dress, she at length told me, that if we were married we should never be happy together—that I was too proud to marry her and take her to my mother’s, and that she did not regard me. I was highly irritated, and asked her, if she was to go on this way before marriage, what was I to expect after? She again upbraided me, and being in a passion, I told her I would not marry her, and turned from the Barn, but I had scarcely reached the gate when a report of a pistol reached my ear. I returned to the Barn, and with horror beheld the unfortunate girl extended on the floor, apparently dead: I was for a short time stupified with horror, and knew not what to do. It struck me to run for a surgeon; and well would it have been for me had I done so. But I raised the unfortunate girl, in order, if possible, to afford her some assistance; but I found her altogether lifeless; and, to my horror, I discovered that the dreadful act had been committed by one of my own pistols, and that I was the only person in existence who could tell how the fatal act took place. The sudden alarm which seized me suspended my faculties, and I was for some time before I could perceive the awful situation in which I was placed, and the suspicions which must naturally arise from my having delayed to make the circumstance instantly known. I, at length, found that concealment was the only means by which I could rescue myself from the horrid imputation; and I resolved to bury the body as well as I was able. Having done so, I subsequently accounted for her absence in the manner described by the witnesses, saying sometimes one thing to one person, and at other times other things to another. I may be asked why, if innocent of the crime imputed to me, I felt it necessary to give those answers? To which I answer, that some persons are driven to do acts from fear which others do from guilt, which is precisely the case with me in this instance. It may be asked, too, why I have not called evidence to prove the facts I have stated; but, gentlemen, I put it to you whether things do not sometimes take place which are only known to the parties between whom they happen; and what direct proof can I give when the only person who knew of these facts is no more? I can for the same reason give no direct proof of the unhappy woman’s having got possession of my pistols. I say pistols, because I found the other loaded pistol in the unfortunate Maria’s reticule. As to the stabs and other wounds described by the witnesses, I can only say that no stab or cut was given by Maria or myself; and I firmly believe that the surgeons would never have sworn to them, were it not for the circumstance of a sword having been found in the room in which I was arrested. If any stab did appear upon the body, it must have been done with the instrument used in disinterring it.”

Having concluded his address by a strong appeal to the jury upon the probabilities of the case, a number of witnesses were called, who spoke to the prisoner’s good character. The Lord Chief Baron summed up, and a verdict of “Guilty” was returned. At this point the prisoner was first observed to raise his handkerchief to his eyes; and during the subsequent passing of the sentence of death, he seemed to be dreadfully affected. On his return to the jail, he seemed to recover his spirits; but the only desire which he expressed was, that he should be permitted to see his wife. To this request an immediate assent was given, and at two o’clock on the Saturday afternoon, she was admitted to the prisoner. The meeting between her and her wretched husband was of a most affecting character, and it did not terminate until near an hour had elapsed. During that evening, the prisoner was constantly attended by the reverend chaplain of the jail; but notwithstanding the religious exhortations which he received, he exhibited no inclination to make any confession of his crime. On the following day the prisoner attended chapel in the customary manner, and during the performance of the service he appeared deeply affected. On his return to his cell, he threw himself upon his bed and wept bitterly for a considerable time. In the course of the afternoon, it was hinted to him that his defence could scarcely be believed; but in answer he said that, “Confession to God was all that was necessary, and that confession to man was what he called popedom or popery, and he never would do it.” It was subsequently suggested to him that he must have had great nerve to dig the grave while the body lay in his sight, when his reply was, “Nobody knows that the body lay in the barn and in sight, whilst I dug the hole;” but then, suddenly checking himself, he exclaimed, “O God! nobody will dig my grave.” In the course of the afternoon, he had a second and last interview with his wife, and the scene was truly heart-rending. He expressed the most anxious fears with regard to the manner in which she would be in future treated by the world; and implored her, should she ever marry again, to be cautious how she accepted a proposition reaching her through the equivocal medium of a public advertisement. The parting scene was most dreadful, and the wretched woman was carried away from the cell in a state of stupor. After Mrs. Corder had retired, Mr. Orridge, the worthy governor of the jail, made the strongest efforts to induce the unhappy prisoner to confess, pointing out to him how greatly he would add to his crime, should he quit the world still denying his guilt. Corder then exclaimed, “O, sir, I wish I had made a confidant of you before, I often wished to have done it, but you know, sir, it was of no use to employ a legal adviser and then not follow his advice.” Mr. Orridge said that there was no doubt that was very proper, up to the time at which he was convicted, but that now all earthly considerations must cease. The wretched prisoner then exclaimed, “I am a guilty man,” and immediately afterwards made the following confession:—

“Bury Jail, August 10, 1828—Condemned Cell,
“Sunday Evening, Half-past Eleven.

“I acknowledge being guilty of the death of poor Maria Marten, by shooting her with a pistol. The particulars are as follows:—When we left her father’s house we began quarrelling about the burial of the child, she apprehending that the place wherein it was deposited would be found out. The quarrel continued for about three quarters of an hour upon this and about other subjects. A scuffle ensued, and during the scuffle, and at the time I think that she had hold of me, I took the pistol from the side-pocket of my velveteen jacket and fired. She fell, and died in an instant. I never saw even a struggle. I was overwhelmed with agitation and dismay—the body fell near the front doors on the floor of the barn. A vast quantity of blood issued from the wound, and ran on to the floor and through the crevices. Having determined to bury the body in the barn (about two hours after she was dead), I went and borrowed the spade of Mrs. Stowe; but before I went there, I dragged the body from the barn into the chaff-house, and locked up the barn. I returned again to the barn, and began to dig the hole; but the spade being a bad one, and the earth firm and hard, I was obliged to go home for a pick-axe and a better spade, with which I dug the hole, and then buried the body. I think I dragged the body by the handkerchief that was tied round her neck. It was dark when I finished covering up the body. I went the next day and washed the blood from off the barn-floor. I declare to Almighty God I had no sharp instrument about me, and that no other wound but the one made by the pistol was inflicted by me. I have been guilty of great idleness, and at times led a dissolute life, but I hope through the mercy of God to be forgiven.

“W. Corder.”

“Witness to the signing by the said William Corder,

“John Orridge.”

On the next morning the confession was read over to the prisoner, and he declared that it was quite true; and he further said, in answer to a question put to him by the under-sheriff, that he thought the ball entered the right eye.

He subsequently appeared much easier in his mind, and attended service in the chapel immediately before his being carried out for execution. He still wore the clothes in which he was dressed at the time of his trial. As allusions were made to his unhappy situation in the prayers which were read, he appeared convulsed with agony; and when the service was over, although he appeared calm, his limbs gave up their office, and he was obliged to be carried to his cell.

At a few minutes before twelve o’clock he was removed from the dungeon in which he had been confined, and conveyed to the press-room, where he was pinioned by the hangman, who had been carried down from London for the purpose of superintending the execution. He was resigned, but was so weak as to be unable to stand without support. On his cravat being removed he groaned heavily, and appeared to be labouring under great mental agony. When his wrists and arms were made fast, he was led round towards the scaffold; and as he passed the different yards in which the prisoners were confined, he shook hands with them, and speaking to two of them by name, he said, “Good bye, God bless you!” They were considerably affected at the wretched appearance which he made; and “God bless you!” “May God receive your soul!” were frequently uttered as he passed along. The chaplain preceded the prisoner, reading the usual Burial Service, and the governor and officers walked immediately after him. The prisoner was supported up the steps which led to the scaffold; he looked somewhat wildly around, and a constable was obliged to support him while the hangman was adjusting the fatal cord. A few moments before the drop fell he groaned heavily, and would have fallen, had not a second constable caught hold of him. Everything having been made ready, the signal was given, the fatal drop fell, and the unfortunate man was launched into eternity. He did not struggle; but he raised his hands once or twice, as if in prayer; the hangman pulled his legs, and he was in a moment motionless. In about nine minutes, however, his shoulders appeared to rise in a convulsive movement; but life, it seemed, had left him without any great pain. Just before he was turned off, he said, in a feeble tone, “I am justly sentenced, and may God forgive me.” Mr. Orridge then informed the crowd that the prisoner acknowledged the justice of his sentence, and died in peace with all men. Thus did this unhappy man terminate, by an ignominious death, a life which, judging from his age and healthy appearance, might have been prolonged to an advanced period in comfort and independence.

The mob collected on this occasion was computed to amount to upwards of seven thousand persons, and occupied every spot of ground from which a glimpse of the final scene of the wretched man’s life could be obtained. A considerable portion of the persons collected were women; and as soon as the execution was over, they dispersed from before the drop, and proceeded to the Shire Hall, where a large number of persons had assembled in order to obtain a view of the body.

At two o’clock the body was exposed on the table in the centre of the Shire Hall; it was naked from the navel upwards. The crucial operation had been performed, and the skin of the breast and stomach turned back on each side. The body measured, as it lay, five feet five inches in length, and presented a very muscular appearance. The face and throat were somewhat swollen and discoloured, the right eye was open, and the left partially so; the mouth was also open sufficiently to show the teeth. The body was taken to the hospital the next day to be dissected, in pursuance of the sentence.

After the execution a spirited bidding took place for the rope which was used by the hangman; and as much as a guinea an inch was obtained for it. Large sums were offered for the pistols and dagger which were used in the murder, but they became the property of the sheriff of the county, who very properly refused to put them up to public competition. A piece of the skin of the wretched malefactor, which had been tanned, was exhibited for a long time afterwards at the shop of a leather-seller in Oxford-street.

We regret to say that little credit is to be attached to the confession which was made by the unhappy man on the night before his execution; for, taking the case in all its bearings, there can be little doubt that the murder was the result of premeditation. The pistols which the wretched malefactor carried with him had, according to the testimony of witnesses who were called for the defence, long been in his possession; but we are at a loss to know with what object he should have carried them in his pocket, loaded as they were, on the day of the murder, unless with a preconceived intention of taking away the life of his unhappy paramour. Upon consideration of the main features of the case, we fear that, revolting as such a conclusion must be to all persons possessing the common feelings of humanity, it must be supposed that the unhappy Maria Marten was enticed by her bloodthirsty assassin to the Red Barn, for the sole purpose of being there murdered. Corder’s possession of the gun and the pistols, as well as the circumstance of his having been seen carrying the pickaxe to the barn, all tend to confirm this belief; and if a motive be looked for sufficient to induce the commission of this most heinous offence, a second murder, namely that of the infant child of the malefactor and his victim, and a desire to conceal a secret which he knew to be in the possession of the latter, and which might have been employed by her to the detriment of her seducer, may be at once assigned. There can be little hesitation in imputing so fearful an addition to his offence as that to which we have alluded to a man, whose cold-blooded villany shines through every passage of his connexion with his miserable victim, and of his subsequent life. His conduct in buoying up the anxious and inquiring hopes of the girl’s mother after the murder, in so long residing on the very spot where his crime had been committed, probably in the daily habit of visiting the very barn, which was at once the scene of the death, and the grave of the wretched girl, exhibit him to have possessed a heart callous to the feelings of a man. Frightful, however, as was his crime against society, awful as was the expedient to which he resorted to get rid of what he deemed an annoyance and an obstruction to his wishes and comfort, he committed a no less dreadful offence against the welfare and happiness of the woman whom he made his wife, in permitting her to enter into the bonds of matrimony with him—a wretch, for whom even the punishment which he received at the hands of justice was scarcely retributive; knowing, as he did, that accident, one false step of his own, a persevering inquiry as to the place of abode of the girl Marten, would at once and for ever blast the hopes which she might have formed of future peace and domestic felicity. The mode in which he proceeded in this new insult to humanity, at once exhibited a heart upon which the recollection of past guilt could produce no effect.

The advertisement which he caused to be inserted in the paper was in the following form:—

“A private gentleman, aged twenty-four, entirely independent, whose disposition is not to be exceeded, has lately lost the chief of his family by the hand of Providence, which has occasioned amongst the remainder circumstances the most disagreeable to relate. To any female of respectability, who would study for domestic comfort, and who is willing to confide her future happiness to one in every way qualified to render the marriage state desirable, as the Advertiser is in affluence; many happy marriages have taken place through means similar to this now resorted to. It is hoped none will answer through impertinent curiosity: but should this meet the eye of any agreeable Lady who feels desirous of meeting with a sociable, tender, kind, and sympathising companion, she will find this advertisement worthy of notice. Honour and secrecy may be depended on. As some little security against idle application, it is requested that letters may be addressed (post paid) A. Z., care of Mr. Foster, stationer, 68, Leadenhall-street, with real name and address, which will meet with most respectful attention.”

The following curious conversation in reference to his marriage is related to have taken place after his conviction.

Attendant: Pray, Mr. Corder, may I ask whether it is true that it was by advertisement that you were first introduced to Mrs. Corder?—Corder: It is perfectly true.

Did you receive any answers to it?—I received no less than forty-five answers, and some of them from ladies in their carriages.

Really! well, that surprises me.—It may well surprise you, as it did myself, but I missed of a good ——

Pray how was that?—I will tell you. In one of the answers which I received, it was requested that I should attend a particular church on an appointed day, dressed in a particular way, and I should there meet a lady wearing a certain dress, and both understanding what we came about, no further introduction would be necessary.

But how could you know the particular lady, as there might be another lady dressed in the same way?—Oh, to guard against any mistake, the lady desired that I should wear a black handkerchief, and have my left arm in a sling; and in case I should not observe her, she would discover me and introduce herself.

And did you meet her?—I did not; I went to the church, but not in time, as the service was over when I got there.

Then as you did not meet her, how could you tell that she was a respectable woman?—Because the pew-opener told me that such a lady was inquiring for a gentleman of my description, and that she had come in an elegant carriage, and was a young woman of fortune. [Here the prisoner sighed heavily.]

Then you never saw her afterwards?—No, never; but I found out where she lived, and who she was; and would have had an interview with her, were it not that I was introduced to Mrs. Corder, and we never parted until we were married.

Pray, sir, was that long?—About a week.

We have reason to believe that this last assertion, like many of those made by the wretched man, was totally untrue; and that in reality he had been introduced to Mrs. Corder at a sea-port town, in the course of the summer before the marriage. They afterwards met at the shop of a pastry-cook in Fleet-street, and subsequently, singularly enough, the young lady having answered the advertisement, her next meeting with her future husband took place at the same shop. Mrs. Corder, whose maiden name was Moore, previously to her marriage kept a school in the neighbourhood of Gray’s-inn-lane, and was very respectably connected.

ANN HARRIS, JOHN COX THE ELDER, JOHN COX THE YOUNGER, ROBERT COX, AND JAMES PUGH.
CONVICTED OF MURDER.

THE case of these diabolical criminals, as it was proved at the trial, which took place at Shrewsbury on the 2nd of August 1828, before Mr. Justice Gazelee, scarcely finds a parallel in the whole series which we present to our readers. It exhibits the dreadful features, of a mother and father-in-law combining to procure the commission of murder, to save their son from justice; and that son, the object of their solicitude, procuring the conviction of those by whose means he had been before saved from an ignominious end, for the offence to which they had made themselves parties on his behalf, to relieve himself from the due reward of further crime committed by himself.

It appeared that, in the neighbourhood of Market Drayton, on the borders of Shropshire and Staffordshire, there existed a dreadfully depraved set of people; and that a gang, to the amount, it was said, of from forty to sixty, was confederated for general purposes of plunder. The nucleus of this gang consisted of several persons, closely knit by ties of relationship, of connexion, and of neighbourhood, as well as of guilt; while the general depravity of the district enabled them, as occasion required, to add to their numbers, to almost any extent. One of these persons, by name Thomas Ellson, was in 1827 taken up for stealing potatoes; and, whilst in jail upon that charge, an accusation of sheep-stealing was brought against him. The chief evidence upon which this latter charge, a capital one, depended, was that of a man who had occasionally joined in the proceedings of the gang, named James Harrison. It became, therefore, the object of the friends of Ellson to get this man out of the way. First, they determined to poison him; and Ellson’s father-in-law, John Cox, went to an apothecary’s shop to buy arsenic for that purpose. The boy in the shop refused to sell it to him, unless some one else were by, which, as there was no one else in the house, could not then be the case; and Cox, probably not liking such formal proceedings, retired.

The next step was one of the most extraordinary in the whole case. Ann Harris, Ellson’s mother, who had married a second husband of the name of Harris, went to a woman living in Drayton, whom she knew, and asked her if her husband were not going to Newcastle. The woman answered that he was. “I wish then,” said Harris, “that he would buy me an ounce of arsenic.” “What do you want it for?” “I want it to poison that damned scoundrel, James Harrison.”—The woman upon this remonstrated—assured her it was a very wicked thing to poison James Harrison,—and, after some conversation, old Ann Harris went away, promising that she would not carry out her expressed intention.

Poison having failed, it was determined to have recourse to more direct means; and Ann Harris and old Cox subscribed fifty shillings a-piece, to hire Cox’s two sons, and a young fellow of the name of Pugh, to put Harrison to death! Harrison lodged in the house of Pugh’s father, and, it was said, occupied the same bed with Pugh himself. On the night of the murder, Pugh, to use his own expression, “ticed” Harrison out of the house, to go and steal some bacon. At a spot previously agreed upon, they met the two younger Coxes; and proceeding to a remote place, Pugh seized Harrison by the throat, while John Cox, the younger, took hold of his legs, and throwing him down, they strangled him. Meanwhile, Robert Cox was digging the grave!

The wretched man thus disposed of, everything remained perfectly quiet and unsuspected. It was generally supposed that he had gone out of the way to avoid giving evidence on Ellson’s trial; though it seems very extraordinary that, after the latter had been acquitted, the non-return of Harrison excited no suspicion. No supposition of his death, however, appeared to have arisen, and the murder was discovered only by the means of Ellson himself. As soon as this fellow came out of jail, the Coxes, Pugh, and his mother, at various times, sometimes when several of them were together, and sometimes separately, told him all that had taken place, vaunting to him how they had saved him. The very night of his release, old Cox, one of his sons, and Pugh, bragged to him, that “if it had not been for them, he would not be there,”—and the next day, when he was at his mother’s, Robert Cox came thither, and said to her with oaths and abuse, “If thee doesn’t give me more money, I will fetch him, and rear him up against thy door!”—alluding to the murdered man!

Nothing, however, transpired till towards the end of June 1828, when Ellson was taken up for stealing fowls, and then, in order to save himself from the punishment attending this offence (at the most seven years’ transportation), he told all that the guilty persons had told him; and on his evidence they were apprehended.

Such are the facts of this revolting case; but we must describe some of the peculiarities of the trial itself.

The five prisoners were placed at the bar: old Ann Harris stood first;—she seemed what would ordinarily be called a smart old woman—her features were small and regularly formed, and her countenance was remarkable only for a pair of exceedingly keen and sparkling black eyes, the expression of which, however, was certainly in no degree indicative of ferocity. Old Cox stood next to her, and his countenance presented a most unpleasing, almost revolting, aspect. It was easy to believe the current story that he was at the head of the gang at Drayton—the very patriarch of all the thieves and scoundrels in that part of the country. He had, undoubtedly, brought his sons up to robbery as to a trade, and he had now hired them to commit murder! The two sons were next to him, and were not remarkable in their aspect. Pugh was last—and he was an ill-looking fellow enough, though not strikingly so.

As the trial proceeded, one of its peculiarities soon became apparent. This was that a vast proportion of the witnesses were of the closest kindred to the accused. And what was more horrid, was the fact of the father of the murdered man being called to speak to the identity of the body, which, having lain in the earth nearly a year, was so totally decomposed as to be recognizable only by the clothes; but to this the father added that “the colour of the hair was that of his son!”

It shocked all present greatly, when the father and mother of Pugh were called to speak to some minute facts with regard to the night on which Harrison was murdered, with reference to his leaving their house, where he lodged. The chief evidence was what the prisoners themselves had told to Ellson; but he being a person of execrable character, it was necessary to support his testimony by every corroborative circumstance that could be proved. Accordingly, in the early part of the trial, these wretched old people were brought forward to give testimony to facts bearing against their son’s life: they were but very slight, but, as far as they went, they were confirmatory of the main story; and it is difficult to say whether the extreme coolness and composure with which the parents gave their evidence were not still more dreadful than if they had been violently affected.

Besides Ellson himself, there were also his wife, who was the daughter of one and the sister of two of the prisoners, and his sister, who was the daughter of another, called as witnesses! These young women also gave their evidence without strong emotion, although they certainly seemed far more impressed with the position in which they stood than the other witnesses named.

Ellson was calm, decided, and firm, to a degree which gave rise to unmingled disgust in every one who heard him. It will be recollected that the crime had been committed to save him—Pugh certainly committed the murder for hire; and the Coxes, perhaps, might have had some interests of their own mixed up with his;—but, even as regarded these last, the first object had been his escape; and his mother undoubtedly had dyed her hands in blood, solely to save her child.

The witness was a fine, well-looking fellow of about five-and-twenty—and, undoubtedly, until the severe cross-examination he underwent caused a struggle—though a perfectly successful one—to keep down his temper, his countenance was rather agreeable than otherwise. His story was clear, consecutive, and, no doubt, true. Each individual concerned in the transaction had, immediately on his release from jail, very naturally told to him, for whose sake it had been committed, all the circumstances regarding the murder. Pugh appears to have been the most detailed in his account, and to have rather bragged that it was he who “ ‘ticed un out o’ feyther’s house, to steal some bacon,”—and that it was he who had “gripped un by the throat.” In some instances, the Coxes were present during these recitals, and at others they spoke of the subject to Ellson themselves. While this part of the evidence was going forward, the strongest horror was excited against the perpetrators of the crime—so treacherous as it was in its concoction, and so coldly cruel in the manner in which it was carried into effect. Moreover, the idea that Pugh certainly altogether, and the two young Coxes in great part, had committed this murder for hire, was a circumstance of a character so new, and so awfully depraved, that the story carried the auditory along with it, and they forgot altogether the scoundrel who was telling it. But when he came to speak of his own mother, what must have been their sensations! Her guilt, dreadful as it was, almost disappeared; the thought could be only of the unnatural and ungrateful villain, who, to save himself from a light and temporary punishment, was thus giving to the gallows the mother who had born him, for a crime caused by her extravagant affection for him. He repeated twice or three times, in answer to the questions of the examining counsel, who felt it necessary to make the matter quite clear, that his mother had told him that she and old Cox had given fifty shillings a piece to have Harrison murdered. He said this as calmly as any other person would narrate any indifferent fact—and his mother’s eyes were on his face all the time!

Mr. Charles Phillips cross-examined the witness at great length, very severely, and very skilfully: he drew from him that he had been in jail repeatedly, almost constantly, for theft of all kinds and descriptions; and he drove him into attempts to shuffle, very nearly approaching to prevarication, on several minor points, not connected with the case. But, regarding the case itself, he was not shaken at all; and although the universal sensation in the court must have been that of loathing and disgust for the mercenary cold-bloodedness of the proceedings to which he had had recourse, no serious doubt could for one moment be entertained that he was telling the truth.

The jury under these circumstances were compelled to return a verdict, consigning the wretched prisoners to a violent death.

The extreme sentence of the law was immediately passed upon the convicts, and their execution was appointed to take place on the following Monday, the 4th of the same month.

On the next day, a reprieve was granted in the case of Robert Cox, one of the sons, upon grounds which do not appear to have been well understood at the time, and he was transported for life. A respite for a week was also granted in the case of the elder Cox, and Ann Harris, who had been convicted only as accessories before the fact; but the awful punishment of death was left to be carried out in its due course upon Pugh, and John Cox the younger. The former, after his trial, declared his sense of the justice of his sentence, and that he regarded the termination of his career as a happy one, for that he constantly saw Harrison by his side; while the latter, with cold-blooded firmness, urged him to keep up his spirits, for that “he could die but once.”

The execution had been appointed to take place at mid-day; and at a few minutes before twelve o’clock all the convicts, together with Ellson, were drawn up in the inner yard of the jail. Pugh and Cox were then pinioned; and while Ann Harris, old Cox, and his son Robert, were reconducted to the jail, Ellson was carried to a spot from which he must witness the conclusion of this dreadful scene. The authority by which this course was adopted, may well be doubted, for the miserable wretch was undoubtedly entitled to his discharge, as the indictment against him had been withdrawn; but it is probable that it was thought that the example afforded by such a proceeding might tend in some degree to check the thirst for crime, which appeared to exist in that district of the county.

The miserable convicts were directly afterwards led to the scaffold, dreadfully agitated, and uttering ejaculations imploring mercy for their sins; and all being in readiness, the drop fell, and they were launched into eternity.

The sentence of the wretched mother of Ellson, and of old Cox, was subsequently changed for that of transportation; and with this bare recitation of its facts, we shall close the scene upon this frightful case.

JOSEPH HUNTON.
EXECUTED FOR FORGERY.

THE case of this criminal excited considerable attention from the circumstance of the offender having been long known in the city of London, as being a person of good repute, and also from the fact of his being a quaker.

