residence at Bavaria, in the house of one of the richest men in those
parts. To save his property, however, the Bavarian pretended to be
very poor, drove away all his cattle, and removed all his stores to
another quarter. Informed of this, I waited upon him, and acquainted
him that, as he had a person of quality in his house, it would be
necessary to provide liberally for him and his servants. He replied,
that I had only to inform him what provisions I wanted, and he would
order them immediately. I then informed him, that my master always
kept three tables, one for the gentlemen and pages, a second for the
butler and under officers, a third for the footmen, grooms, and other
liveries; that for these tables he must supply one ox, two calves, four
sheep, twelve pullets, six capons, two dozen of pigeons, six pounds
of bacon, four pounds of sugar, two of all sorts of spice; a hundred
eggs, half a dozen dishes of fish, a pot of wine to every plate, and
six hogsheads to stand by. He blessed himself, and exclaimed, ‘If all
you speak of be only for the servants’ tables, the village will not be
able to furnish the master’s.’ To this I replied, that my master was
such a good-natured man, that, if he saw his servants and attendants
well provided, he was indifferent to his own table; a dish of imperial
stuffed meat, with an egg in it, would be sufficient for him. He asked
me of what that same imperial stuffed meat was composed? I desired him
to send for a grave-digger and a cobbler, and while they were at work,
I would inform him what there was wanting. They were instantly called.
I then took an egg, and putting it into the body of a pigeon, which I
had already gutted with my knife, said to him, ‘Now, sir, take notice;
this egg is in the pigeon, the pigeon is to be put into a partridge,
the partridge into a pheasant, the pheasant into a pullet, the pullet
into a turkey, the turkey into a kid, the kid into a sheep, the sheep
into a calf, the calf into a cow; all these creatures are to be pulled,
flead, and larded, except the cow, which is to have her hide on; and as
they are through one into another, like a nest of boxes, the cobbler
is to sew every one of them with an end, that they may not slip out;
and the grave-digger is to throw up a deep trench, into which one load
of coals is to be cast, and the cow laid on the top of it, and another
load above her; the fuel set on fire, to burn about four hours, more
or less, when the meat being taken out, is incorporated, and becomes
such a delicious dish, that formerly the emperors used to dine upon
it on their coronation-day; for which reason, and because an egg is
the foundation of all that curious mass, it is named the “imperial
egg-stuffed meat.”’ The landlord was not a little astonished, but after
some conversation we understood each other, and my master left the
matter to my care.
“In the course of my negotiations with the landlord, I incurred the
displeasure of my master, who, discovering my policy, came into the
kitchen, seized the first convenient instrument, and belabored me most
unmercifully. He was, however, punished for his rashness, by the want
of a cook for two weeks.
“The scoundrels of the French were audacious enough to pay us a visit
while we remained here. I was ordered out with the rest, but I kept
at the greatest distance, lest any bullet should have mistaken me for
some other person. No sooner did I receive the intelligence that the
French were conquered, than I ran to the field of battle, brandishing
my sword, and cutting and slashing among the dead men. It unfortunately
happened, however, that, as I struck one of them with my sword, he
uttered a mournful groan, and, apprehensive that he was about to
revenge the injury done to him, I ran off with full speed, leaving my
sword in his body. In passing along, I met with another sword, which
saved my honor, as I vaunted that I had seized it from one in the field
of battle.
“While thus rambling through the field of blood and danger, my master
was carried home mortally wounded, who called me a scoundrel, and
cried, ‘Why did not you obey me?’ ‘Lest, sir,’ replied I, ‘I should
have been as you now are.’ The good man soon breathed his last, leaving
me a horse and fifty ducats.
“Being again emancipated from the bonds of servitude, I began to enjoy
life, and continued to treat all my acquaintance so long as my money
would permit. The return of poverty, however, made me again enlist
under the banners of servitude.
“About this time a singular occurrence happened to me. I chanced to go
out into the street, when my eyesight was so affected, that I could not
discern black from green, nor white from gray. Observing the candles
suspended in a candle-maker’s shop, and taking them for radishes, I
thought there was no great harm though I should taste one of them.
Accordingly, laying hold of one, down fell the whole row, and being
dashed to pieces upon the floor, a scuffle ensued; I was taken into
custody, and made to pay the damage, which operated to restore my sight
to its natural state.
“Not long after this adventure, I was assailed with love for the fair
sex, and, after some sighs and presents, I was bound to a woman for
better or for worse, and continued with her until the charms of the
marriage state and the pleasures of domestic life began to pall upon
me, and an ardent desire to return to my old course of adventure took
possession of my mind. Towards the attainment of this desirable end, I
one day kicked my wife out of doors, dressed myself, and prepared to
sally forth. I had no sooner effected this liberation, than a tavern
was my first resting-place to recruit my spirits and to redeem lost
time.
“I at last formed the resolution of returning to my native home,
and there spending the evening of my bustling life in calm repose.