It would appear that a considerable number of forged bills of exchange having been put in circulation, the result of the inquiries, which were made by the Committee of Bankers for the Prevention of Frauds and Forgeries, was clearly to fix the offence upon Hunton. The bills were for the most part accepted in the name of Mr. Edward Wilkins of Abingdon, and purported to be drawn by the firm of Dickson and Co. of Ironmonger-lane, warehousemen, in which Hunton was a partner. It so happened, however, that intelligence was received in town, before several of them became due, that Mr. Wilkins was dead; and upon inquiry, it turned out that the whole of the acceptances in the name of that person were forgeries. Hunton received speedy information of the discovery of the frauds of which he had been guilty; and upon inquiry being made for him, he was found to have absconded. Officers were immediately despatched in all directions to secure his person, and he was at length traced by Forrester, the city constable, to the neighbourhood of Plymouth. He directly started in pursuit, with some others who were employed on the same errand; and upon inquiry there, they learned that the object of their search was upon the point of sailing for New York in the Leeds packet, on board which he passed under the assumed name of Wilkinson. The officers immediately proceeded on board that vessel, and under pretence of having a letter to deliver, they were introduced to the forger. Upon their informing him of the nature of their mission, he was not able to utter a word, but rose and followed them, and was immediately conveyed to the shore. It is rather extraordinary that the first paper taken from his pocket was a letter directed to the editor of “The Times,” stating that the amount of the forgeries ascribed to him in a paragraph in that journal was considerably exaggerated, and requesting that an acknowledgement to that effect should be inserted, in justice to the party accused, who would return as soon as possible, and pay off all his pecuniary obligations. There was also found in his pockets the copy of a letter directed to the house of Curtis and Co., informing them, that as it was not convenient for the firm to discount any more bills for him, he should absent himself for a short time from London. These were both directed from Deal, and were, no doubt, intended to mislead, as the writer never went near Deal in his route. He had entered the packet in his quaker dress; but in the course of a few hours he put on a light-green frock, a pair of light-grey pantaloons, a black stock, and a foraging-cap. It was ascertained that he had previously entered a French steam-boat on the river, with the intention of proceeding to Boulogne, and that he had been actually in that boat at the time of its being searched by some officers, who were endeavouring to procure his apprehension.

Upon his arrival in town, he underwent an examination before the lord mayor, upon the charges which were preferred against him; and several cases having been substantiated, he was fully committed for trial.

At the Old Bailey sessions, on the 28th of October 1828, the prisoner was put upon his trial, and he was found guilty upon a charge of forging a bill for 162l. 9s. with intent to defraud Sir William Curtis and Co. On the following Tuesday, the 4th of November, he was again indicted for a similar offence, in forging a bill for 94l. 13s. when a similar verdict was returned; and at the conclusion of the sessions, notwithstanding the recommendation of the jury to mercy, he received sentence of death.

A considerable time elapsed before the case of this unfortunate prisoner was reported to the Crown, in accordance with the custom which then prevailed; and it was not until the 8th of December that his sentence was carried into effect; but before we describe the circumstances attending the execution, we cannot help alluding to a most extraordinary delay which took place in the report of the recorder of London of the cases of no less than forty-nine prisoners confined in Newgate on various capital charges. It would appear that his majesty being at Windsor, the recorder proceeded to the Castle on Monday the 24th of November, for the purpose of making his report, when three wretched prisoners were ordered for execution. In accordance with the usual practice, it would have been the duty of the recorder to proceed forthwith to London to communicate the result of the deliberation of the privy council at Newgate, in order that the unhappy criminals, whose cases had been under consideration, might be at once relieved from the dreadful suspense in which, situated as they were, they would necessarily be placed. Monday night passed, however, and no intelligence was received of the learned gentleman, or of the decision which had been arrived at; and the greater part of Tuesday was permitted also to elapse before their dreadful anxiety was relieved. At five o’clock on that afternoon, the clerk of the learned gentleman reached Newgate with the death-warrant; and then only was it that the fate of the prisoners could be disclosed to them. The subject was brought under the consideration of the court of aldermen at the earliest possible period, with a view to the recorder giving some explanation of the very singular conduct of which he had been guilty; and he then stated, that the council not having terminated until past eight o’clock on the evening of Monday, he was at that time too fatigued to return to town on the same night; and that on his starting from Windsor on the following morning, he was so long delayed on the road, that he did not arrive in town until half-past three o’clock. This excuse, however plausibly it may have been put by the learned gentleman, was at least a lame one; and the remarks which were made upon his conduct at the time by the public, and by the press, were confined to no very measured terms.

Although so many prisoners had been reported on this occasion, it was found that Hunton was not among the number, a circumstance which gave him undue hopes and expectations, that he would be spared an ignominious death. A second report, however, was made on Monday the 1st of December, when the wretched criminal, with three others, was ordered for execution on the 8th of the same month.

Hunton bore the intelligence, “that he was certainly to die,” with apparent fortitude. He was lying on his pallet when the Ordinary entered his cell at a little after eleven on Monday night. Upon hearing the cell-door open at so extraordinary an hour, he turned round slowly, and said, “Well, I suppose I know the news thou bringest?” “Yes,” replied the Ordinary, “Mr. Hunton; you are, I hope, prepared for that which you have expected—you are to be executed.” Hunton said, “Indeed, I have been expecting that intelligence; it is no surprise, and yet my case has many palliatives which should operate with grace at the seat of mercy. Pray, tell me who are doomed to die with me?” The Ordinary mentioned the other names enumerated in the report, and Hunton observed, that he should submit with calmness to his fate. “But,” said he, “wilt thou do me the great favour, friend Cotton, to permit my wife to come and stay with me alone before the time arriveth for the change?” The Ordinary replied, that he had not the power to grant any favour, but the request should be communicated to the proper authority, and no doubt every indulgence of a reasonable kind would be granted. During this conversation, Hunton seemed to be perfectly resigned to his fate. It is singular that he never asked on what day he was to be executed. After the Ordinary assured him that he should be treated with kindness, he turned about, and said, “Good night, friend,” and appeared to resign himself to sleep. In the morning he rose, evidently in a state of the most wretched dejection: his eyes were filled with tears, and he deplored the inhumanity of the laws, by which a man who had committed an act not deserving the name of fraud was to suffer death. The spirits by which he had been supported ever since his committal to Newgate altogether abandoned him: he wrung his hands in agony, and complained of the bitter aggravation of delay. When he first entered Newgate, he said, “I wish, after this day, to have communication with nobody; let me take leave of my wife and family and friends; I have already suffered an execution; my heart has undergone that horrible penalty.” A few days afterwards a person called upon him to request that he would explain some document relating to certain bills not yet due. In one instant he gave the required explanation, fully to the satisfaction of the person interested; and was asked by the same individual what opinion he entertained of his own case? “Why,” said he, “my case resembles the condition of this paper (holding the letter upon his finger)—a breeze of wind will turn it either way. Caprice may save or destroy me; but I rather think I shall live longer.” He was on the Tuesday visited by his wife and several of the society of Friends, and he told them he knew that to hope would be to court deception. He was, during the whole day, the most painful object to those who went to console him: he groaned as if his heart were bursting within him, and seemed to consider this life all that a human being could wish for.

The execution of a man who was known to have moved in so respectable a sphere of life as the unfortunate Hunton, failed not to attract an immense crowd of persons to the vicinity of the jail of Newgate on the morning upon which it was determined that his life should be forfeited. From the extraordinary efforts which had been made to save this unfortunate culprit, a very general belief was entertained that a respite would most certainly arrive for him even so late as on the morning fixed for his death. His safety was considered almost certain, and many were scarcely persuaded that he would really suffer, even at the moment when the fatal cord encompassed his neck. The unfortunate man had, however, calmly composed his mind to meet his fate, and seemed to contemplate its approach without dread. He was on Sunday visited by several ladies and gentlemen of the society of Friends, who were accommodated with an apartment, in which they remained in their peculiar devotions for several hours. Afterwards the unhappy man was attended by two gentlemen, elders of the congregation, who sat up with him in the press-room all night, during which time Hunton composed a very long prayer, appropriate to his situation and approaching death. He committed his thoughts to paper, and after he had completed the prayer, he copied it, and directed it to “his dearly-beloved wife.” At about half-past seven the two elders left the miserable man, after they had “kissed,” and their absence was supplied by the attendance of Mr. Sparks Moline, of Leadenhall-street.

At fifteen minutes before the awful hour of eight, the under-sheriffs arrived at the prison, preceded by their tipstaffs, and were conducted by Mr. Wontner to the press-room. At the end of this gloomy apartment was observed, sitting at a long table which was strewed with pieces of paper and books, the ill-fated Hunton; immediately opposite sat his “friend,” Mr. S. Moline. Hunton, turning his head, and observing the group of officers as they entered the room said, “I pray thee stop a minute; I’ll not be long.” He then concluded reading, in a distinct voice, the prayer he had composed in the night; it was couched in the most impressive and devout language that can be imagined. In it he expressed his dependence on the merits of Jesus Christ, and a hope, that when the spirit was separated from the body, it would join the angelic host above, in singing praises to the Son of God, and to the Almighty. Hunton had a very peculiar kind of voice, somewhat shrill and effeminate; he, however, spoke with firmness. There was nothing in his manner to condemn, but it showed a perfect self-possession. Mr. Moline, when the unhappy man had done reading, bowed his head, and responded, “Amen!” Hunton then arose, and folding up the paper in a hurried manner said, “I am quite ready now.” Mr. Wontner approached him, and said he might remain seated for a short time longer; when he thanked the worthy governor, and resumed his seat at the table, and occupied his time by perusing some religious work before him. During this time John James, aged nineteen, who was condemned for a burglary in the house of Mr. Witham, the barrister, in Boswell-court, and two others were brought into the room attended by the Reverend Ordinary.

The wretched Hunton, during the pinioning of his fellow-convicts, conducted himself with the greatest calmness and devotion. He repeatedly addressed those who were to suffer with him, urging them to repentance.

All having, at last, been properly secured, it only remained for the unfortunate Hunton to undergo the same ordeal as his fellow-sufferers. The unhappy man was indulging in a sort of reverie, when Mr. Wontner tapped him upon the shoulder. He instantly stood up, and deliberately took a white stock from his neck, and approached the officers; he stood firmly, and when the man was in the act of tying his wrists he said, “Oh, dear, is there any necessity to tie the cord so fast?” The officer made no reply; upon which Hunton said, “Well, well, thou knowest best.” He again complained of the cord being too tight about his arms, which was slackened a little, and the unhappy man said, “Thank thee, thank thee.” After he had been thus secured, he said, “Wilt thou allow me to wear my gloves?” “Yes, certainly, sir,” was the reply, and with some difficulty he put them on, and still kept the prayer addressed to his wife in his hand. All being now in readiness, the mournful procession moved towards the scaffold.

Before Hunton left the room, he said to Mr. Moline, “Thou will not leave me, friend?” “No,” said Mr. Moline, “I will see thee to the scaffold.” Mr. Moline then supported the unhappy man along the passage to the lobby at the foot of the scaffold, where he sat down by the side of his friend, still holding the prayer to his breast.

Hunton was the last who was summoned by the officers. Upon his name being pronounced, he turned round, and delivering the prayer to Mr. Moline, each shook the other’s hand, and kissed lips, the unhappy man observing, “You may say I am quite happy and comfortable—fare thee well.” He then quickly ascended the steps with the same unshaken firmness and deliberation which had marked his conduct throughout the trying period. He took his station under the fatal beam, and requested that a blue handkerchief, to which he seemed fondly attached, might be fastened over his eyes, which was accordingly done.

The preparations of the hangman for the deaths of these unhappy men being completed, the Reverend Mr. Cotton commenced reading a portion of the burial-service, and at a given signal the drop fell, and the four unfortunate beings were suspended. A loud shriek from some persons in the crowd followed the close of the melancholy scene.

The sufferings of the unhappy men were but brief. The rope by which Hunton suffered was longer than the rest, on account of his remarkably low stature; it soon reached its full tension, and he appeared to die instantly.

After the bodies had remained suspended for an hour, they were cut down and removed into the interior of the jail, preparatory to their interment.

The unfortunate Hunton, it appears, commenced business at Yarmouth, as a slop-seller; and having been exceedingly prosperous, he opened a concern of some magnitude at Bury St. Edmunds, Suffolk: and also engaged in business as a sugar-baker in the metropolis. He had previously married a lady, a member of the society of Friends, to which sect it will be perceived that he also belonged, and was supposed to be possessed of property to the amount of 30,000l. Relinquishing these concerns he entered into partnership with Messrs. Dickson and Company, of Ironmonger-lane, who soon discovered that he was engaged to no small extent in speculations on the Stock Exchange, in which, as it turned out, he was particularly unsuccessful. A dissolution of partnership was the consequence, and then the unhappy man, driven to want and despair, committed those frauds which cost him his life. Up to the time of his absenting himself from London, he had a large establishment at Leytonstone, in Essex, where he was always looked upon as an eccentric, but highly honourable and respectable person. The appearance and demeanour of the unhappy man, at the time of his apprehension, were such as to excite the greatest commiseration among those who saw him. Although it would appear that the forgeries of which he had been guilty were of no trifling extent, at that period one hundred sovereigns only were found in his possession.

WILLIAM BURKE.
EXECUTED FOR MURDER

THE unparalleled atrocities of which this diabolical murderer was guilty, with his associates, can scarcely ever be obliterated from the recollection of man. Devoid of all sense of humanity,—a butcher of the human race, he was guilty of almost innumerable murders, for which his only reward was to be the miserable amount to be paid him for the bodies of his victims, in order that they might be submitted to the knife of the anatomist.

The scene of these horrible occurrences was Edinburgh; but notwithstanding the publication of the details of the circumstances attending them which appeared at the investigations which took place before the sheriff, few could be found who had formed such an idea of the baseness of human nature, as to believe the possibility of the truth of the dreadful disclosures which were made. The traffic in human blood, with such an object as we have already pointed out, appeared too fearful a crime to be contemplated; and all suspended their judgment until the issue of the solemn inquiry of a jury should decide upon the allegations which were made. Upon that inquisition, however, the most dreadful apprehensions which were entertained as to the result were fully realised, and the reports which had been circulated with reference to the offences charged against the prisoners, were amply proved to be well founded.

The metropolis of Scotland had been long and frequently excited by statements being made of the disappearance of persons in the lower orders of life, who were suddenly missed, and of whom no subsequent traces could be discovered. Tramps entering the city with their friends were suddenly lost; Irish hay-makers, on their road to the agricultural districts of the Lowlands, in the same manner seemed to vanish from among their companions; and in one instance an idiot, who in Scotland is always looked upon as a harmless playmate for the children, as a welcome guest at every table, and as an object of universal pity, was on a sudden lost from the favourite haunts of his imbecile wanderings. Suspicions of a dreadful character entered the minds of persons, whose duty it was to superintend the police of the town,—suspicions of murder, which might well be supposed to have been excited by the influence of the Almighty, and through which the guilty were eventually discovered and brought to punishment.

The occurrence which immediately led to the disclosure of these diabolical crimes was the unaccountable disappearance of a mendicant named Mary Campbell, an Irishwoman, who, after having been seen frequenting the same vicinity for a considerable time, towards the end of October 1829, was suddenly missed. The poor woman happened to have friends, who were not disposed to treat her loss lightly, and a rigid inquiry by the police was the result. An idea was suggested that her body might be found at some of the medical schools in Edinburgh, so justly celebrated for the excellence of the anatomical instruction which they afforded to the pupils; and one day’s search testified the truth of the fears which had been excited of her death. Her remains were discovered at the dissecting-room of Dr. Knox, a distinguished anatomist, bearing marks perfectly conclusive of their identity. The poor woman had received a wound upon her ancle, from the kick of a drunken man, the aspect of which was sufficiently well known to enable her former companions to speak with certainty as to the body. The cause of death was now the subject of investigation; and here the deficiency of caution in the purchase of subjects, the necessity of a change in the law with regard to the provision of bodies for dissection, and finally, the certainty of the murder of the deceased, were exemplified. The medical men, by whom the body was examined, gave their firm and decided opinion that suffocation had been the means by which the deceased had been deprived of life,—a means which it was exceedingly unlikely any natural circumstances would have produced. It was evident, therefore, that murder had been resorted to,—it was believed, with a view to secure the body of the wretched woman, in order that it might be sold for dissection.

The next inquiry which followed, was that as to the individual from whom the subject had been purchased. The law at that time contained no enactment with regard to the mode by which surgeons were to be provided with those subjects which the study of anatomy, so important to the human race, positively required that they should possess. The occasional execution of a criminal, whose remains were ordered by the terms of his sentence to be given over to the surgeons for dissection, afforded no sufficient supply to meet the constant demand which existed; and the stealing of dead bodies was a practice openly encouraged by the professors of anatomy, although it excited universal disgust and hatred amongst those whose immediate interests forbade their looking upon the custom with any feelings but those of horror.

So long as the war continued, the period of time required for the completion of the education of medical students, so as to fit them in some measure for the army or navy, was very short, and the study of anatomy was consequently so much neglected, that it frequently happened that a student filled the office of assistant-surgeon in those services who had never dissected an entire body. At that time the dissecting-rooms were supplied by men who in general exhumated the bodies; and, as the suspicion of the public was not excited, it was attended with no great difficulty. The highest price then ever obtained by these men was four guineas for each subject; but as the number of medical men increased, and many gentlemen, who had been engaged in the army and navy during the war, returned to complete their education, the demand became greater, and consequently the risk of procuring subjects by the usual means was proportionately augmented. The men were frequently detected in their attempts, and punished severely; they therefore demanded an advance in their remuneration; and in consequence of no legal provision being made for supplying the schools, it was found necessary to accede to the demands. The price then became eight guineas; and it subsequently varied from that to sixteen guineas, according to circumstances.

On account of the greatly increased amount obtained for subjects, numbers of persons now engaged in the traffic, and the consequence was more frequent detection. Every means which ingenuity could suggest was put in practice to obtain bodies which had not been buried; and for this purpose, the men, when they heard of the body of a person being found (drowned for instance), and which was lying to be owned, trumped up a story of an unfortunate brother or sister, humbugged a coroner’s jury (who, by the by, were more than once so well imposed on as to make a subscription, to enable the supposed brother to bury his relative), and thus obtained possession of the body. In this sort of trickery the wives of the men were often employed, as their application was attended with less suspicion, and it was never difficult to impose on the parochial officers, who were always anxious to avoid the expense of burying the deceased. Subjects were thus occasionally procured, but they were much more frequently obtained by pretending relationship to persons dying without friends in hospitals and workhouses. As, of course, the bodies thus obtained were much fresher than those which had been buried, they produced generally (independent of the teeth,) as much as twelve guineas each.

But the poor and friendless were not the only sufferers from this system; persons moving in a higher sphere of society have often suffered the loss of their friends, when they were confident in security. What will the wealthy not feel, when they are told that the very men employed to solder down the leaden coffin of a child have abstracted the body, and carried it off, without exciting the slightest suspicion, in the baskets with their tools?

Yet, notwithstanding all these means of procuring subjects, the difficulties were occasionally so great, that students from the country have been obliged to wait for months without being able to study anatomy practically; at the same time having to live at an expense they could ill afford, in London. In Scotland, at one time, to the great honour of the labouring classes, no such persons as resurrection-men could be procured for any remuneration, and it was then necessary for the students to exhumate bodies for themselves. Indeed, for a long time, this, in many parts of that country, was the constant practice; but, from the great horror with which the Scotch in particular regard the violation of the tomb, these attempts were always attended with considerable danger; and very frequently the graves were guarded with so much diligence, that the carrying off a body was totally impracticable. Instances indeed occurred, where the parties engaged in such an enterprise were fired upon by persons employed to watch, whom they had not observed; and, in one case with which the writer is acquainted, the life of one of the parties was sacrificed.

The surgeons from their anxiety to obtain subjects, and from the acknowledged illegality of the proceedings, were frequently not overnice or minute in their inquiries as to the cause of death, or the means by which the body offered to them was obtained. The impossibility of obtaining any answer the truth of which could be relied on, and the independence of the “resurrection-men,” who were always sure of a market, may be reckoned as almost sufficient excuses for this lax mode of proceeding; and it is just to believe, that no suspicion can ever have entered the imagination of the anatomists, that unfair means had been resorted to, to take away the life of the subjects offered to them, merely with a view to their bodies being submitted to their dissection. To such causes may be ascribed the non-discovery of the suspicious cause of death of the numerous miserable victims whom investigation proves to have been murdered.

In this case, happily, the frequency of the visits of the supposed resurrectionist or body-stealer to the same museum enabled the police to discover his haunts, together with the circumstances attending the disappearance of the deceased, which were sufficient to afford convincing proof of her murder at his hands. Paterson, the porter to Dr. Knox’s museum, was well acquainted with the persons of Burke and a man named Hare, by whom this subject had been sold, and he related the circumstances attending its purchase to the police serjeant, by whom the investigation was carried on, in such a manner, as at once secured their apprehension. He said that on the 31st of October, Burke and Hare called at the dissecting-rooms, and said that they had got something for the doctor, at the house occupied by the former. Paterson had before visited this place on similar occasions, and was well acquainted with its position, and on the next morning he went to the house in Tanner’s-close, where he was told the body lay. He found there Mrs. M‘Dougal, who passed as the wife of Burke, and Mrs. Margaret Laird, who stood in the same relation with regard to Hare. Upon his entrance, Burke pointed to a heap of straw under the table, signifying that the body was there; and the witness gave them 5l. to be divided between the two men, 3l. more being agreed to be paid, if the subject should turn out to be such as was desired. The men divided the money, and promised to carry home the body on the same night to the museum. It arrived, packed in a tea-chest, and at the time of the visit of the police, which was on the following day, (the 2nd of November,) it had not yet been looked at. Upon the chest being opened, appearances presented themselves which induced Paterson to believe that the body had never been buried; the face was livid, and blood was running from the nostrils and mouth; and, as we have already said, subsequent examination proved that death had been caused by suffocation.

Coincident with the discovery of this evidence, the voluntary testimony of two other witnesses was obtained, which afforded conclusive proof of the violent means resorted to by Burke and Hare, to procure the death of the deceased. Mr. and Mrs. Gray, poor persons, who were travelling through Edinburgh, informed the police, on the same day, of occurrences which they had witnessed on the night of the 31st October, which induced the most dreadful suspicions in their minds. They stated that they had taken up their lodgings in the house occupied by Burke in the course of that day, and towards the evening they had seen Mrs. Campbell go in with that person. They, however, retired to rest without holding any communication with her, as she appeared to be intoxicated; but in the morning, they were surprised to find that she was gone. They inquired of Mrs. Burke what had become of her, and she said that they had turned her out because she was impudent; but an undefinable apprehension lurked in their minds of some wrong having been done, and seizing an opportunity they peered into Burke’s room, and there, under the table, they saw marks of blood, and upon further investigation, the body of the murdered woman concealed beneath some straw. Terror-struck with the discovery, they immediately gathered up their bundles and proceeded to quit the house, but were dissuaded from their intention by Mrs. Burke, who had ascertained the fact of their having made so important a discovery, who urged them to stop, “as it might be 10l. a week to them.” They, however, rushed from the place as soon as they could escape, and on the following day conveyed intelligence to the police of what they had seen.

Upon the arrival of the authorities at the Tanner’s-close, they found it to be a scene well fitted for the performance of such tragedies as had been recently enacted within its limits. The close itself was narrow and dark, and contained only one house, which was situated at the bottom. Here, almost shut out from the light of heaven, lived this detestable murderer, letting out lodgings either by the night or otherwise, to such poor wretches as would put up with the accommodation which he could offer. The house consisted of two rooms only, one of which was occupied by Burke and his wife, while the other was devoted to his lodgers. The former contained nothing but a miserable bed, a table, and some straw, still reeking with the blood of the murdered woman, while the latter was totally devoid of furniture. Fortunately for their purpose, the whole party, four in number, was assembled; and they were all immediately secured and conveyed to prison. Burke, it appeared, had carried on a pretended trade of shoemaking, and in one corner of his room was found a pile of old boots and shoes, consisting of nearly forty pairs; but the discovery also of a great number of suits of clothes, of various sizes, and bearing distinct marks of blood, afforded sufficient proof, that the murder of Mrs. Campbell was not the only one which had been perpetrated within the apartment.

It would be a vain effort to attempt to convey even a faint idea of the universal horror excited by these dreadful discoveries, and the fearful execration heaped upon the heads of the diabolical assassins. Even the surgeons, who were looked upon as the supporters and the indirect instigators of the murders, shared with the prisoners the effects of the strong public sensation which existed; and in several places throughout the empire—for, the system being the same everywhere, the indignation of the people was not confined to Edinburgh—attempts were made to destroy the dissecting-schools. In this, however, and in the obloquy cast upon the gentlemen of this profession, it must be said that they suffered unjustly. They were the victims, as well as the public, under a defective system of legislation; and the insufficiency of the law was to be blamed, and not those whose absolute necessity compelled them to adopt measures, of themselves illegal, but excusable, considering the advantages to be derived from them to society, and the utter neglect of the efforts which they had made, to secure such provisions by the legislature as should enable them to proceed in a manner becoming the high and honourable station which they filled.

The examinations of the prisoners before the magistrates of Edinburgh served only to bring to light fresh atrocities and to excite fresh horror; and eventually the whole of the prisoners were committed for trial, the evidence being clear and conclusive as to the implication of the men, although that which affected the women left great doubts as to the possibility of their conviction being secured.

During the period which elapsed subsequently to their committal, and preparatory to their trial, Hare, with a degree of villany excelling that of his fellow in guilt, offered to make disclosures upon the subject of the system which had been carried on, upon condition of his own indemnification from punishment, and that of his wife. Mrs. Laird, it had been discovered, was the least guilty of the whole party, and so far as her discharge was concerned but little difficulty was experienced; but upon the question of the other terms desired by Hare to be imposed in reference to his own case, considerable doubt was entertained. Long and frequent consultations were held by the magistrates upon the subject, in which the probabilities of the conviction of these associates in villany were most anxiously weighed; and it was at length determined that, for the sake of that justice which imperatively demanded the most satisfactory and complete evidence of the guilt of one at least of the gang, the offer should be accepted. The prisoner then made a statement to the officers of the jail, which was reduced to writing, but which, from causes too obvious to need repetition here, was not published in full. That portion of it which immediately affected the case of Burke and Mrs. M‘Dougal came out upon the trial; but many particulars with regard to the system which had been carried on were most properly concealed from the public knowledge.

On the 23rd December in the same year, the two prisoners, William Burke and Helen M‘Dougal, were put upon their trial before the High Court of Justiciary at Edinburgh. The indictment charged against them several murders, founded upon the communications made by Hare; but after much discussion on the part of the counsel for the crown, and on behalf of the prisoners, it was determined that that part only of the indictment which alleged them to have murdered Mary Campbell should be proceeded with, inasmuch as that the disclosure of any of the particulars of one murder in the course of a trial for another would materially prejudice the minds of the jury against the persons charged. The murder of Mrs. Campbell was alleged to have been committed by suffocation.

The preliminary witnesses produced a plan of the house of the prisoners in Tanner’s-close, and proved the identity of the remains found at the house of Dr. Knox.

William Noble, the shopman to Mr. Rayner, a grocer at Portsburgh, near Tanner’s-close, was then examined, and he proved, that on the night of the 31st October Burke, who had been in the habit of dealing at his employer’s house, called there in order to purchase some trifling articles of grocery. While he was standing at the counter, Mrs. Campbell entered the shop, and begged for charity. She said that she had come to Edinburgh to search for her son, a boy of eleven years old, but that she had been unable to find him, and that she was now quite destitute. Burke inquired her name, and on her mentioning the name of Campbell he at once claimed acquaintance and relationship with her, and finally took her away with him, saying that he would provide her with lodging for the night. The woman at this time was sober. The witness added that on the following day, Burke called again and purchased an old tea-chest, and Mrs. Hare, whom he knew, as well as her husband and Mrs. M‘Dougal, carried it away about half-an-hour afterwards.

Mrs. Ann Black and Hugh Alison gave evidence tracing Mrs. Campbell to Burke’s house, and as to the occurrences of the dreadful night of her death. The former said that she was a lodger of Burke’s; and upon going home on the night of the 31st of October, she saw Mrs. Campbell sitting in Burke’s room by the fire. She was ill-clad, and was eating porridge; and in answer to a question which the witness put, Mrs. M‘Dougal said that she was a Highland woman, a friend of her husband’s, and that she had been assisting them in washing. The witness then quitted the room; but subsequently, in passing through it after dark, she saw that Mrs. Campbell was much intoxicated. Hare and his wife were then there, and had brought in some spirits with them, and they were all merry, and laughing and singing together. The witness afterwards heard dancing, and on looking into the room, she saw that it was Mrs. M‘Dougal, Hare, and Mrs. Campbell. Between ten and eleven o’clock she heard a disturbance, as if Burke and Hare were fighting, and a woman screaming, but she took no notice of it, as such occurrences were frequent with her landlord’s friends. In the morning she inquired of Mrs. M‘Dougal where Mrs. Campbell was, and she told her, that she and her husband (Burke) had got too friendly, and that she had kicked her out of the house. Alison, the witness, corroborated the evidence of Mrs. Black, as to the disturbance which occurred in the house of Burke at about the hour mentioned, and which he had heard in his residence at one of the upper flats of a house nearly adjoining, but he had distinguished screams of agony, and cries for help, succeeded by a noise as if some person had been strangling or suffocating. He afterwards heard the voices of two men in conversation in the close, whom he had taken to be Burke and Hare.

Mr. and Mrs. Gray, whose names we have already mentioned, were also examined upon the same point, and having proved the presence of Mrs. Campbell in Burke’s house at the time of their arrival, they stated that Mrs. M‘Dougal had told them in the morning, that she had turned out the deceased because she was impudent. They, however, watched their opportunity, and slipping into the room unseen, discovered her body concealed among the straw under the table.

Other confirmatory evidence was also given upon the same subject; and David Paterson, the porter at Dr. Knox’s, having detailed his account of the transaction of the purchase of the body in the manner in which we have already described it, and of its arrival in a tea-chest; and other witnesses having proved that they saw the prisoner (Burke) and Hare carrying a tea-chest in the direction of Dr. Knox’s, but in such a line of street as clearly showed their object to be to escape observation, William Hare, the approver, was called.

Lord Meadowbank, a learned and very distinguished judge, presided upon this occasion, and with the most humane feelings, he earnestly cautioned this witness to give his evidence with truth. The fellow, whose appearance in the witness-box excited great interest and indignation, sullenly answered, that he intended to do so, but that he only came there as a witness in the case of the “old woman,” as he emphatically described the deceased Mrs. Campbell, as distinguished, doubtless, from other miserable victims; and his examination then proceeded. We shall give his evidence as nearly as we can in the terms in which it was delivered by him in the witness-box. Having been sworn in the common form, he said he was a native of Ireland, and had resided in Scotland ten years. He had been acquainted with Burke about twelve months. M‘Dougal lived with Burke as his wife; witness lived in the West Port, not far from Burke; he was in a public-house in the West Port on the forenoon of the 31st of October, when Burke came in, and they had a gill; he asked witness to go down to his house, to see the shot he had got to take to the doctor’s; he said he had taken an old woman off the street, and wished witness to go down and see her, and see what they were doing. He understood by the word “shot,” that he was going to murder the woman. He went to Burke’s house, and found there was a strange man and woman (their name was Gray), the old woman, and Helen M‘Dougal; the old woman was washing her short-gown; it was white and red striped. [Identified the bedgown.] Witness remained in the house about five minutes, and then went home. Between eight and nine on the same night he was at the house of a man named Connaway with his wife; and Burke, Mrs. M‘Dougal, the old woman Campbell, and a lad named Broggan, Mrs. M‘Dougal’s nephew, came in. Liquor was introduced, and after a while, Burke and Broggan went away. Witness remained some time longer, but then he also quitted the house, and went to Tanner’s-close. There had been some dancing at Connaway’s; and at this time he had no idea that any harm was to be done to the old woman on that night. Soon after he arrived at Tanner’s-close, Burke, M‘Dougal and Mrs. Campbell also came in, the latter being so much the worse for liquor as scarcely to be able to keep her feet. A quarrel arose between him and Burke (which was evidently got up for the purpose of murdering the old woman in the confusion which would be the result of it), upon the subject of his being in the house, Burke declaring that he had no business there, while he asserted that he had been invited by Mrs. M‘Dougal. They began to fight, and Mrs. Campbell appeared alarmed, and called police and murder. She ran into the passage twice, but was brought back each time by Mrs. M‘Dougal; and upon her re-entering the room the second time, witness intentionally pushed her over a stool upon the floor. She got up so as to rest upon her elbow, but was so drunk as not to be able to regain her feet; she called on Burke to quit fighting, and he did so; but then having stood for some minutes on the floor, Burke stood stride-legs over her, and laid himself down above her—his breast being on her head. She gave a cry, and then moaned a little; he put one hand on her nose and mouth, and the other under her chin, and stopped her breathing; this was continued for ten or fifteen minutes; he never spoke while this was going on; after he had risen from above her he put his arm upon her mouth for some minutes; she appeared quite dead; witness was sitting all the while on a chair. When he saw the woman was dead, he stripped the body of the clothes, put it into a corner, doubling it up, and covering it with straw; witness’s wife and M‘Dougal, when they heard the first screech of the old woman, ran into the passage, and did not come in again until the body was covered with straw; before this they were lying in the bed; and witness sat at the head of the bed; did not observe blood on the floor, or on the woman’s face at the time; did not observe the woman in the passage cry—but nobody came to the door during the time. Burke had not been above the woman more than a minute or two, when the woman started out of bed and ran to the door; he saw none of them attempting to save or assist the old woman, and such could not have happened without his seeing it. When it was all over the woman came in again, and then Burke went out; the woman asked no questions, nor did they make any remark, but they went to bed again without a word being exchanged. When Burke returned, he brought with him the man from Dr. Knox’s (Paterson), and he looked at the body; he said it would do well enough, and they were to get a box and put it in, in order to carry it to his master’s house. At this time the women were in bed, but he could not tell whether they were awake or not, and he soon afterwards fell asleep himself. He was rather the worse of liquor, but he knew well enough what he was about. He awoke about seven o’clock in the morning; he found himself on a chair, with his head on the bed; the women were in the bed, and John Broggan was lying beyond his aunt; Burke was at the fireside. He and his wife got up and went home. In the course of the day, Burke called on him, and asked him to assist in procuring a box. They went first to Surgeons’-square, where Dr. Knox’s school was situated, but failed in obtaining one there; and then Burke went and purchased a tea-chest at the grocer’s. M‘Culloch, a porter, took the box home, and witness arrived there with him before Burke came in. They were standing at the door when he came; and he asked whether they had put up the body. He answered that they had not; and Burke then remarked that they were worth little if they had not done that. They, however, directly went in; and witness and M‘Culloch assisted in placing the body in the chest, the latter forcing it down in its place. M‘Culloch also, on seeing some of the woman’s hair hanging out, pushed it into the box, remarking that it would be “a fine thing to have that seen!” The chest was corded; and M‘Culloch was instructed to carry it to Surgeons’-square, witness and Burke accompanying him. On their way they met Mrs. M‘Dougal and his (witness’) wife, in the High School Yard, and they all went together. Having delivered the chest to Paterson, it was placed in a cellar, and the latter then went with them to Dr. Knox at Newington, where he and Burke were paid 2l. 7s. 6d. each, 5s. being given to the porter.

The witness was cross-examined by Mr. Cockburn on behalf of the prisoners, when he admitted that he had followed many businesses, both in Ireland and in Scotland. He had been frequently concerned in supplying medical schools with subjects, but had never assisted in raising any bodies from church-yards. He had often seen bodies carried to the houses of medical lecturers, but declined to say how often; he also declined to say whether he had been concerned in the murder of any other person but the old woman, and whether he had been present at any other murder in the course of the same month of October.

Mrs. Laird, the wife of this witness, gave evidence very similar to that of her husband, corroborating his statements as to so many of the transactions which he had described as had fallen within her knowledge and observation.

This completed the case for the prosecution, and a most humane and able address having been delivered to the jury by Lord Meadowbank, at half-past eight o’clock in the evening, they retired to consider their verdict. During the period of their absence, which extended to fifty minutes, the most breathless anxiety was exhibited as to the result of the trial, and upon their re-entering the court, an eager silence prevailed amongst the persons assembled. The verdict consigned Burke to an ignominious fate by a declaration of his guilt; but the jury, contrary to all expectation, declared, that as to Mrs. M‘Dougal, the offence alleged was “not proven,” a finding which relieved her from all immediate consequences upon the indictment.

Lord Meadowbank immediately passed the sentence of death upon Burke, and ordered him to be hanged on the 28th January, 1830, and his body to be delivered over to the surgeons for dissection.

He and his fellow prisoner, M‘Dougal, were then immediately conveyed to the lock-up house attached to the court, where they met Hare and his wife, who, although they had been examined as witnesses, were detained to answer any charge which might be preferred against them. Hare, on his way to this place from the court, had been seized with a sudden fit of fiendish and malignant exultation at his own supposed escape from punishment, and at the success of his schemes to bring the neck of his fellow-murderers into the noose, which had not ceased when Burke and M‘Dougal were introduced. His spirits somewhat fell, however, when he learned that he was to be conveyed to Calton-hill jail, with his wife, to await the result of the deliberations of the legal authorities, as to his prosecution upon certain charges of murder, of which there was no doubt he had been guilty, and upon his entrance to that prison the most direful forebodings appeared to fill his mind with apprehension. His wife was a fitting comrade for such a husband. While giving her evidence she had in her arms a child, ill of hooping-cough, and altogether the picture of abject misery, wretchedness, and disease; but instead of treating it with that maternal tenderness which even the tigress shows for her whelps, she seemed to regard it with aversion and hatred, shaking and squeezing it, whenever the cough seized it, with the expression of a fury in her countenance.

On the succeeding Friday, Mrs. M‘Dougal, who had been allowed to remain so long in custody from motives of humanity only, fears being entertained that if she were to go at large, her life would be sacrificed to the vengeance of the mob, was discharged, and forthwith proceeded to her old abode, the scene of so many horrible transactions. On the next day she ventured out to a neighbouring liquor-shop to purchase whiskey, but she was instantly recognised,—the spirit was refused her, and the mob gaining intelligence as to who she was, she was compelled to fly for her life. Fortunately for her, the police interfered, and conducted her again to the prison, thereby saving her from violence; but there can be little doubt that, but for this fortunate intervention in her behalf, she would have fallen a victim to the vengeance of the justly indignant populace.

In the mean time Burke had become scarcely less communicative than Hare had previously been. He made no denial of the truth of the statements which had been made by that wretch, and confirmed the horrid tale related by him, by declaring that he had sold as many as thirty or forty subjects to the surgeons, although he subsequently admitted, like his companion, that he had never once been concerned as a resurrectionist; a confession from which nothing could be inferred but that he had been a party to as many murders as he had sold dead bodies. Nor was this declaration, horrible as it was, without corroboration. The appearances of the den which he inhabited—its loneliness marking it as a fit stage for the enactment of such tragedies; the various articles found in it; the frequent disappearance of persons of the lower orders, and of women of an unfortunate class, for whom, abandoned as they were by the friends and relations whom they had dishonoured, and excluded from all notice and regard by the virtuous part of the community, no person cared to inquire; were circumstances, all of which tended to impress the public mind with a firm belief of the truth of the dreadful suspicions which were raised by the prisoner’s unsatisfactory but most frightful admissions.

The conclusion to which these circumstances lead is as obvious as it is appalling; and to strengthen it we shall here introduce a statement which was published at the time, and which may be relied on. About six months previously to these transactions, the body of a female was offered for sale by some miscreants, probably of Burke’s gang, to the assistant of a most respectable teacher of anatomy in Edinburgh. The ruffians offering it were not known to him, and were not resurrection-men; but as a subject was required, he said he would take it if it suited him when he examined it, and asked when they could bring the body. They replied that they had it now, and that they would bring it to the dissecting-room in the evening, between nine and ten o’clock. At the appointed hour, accordingly, they made their appearance, accompanied by a porter, with the body in a sack. It was taken in, of course, and turned out of the sack, when it proved to be the body of a female, as had been stated by the ruffians—a woman of the town in her clothes, and with her shoes and stockings on. The assistant was startled, and proceeded at once to examine the body, when he found an enormous fracture in the back part of the head, and a large portion of the skull driven in, as if by a blow from the blunt part of a hatchet, or some such weapon. On making this discovery, he instantly exclaimed, “You villains, where and how did you get this body?” To which one replied, with great apparent sang-froid, that it was the body of a woman who had been “popped in a row (murdered in a brawl) in Halkerston’s Wynd,” and that if he did not choose to take it another would. The assistant then suggested that they should wait till he sent for his principal, his intention being to have them detained; but not relishing this proposal, the ruffians (three in number, besides the porter) immediately withdrew with their horrid cargo, and, doubtless, soon found a less scrupulous purchaser. Statements of a similar character were subsequently made in many of the Scotch journals, and there appears to be too good reason to suppose that they were perfectly true.

When we consider this most singular and atrocious conspiracy, and the characters of the different actors in it, as we understand them to be, it should seem as if each of them had his allotted part in the bloody drama. Hare was a rude ruffian, with all the outward appearances of his nature—drunken, ferocious, and profligate; and far likelier to repel than to ensnare any one by a specious show, which he was quite incapable of putting on. He appears, however, to have been the more deeply designing of the two; and to have over-reached his associate, Burke, whom he succeeded in always thrusting forward, with a view, we have no doubt, of turning short upon him, as he did at the last, and consigning him to the gallows, when this should be necessary, in order to save himself. Burke was, indeed, the only one of the two qualified to manage the out-door business of the co-partnery; and he it was, accordingly, who always went out to prowl for victims, and to decoy them to their destruction. In his outward manners he was entirely the reverse of Hare. He was, as we learn from good authority, quiet in his demeanor: he was never riotous; was never heard cursing and swearing; and even when he was the worse of drink, he walked so quietly into his own house, that his foot was never heard along the passage. He was of a fawning address, and was so well liked by the children in the neighbourhood, that each was more ready than another to do his errands. The riots which often occurred in the house, and in which Hare always bore a conspicuous part, were, there is no doubt, got up on purpose, either when they were in the act of committing murder, or that the neighbours might not be alarmed at the noise which inevitably accompanied the mortal struggle between them and the unhappy inmates whom they had enticed into their dwelling.

We have already mentioned the full statements made by Hare, as to the horrid traffic in which he had been engaged, which were not published in the form in which they fell from the lips of this diabolical ruffian. Some portions of them, however, escaped and found their way into the public papers; and regretting our inability to lay before our readers the whole of his history of this terrible case, we shall present to them so much of his story as we have been able to learn:—

The first murder which he charged against Burke, although it is surmised that several had been committed before that time, was that of a girl named Paterson, who was about eighteen or twenty years of age. It appears, that this girl, with one of her associates, Janet Brown, had been lodged in the Canongate police-office, on Tuesday night, the 8th of April. They were kept till six o’clock the next morning, when they went to the house of one Swanstoun, to procure spirits. Here they were met by Burke, who asked them to drink. He afterwards prevailed on them to go with him to breakfast, and gave them two bottles of spirits to carry along with them. They accompanied him to his brother Constantine Burke’s house, in the Canongate. This man was a scavenger, and went out at his usual hour to work. After they had been in the house for some time, Burke and his wife began to quarrel and to fight, which seems to have been the usual preliminary to mischief. In the midst of this uproar, Hare, who had been sent for, and who was a principal agent in this scene of villany, entered, and in the mean time Janet Brown, agitated seemingly, and alarmed by the appearance of violence, wished to leave the house, and to take her companion along with her. By this time it was about ten o’clock, and Paterson was asleep in one of the beds, totally unconscious of her approaching fate. The other girl went out, and was absent about twenty minutes. When she returned she asked for Paterson, and was told that she had left the house. She came back in the afternoon in search of her, and received the same answer. By this time she was murdered. Burke had availed himself of the short interval of twenty minutes, during which her companion, Janet Brown, was absent, to execute his horrid purpose when she was asleep, by stopping her breath; and that very afternoon, between five and six o’clock, her body was taken to the dissecting-room and disposed of for eight pounds. The appearance of this body, which was quite fresh—which had not even begun to grow stiff—of which the face was settled and pleasant, without any expression of pain—awakened suspicions: and Burke was closely questioned as to where he procured it. He easily framed some plausible excuse that he had purchased it from the house where she died; which silenced all further suspicion.

We have already alluded to the murder of an idiot. His name was James Wilson; but he was more commonly known by the appellation of “Daft Jamie.” The circumstances attending his assassination were even, if possible, more revolting than those of the women Campbell or Paterson. The appearance of this creature showed at once the imbecility of his mind, and was such that he was universally regarded with a feeling of tenderness and sympathy. He was quite harmless and kind-hearted; and was on this account generally liked, and well treated; and there were certain houses where he was admitted as a familiar guest, and kindly entertained. It is probable that he had been for some time watched by this gang of murderers, and marked out as one that might be easily taken off without exciting suspicion. Accident unfortunately threw him in their way. He was met by Burke at nine o’clock one morning, in the beginning of October 1828, wandering about in his usual manner in the Grass-market. He instantly accosted him in his fawning manner, and inquired of him whether he was in search of any one; he told him he was seeking his mother, to whom, as he was a creature of kindly dispositions, he was warmly attached. The wretch at once saw that he now had him within his grasp, and instantly commenced his schemes for drawing him away to some convenient place where he might be murdered. He contrived to persuade him that he knew where his mother had gone, and would take him to the place; and by coaxing and flattery he at length decoyed him into Hare’s house. Here those monsters of iniquity, exulting over their deluded victim, began to pretend the greatest affection for him, and having procured liquor, they pressed it upon him. He at first decidedly refused, but they so far wrought upon his good nature by their assumed kindness, that they induced him to join them in their cups, and they plied him so effectually, that he was soon overpowered, and lying down on the floor, fell asleep. Burke, who was anxiously watching his opportunity, then said to Hare, “Shall I do it now?” to which Hare replied, “He is too strong for you yet; you had better let him alone for a while.” Both the ruffians seem to have been afraid of the physical strength which they knew the poor creature possessed, and of the use he would make of it, if prematurely roused. Burke accordingly waited a little, but impatient at the delay, and anxious to accomplish his object, he suddenly threw himself upon Jamie, and attempted to strangle him. Oppressed as he was with the influence of liquor, he was roused at once by this assault to a full sense of his danger; and, by a dreadful effort, he threw off Burke, and sprung to his feet, when the mortal struggle began. Jamie fought with all the fury of despair, and would have been an overmatch for either one of the ruffian assailants. Burke had actually the worst of the struggle, and was about to be overpowered, when he called out furiously to Hare to assist him. Hare rushing forward, turned the balance of the unequal conflict by tripping up Jamie’s heels, and afterwards dragging him along the floor, with Burke lying above him. In the course of this contest, the unhappy object of this dreadful violence contrived to lay hold of Burke with his teeth, and to inflict on him a wound which occasioned a cancer, that would in all probability have shortened his days, even if he had escaped the vengeance of the law. None were present at this murder, which was completed before mid-day, except the two ruffians themselves; but the body was recognised in the dissecting-room by one of the students.

We have stated that the confessions of Hare were fully corroborated by the statements made by Burke subsequent to his conviction. The following conversation, which took place between him and one of the officers of the jail, sufficiently indicate the state of his mind at this time, and the respective degrees of guilt attributable to him and to Hare:—

Before a question was put to him concerning the crimes he had been engaged in, he was solemnly reminded of the duty incumbent upon him, situated as he was, to banish from his mind every feeling of animosity towards Hare, on account of the evidence which the latter gave at the trial; he was told, that, as a dying man, covered with guilt, and without hope, except in the infinite mercy of Almighty God, he, who stood so much in need of forgiveness, must prepare himself to seek it by forgiving from his heart all who had done him wrong; and he was most emphatically adjured to speak the truth, and nothing but the truth, without any attempt either to palliate his own iniquities, or to implicate Hare more deeply than the facts warranted. Thus admonished, and thus warned, he answered the several interrogatories in the terms below stated; declaring at the same time, upon the word of a dying man, that everything he should say would be true, and that he would in no respect exaggerate or extenuate anything, either from a desire to inculpate Hare, or to spare any one else.

After some conversation of a religious nature—in the course of which he stated, that while in Ireland his mind was under the influence of religious impressions, and that he was accustomed to read his Catechism and his Prayer-book, and to attend to his duties—he was asked, “How comes it, then, that you, who, by your own account, were once under the influence of religious impressions, ever formed the idea of such dreadful atrocities, of such cold-blooded, systematic murders, as you admit you have been engaged in—how came such a conception to enter your mind?” To this Burke replied, that he did not exactly know; but that, becoming addicted to drink, living in open adultery, and associating continually with the most abandoned characters, he gradually became hardened and desperate, gave up attending Chapel or any place of religious worship, shunned the face of a priest, and being constantly familiar with every species of wickedness, he at length grew indifferent as to what he did, and was ready to commit any crime.

He was then asked how long he had been engaged in this murderous traffic? To which he answered, “From Christmas 1827, till the murder of the woman Campbell, in October last.” “How many persons have you murdered, or been concerned in murdering, during that time? Were they thirty in all?”—“Not so many; not so many; I assure you,” “How many?” He answered the question; but the answer was, for a reason perfectly satisfactory, reserved.

“Had you any accomplices?”—“None but Hare. We always took care, when we were going to commit murder, that no one else should be present—that no one could swear he saw the deed done. The women might suspect what we were about, but we always put them out of the way when we were going to do it. They never saw us commit any of the murders. One of the murders was done in Broggan’s house, while he was out; but before he returned, the thing was finished, and the body put into a box. Broggan evidently suspected something, for he appeared much agitated, and entreated us ‘to take away that box,’ which we accordingly did; but he was not in any way concerned in it.”

“You have already told me that you were engaged in these atrocities from Christmas 1827 till the end of October 1828: were you associated with Hare during all that time?”—“Yes: we began with selling to Dr. —— the body of a woman who had died a natural death in Hare’s house. We got 10l. for it. After this we began the murders, and all the rest of the bodies we sold to him were murdered.”