After travelling many a tedious mile, I got to London. Arrived in the
capital, I went directly to my father’s house, but found it in the
possession of another, and my sisters departed this life. As both of
them had been married, and had left children, there was no hope of any
legacy by their death: I was therefore under the necessity of doing
something for a living. Finding the gout increasing upon me, I, by the
advice of an acquaintance, took a public house; and, as I understood
several languages, I thought I might have many customers from among
foreigners.”
Batson then gravely concludes his own narrative in these words:--
“I intend to leave off my foolish pranks, and as I have spent my
juvenile years and money in keeping company, hope to find some fools as
bad as myself, who delight in throwing away their estates and impairing
their health.”
He accordingly took a house in Smithfield, and acquired a considerable
sum. But, being desirous to make a fortune with one dash, he hastened
his end. Among others who put up at his house was a gentleman who had
purchased a large estate in the country, and was going to deliver the
cash. The ostler observed to his master, that the bags belonging to the
gentleman were uncommonly heavy when he carried them into the house.
They mutually agreed to rob, and afterwards to murder him; and the
ostler accomplished the horrid deed. But, differing about the division
of the spoil, the ostler got drunk, and disclosed the whole matter.
The house was searched, the body of the gentleman found, and both the
murderers were seized, tried, and condemned. The ostler died before
the fatal day, but Batson was executed, and, according to the Catholic
faith, died a penitent, a year before the restoration of king Charles
the Second.
[Illustration: _John Cottington._ P. 47.]
MULLED SACK, _alias_ JOHN COTTINGTON.
This man’s father was a petty haberdasher in Cheapside, but living
above his income, he died so poor that he was interred by the parish.
He had eighteen children, fifteen daughters and three sons. Our hero
was the youngest of the family, and at the age of eight was bound
apprentice to a chimney-sweeper. In his first year, deeming himself as
expert at his profession as his master, he left him, and, acting for
himself, soon acquired a great run of business.
Money now coming in upon him, he frequented the tavern, and, disdaining
to taste of any thing but mulled sack, he acquired that appellation.
One evening he there met with a young woman, with whom he was so
enamored, that “he took her for better for worse.” But, not enjoying
that degree of comfort in this union which his imagination had painted
to him, he frequented the company of other women, until it became
necessary to make public contributions to supply their pressing
necessities. His first trials were in picking pockets of watches, and
any small sum he could find. Among others, he robbed a lady famous
among the usurers, of a gold watch set with diamonds, and another lady
of a similar piece of luxury, as she was going into church to hear a
celebrated preacher. By the aid of his accomplices, the pin was taken
out of the axle of her coach, which fell down at the church door, and
in the crowd, Mulled Sack, being dressed as a gentleman, gave her his
hand, while he seized her watch. The pious lady did not discover her
loss, until she wished to know the length of the sermon, when her
devout meditations, excited by the consoling exhortation of the pious
preacher, were sadly interrupted by the loss of her time-piece. It is
related, that upon a certain occasion, he had the boldness to attempt
the pocket of Oliver Cromwell, and that the danger to which he was then
exposed determined him to leave that sneaking trade, and in a genteel
manner to enter upon the honorable profession of public collector on
the highway.
He entered into partnership with Tom Cheney. Their first adventure was
attacking colonel Hewson, who had raised himself by his merit from a
cobbler to a colonel. He was riding at some distance from his regiment
upon Hounslow-heath, and, even in the sight of some of his men, these
two rogues robbed him. The pursuit was keen: Tom’s horse failing,
he was apprehended, but Mulled Sack escaped. The prisoner, being
severely wounded, entreated that his trial might be postponed on that
account. But, on the contrary, lest he should die of his wounds, he was
condemned at two o’clock, and executed that evening.
One Horne was the next accomplice of Mulled Sack. His companions were,
however, generally unfortunate. Upon their first attempt, Horne was
pursued, taken, and executed.
Thus twice bereft of his associates, he acted alone, but generally
committed his depredations upon the republican party, who then had the
wealth of the nation in their possession. Informed that the sum of
four thousand pounds was on its way from London, to pay the regiments
of Oxford and Gloucester, he concealed himself behind a hedge where
the wagon was to pass, presented his pistols, and the guard supposing
that many more must have been concealed, fled, and left him the immense
prize.
There were a few passengers in the wagon, who were greatly affrighted.
He, however, consoled them, assuring them that he would not injure
them, saying, “This which I have taken is as much mine as theirs who
own it, being all extorted from the public by the rapacious members of
our commonwealth, to enrich themselves, maintain their janizaries, and
keep honest people in subjection, the most effectual way to do which is
to keep them very poor.”
When not employed as a chimney-sweep, which profession he still
occasionally pursued, he dressed in high style, and is said to have
received more money by robbery than any man in that age. One day,
being informed that the receiver-general was to send up to London six
thousand pounds, he entered his house the night before, and rendered
that trouble unnecessary. Upon the noise which this notorious robbery
occasioned, Mulled Sack was apprehended; but through cunning, baffling
the evidence, or corrupting the jury, he was acquitted.