“In what place were these murders generally committed?”—“They were mostly committed in Hare’s house, which was very convenient for the purpose, as it consisted of a room and a kitchen; Daft Jamie was murdered there; the story told of this murder is incorrect. Hare began the struggle with him, and they fell and rolled together on the floor; then I went to Hare’s assistance, and we at length finished him, though with much difficulty. I committed one murder in the country by myself; it was in last harvest; all the rest were done in conjunction with Hare.”

“By what means were these fearful atrocities perpetrated?”—“By suffocation. We made the persons drunk, and then suffocated them by holding the nostrils and mouth, and getting on the body; sometimes I held the mouth and nose, while Hare knelt upon the body; and sometimes Hare held the mouth and nose, while I placed myself upon the body. Hare has perjured himself by what he said at the trial about the murder of Campbell; he did not sit by while I did it, as he says; he was on the body assisting me with all his might, while I held the nostrils and mouth with one hand, and choked her under the throat with the other; we sometimes used a pillow, but did not in this case.”

“Now, Burke, answer me this question: were you tutored or instructed, or did you receive hints from any one, as to the mode of committing murder?”—“No, except from Hare. We often spoke about it, and we agreed that suffocation was the best way. Hare said so, and I agreed with him. We generally did it by suffocation.”

“Did you receive any encouragement to commit or persevere in committing these atrocities?”—“Yes; we were frequently told by Paterson that he would take as many bodies as we could get for him. When we got one, he always told us to get more. There was commonly another person with him of the name of Falconer. They generally pressed us to get more bodies.”

“To whom were the bodies so murdered sold?”—“To Dr. ——. We took the bodies to his rooms in ——, and then went to his house to receive the money for them. Sometimes he paid us himself; sometimes we were paid by his assistants. No questions were ever asked as to the mode in which we had come by the bodies. We had nothing to do but to leave a body at the rooms, and to go and get the money.”

“Did you ever, upon any occasion, sell a body or bodies to any other lecturer in this place?” “Never. We knew no other.”

“You have been a resurrectionist (as it is called), I understand?” “No, neither Hare nor myself ever got a body from a churchyard. All we sold were murdered, save the first one, which was that of the woman who died a natural death in Hare’s house. We began with that: our crimes then commenced. The victims we selected were generally elderly persons. They could be more easily disposed of than persons in the vigour of youth.”

Such were the horrible disclosures made by this man—disclosures of the truth of which there cannot be the smallest doubt. The general impression raised by Burke’s declaration was, that he had been originally the dupe of Hare, and that the latter having been before engaged in a similar traffic had driven him on, after having once enlisted him in the service, to commit atrocities of which he would not otherwise have been guilty.

With such a belief almost universally pervading society, it may well be imagined that a notification which was given that no prosecution would take place against Hare was received with no small degree of surprise. A cry that he, like Burke, should be subjected to the punishment due to his crimes, was raised, but was met by a positive refusal on the part of the public prosecutor to permit any proceedings to be taken against him of a criminal nature. Great excitement was created by this determination being made known, but its propriety must be now, as indeed it was then upon mature consideration, admitted. No one, we believe, will deny that immense advantages would have been derived by society from the visitation of condign punishment upon every one of the wretches, male and female, who had disgraced the human form, by aiding and abetting the perpetration of these unheard of atrocities; but it was felt that care must be taken that in the anxiety which existed to visit the guilty with the reward of their criminal acts, the great landmarks of conservative law were not overthrown. Whatever the terms were upon which the evidence of Hare was obtained, it behoved the public authorities of the country to act upon them to their fullest extent; and although probably, according to the strict rule, he would have been liable to be brought to trial upon any one of those murders in which he had been engaged, except that of Mrs. Campbell, the expediency of such a proceeding may well be doubted. His arraignment for any offence, without the certainty of his conviction, might have been to place the authorities in a position, in which they would have been triumphed over by this ruffian. Who, we ask, could have been produced as a witness to fix any crime upon him? His own confession was taken for another purpose, and was a privileged communication which could not be produced in evidence against him;—that of Burke would be equally useless, for before any trial could take place, he would be a “hanged man,” and his statement being ex parte, could not legally be laid before the jury. Mrs. M‘Dougal, burning with vengeance for the loss of her paramour, would be so prejudiced as to render her testimony impossible to be believed, and Mrs. Hare could not be examined as a witness against her own husband. The other witnesses on the trial had deposed to facts and circumstances which were in themselves vague and uncertain when stripped of the admissions, positive and negative, of Hare and Burke, which alone served to flash upon them the light of truth in a horrid and appalling glare, but which, as we have already said, could not be used in any new inquiry. If a new investigation had commenced in which Hare was the person charged, the peace of the community might have been disturbed. Great excitement would undoubtedly have been created, and it was deemed impolitic for the sake of the character of the nation, when a conviction was uncertain, to expose a wretch like this prisoner to popular outrage. Edinburgh had already had her share of those commotions, in which the people had snatched victims from the protection of the law, and wanted no other sacrifice; and however all men would have rejoiced, if in due course of law the whole of this band of wretches could have been punished by the gibbet, all right-minded persons must have shrunk, even for such a purpose, from straining the law to sharp interpretations. Hare, therefore, it was felt, must be protected from the penal consequences of his crimes, and permitted to live a little longer. Such a wretch, however, could not have escaped with impunity. To a mind capable of reflection death would have been comfort, compared with such a state of existence as that to which he was doomed. With whom, now that Burke was gone, could he associate? Where could he hide his head? The brand of “murderer” was on his brow,—the finger of the Almighty was upon him, as one for whom the chance of mercy was small and uncertain.

Notwithstanding these considerations, however, frequent reports were circulated that the friends of Daft Jamie were determined to commence a prosecution against his murderer; and a petition was actually presented to the High Court of Justiciary in the name of his mother and sister, for a warrant to detain the prisoner in jail to answer the charge; but the court declined to interfere, as such a step would be unnecessary, the right of prosecution lying in the hands of the Lord Advocate, who was bound to take such steps as were proper and requisite.

In the meantime Mrs. M‘Dougal having been again suffered to quit the jail, succeeded in making her escape from Edinburgh unperceived. Upon the night on which she was taken to the prison for security by the police, she affected to be sensible of her condition, but assured the officers that she was herself nearly falling a victim to the horrible system in which Burke had been engaged. She then related a plausible tale of her having overheard Burke and Hare come to a determination to murder her in case of their wanting a subject. She stated, that one night Burke and Hare were carousing in one of the apartments of Hare’s human shambles on the profit, of a recent murder. In the midst of their unhallowed orgies, Hare raised his hand, and in a fit of fiendish exultation, stated that they could never want money; for when they were at a loss for a “shot”—a body for dissection—they would murder and sell, first one and then the other of their own wives. Being in the adjoining apartment, the females overheard, and were petrified by this horrible resolution, as they had every reason to believe that the monsters would certainly carry it into effect. A discussion of some length ensued, and Hare finally succeeded in persuading Burke to consent, that when the dreadful emergency did arrive, M‘Dougal should be the first victim. Upon her leaving the prison she was seen to go in a direction as if she intended to quit the city of Edinburgh, and unsought, and unasked for, she was never again seen within the limits of the place which she had polluted by her presence.

On Wednesday the 28th of January, pursuant to his sentence, Burke underwent the last penalty of the law. During the latter portion of his confinement, he declared that his confession had tended materially to relieve his mind; and he professed great contrition for his crimes. On the day of his execution he was removed from the jail to the lock-up, at the Court-house, where the scaffold had been erected, under a strong escort of police. The crowd which had assembled to witness his final exit from the scene of life was tremendous; and seats commanding a view of the gallows were let at a large price. Upon his coming forth upon the platform, he was assailed by the hideous yells of public execration, with a species of ferocious exultation. The concluding moments of his existence must have caused him the most acute suffering, for, stung to madness by the horrible shrieks with which he was greeted, he appeared anxious to hurry the executioner in the performance of his duty, as if desirous to escape from that life which he had spent so ill. Very soon after eight o’clock, he was tied up to the gallows in the usual way; and he immediately gave the signal for the falling of the drop, by throwing down his handkerchief. A short, but apparently a severe struggle succeeded; and in less than two minutes he ceased to move. His body hung suspended for half an hour, when it was cut down, and placed in a shell, which had been brought to the scaffold for its reception. A struggle took place among the officials present for scraps of the rope with which he had been hanged, shavings of his coffin, and other relics of a similar character; but by nine o’clock, the crowd had dispersed, and in a few hours afterwards, all appearance of his execution had vanished.

The case of Hare was argued before the Scotch judges on the 5th of February; and by a majority of four to two, they determined that the public faith had been pledged to him, when his evidence was received against Burke, that he should be borne harmless, and he was ordered to be discharged. It was found, however, that by an ancient form of law he might be detained for the costs of the suit, and his final deliberation was therefore delayed; but on Thursday, the 12th of the same month, he and his wife were set at liberty. They appear upon their discharge to have parted company; for Mrs. Hare was nearly sacrificed to the fury of the mob at Glasgow, to which place she wended her way, while her husband proceeded by mail to Dumfries, where he was near meeting a similar fate. The mail, it appears, landed him at about seven o’clock in the morning; and although there was no intimation of his arrival, he was recognised by the mob, who immediately assailed him with the bitterest execrations, and with stones and other missiles. He succeeded in effecting his escape from them into the King’s Arms Inn, where he obtained a refuge; but a crowd of persons surrounded the house, and demanded that he should be given up to their fury. For a considerable time consequences of a dangerous nature were apprehended; but night having arrived, the people dispersed; and when all was quiet, Hare quitted the house, and made a precipitate retreat from the town—whither, it was not known. The subsequent history of this atrocious ruffian, and of his wife and Mrs. M‘Dougal, must, we believe, for ever remain a mystery. Their crimes and their notoriety would be sufficient, to prevent their acknowledging their names, or the fact of their being the participators in these horrible transactions; and it is to be hoped, that when they quitted the scene of their dreadful offences, they did so with sincere thankfulness to the Almighty for the escape which they had had from a sudden and ignominious death, and with a firm determination to make use of that period which was granted them to live, to atone, by their repentance, for their sins.

We cannot quit this subject without remarking upon the effects which were produced by these revolting murders. It was on the 28th of January, that Burke expiated his crimes upon the scaffold, and Parliament met on the 5th of the ensuing month of February. On the 12th of the same month, Mr. Warburton gave notice of his intention of bringing the whole subject before the House of Commons. Rumours by this time had become general throughout the metropolis that the same system which had been carried on in Edinburgh had been discovered to exist in London; and the public, whose fears were easily alarmed by such a statement, immediately concluded that every report of a missing person confirmed that which now became a pretty general belief. The daily papers were filled with accounts of persons who had suddenly disappeared, and who were supposed to have been “burked,” the term now universally employed in the description of the murders committed by the atrocious gang, whose villanies had just been brought to light; and the universal alarm which prevailed was rendered greater by the absurd practice of idle or drunken fellows who stopped persons whom they met in lonely situations, pretending to clap a plaister over their noses and mouths, with an intention to suffocate them. Complaints were made to the police of the system of creating alarm which was carried on, and their utmost vigilance was called for to protect the public from absolute danger, as well as from the terror which was everywhere excited. Accounts were sometimes received of dead bodies having been discovered packed in brine tubs, on their way to Edinburgh from London, and every case of this description was tortured into proof of the existence of a scheme of murder in the latter place, even more dreadful than that which had been discovered in Scotland.

Owing to the long and most important discussions, which at this period were carried on in both houses of parliament, upon the subject of the claims of the catholics for relief, it was not until Thursday, the 12th of March, that this subject could be brought under the attention of the legislature. Mr. Warburton then moved in the House of Commons for leave to bring in a bill to legalise and regulate the supply of dead bodies for dissection. The honourable gentleman in stating to the house the general grounds upon which he made his motion, said that his first object would be, to confer a species of legality on the practice of anatomy; and with this view he should propose—first, an enactment to render anatomy lawful, both in its practice and as a mode of instruction in all cities or towns corporate wherein there were schools which conferred degrees in anatomy, or wherein there were hospitals which were capable of receiving fifty patients at a time. The next difficulty to surmount would be the obtaining a sufficient number of subjects for the purposes of science and instruction. His project had for its basis the practice of the French government in the city of Paris. He, therefore, should propose that the overseers of the poor, in certain cases, and the governors of hospitals, should be empowered by the bill to give up to surgical examination the bodies of such persons as fell victims to disease whilst in the hospital, and were not claimed within a certain time after their decease. Here he begged that he should not be understood to treat the feelings of the lower orders with the slightest degree of disrespect by the present enactment. He begged them to take this into their consideration, and also to reflect, that in the case of the late disclosures of the horrid atrocities committed in order to obtain a supply of subjects for dissection in Edinburgh, the lower classes had in all cases been the victims. The motion of the hon. member was fully approved of by the House, and a bill was on the same night introduced, embodying the general principles which he had detailed. The bill passed the House of Commons in the course of the same session, but upon its reaching the House of Lords, so many noble individuals were found who objected to its principle, by which, it was said, the poor were subjected to what might be considered an evil, in which the rich did not participate, that it was withdrawn.

It was not until the recurrence of events in the metropolis of London, similar in character to those which we have just described,—the murders committed by Bishop and Williams,—that the subject again received the attention of parliament. In the session of 1831, Mr. Warburton once more moved for leave to introduce a bill, the provisions of which, although they were mainly the same as those of his former measure, differed from it in some important respects. By the new bill, the consent of the party whose body was to be submitted to dissection was required to be obtained before his death, as a condition precedent to its being handed over to the surgeons, and the whole system was to be placed under the superintending direction of inspectors and commissioners appointed for that purpose. This bill was introduced on Thursday, Dec. 15, and after undergoing considerable discussion, it at length passed into a law in the same session.

The act having been in operation during a period of upwards of eight years, has been found to have been attended with the most advantageous results, and the exertions of Dr. Southwood Smith, who holds a responsible situation under its provisions, have tended in no small degree to secure this admirable effect. The offence of body-snatching is now no longer heard of; for the object of the crime having been removed, the crime itself has ceased to be committed.

Happy would it have been for the interests of the community, if, before these dreadful scenes were witnessed and brought to light, some similar plan had met the approbation of the legislature.

EDWARD BARNETT.
EXECUTED FOR MURDER.

THE dreadful murder for which this young man was executed, was scarcely less frightful in its nature than that of the unfortunate Maria Marten.

It was on the morning of Sunday, September 28th, 1828, that this deed of blood was discovered, when the murdered remains of a woman named Esther Stevens were found in a house which she occupied in the town of Monmouth. The wretched woman, it appeared, was born on the Kymin, a high mountain near Monmouth, and from her being in the habit of frequenting certain districts of the hill of her birth, she passed by the familiar epithet of “Hall of the Kymin.” At an early age she was married to a man named Stevens, a bargeman, to whom in later years, however, she appears to have exhibited considerable dislike. Stevens’ employment necessarily called him from home for considerable periods, and during these absences, his unhappy wife formed acquaintances with other men, of a criminal nature,—a step to which eventually she owed her murder. Amongst these guilty companions of her adultery was a man named William Davis, living at a village called Christchurch, near Carleon, on the Newport road, to whom she represented herself as a single woman, and to whom also she had promised marriage. A later connexion, however, was formed by her with Barnett, who resided in Monmouth—the miserable subject of this sketch.

Barnett, it appears, was strongly attached to Mrs. Stevens, and looked with the most uncontrollable feelings of jealousy upon her connexion with Davis. Immediately before the murder she had been living with Davis under an assumed name at Carleon, during her husband’s absence, and Barnett discovering her position, quitted his mother’s house, where he resided, in order to endeavour to induce her to return to Monmouth. In this effort he succeeded, and on Friday, 26th September, they quitted Carleon together. Mrs. Stevens, however, passed that night in the great wood on the Kymin, and Barnett was observed to leave her at the skirts of the wood in the morning. He proceeded home again, and on his arrival produced a loaded pistol from his pocket, and these circumstances, coupled with the contents of a letter, sent by the unfortunate woman to Davis, in which she stated that something dreadful was going to happen, led to a supposition that a threat of murder was made by Barnett on that night, in the event of her again joining her paramour at Christchurch. On Saturday afternoon Barnett received a letter from Mrs. Stevens, desiring an interview, and he quitted his home in order to obey the request which she made. At this time he had in his possession a shot-bag containing 30l. in notes, gold, and silver, and was attired in a shooting jacket and laced boots. He did not again return home, and on the following morning the wretched woman was found lying in her house, brutally murdered.

Her husband was at first supposed to have been the author of this revolting act, in revenge upon his discovering her perfidy to him; but upon an attentive examination of the appearances which presented themselves, and a due inquiry into the circumstances which had preceded the murder, his innocence and the guilt of Barnett became evident. At the time of the discovery of the murder, the door of the house was found open, and some persons, led on by curiosity, upon going up stairs, were horror-struck at perceiving the mangled remains of Mrs. Stevens lying on the floor of the bedroom. Upon the constables of the place being informed of the circumstance, they immediately proceeded to investigate the affair. Upon inquiry of a man named Pearce, residing next door, they found that in the course of the night Mrs. Stevens had been heard to go up stairs, as if slip-shod, and directly afterwards they heard screams; but as such events were common, as arising out of frequent quarrels between the deceased and her husband, they took no notice of the occurrence. From further inquiries, however, it was ascertained that Stevens had not slept at home on that night, and from the discovery of Barnett’s shot-bag and money, his shooting coat and boots in the room, it became obvious that he had been a partner in the unhappy woman’s bed, and having murdered her, had fled to avoid his apprehension. From the statement of Pearce, and certain appearances which presented themselves in the house, it was supposed that Mrs. Stevens had risen in the night in order to prepare the lower room for the morning meal, as the kettle was found full on the fire, and the usual utensils were laid ready for use, and it was concluded that Barnett waking just as the wretched woman was returning to the sleeping apartment, was excited by some jealous apprehension of her having quitted his bed to meet some other paramour, and had rushed upon her and murdered her.

The manner in which the fearful deed had been committed, was exhibited by the discovery of a case-knife covered with blood, on the floor, near the body of the deceased; and one tremendous gash across the throat was evidently the cause of death. The deed must have been completed with great rapidity, and the murderer, alarmed by his crime, appeared to have run off only partially dressed, and without even wiping the gore from his hands, as bloody finger-marks were distinctly visible on the stairs. The deceased too was attired only in a portion of her clothes; her cap was found lying under her head, saturated with blood, and her ear-rings, which had fallen from her ears, were picked up close to her in the room. The case-knife, with which the dreadful wound had been inflicted, appeared to have been taken from a drawer of a table which was open, close by the body.

Upon further search being made, it was found that Barnett could nowhere be seen,—a circumstance which tended materially to confirm the suspicions already excited against him. Evidence was also obtained of his having been observed crossing the Wye, without his coat, hat, or boots, and messengers were immediately despatched in every direction in search of him.

The scene in the Jury-room where the inquest was held on the Tuesday night was of the most affecting description. On the table lay the bloody garments of the murdered woman, the instrument of death, and the clothes, money, &c. of the murderer. Thirty-three witnesses were in attendance to enter into sureties to attend and give evidence at the Assizes. Amidst this group might be noticed the husband of the deceased, who deeply felt the peculiarity of his situation. The mother of the supposed murderer attracted universal attention—fast declining in years, called on by the justice of her country to sign her deposition, and to enter into recognizances against her son, her hand appeared to refuse its office, and with the utmost difficulty could she make her mark. And amidst the spectators might also be observed the father of the deceased, whose care-worn face and anxiety of countenance bespoke the inward workings of his mind for a guilty murdered child.

A verdict of wilful murder against Edward Barnett was returned by the coroner’s jury, and on Monday, the 6th of October, he was brought in custody to Monmouth, by Fuller, an officer, by whom he had been apprehended in Liverpool, and to whom he did not scruple to make a general confession of his guilt.

Upon his being conveyed before the magistrates, he appeared to be about twenty-three years of age, stout and well-made, with sandy hair. He had on the trousers and waistcoat which he was supposed to have had with him at the time of committing the murder, a pair of shoes which he was found to have begged at the turnpike at Irenchester, and an old hat not worth a penny. He was still without a coat; his shirt-sleeves, particularly at the wristbands, very dirty; no neckerchief; his waistcoat of the yellow plush kind, spotted, but no marks of blood were discernible on any part of his dress. He appeared unmoved at the awfulness of his situation, and his eyes were downcast; a slight hectic tinged his cheeks when the inquisition was read over. The coroner informed him of the verdict against him, and his intention of having all the depositions read over in his hearing; and if he had any remark to make, or had a wish to ask any witness a question, they should be sent for, the town clerk cautioning him at the same time most earnestly not to say anything which might tend to criminate himself. He gave a deep sigh on the constable’s producing his clothes, but did not evince the least emotion on the production of the bloody knife. During the reading of the depositions, he stood up in a firm and erect manner, fixing his eyes intensely on the town-clerk, and did not betray any internal feeling; with this exception, that when the husband’s evidence was being read over, there was a slight convulsion of the lower lip, accompanied by a deep-drawn sigh. The evidence being gone through, he was asked by the coroner if he had any remark to make. To this he gave no answer; and on its being repeated by the town-clerk, he faintly answered, “No.” He then sat down with apparent exhaustion, which might have been produced by the heat of a crowded room. His manner throughout was not that of a guilty man, with the exception of his downcast eyes. His cast of features was rather prepossessing, and a low smile was occasionally discovered. His firmness and self-possession were the universal theme of remark.

The warrant for his commitment being made out, a post-chaise was ordered, in which he was conveyed to the jail to await his trial at the assizes.

It was not until the spring assizes of the following year that his trial came on; and then the evidence of his guilt was so conclusive as to leave the jury no alternative as to the verdict which they should return.

Sentence of death was immediately passed upon him, and on Thursday 9th of April, 1829, he underwent the extreme penalty of the law.

During the whole period of his confinement and on his trial he exhibited the utmost firmness and self-possession, and his demeanour was in no way altered upon the morning of his execution. He ascended the gallows with an unhesitating step, and was turned off without exhibiting any sign of remorse, or sense of the dreadful position in which he was placed.

ESTHER HIBNER, THE ELDER; ESTHER HIBNER, THE YOUNGER; AND ANN ROBINSON.
TRIED FOR THE MURDER OF A PARISH APPRENTICE.

IN the case of these offenders we have to present our readers with a murder, equal in atrocity to that committed by the notorious Brownrigg, whose fate we have already related.

These unnatural women were indicted at the Old Bailey, on the 10th of April, 1829, for the wilful murder of Frances Colpitt, aged ten years, the parish apprentice of the elder Hibner.

Mr. Bolland (with whom was Mr. Alley) stated the case. He observed, that the facts he had to lay before the jury must excite the greatest horror in the minds of those who heard the dreadful narration; but he thanked God that such a case as the present was of unfrequent occurrence in this country. The deceased, who was only ten years of age, was a pauper, and was apprenticed to the prisoner, Esther Hibner, the elder, who resided at Platt Terrace, Pancras Road, by the overseers of St. Martin’s parish, to learn the business of fabricating tambour-work. She was apprenticed on the 7th of April, 1828, and in the month of October following, a system of the most cruel and unnatural treatment was commenced by the prisoners towards the unfortunate deceased and the other children who were placed under their care by St. Martin’s and other parishes. They were not allowed sufficient sustenance, were compelled to rise to begin work at three and four in the morning, and were kept at work till eleven at night, sometimes two in the morning, and sometimes all night. They had scarcely any bed to lie on; and frequently during the most inclement season their resting-place was the flooring, and their only covering was an old rug. The prisoners and their family had good bedding and clothes, and every comfort that they desired. The children were not permitted to go out to obtain necessary air and exercise; and thus the cruel treatment they had experienced had terminated fatally with three of them. The child which was the subject of the present indictment had been reduced to such a deplorable condition that her feet mortified; and this, combined with the bursting of an abscess on the lungs, brought on by the ill-treatment the child had experienced, occasioned her death. The breakfast which was allowed the children, was a slice of bread and a cup of milk; and if they were indulged with this luxury, they had no more food all the day. Sometimes the elder Hibner said the deceased and the other children had not earned their breakfast, and then a few potatoes were given them in the middle of the day, and nothing more afterwards till the following morning. Nine pounds of potatoes were divided amongst the whole family, which consisted of twelve persons; they were allowed meat only once a fortnight; and on Sundays they were locked in the kitchen, the windows of which were closed. It would be proved that the younger prisoner, Hibner, had taken the deceased from the frame, and knocked her down on the floor; she had then taken the deceased up, and knocked her down again. When the elder prisoner was informed that the deceased was lying in the room ill, instead of affording her that protection which she was bound to do, she replied, “Let her lie there.” The deceased, when in that state that she could scarcely crawl about the house, was told by the younger Hibner to clean the stairs; she attempted to do it, but fell exhausted, and was unable to accomplish the task; the younger Hibner then took the deceased up stairs, and flogged her with a cane and a rod, and afterwards sent her down to finish the stairs; when she came down, she was unable, from weakness, to go to the proper place to obey the calls of nature, and wetted the stairs: when Hibner the younger discovered it, she rubbed the child’s nose and face in it, and afterwards plunged her head into a pail of water; the prisoner Robinson, who was standing by, encouraged Hibner to commit this violence, and said, “Curse her! do it again, and that will finish her.” The children often cried for food, and, to satisfy the cravings of nature, had eaten the meat that was brought in for the dog, and also some pieces of meat which they picked out of the wash that was obtained for feeding the pig. It would be proved also, that all the prisoners had beaten the deceased; sometimes with a cane, sometimes with a rod, and sometimes with a shoe. The medical gentlemen who attended the deceased before death, and examined her body afterwards, would prove that they found large sores on the feet of the deceased, and her toes were mortifying and falling off. After death they examined the body, and found it in the most dreadful state, produced by the ill-treatment she had experienced from the prisoners, and from the want of proper food and nourishment. The case demanded the most serious attention of the Jury; and he felt satisfied that they would give the circumstances the most serious consideration before they arrived at their decision.

Evidence of the apprenticeship by the parish-officers, and of the dreadful state in which the deceased was found, was then given, and followed up by the testimony of three of the apprentices, who fully confirmed the narrative given by Mr. Bolland.

Charles James Wright, a surgeon, said, he went to visit the deceased at Mrs. Hibner’s house; she had sores on her feet, and her toes were mortifying and dropping off, she died on the 15th of March. After death, he examined the body; he found that the lungs were nearly destroyed with abscess—the viscera were inflamed, and the body was otherwise diseased; there were also several bruises on the outside of the body; the proximate cause of death was the abscess on the lungs, and mortification on the feet. These were produced by the want of food and exercise, and the improper treatment which the child had received. The immersion of the child’s head in cold water would, he considered, greatly accelerate the complaint on the lungs.

Two other medical gentleman, named Gozna and Bellin, gave similar evidence, and concurred in opinion that the treatment the deceased had received had accelerated the complaint on the lungs, and caused death.

This closed the case for the prosecution, and the prisoners were called upon for their defence.

The elder prisoner, Hibner, said she would leave her defence in the hands of her daughter.

The daughter said that the children had sworn falsely. They had been treated with the greatest kindness by her and her mother, since they had been in their house, and there was not the slightest ground for the accusation which had been preferred against them.

Robinson declared that what had been alleged against her was false. She was engaged by the Hibners only to assist them in their business, and went home every night at eight o’clock.

Mr. Baron Garrow then proceeded to sum up the case, and delivered a most feeling and impressive address, in the course of which he entreated the jury, however their feelings might have been excited by the horrible narrative they had heard, to come to a calm and temperate decision on the case. The elder prisoner was the person to whose protecting care this unfortunate child was consigned. She had promised that it should receive from her care and attention, and she was, therefore, bound to protect it from violence. His lordship then read over the evidence to the jury, and observed, that in deciding the case, the jury had to consider, first, whether the general ill-treatment which the child had received from the elder prisoner had caused its death: if that were their opinion, the other two prisoners must be acquitted. If, on the other hand, they believed that the immersion of the child’s head in cold water by the younger Hibner, in the presence of Robinson, had promoted the consumption, and had been the principal cause of the child’s premature death, then they were bound to convict those two women and acquit the elder prisoner.

The jury after some deliberation found the elder Hibner guilty, but acquitted the other women.

The sentence of death was at once passed upon Mrs. Hibner, and she was ordered for execution on the following Monday; while the other women were directed to be detained, to be tried for the assault upon the deceased.

During the trial Mrs. Hibner did not exhibit the slightest feeling of remorse for her crimes, or of fear for the consequences of them; and upon her being arraigned upon a second indictment, which charged her with the diabolical murder of another of her apprentices, she pleaded not guilty with all the firmness of conscious innocence, although as the poor child’s death had been the result of the same dreadful course of treatment adopted towards Colpitt, there could be no doubt of her legal and moral responsibility for the crime, which had hurried the wretched being from the world. As a capital conviction had already been obtained against the prisoner, it was thought unnecessary to obtain the verdict of the jury upon this second indictment; and the horrid wretch was conducted from the court to the condemned cell in the jail. Here her conduct became violent in the extreme. She swore to Mr. Wontner, the governor of the jail, that she would not be hanged, and became perfectly outrageous because she was not allowed to have a mutton-chop for her dinner. On Sunday, she had a last interview with her daughter; but it produced no effect upon her hardened mind, and she parted from her without a tear. She subsequently went into the yard; and it appearing to the turnkey that there was something suspicious in her behaviour, he sent some person after her who found her bleeding from a wound she had inflicted in the front part of her neck with a knife, which, by some means, she had obtained unknown to the attendants. From this time her behaviour was so violent, that it was found absolutely necessary to apply the strait waistcoat to prevent her from tearing the bandages off the wound. She confessed, soon after her attempt at suicide, to Mr. Wontner, that it was not her intention to kill herself, but merely to wound herself severely; thinking, thereby, that she would be allowed to live a few days longer.

When this was ascertained, Mr. Cotton offered his spiritual advice and assistance to the wretched woman; but she refused them and said, “that she knew enough of the Bible herself, and wanted no interpreter.” Mr. Cotton still persevered until a late hour, but all his efforts proved useless. She listened to him with the most imperturbable patience, and never gave expression to either assent or dissent.

A little before eight o’clock on Monday morning, the 13th of April, the wretched malefactor was led from the condemned cell to the press-room. She exhibited a dreadful appearance; her dress, a black gown, over which was a white bed-gown, and the white cap on her head, contributed, together with the sallowness of her complexion, to give her a most unearthly aspect. The sad procession then set forward, the miserable woman being carried by two men, as she absolutely refused to walk. On her arrival at the scaffold, she was assailed with a loud volley of yells from the people, particularly from the females, of which the crowd was in a great measure composed.

Up to the last the culprit refused to receive any spiritual consolation, and no clergyman attended her on the scaffold. The executioner proceeded to perform the necessary duties, and a few minutes after eight the unfortunate woman was carried to

“That bourne from whence no traveller returns.”

She did not make a single struggle, and appeared to die almost instantaneously.

Her body was cut down, after hanging the usual time, and was delivered to the surgeons for dissection.

Upon the same day on which this wretched being expiated her crimes upon the scaffold, her daughter and her assistant Robinson were tried for the minor offence of assaulting the miserable children entrusted to their care as apprentices; and having been found guilty, were sentenced respectively to twelve, and to four months’ imprisonment in the House of Correction.

JONATHAN MARTIN.
TRIED FOR ARSON.

THE name of this wretched maniac will long be remembered from the circumstance of the object of his offence being that of burning down that venerable monument of antiquity—York Minster; an effort in which, happily, he only partially succeeded.

The fire was discovered in a most remarkable manner. On the evening of Sunday the 1st of February, 1829, one of the choristers, a lad named Swainbank, was passing through the Minster-yard, when, setting his foot on a piece of ice, he was thrown on his back, on the ground. Before he had time to rise, he perceived smoke proceeding from the building before him. He at once gave the alarm, and assistance was immediately procured; but it was not until the choir, with its magnificent organ and its beautiful roof, had been totally destroyed, that the flames could be conquered. At first this national catastrophe was supposed to have been the result of accident; but the discovery of one of the bell-pulls, knotted so as to form a species of ladder, suspended from one of the windows of the building, and of evidence of a light having been seen moving about in the belfry after all the officers of the Minster had retired, on the night of the fire, led to a conclusion that it was the work of an incendiary. This belief was on the following week strengthened by the apprehension of a person named Jonathan Martin, at Leeds, with some portion of the velvet from the reading-desk in his possession. He was examined before the magistrates, and at once confessed that he had set fire to the building in obedience to the will of the Lord communicated to him in two remarkable dreams. He was committed to York Castle for trial, and it turned out that he had been already twice in confinement as a madman, and that he had prophesied the destruction of the Minster.

On Monday, the 30th of March, he took his trial at the York assizes and was found by the jury to have been of unsound mind at the time of his committing the offence charged against him.

The following extracts from his defence at once showed that he was a religious enthusiast:—

When called upon for his defence, he proceeded to say, in a Northern dialect and with great energy—“Well, sir, the first impression that I had about it was from a dream. And after I had written five letters to these clergy, the last of which I believe was a very severe one, and all of which I dated from my lodgings at No. 90, Aldwick, I was very anxious to speak to them by word of mouth; but none of them would come near me. So I prayed to the Lord, and asked him what was to be done. And I dreamed that I saw a cloud come over the cathedral—and it rolled towards me at my lodgings; it awoke me out of my sleep, and I asked the Lord what it meant; and he told me it was to warn these clergymen of England, who were going to plays, and cards, and such like: and the Lord told me he had chosen me to warn them, and reminded me of the prophecies—that there should in the latter days be signs in the heavens. I felt so impressed with it, that I found the Lord had destined me to show those people the way to flee from the wrath to come. Then I bethought me that I could not do that job without being out all night, and I considered whether I should let my wife know. I got everything ready, and I took the ring from my wife’s finger, and talked to her about what I have mentioned—and I told her what I meant to do: she grieved very much, and I had work to get off. I still staid a few days, but I could get no rest whatever until I had accomplished the work. It was a severe contest between flesh and blood—and then I bethought me what would come of her and my son Richard, who I had at Lincoln. Then the Lord said unto me, ‘What thou does, do with all thy might.’ I tore from her and said, ‘Well, well, Lord—Not my will but thine be done.’ I then left Leeds, taking twenty of my books with me; but I had no money, and went into Tadcaster; there I got a gill of ale. [He then proceeded to state the manner in which he travelled and supported himself to York.] On Sunday (February 1st) I went to the cathedral service, and it vexed me to hear them singing their prayers and amens. I knew it did not come from the heart, it was deceiving the people. Then there was the organ, buz! buz! and said I to mysen, I’ll hae thee down to-night, thou shot buz no more! well, they were all going out, and I lay me down by’t side of the Bishop’s round by the pillar. [The prisoner concealed himself behind a tomb, between which and the wall there was a space that more than one person might lie down in.] I thought I heard the people coming down from the bells; they all went out, and then it was so dark that I could not see my hand. Well, I left this Bishop, and came out and fell upon my knees, and asked the Lord what I was to do first; and he said, Get thy way up the bell-loft; I had never been there, and I went round and round; I had a sort of guess of the place from hearing the men as I thought come down; I then struck a light with a flint and a razor that I had got, and some tinder that I had brought from my landlord’s. I saw there were plenty of ropes—then I cut one, and then another; but I had no idea they were so long, and I kept draw, draw, and the rope came up. I dare say I had hundred feet. Well, thought I to myself, this will make a man-rope, a sort of skaling rope, and I tied knots in it. Ay, that’s it, I know it well enough (pointing to the rope which lay upon the table). So I went down to the body of the cathedral, and bethought me how I should get inside. I thought if I did so, by throwing the rope over the organ, I might set it ganging, and that would spoil the job. So I made an end of the rope fast, and went hand over-hand over the gates, and got down on the other side, and fell on my knees and prayed to the Lord—and he told me, that do what I would, they would take me. Then I asked the Lord what I was to do with velvet, and he told me, and I thought it would do for my hairy jacket, that I have at Lincoln. I have a very good seal-skin one there. I wish I had it with me, that I might show it you. Then I got all ready. Glory to God, I never felt so happy; but I had a hard night’s work of it, particularly with a hungered belly. Well, I got a bit of wax-candle, and I set fire to one heap, and with the matches I set fire to the other. I then tied up the things that the Lord had given me for my hire, in this very handkerchief that I have in my hand. [The prisoner then went on to describe his escape by means of the rope, nearly in the same terms as have been stated, and of his proceeding to Hexham; that on the road the coaches passed him, but he laid himself down, and was never seen.] While I was at Hexham (I think I had been there two days) I had been to pray with a poor woman, and the Hexham man came and tipped me on the shoulder.” He concluded by saying, “I’s tired, or I’d tell you more.”

The unfortunate man was ordered to be detained during his Majesty’s pleasure, and was afterwards conveyed to a lunatic asylum.

It appeared that this maniac was the brother of the painter, who, for his magnificent productions, has attained so much celebrity. Up to the time of this transaction, he had gained a precarious livelihood by hawking books; having been, however, as we have before stated, once or twice confined in a mad-house.

It is very remarkable that York Minster has repeatedly suffered from fire. Its origin may be dated from A.D. 626. In 741 it was dreadfully damaged by fire, and remained in that state till 767, when it was taken down, rebuilt, and completed, and was consecrated in 780. Thus it stood until 1069, when the Northumbrians, aided by the Danes, having besieged the city of York, the garrison set fire to several houses in the suburbs, which fire unfortunately extended further than they intended, and, amongst other buildings, burnt the Minster to the ground. In 1137, the same fire which burnt St. Mary’s Abbey, St. Leonard’s Hospital, thirty-nine churches in the city, and one in the suburbs, again destroyed the Minster; since which there had not been any damage done to it by fire, excepting two trifling occurrences, which have taken place through the neglect of the workmen, within the last sixty years, up to the time of Martin’s mad attempt. In the present year (1840), it has again suffered severely from an accidental conflagration, which has destroyed nearly the whole of that portion of the ancient building which the former catastrophe had left standing.

JOHN STACEY, THE YOUNGER,
EXECUTED FOR MURDER; AND
JOHN STACEY, THE ELDER,
TRANSPORTED AS AN ACCESSORY AFTER THE FACT.

THE murder of which the former of these diabolical criminals was guilty very closely resembles that mention of which will be found in a preceding part of our calendar, of Mr. Bird and his housekeeper, which took place at Greenwich.

Mr. Langtrey, it appears, was a person nearly eighty years of age, and of great bodily infirmity, residing in a small house in Prospect-row, Portsmouth, to which he had retired, after he had amassed a considerable fortune in his business as a brickmaker. His only servant, and the only other inmate of the house, was a woman upwards of sixty years old, named Christian Joliffe, who acted as housekeeper, but who was assisted in procuring such comforts as the old man required, by a Mrs. Dyott, a neighbour, living at an adjoining cottage. Mr. Langtrey was so feeble as to be unable to quit his bed-room, which was situated on the first floor of his house, and he was attended there by Mrs. Joliffe. He was known to have saved a considerable sum of money, and he was reputed in the neighbourhood to keep a very large amount (in notes and gold) in the house. Amongst those who were observed to be particularly inquisitive into his affairs, was a young man named Stacey, about twenty-one years of age, an apprentice to a barber, living close by, who usually shaved Mr. Langtrey,—an office which his infirmity prevented his performing for himself.

On the morning of Monday the 2nd of March, 1829, the vicinity of the dwelling of the unfortunate old man, was thrown into a state of the utmost confusion and alarm, by the propagation of a report that he and his housekeeper had, in the course of the previous evening, been murdered in a most barbarous and cold-blooded manner. Inquiries were instantly set on foot by the authorities of the town, and it proved that the statement was true; the murders having been discovered by Mrs. Dyott, the assistant of Mrs. Joliffe in her attendance upon her master. Mrs. Dyott, it appeared, had repaired to Mr. Langtrey’s house, in accordance with her usual custom, on the previous evening, at a little after six o’clock, to assist Mrs. Joliffe in preparing the old man’s bed; but was unable to procure admittance, although she made a considerable noise at the door. Imagining, however, that the old people were asleep, she took little notice of the circumstance; but upon returning on the following morning, and finding the same silence prevail, and the same inattention to her application for admission, she became alarmed, and called in the aid of a neighbour. It was determined by the latter instantly to force open the back door, and upon his entering the house, he at once perceived the fearful crimes which had been committed. Upon the floor of the lower room lay the body of the aged housekeeper, frightfully mangled, and with the head nearly severed from the trunk; while around her lay the instruments by which some of the injuries had evidently been caused. A slater’s hammer (smeared with blood and brains), which was known to have belonged to Mr. Langtrey, was lying at her feet; and near her were portions of a broken broom-handle, which had been evidently employed in the desperate conflict which must have taken place between the old woman and her assailant. The scull of the deceased was found to have been completely smashed in, in several places; and around her were pools of blood, extending over a space of several feet. In the upper apartment a scene no less frightful presented itself. The old man, whose age nor infirmities could protect him from the assassin’s blow, was found to have been murdered with equal barbarity. His body lay upon the floor, dressed in his usual attire, with his walking-stick by his side; but his scull had been frightfully fractured by repeated blows from the same deadly weapon with which his housekeeper had been assailed, and his blood and brains were scattered over the apartment to a considerable distance.

A further alarm was immediately raised upon this dreadful discovery being made, and the utmost consternation prevailed. Upon a minute examination of the house, it became evident that plunder had been the object of the assassin. The boxes and drawers had been rifled of their contents, which lay strewed about the rooms; and money, deeds, papers, and wearing apparel were scattered in indiscriminate confusion. The murderer had been apparently disturbed in his work of robbery, probably by Mrs. Dyott’s knocking on the previous evening, and had left his work unfinished, but a bag containing 600l. was found to have been stolen.

The aid of the London police was immediately obtained with a view to the more speedy apprehension of the murderer, for it appeared as if one only had been engaged in the diabolical acts; but several days passed before any suspicion of a tangible nature could be said to attach to any one. Stacey, the barber’s apprentice, during the week had pursued his ordinary avocations with his accustomed coolness; and, although the murder had been made the subject of conversation in his presence, had exhibited no agitation or feeling which could indicate that he viewed the circumstance in any but the most ordinary light. On the Friday, however, he complained of a sore hand, and claimed exemption from work; and on the Monday following, he became very free with his money. His wages as an apprentice amounted only to two shillings and sixpence per week; but on this day he was observed to quit Portsmouth in a hired chaise, with two women of the town, on a “lark” as he expressed himself. Some suspicion in consequence attached to him, which was strengthened by the discovery of a knife which corresponded in every particular with one which was known to have belonged to him, at a short distance from the scene of the murder, and in a direct line between that place and his father’s residence, smeared with blood and hair. The instrument with which the throat of the unfortunate Mrs. Joliffe had been cut could nowhere be found in the house; and it was at once concluded that the weapon which had been discovered was that which had been used for that horrid purpose. Upon inquiry, it turned out that young Stacey had been absent from his master’s house on the afternoon of the murder, with a fellow-apprentice named Connamore, the brother-in-law of his master, and had been at his father’s house, in Charlotte-row, during a considerable portion of that evening. It was, in consequence, thought advisable that he should be at once apprehended; and the result proved the propriety of the adoption of such a course. He was discovered by the constables at a house at Porchester, in company with the females who had quitted Portsmouth with him; and immediately on his perceiving that he was pursued, he became agitated, and exclaiming, “I am done!” endeavoured to conceal himself in a barn. He was soon discovered, however, and carried back to Portsmouth, where he was examined before the magistrates. The testimony of young Connamore proved to be most important. From his statement, it appeared that Stacey had told him that old Langtrey had desired him to purchase for him a tract called “The Book of Martyrs;” that Stacey having no money, had requested him to advance the necessary means for this purpose; and that he himself purchased the tract, and handed it over to his companion. On the Sunday, the 1st of March, Stacey and he went from their master’s house to visit the father of the former, taking the tract with them, which Stacey expressed his intention to carry to the old man. They remained together during the greater part of the day, but at about twenty minutes before six in the evening, young Stacey went away, carrying the tract with him. It was nearly eight o’clock before he returned, and then on his knocking at the door, the witness let him in. He passed rapidly by him, and rushed up stairs, at the same time calling to his father that he wanted him. The latter directly followed him, and they remained in close conversation for a considerable time. Shortly afterwards, Mrs. Stacey, who was young Stacey’s step-mother, joined them, and then Connamore heard something as if some clothes were thrown into a tub of water and washed. Immediately after this, old Stacey sent him off to a distant shop to purchase some bread and cheese, and on his return, he found his fellow-apprentice sitting by the fire, without his shirt, which his step-mother was drying by the fire, after it had been apparently washed, and which was subsequently ironed before he put it on. At about half-past nine o’clock, he returned home with young Stacey, and on their way the latter said that he had been fighting, and had got some blood about his clothes. The witness examined his coat, and found that a portion of it was so completely covered with blood as to require a knife to scrape it off. It further appeared that a copy of the tract, called “The Book of Martyrs,” was found close by the bloody knife which had been discovered, and the additional testimony of a witness having been obtained of the prisoner having been seen getting over the railings of old Langtrey’s house on the night of the murder, he was committed for trial. His father also, of whose knowledge of and acquiescence in the murder there could be no doubt, was also secured, and committed to take his trial on the minor charge of harbouring his son, at the same assizes.

In the interim the additional evidence of the identity of a glove which had been found in the house of Mr. Langtrey, and which had been left there by the murderer, was procured, from which it appeared that it was one of a pair which had been given to young Stacey by a gentleman, and both of which he wore on the day on which the murder was committed.

During his confinement, young Stacey exhibited little contrition; but after having been visited by his three sisters, he appeared to become sensible of the awful nature of his position, and confessed to a fellow-prisoner that he was guilty of the crimes imputed to him, and communicated the manner in which he had murdered the poor old people. He said, that he had presented himself at the door with the tract in his hand, and that having gained admission to the house, he seized Mrs. Joliffe by the throat with an intention to strangle her, but that finding she resisted, he took the candlestick which she held in her hand from her, and beat her over the head with it until it was bent in all directions. She at length fell down, and then he seized the handle of a broom, with which he beat her, until she ceased to move, and he thought she was dead, the broom, however, being broken in the struggle. He then went up stairs to the old man, and seizing him by the collar, demanded his money. He made some resistance, and struck him with his stick; upon which he knocked him out of his chair; and taking up a tiling hammer, which he saw in the room, he killed him. Returning down stairs, he thought Mrs. Joliffe moved, and he struck her also repeated blows with the hammer, and at last took out his knife and cut her throat. Whilst engaged in this act, some one knocked at the door, and he became terribly alarmed; but he heard the person go away, and then he commenced his work of robbery. He was too hurried, however, to secure more than the bag containing 600l.; but before he took this, he cut the old man’s throat, in order to be certain that he was not watching him.

On the same day on which this most fearful detail of his crimes was made by young Stacey, his father also made a confession, pointing out the place in which he had concealed the bag of money. The turf had been cut out, and the bag placed beneath it, in such a manner as to have rendered it exceedingly doubtful that it would ever have been discovered, but for its being pointed out. The whole of the money was recovered, with the exception of about 30l., which had been spent by the younger prisoner in the purchase of a watch and seals, and some articles of clothing.

The trial of the prisoners came on before Mr. Justice Burrough, at Winchester, on Thursday the 30th of August, in the same year, when a verdict of guilty was returned upon the facts which we have detailed being proved in evidence.

The learned judge at once passed the sentence of death upon the younger prisoner, who was ordered to be executed on the following Monday, and his father was sentenced to be transported for life.

The day fixed for the execution being that upon which Magdalen Hill Fair was held, the concourse of people assembled was immense. The wretched criminal met his fate with sulky resolution, and declined the services of the chaplain, whom he had dismissed on the previous day. His parting from his father is related to have taken place without the smallest exhibition of regret or feeling on either side; and the miserable parent had so far overcome the ordinary sensations of paternal affection, as to request to be permitted to witness his son’s execution,—a request which was granted; and of the accordance to which he took advantage. The miserable youth appeared to suffer but little after he was turned off. Upon the scaffold he declared that he was assisted in the murder by an associate of his, whom he named; but who, subsequently, distinctly proved his innocence.

The execution took place on Monday, the 2nd of September 1829, at Winchester, opposite the jail.

RICHARD GIFFORD.
EXECUTED FOR FORGERY.

IN the termination of the career of this unhappy young man, the direful effects of dissipation are clearly evidenced. Having received an education in Christ’s Hospital, and backed by interest calculated to procure for him advantages of a first-rate character, his weakness of mind led him step by step from a position of respectability through the various grades of dissipation, until it involved him in a system of crime, for which his life was taken away by the laws of his country.

Gifford’s father was originally a butler in the family of Mr. Abbott, afterwards Speaker of the House of Commons, and finally Lord Colchester. His mother was also a servant in the same family. On Mr. Gifford’s marriage, Mr. Abbott obtained for him a situation about the House of Commons; and when they had a family, care was evinced for the welfare and advancement of the children. Richard Gifford was the eldest son and child, and when he arrived at an age fit to be sent to school, admission into the admirable institution of Christ’s Hospital was obtained for him. After quitting the Blue Coat School, he had some occasional and temporary occupation as a writer in the Parliament offices. Eventually, through Lord Colchester’s influence, a situation was procured for him in the “National Debt Office;” and the death, advancement, or removal of those above him were most favourable to him, and he rose rapidly. For some time he gave satisfaction in his office; but, at last, the fatal peculiarities which ruined him—the love of drink, and low and abandoned company—broke out with undisguised violence, and he neglected both office and home. His inattention to business led to three or four several suspensions from his office; and it was only by the most powerful and influential intercession that his friends could have him restored: but, at length, his conduct was so outrageously bad, and his absences so long and continued, that he was finally dismissed. It was long before his friends could find him, and apprehensions began to be entertained whether he was still in existence; however, at last his mother (who was most tenderly attached to him) discovered his retreat. Having found him, she succeeded in getting him out of his infamous den, and in taking him home with her. On his part, contrition or concern about the past was not visible, and though the kindest efforts were made to keep him in the house, in the hope of estranging him from bad company and diverting him from infamous ways, to succeed his parents were obliged to keep him without hat or money, and almost without clothes. Eventually, it was supposed, or hoped, that he was somewhat changed, and that his disposition was a little mollified, which induced his mother, in particular, to take him out occasionally. He, however, finally absconded from his parents’ roof, revengefully announcing, that “he would make them remember their conduct to him—he would do for them yet,” and other such language. What became of him they knew not; at last, he was heard of as living in a respectable style, appearing well-dressed, at a house near the Waterloo-road. To account for the change, he gave it out that he was married, and that his wife had money. Almost the next thing heard of him was, his being before the Lord Mayor, undergoing examination on charges of forgery on the Bank.

He was placed upon his trial at the Old Bailey sessions, in the month of October 1829, when he pleaded guilty to an indictment charging him with having personated William Green, of Crucifix-lane, brazier, and thereby having obtained 125l., being the value of stock standing in his name in the Bank-books. On the 6th of March the prisoner applied to Mr. Linton, a stock-broker, in Shorter’s-court, requesting him to sell out the stock standing in the name of William Green. The broker declined selling the stock, on the ground that he did not know the prisoner; upon which he replied, “Your father knows me well, and has frequently seen me at the National Debt Office.” The broker’s father was sent for, and on seeing the prisoner, said that he recollected him somewhere, but could not tell where. The broker was satisfied with this partial recognition, and made out the necessary documents for the transfer. The receipt for the transfer was signed by the prisoner in the name of Green, and on comparing it with one which had been previously given on the receipt of the dividend upon the same stock, the hand-writing was found to correspond.

He also pleaded guilty to an indictment charging him with having personated Richard Mann, and thereby obtained 27l., being the dividend due on 300l. Consolidated Bank Annuities, of which Mann was the proprietor. A few days after the fraud on Mr. Green, the prisoner went to the Rotunda, in the Bank, and introducing himself to a broker as Mr. Mann, requested him to witness his receipt of the dividend. The broker asked for a reference, and the prisoner named Mr. Linton, who happening to be close by, was instantly appealed to, and at once recognised the prisoner as being the person who had imposed upon him in the name of Green. The prisoner refused to withdraw his plea of guilty, although advised by the judge to do so.

Upon this sentence of death was at once passed; and upon the recorder’s report being made to his Majesty, the unhappy prisoner was ordered for execution.

Monday the 19th of October, was the day upon which the sentence was directed to be executed, and the convict upon being led out from his cell was totally unnerved, and glanced about him with a fearful and hurried look. He appeared deeply and bitterly to repent his crimes; and the wretched course of life he had adopted, in spite of the anxious solicitude of his parents.

He was executed with two other men, who had been convicted of house-breaking, in the twenty-sixth year of his age, on the 19th of October, 1829.

JAMES BELL.
TRANSPORTED FOR BURGLARY.

THE great singularity of the offence, as well as of the apprehension of this fellow, induces us to lay their short particulars before our readers. The prisoner was of that class called “Resurrection men,” and the crime of which he was convicted was committed by him and three of his associates in this horrible traffic.

Bell on the 17th December, 1829, was placed at the bar at the Maidstone Assizes before Mr. Baron Garrow, under a charge of burglariously breaking and entering the dwelling-house of Daniel Redday, at Deptford, and stealing therein a shirt, a worsted comforter, and the body of a black man whose name was unknown.—It appeared that Daniel Redday was a lodging-house keeper at Deptford; an unfortunate black man had come to lodge in his house shortly before the 20th of November, and on the 19th died suddenly. His body was laid out in a back room with the shirt on, and the comforter round his head, until a coroner’s jury could sit on him. In the course of the night of the 20th the prosecutor was alarmed by a noise in the room of the dead man. Not choosing to examine into the cause from within, he went out of the house, and soon perceived a ladder placed up against the window of the room in which the corpse was deposited, and four men, of whom the prisoner was one, on the ladder. In his hurry to apprehend them he ran against the ladder, and the whole four, with the corpse, the comforter, and the shirt, came to the ground. Three of the four men made a successful retreat, but the prisoner was taken into custody.—The jury found him Guilty, and Mr. Baron Garrow, after having commented upon the heinous nature of his crime, aimed as it was at the best interests of society, sentenced him to be transported for life.

WILLIAM BANKS.
EXECUTED FOR BURGLARY.

WE do not recollect that we have ever met with an instance of a burglary having been committed attended with greater violence or atrocity, than that for which this man underwent the punishment of death.

The Reverend William Warrington, it appears, was a gentleman of large property, residing at Grove Cottage, West Moulsey, in the vicinity of that well-known spot, Moulsey Hurst, Surrey; and on the night of Wednesday, 19th of November, 1828, his house was entered by four burglars, and a great quantity of valuable property carried off. Mr. Warrington’s house adjoined that of Mr. Jeffs, a magistrate of the county, and a ladder, which had been accidentally left in the garden of the latter gentleman, was employed by the thieves in effecting an entrance to the house, which they had determined to rob. The circumstances attending the burglary are as follows:—

Between one and two o’clock on Wednesday morning, Mrs. Warrington was in her bed-chamber engaged in writing, and Mr. Warrington was in the same room in bed, asleep, when the former was terrified by hearing some persons at the back part of the house attempting to force a window on the first floor, which opened to a staircase and to a passage leading to the bed-room. Before she had time to alarm her husband, the fastenings of the window were wrenched off, without breaking the glass, and as she opened her bed-room door, she beheld four men, who had entered at the window by means of the ladder before-mentioned, in the act of ascending the stairs and approaching her chamber. Her fears were so excessive, that she was struck speechless for a few seconds. When she recovered, she shrieked, and exclaimed, “Good God, we shall be murdered; there are thieves in the house.” Her husband was awoke instantly by her cries, and he had just time to leap from his bed and proceed in his shirt to the mantelpiece, on which he constantly kept a loaded pistol, before the four villains entered the chamber. He seized the pistol, levelled it at one of the thieves, and fired, but without effect. The first man who entered the room, a dark, ferocious-looking fellow, however, in turn drew from under his coat a pistol, and presented it at Mr. Warrington. The villain pulled the trigger, but the powder did not ignite. He recocked it, and pulled it a second time, and it flashed in the pan. Mrs. Warrington fell upon her knees, and in the most earnest and affecting manner implored the villains not to murder her husband, but to take all the property without interruption. The thieves then produced some cords (which they had stolen from Mr. Jeffs’ garden), and tied Mr. and Mrs. Warrington’s hands and feet. Their hands they tied fast behind their backs, and cautioned them to be silent as they valued their lives. They left Mr. and Mrs. Warrington in their bed-room for a few minutes, and proceeded up stairs to the servants’ sleeping apartments, and there they bound two female servants (the only persons in the house beside Mr. and Mrs. W.) with cords, in the same manner in which they had previously bound the others. After they had bound them, the four robbers carried them down stairs to a vault which was under the house, and fastened them in that cold place, with scarcely any covering. The villains then returned to Mr. Warrington’s bed-room, searched his clothes, and broke open his desks and drawers, and, in truth, ransacked the house completely. They took cash to the amount of about 30l., and jewels and plate of considerable value, with which they decamped. The servants had been confined for several hours in the vault, when one of them, after much exertion, released one of her hands from the cord, and forced her way through the door of the vault. After ascending the steps, she found another door fastened, and she had to break through that before she could assist her master and mistress, who were in the most deplorable state of agitation. She unloosed the cords which secured them, and having released her fellow-servant also, they alarmed Mr. Jeffs’ family and the other neighbours. Mr. Warrington found that not only all his portable property of value was carried off, but that the villains had actually stolen a horse, value 80 guineas, from the stable, and had taken his phaeton from his chaise-house, and by these means had carried off their booty. Mr. Warrington sent information of the robbery to Mr. Cooke, constable of Kingston, who set off in pursuit of the robbers. He was able to trace the phaeton and horse and two of the robbers from the house of Mr. Warrington, by a very circuitous route, to Walton-bridge, and from thence through several by-roads to Knightsbridge.

On the same day Mr. Warrington also gave information of the robbery at Bow-street, and Ellis, Ruthven, and Bishop, were directed to institute an investigation with a view to the apprehension of the thieves.

Upon the arrival of the officers at the house of Mr. Warrington various minute circumstances transpired, which induced a strong belief in their minds that the robbery had not been committed by experienced thieves; and that it had been “put up,” or sanctioned by some person in the house. The clumsy manner in which the boxes and drawers had been opened seemed to point to the first impression, and the undoubted circumstance of six buck-shot having been withdrawn from Mr. Warrington’s pistol which had been lying on the mantelpiece during several days, led to the latter conclusion. Suspicion seemed to attach to one of the female servants, who had been familiarly accosted by her name, “Fanny,” by one of the robbers, and who had been the first to secure her escape from the cords by which she had been confined, and she was taken into custody. After a few days’ imprisonment, however, the officers declared themselves unable to produce any positive evidence against her, and she was discharged.

From this time the most anxious exertions were made by the police-officers to secure the robbers. Every means in their power was tried; but although they succeeded in tracing them by witnesses to London, where Mr. Warrington’s carriage and horse were found, they were unable to discover who were the persons by whom the burglary had been perpetrated.

In the month of July 1829, however, the long-pending mystery was solved. A man named Barnett, a Jew, had been convicted of a burglary in the house of Mr. Colebatch, in Thames-street, for which he had been sentenced to transportation for life; but anxious to save himself from the infliction of this punishment, he tendered information as to the parties who had composed “The Moulsey Gang,” as they were now called, upon condition of his liberty being restored to him. The proposition was at once accepted, and he immediately impeached Banks, and four other men named John Smith, William Johnson, James Taylor, and William Potts, alias Emery. The officers instantly set about endeavouring to procure the apprehension of these persons, and Cragg, a resolute officer of Bow-street, was directed to proceed in search of Banks. This fellow was a notorious thief, and was suspected to have been concerned in many robberies which had recently been committed; but Cragg had heard that he had frequently declared his resolution not to be taken alive. The officer, however, was determined in his object, and attiring himself in the garb of a butcher, he proceeded in search of him. Many days elapsed before he could find him, but at length meeting with him, he rushed at him, and presenting a pistol at his head, called upon him to surrender himself a prisoner. Banks appeared astounded at this salutation and made no resistance, but exclaimed, “I am a dead man.” On his person being searched, a loaded pistol was found in his pocket, and on his back was a coat, which was a part of the produce of a robbery in which he had been recently before concerned, in the house of Mr. Campion, at Waltham Cross.

The other prisoners were apprehended nearly at the same time; and Potts was proved to have pawned a pair of shoes which had also been stolen from Mr. Campion’s. Upon their examination before the magistrates at Bow-street, Banks’ participation in both burglaries was clearly proved, and he was committed for trial. Both Mr. and Mrs. Warrington identified him as one of the persons who had entered their house, but pointed him out as having acted with some degree of humanity, strongly protesting against the exercise of any cruelty by his companions.

Banks alone was committed for trial upon the charge of burglary at Mr. Warrington’s, the evidence against the other prisoners not being sufficiently conclusive to warrant their being indicted, and was found guilty, and sentenced to death at the succeeding Surrey assizes.

After his conviction, he professed himself to be perfectly willing to meet his fate, as he knew nothing of a state hereafter, declaring that all he cared about being hanged was for the pain it would cause him. He refused to receive any consolation from the chaplain, and was perfectly unmoved up to the time of his being pinioned.

He was hanged at Horsemonger-lane jail on the 11th of January, 1830.

ROBERT EMOND.
EXECUTED FOR MURDER.

THE crime which subjected this criminal to condign punishment was that of the murder of an aged widow and her daughter, to whom he was related by the ties of marriage.

Mr. Franks, at the time of the murders lately deceased, was gamekeeper to the late Lord Elcho; and when age, and consequently frailty, rendered him incompetent to the prompt discharge of his duties, his lordship made such arrangements as enabled his old and respected servant to subsist in an humble but comfortable independence. On the 26th of July, 1829, Mr. Franks was consigned to the grave, and he left the hapless subjects of this notice—a widow, nearly fifty, and a daughter of fifteen years of age—to lament his death.

On Sunday, the 25th of October, according to custom, they attended the Rev. Mr. Hogg’s chapel, and, no doubt, they had very little suspicion that it was for the last time. The house in which they resided near Haddington was about one hundred yards from the village of Abbey, in East Lothian, and with the garden was enclosed by a wall above six feet in height. The village youth never once thought of stealing fruit from people so warmly beloved, and consequently the garden-door stood always open. On that night they were brutally murdered. His plans carefully matured, the murderer deliberately fastened the garden-door, so that the escape of the intended victims, and any attempts at resistance, were rendered exceedingly difficult. He then scaled the wall, and proceeded to the awful work of homicide. His first attempt to gain admittance was at a window in front of the house. He broke two panes of glass; but the inside shutters were too securely fastened to yield to his efforts. Baffled and disappointed, he had recourse to another window in the same room; and after breaking two panes of glass, and using great exertion, the keeper gave way, and the monster obtained admission. He passed deliberately through the room, through a sinuous passage, through the kitchen, and then burst into the bedroom of Mrs. Franks and her daughter. The unfortunate ladies had been alarmed by the noise the villain made in breaking into their sanctuary. The mother had time to throw her gown over a petticoat; but the daughter, a stranger to the crimes of the world, and naturally possessing a more tranquil mind, and being more soundly asleep, had barely time to clothe herself with the gown she had on at church, ere she was in the grasp of her ruthless murderer. Dread, desperation, and the potent instinct of self-preservation naturally incited a resolute resistance; but the well-prepared and determined murderer prevailed. In the vain and delusive hope of escape the wretched mother fled from the appalling scene of death, and ran to the garden-door, expecting to reach the village; but there she was stopped by the cool and fiendish deliberation of her destroyer. Having despatched the daughter, he followed the mother, seized her at the garden-door, and with one of her own table-knives, ended her life, by nearly severing the head from her body. He then threw the bleeding corpse into a hogsty, which was only ten yards distant; and the marks of the ruffian’s gory hands were observable on the entry-door. The bloody tragedy being finished, the scarcely less important consideration next came—that of plunder. He coolly locked the kitchen-door inside, turned out the contents of the drawers, and ransacked all the repositories; indeed, so minute and persevering was the search, that a considerable breadth of plaster was torn from the roof of a room in the attic story, where there had previously been a small aperture, in expectation, no doubt, that money was concealed in that unusual place. The rings were torn from the ears of Mrs. Franks; three gold rings, it is said, were taken from her finger, which were carried off, along with a silver watch. Having completed his unhallowed undertaking, and secured all the plunder that suited his purpose, the ruffian retired, as he had entered, by the window.

Neither on the Monday nor Tuesday following was Mrs. Franks or her daughter observed; but this excited no surprise, as it was concluded by those by whom they were missed, that they were absent on a friendly visit to the sister of the former at North Berwick. On Wednesday morning, a woman requested a young man to make his way over the garden-wall, and ascertain if a pig that belonged to Mrs. Franks had any provision. He promptly obeyed; and on looking into the hogsty, was horrified by the sight of the widow’s mangled remains. He gave an involuntary but vehement scream, and his employer, Mr. Dudgeon, a miller, and a number more, promptly repaired to the spot. The body was taken out, and, to their inexpressible horror, they discovered that the throat was cut from ear to ear. Alarming suspicions flashed across their minds; they instantly ran to the house, and having obtained an entrance, they discovered the daughter—pale, dead, lying amidst a quantity of blood, and the brain protruding from her skull.

Suspicions of the guilt of Emond from circumstances which became known to the authorities were at once excited; and efforts were made to secure his apprehension. He had resided for some time at North Berwick, and was married to that very sister of Mrs. Franks, whom it was supposed she had gone to visit; and repeated expressions of dislike on his part towards his sister-in-law, and of threatened revenge for her interference in his family quarrels, were deemed sufficient to justify the course which was taken. In the course of a few days he was apprehended; but it was not until the 8th of February 1830 that he was brought to trial. The investigation took place before the High Court of Justiciary at Edinburgh, and the wretched criminal was pronounced guilty amidst a tumultuous burst of execration, and was ordered for execution on the 17th of March.

Immediately after his trial the convict confessed that he had committed the dreadful crimes imputed to him, under the circumstances which we have narrated. He appeared, however, to view his murder of Mrs. Franks as an act which her previous conduct towards him justified; but when he alluded to the death of her daughter, he appeared struck with remorse and despair, exclaiming wildly, “Innocent blood calls for vengeance.”

On the appointed day the prisoner underwent the punishment due to his crimes, at the end of Libberton’s Wynd. On the Friday before his death he was visited by his wife, for the first time during his imprisonment. On being informed she was come, he exclaimed, “Oh, God, how can I meet her—how can I see her!” She refused to proceed farther than the cell door, and on seeing her husband, said, “Oh, Robert, Robert, you see what you have brought yourself to!” He used some soothing expressions, and going as far as his chains would permit, said, “Mary, will you not shake hands with me?” but she shrunk back, saying, “Oh, no, no; how can I touch you?” However, by the persuasion of the clergyman, she did shake hands with him. He then wished to impress on her, that he always loved her affectionately; but she replied, “Oh, Robert, ye ken your conduct didna look like that.” They were beginning to recriminate, when it was thought best to finish the interview. She was again asked to shake hands at parting, but at first refused, exclaiming, “Oh, no, no—I cannot touch him;” but being advised to extend her hand, which he held firmly, she shuddered and shrieked out, “Oh that hand, that hand!” On being told that a Mrs. Cron was with his wife, he said, “I would to God that infernal woman had been in place of the girl (meaning Magdalene Franks). Were I as free as ever, I would be hanged this night, this instant, if I had her here, and had my revenge.” The criminal accused this woman of fomenting differences between him and his wife.

At six o’clock in the morning of the day fixed for the execution, the Rev. Mr. Porteous, who had been unwearied in his attentions to the unhappy man, arrived and performed the religious exercises. About seven o’clock, he was pinioned in the usual form.

The morning was cloudy and drizzling; but at an early hour the crowd began to collect from all quarters, and a perfect stream of people passed up the High-street for nearly two hours. The street, windows, terraces, and chimney-tops, were densely peopled. Some hundreds of persons from Haddington, North Berwick, and the adjacent villages attended.

A few minutes past eight the culprit ascended the scaffold. His appearance elicited a huzza from the boys among the crowd, but no grown-up person joined in the unseemly and appalling shout. He was attended by his brother, who joined him with the reverend gentleman, in psalm-singing and prayer. The unhappy man remained firm and composed throughout, but changed colour frequently when the executioner proceeded to do his duty. He then shook hands with his brother, and the official attendants said he was now ready, and bade them all farewell. After a few moments in private prayer, the signal was dropped, and the platform instantly fell. His struggles were unusually long and violent, and it was apparently four or five minutes before the vital spark had fled. Emond was a man of short stature, with ill-proportioned features, and had, on the whole, a very unprepossessing look. After hanging the usual time, the body was lowered down into the shell, and conveyed to the Lock-up House, whence it was afterwards taken to the College for public dissection.

CAPTAIN WILLIAM MOIR.
EXECUTED FOR MURDER.

THIS unhappy gentleman was a native of Forfarshire, in Scotland, where he was born of a family of the highest respectability, in the year 1794. At the age of nineteen he entered the British army; and during a period of seventeen years served with great credit in the fourteenth, thirty-seventh, and fortieth regiments of foot, in France, Spain, and America. In the course of his sojourn in the latter country, (in the year 1816,) he was united to a young lady of exceedingly amiable disposition, who at that time had only reached her fourteenth year; and upon his return to England, he resided with his wife in the vicinity of London. Here he became acquainted with many families of high standing in society; but tired of an idle life, he determined to devote his time to the occupation of farming, and at Michaelmas 1829 he entered on the possession of Shell-haven Farm, consisting of about four hundred acres of land, and situated near Stanford-le-Hope, in the vicinity of Barking, in Essex. At this time he had three children, respectively of the ages of twelve, ten, and seven years, and there appeared every prospect of a continuance of that happiness which he had so long enjoyed with his family, when by an act, attributable rather to passion or insanity than to preconceived deliberation, he subjected himself to the infliction of the severest penalty of the law.

It would appear that Captain Moir was in the habit of pursuing a strict line of discipline with regard to trespassers upon his farm, and was considerably annoyed by the constant appearance of fishermen upon his lands, who resorted thither for the purpose of dragging a portion of the river which passed through them, and which was supposed to contain an abundance of fish of a superior quality and size.

On Wednesday, the 24th of March, 1830, a poor man named Malcolm, residing at Hammersmith, quitted home, in a boat, accompanied by his apprentice, and a brother fisherman, named Duke, for the purpose of fishing. They proceeded to Shell-haven Creek, where Malcolm threw out his nets. In a short time Captain Moir made his appearance, armed with a knife, and accompanied by a servant named Raven, and ordered the nets to be removed. Malcolm offered some observations of abuse towards him, and reluctantly retired; but he was proceeding across Captain Moir’s meadows, intending to go to the house of a man named Baker, when he was called back, and ordered to go round by the sea-wall. He directed some further abuse towards the captain, and took off his jacket, as if to fight him, but at length he went away. Captain Moir then returned to his house, and Malcolm and his assistants went to Baker’s cottage; but they had not been there more than an hour and a half, when they went back to the Creek, where Malcolm’s boat was lying. At this time Malcolm had a boat-hook over his shoulder, to which was suspended a basket of potatoes, which he had obtained from Davis, and the party was again crossing Captain Moir’s premises, Malcolm being about seven yards in advance, when the captain and his servant were seen riding furiously towards them. The former exclaimed that he thought he had ordered them not to trespass upon his lands; and Malcolm answered that he would go, or that he might go and be d—d, the precise observation not having been distinctly heard; and then Captain Moir suddenly presenting a pistol, discharged it at him. Malcolm exclaimed, that his arm was broken, and dropped his boat-hook; and the captain threatened his companions, to serve them in the same manner, if they did not instantly retire.

Malcolm was soon afterwards carried back to Davis’ cottage, where he was attended by Mr. Dodd, a surgeon, at the direction of Captain Moir, and was found to be in a position of so great danger as to render his immediate removal necessary. The poor man was subsequently attacked with lock-jaw, and died after the lapse of two or three days. A conversation took place between Captain Moir and Mr. Dodd upon the subject, upon the day of the occurrence, when the former justified his conduct, declared that his land was his castle, and that he would do the same again on the next day, under similar circumstances.

A coroner’s inquest having been held upon the body of the deceased fisherman, a verdict of Wilful Murder was returned, and Captain Moir was committed to Chelmsford jail, to take his trial at the ensuing assizes.

The case came on for investigation at Chelmsford before Lord Tenterden, on Friday the 30th July, when every exertion was used on behalf of the accused, but to no purpose, and a verdict of Guilty was returned upon the capital charge. The prisoner urged the absence of all malice on his part towards the deceased, and alleged that he had been compelled to retain loaded pistols constantly in his house, in consequence of the desperate characters by which his neighbourhood was surrounded. All, however, was of no avail, and sentence of death was passed in the usual terms.

After his conviction, a strong and urgent appeal was made on his behalf to the government, founded upon the suggestion that there was little doubt that the act on the part of the unhappy man had been dictated by insanity. It was declared, however, that it was too late to hope for mercy upon any such grounds, which ought to have been made the subject of inquiry at the trial, where, had they proved well founded, they would have relieved the prisoner from all criminal responsibility. To this answer the obstinacy of the unfortunate gentleman, who refused to offer any extenuating circumstances in his own favour to the jury, which should subject him to perpetual imprisonment, was replied, but all was of no avail, and the sentence of the law was directed to take its course.

In the mean time, the wretched prisoner, unconscious of the measures which were taken by his friends with a view to secure his safety, diligently applied himself to the only duty remaining for him to perform on earth,—that of making his peace with the Almighty. He attended divine service in the chapel of the jail on Sunday, and was afterwards visited by his wife, then only twenty-eight years of age, his mother, his sister, and some friends, of whom he took a most affectionate farewell. At about seven o’clock on Monday morning he received the sacrament, and expressed himself perfectly resigned to his fate, declaring at the same moment, that he had not the smallest degree of animosity against the ill-fated man whose death he had caused, and whom he had had no intention to kill. Throughout the dreadful concluding scene of his life, he conducted himself in the calmest manner. He ascended the scaffold, declaring that he was at peace with all mankind, and repeatedly denied that he had had any feeling of unkindness towards Malcolm. At nine o’clock, the fatal bolt was drawn, and the ill-fated gentleman died instantaneously. His body was subsequently delivered over to the surgeons for dissection; but after such an anatomical process as was sufficient to fulfil the terms of the sentence, it was humanely sent to his disconsolate widow for interment.

Captain Moir at the time of his execution, which it will be seen took place on the 2nd of August, 1830, was only thirty-six years of age. He was a remarkably fine man, and stood upwards of six feet in height. He was brother-in-law to Sir James G. Baird (a near relative to the gallant Sir David Baird), and was first-cousin to Sir William Rae, at the time of his execution the Lord Advocate for Scotland. He was descended on his grandmother’s side from the heroic Bruce, and was also connected with the distinguished families of Blair of Blair, the Stewarts, and the Butes.

The unfortunate man who was the victim of his crime was of the same age with himself, and left a wife and six children. He had long been known upon the Essex coast as a fisherman, and had frequented the spot for several years where he unfortunately met his death.

JOHN SMITH, alias WILLIAM SAPWELL.
EXECUTED FOR THE MURDER OF A POLICEMAN.

THE cold-blooded and atrocious murder of which this man was convicted, showed him to merit most fully the awful punishment which befel him.

The object of the dreadful crime of which he was guilty, was a constable of the G division of the Metropolitan Police Force, then only recently established in London and its vicinity; and in laying before our readers the circumstances of this case, it will not perhaps be considered out of place if we shortly recite the manner in which that most admirable body was first called into existence and operation.

The necessity of some improvement in the police of the metropolis had long been felt; and the utter inadequacy of the few Bow-street patrol hitherto employed to guard the streets of London by day, and of the watchmen, upon whom the same duty devolved by night, had for a considerable time attracted the attention of the public and of parliament. Committees of the House of Commons sat for the purpose of receiving evidence upon the subject, and a vast number of suggestions were thrown out upon the subject of the proper measures which should be taken with a view to obviate the existing difficulty. Statements were published in many of the newspapers, in which the faults of the system were pointed out, and partial remedies suggested; but it was universally felt that no amendment of the plan then in operation could be sufficient to secure the object in view, and that a general and complete alteration and re-organisation of the whole police of the metropolis was requisite. A plan of this description was long and ably advocated in a weekly journal of large sale (Bell’s Life in London), the Editor of which had turned a great portion of his attention to a subject so nearly connected with the most minute interests of the community. A series of articles appeared in that newspaper, upon which there can be no doubt that the new police system, now so deservedly popular for its competency and for its admirable effects in securing our common safety, was founded. Mr. Peel, at that time Secretary of State for the Home Department, in the session of parliament of the year 1829, introduced a bill to the House of Commons, founded upon principles directly in consonance with those supported in the journal in question—principles which were eventually adopted with the almost unanimous consent of the legislature. The general scheme which was put forth as being most desirable to be carried into effect, was that of making a police throughout England, the centre and focus of which was to be fixed in London, while the great towns throughout the kingdom would act as corresponding agents for the diffusion of that intelligence, the rapid and regular transmission of which was properly looked upon as so important to the success of any system of this description. In London, again, a smaller focus was to be formed under a board of commissioners, who would have daily communication with every division of the metropolis in which the police should be established, as well as with those country districts to which we have already alluded.

The minor details of the measure were to be carried out by the marking out of divisions, to be governed by superintendants, inspectors, serjeants, and privates in their various grades, constant communication being kept up throughout the metropolis, by day as well as by night, between each division. The advantages to be derived from a scheme so comprehensive in its details, and so complete in its organisation, must be at once obvious to the mind of every person; and it is needless to point out to our readers the vast variety of instances in which its effects would be attended with the very best results. It was felt, however, by Mr. Peel, that so large and general a measure could not be carried into operation with immediate success, and that much delay must take place before a universal scheme of rural police could effectually be established. He was yet convinced of the great utility which would be produced, even from its partial adoption; and he lost no time in proposing a bill in parliament, which should have for its object the immediate appointment of a body of men capable of performing all the police duties of the metropolis. The proposition was at once assented to by both houses of the legislature; and on Tuesday the 29th September, 1829, the “new policemen” first entered upon their duties. Their dress, their supposed military character, and the extreme jealousy with which all classes of Englishmen view anything which may be supposed to derogate from their rights and privileges, long conspired to make this most useful force in the highest degree unpopular. Epithets of the most odious character were heaped upon them, attacks both abusive and violent were levelled at them from all quarters, and a few instances of irregularity amongst their numbers were eagerly seized hold of, as arguments to be employed against the general body; but at length the increased safety obtained for the community, the quiet and orderly manner of the men themselves, as well as the improvement in the general conduct of the lower classes, obtained for them a reputation of the very highest description, which those who were originally the most strongly opposed to their introduction now seek, by their most strenuous exertions, to raise. The system which, first, was confined to the limits of the metropolis, has been joyfully extended to all large towns, and to manufacturing neighbourhoods; and so anxious have even the most remote rural districts become for this new safeguard for their property and their lives, that almost every month sees the adoption of the plan in some new quarter. The improvement of the morals of the lower orders is no less than that which has taken place in their manners; and many of the crimes by which society was formerly so frequently disgraced, have, through their activity, now happily disappeared from the dreadful catalogue which the life of degraded man presents.

The offence of which we are about to enter into a description, there can be no doubt was in some degree attributable to that feeling of hatred for the police which was so peculiarly exemplified among the lower orders of the people. Long, the unfortunate object of the attack of this determined murderer, was a police-constable, No. 43, of the G division, and occupied a beat in Gray’s-inn lane. On the night of Monday the 16th of August, 1830, he was engaged in the performance of his duty when, at about half-past twelve o’clock, he observed three men of suspicious appearance lurking about the vicinity. Entertaining an apprehension of their intention to commit a burglary, he communicated his opinions to a brother constable on the adjoining beat; and it was determined that the men should be watched. They remained within Long’s district of duty; and he followed them as far as the burial-ground of St. Andrew’s parish, which is situated at the back of Mecklenburgh-square. Here they stopped and remained in conversation for some time, and Long, believing this to be a favourable opportunity for convincing them of his intention to prevent the success of any marauding schemes which they might have in view, warned them to retire. The words had scarcely escaped the lips of the unfortunate man, ere he was violently seized by the arm by two of the party, while the third stabbed him to the heart. So desperate was the wound, that the murderer was unable to withdraw the weapon with which it was inflicted; but in his effort to do so, he pulled away the handle, and then all three ran off. This diabolical act was witnessed by more than one person, and several individuals instantly rushed to the spot. Long had fallen to the ground, with an exclamation that he was “a dead man;” and upon his head being raised upon the knee of one of the witnesses, he immediately expired. Newton, the constable to whom the unfortunate man had communicated his suspicions, in the mean time had followed the assassins, and Smith was secured by him, having run a considerable distance, and being in a state of the greatest agitation and alarm. Two other persons were also taken into custody; but it turned out that they were unconnected with the dreadful occurrence, and were again set at liberty. The truth of the suspicions of the constable was amply exhibited by the discovery of a number of housebreaking implements near the spot, which it was evident the thieves had intended to employ, but had thrown away in their flight. The handle of the knife was also discovered lying in the road at about one hundred yards from the spot where the murder was committed.

Several examinations of the prisoner subsequently took place before the magistrates at Hatton-garden, and witnesses were called, who swore positively that his was the hand by which the wound was given which had caused the death of the deceased. During his imprisonment, he continued firm in his denial of his participation in the murder, and maintained a sullen silence as to his occupation in life, as well as his connexions. He appeared to associate with none of his fellow-prisoners, except Sheen, the murderer of his child, to whose case we have already alluded, and who was again in confinement on a charge of felony; with whom he was observed to hold frequent and earnest conversations, the result of which did not transpire.

His trial took place at the Old Bailey sessions, on Friday the 17th of September, when it turned out that his name was Sapwell, and that he was a baker by trade. He still protested his innocence; but the evidence of the witnesses being of the most conclusive description, a verdict of guilty was returned, and he was sentenced to be executed on the following Monday.

On the day after his conviction he was visited by his wife and his six children, to whom, as well as to the officers of the jail, he continued loud in his declarations of his having been wrongfully convicted. He asserted that he had been to the Bedford Tea-gardens, at Camden Town, on the night of the murder, and that on his way home he heard a cry of “Stop thief,” and had joined in the pursuit of four men whom he saw running away, when he was himself taken into custody. He was exhorted by the Rev. Mr. Cotton, the ordinary of the prison, to whose humane advice he paid some attention; but he declined to receive the sacrament. In the course of the following day (Sunday) he also received a visit from the Sheriff (Ward), to whom he made no secret of his having intended to commit suicide, if an opportunity had occurred, and with whom he argued against the sinfulness of such a mode of terminating his life. He instanced the cases of Sir Samuel Romilly, Mr. Whitbread, and other distinguished individuals, who he said were perfectly justified in depriving themselves of existence when it became irksome to them.

On the morning of his execution (the 20th of September, 1830,) he entered freely into conversation with Sheriff Ward, and with new asseverations that he was not guilty of the crime for which he was about to suffer, declared, in an imaginary dialogue with the Almighty, that on his arrival at the gates of heaven, he should be unable to account for his standing there, and that the Almighty would give him admission; protesting, however, that he ought not to have been sent there so soon. He appeared sensible of his situation, and requested that the proceedings on the scaffold might occupy as little time as possible. He was turned off at the usual hour, and his remains were given to the directors of St. George’s Hospital for dissection.

The wretched man occupied the greater part of Saturday and Sunday, previous to his death, in drawing up statements of the manner in which he was by mistake drawn into the situation in which he stood, which amounted simply to a repetition of the story he had related to his family. He appears to have been very illiterate, his letters being both ill-spelt and ill-written, and he expressed none of those fears usually exhibited by persons in his situation.

Long, the constable, appears to have been a man of excellent character, having for a considerable time occupied a situation as watchman before he entered the police. He left a wife and several children, for whom a liberal public subscription was afterwards raised.

AGRICULTURAL RIOTS.

THE agricultural riots which occurred at the close of the year 1830 will long be remembered in the southern districts of England, to which they were confined. The revolutionary disturbances which, during the year, had marked the progress of events on the Continent, were not without their effect upon the agricultural, as well as the manufacturing population of Great Britain; and interested demagogues were easily to be found, willing and ready to fan the feeling of dissatisfaction which prevailed among the labouring classes, and to produce discontent where none already existed, with a view to the excitement of dislike for the higher ranks of society, and of insurrection against the government of the day. The poverty of the lower orders had done much to produce that hatred to property which induced these riots, and the inattention to their wants was urged by them as a sufficient justification for the mistaken and guilty course which they adopted.

The outrages, which commenced in the county of Kent, where undoubtedly the agricultural labourers were in a state of the very greatest misery, soon extended themselves through the whole of the southern counties of England, and the progressive march of incendiarism was as much feared as that of an invading army. Bodies of men proceeded through the whole line of country which we have pointed out, making converts to their atrocious principles, and their track was testified by the devastating effects which were produced. Stacks of grain and farm buildings were everywhere burned and consumed; and so determined were the monsters in the work of destruction, that none dared to oppose them, or to raise their hands to stop the dreadful deeds which every hour brought to light. Day after day bodies of men were seen passing from farm to farm, breaking all the machinery on the premises, the employment of which they looked upon as the cause of all their distress; and night after night, the secret incendiary plied his dreadful occupation, with a success which promised to produce the most dreadful desolation.

The limited exhibition of the ordinary constabulary force had no effect in checking the progress of these riots, and it was not until the yeomanry and finally the military were called out, that the fearful proceedings of the enraged mob were stopped. Meanwhile through Kent, Sussex, Surrey, Middlesex, Suffolk, Berkshire, Buckinghamshire, Wiltshire, Hampshire, Somersetshire, Dorsetshire, Devonshire, and Cornwall, had the work of destruction proceeded; and where the general body had not shown itself, local discontent had been sufficient to change the character of the simple labourer to that of the midnight incendiary. Notice was usually given of the intention to fire in threatening letters, signed “Swing,” and the determination expressed seldom failed of being carried out.

In the course of several months, during which these outrages continued, many rioters were apprehended and lodged in jail, and the eventual firm proceedings of the magistrates did much to check the mischievous progress of wilful devastation. In many instances, small villages gave up their peaceful character, and assumed the appearance of military encampments, so long as the fear of danger remained in their vicinity, and not unfrequently the alehouse or the justice’s mansion was converted into a temporary lodging for the prisoners. The first convictions which took place for these atrocious acts of violence were at the quarter sessions for the county of Kent, held at Canterbury on the 24th November, when many prisoners were tried and convicted upon charges of machine-breaking and riot. For the former offence a man named Reid, who had previously suffered imprisonment for lead-stealing, was sentenced to transportation for life; while John Stannard, William Siddars, William Stone, Thomas Strood, Henry Andrews, and Henry Halke were sentenced to seven years’ banishment from the scene of their offences. Other prisoners, who were convicted only of assault and riot, were ordered to be imprisoned for terms varying from six months to two years; and the discovery by the labourers thus of the responsibility to which they subjected themselves did much towards quelling the disturbances, which even yet had not ceased.

Proclamations were subsequently issued offering rewards for the apprehension of all offenders, and before the conclusion of the year a vast number of prisoners had been taken into custody.

At the succeeding assizes these persons were brought to trial, and in Wiltshire, Hampshire, Buckinghamshire, and other counties, where the disturbances had assumed the most serious character, the prisoners were tried under a special commission.

Our space prevents our going into the particulars of one tithe of the cases which were tried, or even of those where the malefactors were ordered for execution. Of the latter the number was small as compared with the whole amount in custody, but many of their cases were attended with circumstances of great atrocity. At the assizes at Maidstone, Lewes, and other places on the circuits within the jurisdiction of which these occurrences had taken place, a great number of prisoners were convicted and sentenced to death. Many of the wretched men ascribed their guilt to their having paid attention to the lectures or the writings of Mr. Cobbett; and it is a remarkable fact that few of these rioters stated that they had been driven to the commission of crime by their poverty.

At the Hampshire special commission, held at Winchester, the offences which were brought under the consideration of the learned judges who presided, were those of machine-breaking, arson, extorting money by threats with intent to procure an increase of wages,—and near 300 prisoners were found guilty. On Thursday, the 30th December, 1830, Mr. Baron Vaughan, as the senior judge, proceeded to pass sentence on those who had been convicted. In the dock there were twenty prisoners, in rows of five each; and the other prisoners were so disposed in the jury-box and elsewhere as to hear all that passed.

The judges having put on their black caps, James Thomas Cooper, Henry Elridge, and John Gilmour, were called to the bar. The first two were found guilty of destroying the machinery employed in the manufactory of hemp and flax, the property of Messrs. Thompson, at Earl Mill, in the parish of Fordingbridge; and the latter for destroying the machinery employed in the foundry of Messrs. Robert and William Tasker, in the parish of Upper Clatford; to which the law affixed the punishment of death. Cooper had been particularly active as the captain or leader of the rioters, and was mounted on a horse giving the word of command. He was called Captain Hunt.

Mr. Baron Vaughan addressed these men with great eloquence, and in the most feeling manner, on the enormity of their offences and the necessity in their persons of making a severe example with the view of deterring others from the commission of similar offences hereafter. Having pointed out the aggravated character of the conduct of the prisoners, he forewarned them that their fate was fixed, and there remained for them no hope of mercy on this side the grave. His lordship then passed the awful sentence of death.

Cooper and Elridge were deeply affected—the latter nearly fainted; but Gilmour behaved with the most stoical apathy.

Robert Holdaway, James Annalls, and Henry Cooke were then placed at the bar. They had been convicted—Holdaway of demolishing, with others, the poor-house belonging to the parishes of Headly, Bramshot, and Kingley.—James Annalls, of robbery from the person of William Courtnay, of Barton Stacey; and Henry Cooke, of robbery from the person of Thomas Dowden. These were all cases of peculiar aggravation, and as in the case of the three previous convicts, the prisoners were told to prepare for death, from which no hope of reprieve was to be entertained. In alluding to the crimes of these men, Mr. Baron Vaughan made the following important remarks:—“I believe that there are a little short of a hundred persons whose lives are now forfeited to the state for their participation in the guilt of these transactions. It is my firm and decided conviction, that many persons engaged in them under a delusion, and instigated by the practices of artful and evil-designing men. I state publicly, that in the course of these trials we have found few instances—and I am not certain that I could lay my finger upon one—in which the pinching spur of necessity has compelled the offenders to the commission of their offence. They are, in general, persons of a different character and description. We find among them carpenters, blacksmiths, sawyers, and others, whose wages are admitted to be adequate to their wants, and who yet take an active part in perpetrating these outrages. Not only persons in the handicraft trades which I have just mentioned, but occupiers of land, gardeners, and others who labour under no necessity and suffer no want, have been found strenuously engaged in stimulating those who were in more want than themselves to the commission of those crimes. I am happy, however, to observe, that there are but few, if there are any, instances in which downright want has proved the cause of the commission of offence.”

Many other prisoners were also sentenced to death with an understanding that the extreme punishment would not be inflicted, but that they would be transported for life; and the remainder were ordered to undergo various terms of transportation and imprisonment.

The trials of the persons charged with committing outrages in the county of Berks commenced on Tuesday, 28th December, at Reading. The prisoners who were first placed at the bar were W. Oakley, W. Smith, alias Winterburne, D. Bates, and Edmund Steele. They were charged with robbing J. Willis, Esq. of five sovereigns. It appeared that on the 22nd of November, two large mobs assembled in the neighbourhood of Hungerford and Kintbury, and after demolishing the windows of several houses, proceeded to the Town-hall of Hungerford. A deputation from each mob, of which the prisoners were the leading characters, was then admitted into the magistrates’ room. They demanded twelve shillings per week wages, the destruction of machines, and a reduction of house-rent. Oakley, in a violent manner, demanded 5l.; and Bates, who had a sledge-hammer in his hand, flourished it, and struck it on the ground, saying, with an oath, “We will have the 5l. or blood.” Others cried out, “We will have blood for blood.” The mob, which was about 400 in number, also became exceedingly clamorous, and the magistrates then gave them 5l.—The jury found all the prisoners Guilty.

D. Hawkins, W. Chitter, J. Pullen, W. Haynes, D. Yarlick, G. Rosier, J. Field, J. Cope, C. Smith, J. Dobson, W. Oakley, W. Winterborne, J. Watts, T. May, J. Tuck, E. Steel, and D. Bates, were then tried for rioting and destroying machinery belonging to Richard Gibbons, at Hungerford. On the 22nd November, a mob, consisting of about 400 persons, went to Mr. Gibbons’ manufactory; they had sledge-hammers, bludgeons, hand-hammers, sticks, &c. They rushed into the factory and broke the machinery, which was worth about 260l.—The jury found all the prisoners Guilty, except Haynes and Smith.

The trials were continued up to the succeeding Tuesday, and a great number of men were convicted of offences of a similar character, marked by different degrees of aggravation; the greater part of whom were sentenced to transportation for seven years.

On the latter day, however, the commission was brought to a close, and Oakley, Winterburne, and a man named Darling, were left for execution; but the sentence was carried out only in the case of Winterburne.

At Salisbury, the commission was opened on Friday, 31st December; and its proceedings did not terminate until Monday, 10th January. On that day such of the prisoners as had not received sentence at the time of the conclusion of their trials were brought up. Peter Withers and James Lush were severally sentenced to death, amidst a most distressing and heart-rending scene in the court. Lush appeared to be dreadfully sensible of his situation, and during the whole period occupied by the address of the learned judge, lay on the bar in a state of dreadful anguish, crying with the most piteous groans for mercy.

It would be useless to follow the course of these dreadful proceedings through the country, or to attempt adequately to describe the scenes of misery and wretchedness produced to the families of the misguided men, who were in custody by their dreadful acts. At Dorchester, Exeter, and the other assize-towns in the west of England, scenes such as we have alluded to occurred, and in almost every place some miserable wretches were left to expiate their offences upon the scaffold, while others were doomed to suffer transportation from the scene of their former happiness and of their crimes.

Notwithstanding these events, however, it was long before the country assumed that position of peace and quietude for which its agricultural districts had always been remarkable.

On the 17th August, 1836, it was announced in the House of Commons by Lord John Russell, that of 246 persons sentenced to be transported for their participation in the offences of this period, all but ten, who were suffering punishment for crimes committed in the colonies, had been pardoned.

JOHN ST. JOHN LONG.
CONVICTED OF MANSLAUGHTER.

THE extraordinary investigation touching the offence of which Mr. Long was guilty attracted to him more than ordinary public attention. The manslaughter of which he was convicted was the effect of a system of treatment which he adopted towards a young lady named Cashin, who had been placed under his medical care by her mother. But without offering any comments, either upon the death of the young lady or its cause, we shall proceed at once to detail the circumstances which were proved at the various inquiries which took place upon the subject.

It appears that about the month of August 1830, a lady named Cashin, of great respectability and considerable fortune, with her two daughters, came to London from Dublin, where they resided, for the purpose of procuring medical assistance for one of the young ladies, who was labouring under consumption. The ladies took up their abode in the house of a Mrs. Roddis, in Mornington Place, Hampstead-road; and Mrs. Cashin having heard much of the wonderful cures effected by Mr. St. John Long, determined to seek his advice and aid for her daughter. Mr. Long, it seems, had not been regularly educated as a surgeon, but he had acquired considerable celebrity for a line of practice which he had adopted, and occupied a house in Harley-street, Cavendish-square. Thither Mrs. Cashin repaired; and a short attendance upon the young lady, who was only sixteen years of age, was sufficient to confirm the melancholy fears of her mother, that all human exertions in her behalf would be of no avail. The insidious nature of the disease by which she was affected was known and acknowledged by Mrs. Cashin, and a desponding apprehension seized upon her mind, that her eldest daughter might also be attacked with this dreadful disorder. A new application on her behalf was therefore decided upon to Mr. St. John Long, who was requested to devise some means by which the impending mischief might be prevented. Mr. Long participated in the fears of the young lady’s mother, and acknowledged the prudence of the course which she had adopted; and, bidding them at once give up their fears, he assured them of his perfect ability to attain the object which they so anxiously had in view. Miss Cashin at this time was twenty-four years of age, and in the full enjoyment of health; but, notwithstanding the absence of any necessity to take any active steps in her case, Mr. Long determined upon employing his line of treatment towards her. The general nature of this treatment may be simply stated to be this:—in cases of internal disease, it was proposed, by creating an external wound and a discharge, to carry off the malady. In a few days the external wound was produced in the case of Miss Cashin, by what means did not appear, as the general mode of treatment was kept secret by the quack; and the effect was of the most dreadful description. The wound daily increased, and appearances soon presented themselves which so alarmed Mrs. Roddis, the landlady, that she felt herself called upon to adopt measures on behalf of the young lady.

She wrote to Mr. Long, and in a day or two he called. Mrs. Roddis humanely urged that danger might arise from symptoms which appeared so violent; but the doctor laughed at her apprehensions, declared that the wound was going on remarkably well, and that he would give a hundred guineas if he could produce similar favourable signs in some other of his patients. It was represented to him, that the wound had wrought a disease upon the young lady of another description,—she was unable to retain anything upon her stomach. For this, he said, he had a remedy with him if he chose to apply it. He was an enemy, however, to physic,—the sickness was a favourable symptom, and the young lady would find relief from its disagreeable effects by taking mulled port wine. This, however, like everything else, was ejected from the stomach. Mr. Long called again; in vain were certain angry appearances about the wound pointed out to him; he remained positive in his declared opinion, and refused to take any new measures for the young lady’s immediate relief.

Every day brought new symptoms, which were looked upon by Mrs. Cashin as unfavourable and dangerous; and at length Mr. Brodie, of Saville Row, was called in. This eminent surgeon took every step possible for Miss Cashin; but all his efforts were useless, and the very morning after his assistance had been obtained, the young lady expired. Mr. Long was acquainted with the circumstance of new aid having been procured, but he assured Mrs. Cashin that this was quite unnecessary, and he never afterwards called.

Circumstances of so remarkable a character were not likely to pass unnoticed or unquestioned, and on Saturday the 21st of August, 1830, a Coroner’s jury was summoned to inquire into the cause of the death of the deceased young lady. The investigation created much interest, and professional gentlemen attended on behalf of Mr. Long, as well as of Mrs. Cashin, to watch the proceedings.

Mrs. Roddis was the first witness examined, and she deposed to the circumstances which are above detailed. Upon her cross-examination by Mr. Long’s solicitor, it was attempted to be elicited from her, that the deceased had eaten a great quantity of plums; but this was distinctly denied; and Mrs. Roddis asserted, that ten days before her death, the young lady was in perfect health. The younger Miss Cashin, she added, had died on that very morning.

Mr. Brodie’s evidence was conclusive as to the cause of the death of the deceased. He said that he had been called in to attend the deceased young lady, and found a wound on her back, with considerable sloughing. He saw but slight hopes of her recovery, but applied such remedies as he deemed fit. On the next morning he found that she was dead. Mr. Brodie added that he had no knowledge of the manner in which the wound had been produced; but there was no doubt that it was that which had caused the sickness complained of, and which had also been the cause of death. He was at a loss to imagine how the production of such a wound could be supposed to have any effect in curing a patient of consumption, or in preventing such a disease.

At this point of the inquiry it was determined that the body of the deceased lady should undergo a post-mortem examination, and the further investigation of the case was, therefore, postponed until the following Monday.

On that day the inquest was resumed, new advocates appearing for the respective parties.

Sir Francis Burdett then came forward to speak to the mode of treatment adopted by Mr. Long with some of his patients, which he did not think dangerous; by his recommendation two persons had put themselves under Mr. Long’s care. He did not know the nature of the application used by Mr. Long; he had used it on his hand for the gout, but it did neither good nor harm. He had waited on him, understanding he could cure the tic douloureux, and he wished to have some information on the subject, with the view of apprising his friend, the Marquess of Anglesea, who was affected occasionally with that disease.

Dr. Alexander Thompson, who had examined the body of the deceased, was called, but he could form no positive opinion of the cause of death, as he was not permitted by the family to inspect the spine and head.—In this state of things, it was resolved that Dr. Thompson should pursue the examination of the body, and for that purpose was requested to have it exhumed from the burial-ground in Moorfields, where it had been interred.

On Wednesday the Coroner and Jury again assembled, when Dr. Alexander Thompson, Mr. Thomas King, surgeon, Mr. Wildgoose, surgeon, Dr. John Hogg, Dr. Thomas Goodeve, Dr. James Johnson, Mr. John Maclean, and Mr. Thomas Evans, who had all been present at the last opening of the body, and examination of the spine and head, were examined. They all concurred that it was a perfectly healthful subject—beautiful in form, and free from all disease, save that occasioned by the wound in the back. Few people could recover after such a local injury, which appeared to them perfectly unjustifiable. A notion was entertained by some that it was advisable to produce an external illness, for the purpose of drawing off an internal disease. Here was no internal disease, and the concurrent opinion of all was, that death had been occasioned by the wound in the back. The wound possessed much of the character of a burn, not produced by fire, but by some application that would cause the same result. The mode of inflicting the wound was kept secret.

Mr. Patrick Sweetman was then called: The deceased left Dublin about two months before, in perfect health. He saw her two days before she died, and had an interview with Mr. Long, who described her situation as most favourable, and said, that there was no danger whatever. The deceased was twenty-four years of age; her younger sister was sixteen. The latter was in a consumption, and left Dublin to be put under Mr. Long’s care; he believed she had also a wound in her back. From the first Mr. Long said he could not undertake her cure. Mr. Long stated to him the causes of the deceased putting herself under his care. He told him that a young lady, one of his patients, had asked him what he thought of the health of Miss Catherine Cashin, who was in the habit of going to his house with her sister Ellen; and Mr. Long told the young lady that Miss Cashin would be seized with consumption in less than two months, unless she allowed herself to be rubbed by him with his mixture. She informed the mother of what Mr. Long had said, and she consented to her undergoing this treatment, lest she might have to accuse herself of any neglect in the care of her children. Mr. Long said, he required every one to sign a book. He required those who signed it not to divulge anything regarding the mixture, and the inhaling which he prescribed. The inhaling was going on in the house while I was there. I signed the book, as a mere matter of form, at his request. He charged a guinea each visit for each young lady. I did not inhale; I should be very sorry to do so. He demanded no fee from me. Miss Ellen Cashin was pronounced by the most eminent medical men in Dublin to be consumptive. Mrs. Cashin heard of Mr. Long in consequence of a book which he had published. The faculty in Dublin endeavoured to dissuade her from bringing her daughter here, but she would. At the conclusion of this witness’s evidence, the inquiry was adjourned until Friday.

On Friday the jury once more assembled, and the evidence, touching the death of Miss Cashin, having been closed, Mr. Adolphus addressed the jury on the part of Mr. Long. He said that even supposing for a moment that the death of Miss Cashin had been caused by Mr. Long’s application, there was no evidence of malice prepense to constitute murder; and as to “manslaughter,” it had been recently decided, by two learned judges, that if a man, whether ignorant or skilful, acted honestly, and with intention to do good, he was not accountable for the result. Different practitioners adopted different modes of treatment, and it often happened that that which was deemed advisable by one was considered quite the contrary by others, and yet the practice objected to was the more successful.

Miss Matilda Christian, of North Bank, Regent’s Park, said she had been a patient of Mr. Long’s for some time; her complaint was a consumption. Mr. Long treated her as he did his other patients; he made wounds on the chest, on the left side, on the back, and on the temples; she recovered entirely under his care; the wounds left some marks, which might be seen when she was cold; her former medical attendant expressed great astonishment at her cure. In cross-examination by the jury, she said the sores did not affect her inside, nor did they confine her to her bed; Mr. Long had employed rubbing, as he did to the deceased, but what the ingredients were she did not know; for the rubbing he used a sponge; there was considerable discharge from the sores; she expectorated some stuff, which was put in water and sunk to the bottom; he cured a Miss Rough of a complication of disorders in the same way; she had lost her father, brother, and sister, by consumption of the same kind she had when she went to Mr. Long.

Mr. N. J. Bluett, formerly a solicitor, and residing at Brighton, attended Mr. Long for a complaint originating in accident; he had a general debility and swelling of the glands; he was completely cured by an application of Mr. Long’s, which at first created great pain; he attended him for six months; the same application was made every day; he inhaled something; he saw several other patients, and the same liquid was applied to all; he was told by other medical men that his case was one of the most desperate of the kind; he never pretended his complaint was consumption; after inhaling, his appetite, which had been lost, was greatly improved, as well as his general health.

Mrs. Sharpe, wife of General Sharpe, York Terrace, Regent’s Park, whose case had been pronounced deep consumption, by Sir Antony Carlisle, was also a patient of Mr. Long’s; she had been attending Mr. Long about three months; she inhaled something, and an external application was made to her chest and back, in the same manner as to the other patients; there was considerable inflammation and discharge; she got much better, and was still under Mr. Long’s care.

General Matthew Sharpe, husband of the last witness, said that the case was pronounced hopeless, and he applied to Mr. Long, of whom he never heard before; the consequences were highly beneficial: his wife was much better, and ceased to cough altogether; he certainly gave Mrs. Sharpe great relief, whatever might be the ultimate consequences.

Other witnesses who had been patients to Mr. Long, for different diseases, and to whom the same mode of treatment had been applied, spoke in the same terms of the advantageous effects which had accrued.

This evidence, however, was declared by the jury to have nothing to do with Miss Cashin’s case; for Mr. Long might have committed many harmless acts, which, nevertheless, would not relieve him from the consequences of one which was not harmless; and the inquest was again adjourned until the following Monday.

On that day the inquiry terminated.

Among the witnesses examined were the Countess of Buckinghamshire, Mr. Prendergast, M.P., and Mr. Higgs, the brewer, all of whom spoke in high terms of Mr. Long’s treatment, and of the virtues of his lotion for curing various complaints. The countess said she had greatly recovered since she had attended Mr. Long. Mr. Prendergast said he had suffered severely from a determination of blood to the head. His chest and forehead were rubbed, and the lotion applied to his back by Mr. Long; he was completely relieved, and the pain had not returned to his head from that day. Mr. Higgs said that for many years he had been afflicted with the gout, and had employed common doctors, who had done nothing for it. In February he applied to Mr. Long, and used his medicine for four months, and he was completely cured, perfectly at ease, and free from pain. All the witnesses said, that in consequence of the benefit they derived from Mr. Long’s treatment, they had recommended many persons to him, and would employ him again themselves in case of necessity. The coroner, in summing up the case, observed, that if Mr. Long appeared to have possessed the necessary skill and knowledge for carrying on medical practice, and had used due diligence and care in the case of Miss Cashin, they must arrive at the conclusion that in this matter he was nowise to blame. It would be a lamentable thing if every medical man who committed an error of judgment was to be held responsible as if he committed a criminal act. At five o’clock the jury retired to consider their decision upon the case; and at eight o’clock returned into the room, and announced their verdict of Manslaughter against Mr. St. John Long. A buzz of approbation was heard in the room when the verdict was pronounced; and one or two persons cried out “Bravo!” Others exclaimed, “Shame, shame!” The coroner then asked if Mr. Long were present, and having been informed he was not, issued a warrant for his apprehension, and bound the witnesses over to attend at the sessions and prosecute the offender. The jury-room was crowded to the last moment.

Mr. Long subsequently surrendered to the warrant, and was admitted to bail to answer the charge; but on the case being called on for trial at the ensuing Old Bailey sessions on the 18th of September, it was postponed, owing to the absence of some material witnesses for the prosecution.

On the 30th of October Mr. Long was placed upon his trial, when the same facts which we have detailed were stated in evidence. After an ample investigation, a verdict of manslaughter was again returned. Mr. Long was then committed to Newgate to await his sentence; but on the following Monday, he was again placed at the bar. The Court then passed upon him a sentence, condemning him to pay a fine of 250l. to the king. The money was immediately paid, and the defendant was discharged out of custody.

The case had already created a great degree of interest in society from the vast number of persons whom Mr. Long had attended; and many honourable and right honourable persons were present at his trial; but the public excitement was still further aroused upon a subsequent charge of a similar nature being brought against him. The result of this charge was different from that of the indictment preferred in the case of Miss Cashin, but the affair was regarded with no less astonishment by the larger proportion of the community, who wondered at the folly of any person submitting to the absurd mal-treatment of this person for the cure of any real or supposed disease.

We give the proceedings of the coroner’s inquest as they were published at the time, detailing more particularly, as they do, the course of treatment adopted by Mr. Long.

On Wednesday morning, November 10th 1830, at eleven o’clock, J. H. Gell, Esq. and a highly respectable jury assembled at the Wilton Arms, Kinnerton-street, Knightsbridge, to inquire into the death of Mrs. Colin Campbell Lloyd, aged 48, the wife of Captain Edward Lloyd, of the royal navy, whose death was alleged to have been occasioned by the treatment she had experienced under the hands of Mr. St. John Long.

The inquiry excited the most intense interest, and the jury-room was crowded to excess, principally by gentlemen of the medical profession, anxious to hear the result of the proceedings.

Mr. Wheatley, a barrister, attended on behalf of the family of Mrs. Lloyd; and Mr. Wooller appeared to watch the proceedings for Mr. St. John Long.

After the jury were impanelled, they proceeded to view the body of the unfortunate lady, at her lodgings, No. 33, Wilton-place, and on their return the following evidence was adduced:—

Mr. George Vance, of No. 27, Sackville-street, Piccadilly, surgeon: I visited Mrs. Lloyd on the 21st of October last, which, as I was informed by her medical attendant, Mr. Campbell, was about ten days from the commencement of her illness. Mrs. Lloyd informed me that she had inhaled from a tube a few times at Mr. St. John Long’s, in Harley-street, and had been rubbed on the chest with a liniment twice; she did not say who rubbed her; the first rubbing, she said, produced no inconvenience, but the second a sense of burning heat; she stated that she was quite well at the time, and had not suffered any important indisposition for three years, which was the time I had attended her; from the inhalation, it appeared to me that her tongue, mouth, and fauces had eroded; on examining her chest I found a sloughing sore of great extent (where she had, by her own account, been rubbed with a liniment), which extended from the arm-pits across the chest in one direction, and from the collar bones above, under the nipples, in the other direction; in the middle of this sore, the soft parts covering the breast-bone were black and dead, but towards the circumference there was a little appearance of health, and the mortified parts were separating from the living; the stomach was much disturbed, and she was in a state of great exhaustion and despondency, frequently expressing a desire to die; in a day or two after my attendance some of the constitutional distress (by which I mean fever and irritation, as well as the sickness of the stomach) subsided in a degree, and her spirits revived; the dead parts began to separate more freely, and in a correspondence with her friends I gave encouraging hopes of her amendment; no granulations, however, appearing in the clean parts of the sore, and the surface having become dry and flabby, exhibiting the appearance of the dissected parts of a dead body, I imparted to her friends the certainty of her death. Mr. Campbell, a surgeon, and myself, together and separately, removed masses of putrid flesh. The breast-bone was found bare, and I believe that if the slough had been freely thrown off, the cartilages of the ribs would have been exposed also. The deceased gradually grew weaker, and died on Monday morning the 8th of November. In my opinion the application of some corrosive matter, applied to the parts which I found in a state of mortification, was the cause of her death.—Mr. Vance added, that about three years before, he had attended Mrs. Lloyd for an affection in the throat, which he considered to be Globus Hystericus. It was a nervous complaint, but soon disappeared. This was the only disease which he observed in Mrs. Lloyd; she was, in all other respects, a stout woman, very richly covered with fat. He had never known any disease of that nature terminate fatally. Mrs. Lloyd said, that she had been persuaded to apply to Mr. Long.

Mr. Brodie, of No. 16, Saville-row, surgeon; and Mr. Campbell, surgeon, of No. 23, Wilton-place, confirmed the testimony.

Captain Lloyd was then examined: He said he came to London with his wife and family on the 15th July; Mrs. Lloyd was in good health but subject to a nervous affection of the throat when she took cold; she continued in good health, until she became ill from the rubbing of Mr. Long. On the 5th I accompanied her to Mr. Long’s house; she merely had a conversation; she went on the following day, when she inhaled. On the 7th she inhaled again, also on the 8th, when she paid him 1l.; she went to him on the 9th, when she was rubbed, for the first time, across the bosom, as she described to me; on the 10th October she told me that she had inhaled as before, and afterwards was rubbed—as they termed it, “rubbed out;” she told me that there was but a small portion of liquid in the saucer, but more was added when that was expended. She became so unwell while the rubbing was going on, that the rubber became alarmed and went for Mr. Long, who did not come for some time, but when he did he said it was nothing, and would soon go off, which it did after some time; but an odd sensation remained, which continued during the evening; she came home in her sister’s carriage, and continued uneasy the rest of the day; she complained of a cold and chillings all the evening; a cold shivering fit came on when she retired to bed, and she took some hot wine and water; she had a restless night, and on the 11th October was unwell all day; there was a vivid redness across the breast where the rubbing had taken place, and a dark place in the centre of the breast, from which a discharge was taking place from under some cabbage-leaves, which had been applied by the direction, as she said, of Mr. Long; the large dark spot on her breast still got deeper in colour. The edges were white, and all much puffed up. The pores of the skin on the black spot were expanded, but did not break. She expressed great surprise that Mr. Long did not call, and was inclined to be sick during the day, and could not take any nourishment, and complained of a dreadful burning heat in the breast. She passed a restless night, and on the morning of the 12th of October, on looking at her breast, it appeared to me that from lying on her back wherever the matter discharged from the wound rested it caused fresh blisters, some of which I cut to relieve her pain, as she complained all over. A wicker cradle was forced to be made to place over her to prevent the bed-clothes touching her. On this day I called upon Mr. Long, who expressed his surprise at not having seen Mrs. Lloyd to go on with her inhaling. On explaining her inability, and great sufferings, he said that he would come in the evening, which he did, and found that she had applied some common blister dressing to alleviate the heat and burning feeling. Mr. Long said that was wrong, and contrary to his practice, but he would rub it out, which Mrs. Lloyd exclaimed against, saying that she had suffered so much that she could not endure these parts being rubbed at all; the very idea of touching them, even by herself, was excruciating. Mr. Long said that the only thing necessary to be applied to the wound was old dry linen, to absorb. He then asked for a towel, and began rubbing it dry on the large black spot, as I suppose to absorb the discharge. Mrs. Lloyd said she had always healed any little blister by a simple blister-dressing; and Mr. Long said he saw no objection to her using it, and then departed. During the time Captain Lloyd was giving his evidence he appeared deeply affected, and frequently burst into tears.

The inquiry was then adjourned until the next day.

The jury resumed the inquiry on Thursday morning, when a post-mortem examination of the body took place.

Further evidence was given in corroboration of that heard on the preceding day, when the gentlemen who had examined the body of the deceased read a report, from which it appeared that the body was perfectly healthy. The lungs were sound and free from all disease. The heart was healthy, and the windpipe equally so; in fact, the medical gentlemen added, that in their professional researches they had seldom seen a body that had lived forty years with internal structures so generally healthy, and so fine in their proportions.

Several of Dr. Long’s dupes were called to swear to the general excellence of his treatment.

The coroner addressed the jury, stating that the question for their determination was, whether the deceased came by her death from gross ignorance or inattention from her medical attendant, or whether she died a natural death.

The jury retired for about half an hour, and then returned the following verdict:—

“The jury, having attentively and deliberately considered their verdict

can come to no other than Manslaughter, against John St. John Long.”

The coroner inquired on what grounds they found their verdict?

Foreman: On the ground of gross ignorance, and on other considerations.

Upon this second charge Mr. Long was tried at the Old Bailey on the 19th of February, 1831.

Mr. Long appeared somewhat confused on his entering the dock, but he soon recovered his self-possession, and bowed to many persons who entered the court. The case was tried before Mr. Baron Bayley.

The evidence of Captain Lloyd, and of the other witnesses examined before the coroner, was now again gone into, and the additional testimony of Mr. Campbell, who had first seen Mrs. Lloyd after she had quitted Mr. Long, was also given. His statement was as follows:—

I am a surgeon; I visited Mrs. Lloyd some time before her death; she appeared to me a healthy person; she told me a few days before her death that she was suffering great pain in her breast, which, from its appearance she must have done; there were very extensive wounds, no doubt produced by strong corrosive liquid; the skin was destroyed, and hung in folds on the chest; there was a considerable discharge from the wound generally; the wound extended from nearly one arm-pit to the other, and from the throat to the bottom of the chest; the skin was off both breasts; it was of a very dark colour; when I attended her first, there was no cabbage leaf on; I applied a simple dressing; I saw the deceased afterwards, every day until her death; I considered the wound dangerous to life from the first moment that I saw it; when Mr. Vance was called in, he applied the same dressing, and I described to him the treatment I had pursued; I gave the deceased some internal medicines; it was not until mortification had commenced that bark and mineral acids were administered; according to the best of my judgment, I should say that the deceased died of the wound in her chest; it certainly was not necessary to produce such a wound to cure a difficulty in swallowing; I know of no disease where it would be necessary to produce such a wound.

Cross-examined by Mr. C. Phillips: I have practised as a surgeon for seven years; some hope (after Mr. Vance was called in) remained that Mrs. Lloyd would recover; from the time that I was called in Mr. Long had no opportunity of prescribing for her; generally speaking, the remedy applied by the surgeon must be regulated by the description the patient gives him of his disease; I was not present when the deceased first described her symptoms to Mr. Long; I do not recollect whether I proposed to Mrs. Lloyd to call in some eminent surgeon; I did not consider that I was authorised in calling in another surgeon without the party wished it; the general practice in dangerous cases certainly is to mention it to the friends, and leave them to act as they please.

Mr. Phillips: Seeing, as you express it, that it was a wound dangerous to life, did you not wish for further assistance? Witness: I had no objection to take the chance; mortification came on about seven or eight days after Mrs. Lloyd was under my care; I was from the beginning apprehensive of gangrene, but I cannot say how soon afterwards it commenced; I applied nothing but simple dressing until Mr. Vance was called in; I stated at first to the friends of the deceased the danger that I anticipated from the wound; I attended her nearly a month before she died, during which time Mr. Long had no opportunity of seeing or prescribing for her.

Re-examined: I fully believed that I understood how to treat the wound; I saw the body examined after death, but from nothing I then saw do I think there is any reason to suppose that I mistook the cause of death; I never saw a wound like the one on Mrs. Lloyd’s breast produced by a blister, and in such cases, where fatal results have followed, there have generally been appearances to account for them.

By the Court: I think simple dressing best calculated to have reduced the inflammation.

When the whole of the evidence had been given, Mr. Alley and Mr. Adolphus addressed the court, and urged that there was nothing in the proofs, which had been adduced, which fairly brought the prisoner within the jurisdiction of the court.

Mr. Baron Bayley, however, held that any man presuming to meddle with what he did not understand—unacquainted with the principles of medicine, venturing to prescribe for the sick, and thereby causing their death, incurred a heavy responsibility, and indisputably, in some cases, was guilty of manslaughter. It would be for the jury to decide whether the present case assumed such a complexion.

The prisoner was then called on for his defence.

He addressed the court and jury at some length, urging that the death of the deceased was occasioned, not by any improper treatment of his—for that, if he had been permitted to attend her for a few days longer, he would have restored her to perfect health—but to the inexperience of Mr. Campbell, into whose hands she was thrown, to his utter exclusion. He complained of the prejudices which had been excited towards him by practitioners, who were jealous of his success; for while he was earning ten or twelve thousands a year, they were not obtaining more than one-third of that sum. It was true that he was not a member of either the College of Surgeons or Physicians; but he had spent a fortune in the attainment of his professional knowledge, and in the pursuit of his practice had given the most universal satisfaction—so much so, that were he acquitted that day, he was persuaded he should be again honoured with the confidence of those distinguished and respectable individuals who had already from experience placed implicit confidence in his skill and judgment. Of those, he was proud to say, he had many in attendance, to whose testimony in his behalf he should refer. He complained that he had not himself been examined as a witness, before the Coroner’s inquest, and repeated, that if guilt attached anywhere, it did so to Mr. Campbell more than to himself; for that there was nothing in his treatment which could have occasioned the melancholy result, which no man deplored more than himself. The prisoner spoke in rather a low tone of voice; and, having a slight impediment in his speech, his address did not seem to make a very forcible impression.

The counsel of the prisoner then proceeded to call evidence in his behalf.

Mr. Abingdon was examined: He said he had several times been under the care of the prisoner; he had an asthma, and subsequently a determination of blood to the head.

The Attorney-General here interfered, and submitted that the course of the present examination ought to be confined to the general character of the prisoner, in which the court, after hearing arguments from Mr. Alley and Mr. Phillips, acquiesced.

Mr. Phillips endeavoured to shake this decision, contending that as the indictment raised the question whether Mr. Long was grossly ignorant, or had been grossly careless, it was impossible to establish his innocence otherwise than by showing, as he verily believed they could, that he was both learned and skilful, and most attentive and humane in his practice of the healing art.

Mr. Baron Bayley: We cannot go into specific cases; we must confine ourselves to general evidence.

Mr. Phillips resumed the argument at length, but

The Attorney-General, in reply, said that if his learned friends found themselves at liberty to go into all the successful cases of the prisoner, he should go into the several failures in his practice.

The court having repeated its former decision, the examination of Mr. Abingdon was resumed, and he stated that the prisoner had attended him for several disorders, and he had the fullest reason to be satisfied with his skill, care, and attention.

Mrs. Ashworth, the wife of General Ashworth, Miss Rook, her sister, Mrs. Prendergast, Mrs. M‘Donnell, Mrs. M‘Dougall, and a vast number of other ladies and gentlemen were then examined, and every one of them bore testimony, in the strongest manner, to the skill, assiduity, and humanity of the prisoner, and to the extraordinary success which had uniformly attended his practice.

Mr. Baron Bayley then proceeded to sum up, observing, that the question for the jury to decide was, whether the prisoner had been guilty of gross rashness, or had manifested culpable ignorance. The point at issue was, not whether, after the medicine had been administered, the prisoner had been inattentive, for his services were prevented; but whether, before it had been administered, he was ignorant of its nature and probable effect upon the constitution of the unhappy person to whom it was applied. His lordship then proceeded to read over the evidence, and to comment upon it as he proceeded. If the jury were of opinion that the death took place from the wound given on the morning of the 10th, they would give their verdict against the prisoner; but they must be fully satisfied that the death arose from that alone. If they entertained any doubt, the prisoner would be entitled to the benefit of that doubt; but they must be satisfied that the crime imputed to him had been committed feloniously.

The jury retired at half-past eight o’clock, and returned in an hour with a verdict of “Not Guilty.”

Several ladies, elegantly dressed, remained with the prisoner in the dock throughout the day, to whom this verdict appeared to give great satisfaction.

Mr. Long, upon his discharge, resumed his “rubbing in” practice, as before, and, we believe, still with much success. Many reports were circulated as to his habits and history, and many calumnious statements were made, both as to his mode of life and the system which he had adopted to carry on his business. For one of these libellous publications he brought an action in the Court of Common Pleas, which was tried on Tuesday, 14th June 1831, and he obtained a verdict with 100l. damages.

Mr. Long, we believe, was a native of Mallow, in Ireland, where his father carried on the useful but humble trade of basket-making, in which he was assisted by his son. At an early period of the life of our hero, his father removed to Doneraile, and there he became acquainted with some members of the family of a gentleman named Hill. The young Hills were at the time engaged in perfecting themselves in a knowledge of drawing, and young Long being observed by them to possess some taste and considerable aptitude as a draughtsman, he was permitted to copy the sketches which they made. A slate and pencil were his original utensils; but his patrons, finding that he soon excelled them in proficiency, generously provided him with better materials, and better means of obtaining a knowledge of the art for which he had taken such a fancy. A short time served to render him a tolerable proficient; and leaving the basket-making trade to be prosecuted by his father and brothers, he repaired to London, where for a considerable time he supported himself by the productions of his pencil. We have no means of learning the manner in which he discovered his system of medical treatment, or in which he was first introduced to the public as a successful operator in the case of certain diseases, but it is true that he numbered amongst his patients persons of the highest eminence in this country, and that he obtained an extent of practice which enabled him to live in excellent style.

He died in the year 1834, and his body was consigned to the tomb in the Harrow Road cemetery, where a monument has been erected to his memory at the cost of his former patients, who, in an inscription, pay a handsome tribute to his talents.

S

WILLIAM SWALLOW, alias WALDON; GEORGE JAMES DAVIS, alias GEORGE HUNTLEY; WILLIAM WATTS, alias CHARLES WILLIAMS; ALEXANDER STEPHENSON, alias TELFORD; AND JOHN BEVERIDGE, alias ANDERSON.
TRIED FOR MUTINY AND PIRACY.

The whole of these persons at the time of their trial for piracy were already convicts; but having been concerned in a mutinous seizure of a vessel, in which they were confined as prisoners, they subjected themselves to a punishment more severe than that to which they had been already sentenced, and were therefore liable to a second trial.