In a little time after, he robbed and murdered a gentleman, and, for
fear of detection, went to the continent, and was introduced into the
court of Charles the Second. Upon pretence of giving information, he
came home, and applied to Cromwell, confessed his crime, but proposed
to purchase his life by important information. But whether he failed in
his promise, or whether Cromwell thought that such a notorious offender
was unworthy to live, cannot be ascertained; one thing is certain, that
he was tried and executed in the forty-fifth year of his age, in the
month of April 1659.
CAPTAIN JAMES HIND.
The father of Hind was an industrious saddler, a cheerful companion,
and a good Christian. He was a native of Chipping Norton, Oxfordshire,
where James was born. As our hero was his only son, he received a good
education, and remained at school until he was fifteen years of age.
He was then sent as an apprentice to a butcher in that place, and
continued in that employment during two years. Upon leaving his
master’s service, he applied to his mother for money to bear his
expenses to London, complaining bitterly of the rough and quarrelsome
temper of his master. The complying mother yielded, and, giving him
three pounds, she, with a sorrowful heart, took farewell of her beloved
son.
Arrived in the capital, he soon contracted a relish for the
pleasures of the town. His bottle and a female companion became his
principal delight, and occupied the greater part of his time. He was
unfortunately detected one evening with a woman of the town who had
just robbed a gentleman, and along with her confined until the morning.
He was acquitted because no evidence appeared against him, but his fair
companion was committed to Newgate.
Captain Hind, soon after this accident, became acquainted with one
Allan, a famous highwayman. While partaking of a bottle, their
conversation became mutually so agreeable that they consented to unite
their fortunes.
Their measures being concerted, they set out in quest of plunder. They
fortunately met a gentleman and his servant travelling along the road.
Hind being raw and inexperienced, Allan was desirous to have a proof
of his courage and address; he, therefore, remained at a distance,
while Hind boldly rode up to them and took from them fifteen pounds, at
the same time returning one to bear their expenses home. This he did
with so much grace and pleasantry, that the gentleman vowed that he
would not injure a hair of his head though it were in his power.
About this period, the unfortunate Charles I. suffered death for his
political principles. Captain Hind conceived an inveterate enmity to
all those who had stained their hands with their sovereign’s blood, and
gladly embraced every opportunity to wreak his vengeance upon them. In
a short time, Allan and Hind met with the usurper, Oliver Cromwell,
riding from Huntingdon to London. They attacked the coach, but Oliver
being attended by seven servants. Allan was apprehended, and it was
with no small difficulty that Hind made his escape. The unfortunate
Allan was soon after tried, and suffered death for his audacity. The
only effect which this produced upon Hind was to render him more
cautious in his future depredations. He could not, however, think of
abandoning a course on which he had just entered, and which promised so
many advantages.
The captain had ridden so hard to escape from Cromwell and his train
that he killed his horse, and having no money to purchase a substitute,
he was under the necessity of trying his fortune upon foot, until
he should find means to procure another. It was not long before he
espied a horse tied to a hedge with a saddle on and a brace of pistols
attached to it. He looked round and observed a gentleman on the other
side of the hedge. “This is my horse,” exclaimed the captain, and
immediately vaulted into the saddle. The gentleman called out to him
that the horse was his. “Sir,” said Hind, “you may think yourself well
off that I have left you all the money in your pocket to buy another,
which you had best lay out before I meet you again, lest you should be
worse used.” So saying, he rode off in search of new booty.
There is another story of Hind’s ingenious method of supplying himself
with a horse upon occasion. It appears that, being upon a second
extremity reduced to the humble station of a footpad, he hired a sorry
nag and proceeded on his journey. He was overtaken by a gentleman
mounted on a fine hunter, with a portmanteau behind him. They entered
into conversation upon such topics as are common to travellers, and
Hind was very eloquent in the praise of the gentleman’s horse, which
inclined the other to descant upon the qualifications of the animal.
There was upon one side of the road a wall, which the gentleman said
his horse would leap over. Hind offered to risk a bottle on it, to
which the gentleman agreed, and quickly made his horse leap over.
The captain acknowledged that he had lost his wager, but requested
the gentleman to let him try if he could do the same; to which
he consented, and the captain, being seated in the saddle of his
companion, rode off at full speed and left him to return the other
miserable animal to its owner.
At another time the captain met the regicide Hugh Peters in Enfield
chace, and commanded him to deliver his money. Hugh, who was not
deficient in confidence, began to combat Hind with texts of scripture,
and to cudgel our bold robber with the eighth commandment: “It is
written in the law,” said he, “that ‘Thou shalt not steal:’ and
furthermore, Solomon, who was surely a very wise man, spoke in this
manner, ‘Rob not the poor, because he is poor.’” Hind was desirous to
answer him in his own strain, and for that purpose began to rub up his
memory for some of the texts he had learned when at school. “Verily,”
said Hind, “if thou hadst regarded the divine precepts as thou oughtest
to have done, thou wouldst not have wrested them to such an abominable
and wicked sense as thou didst the words of the prophet, when he said,
‘Bind their kings with chains, and their nobles with fetters of iron.’
Didst thou not then, detestable hypocrite, endeavor, from these words,
to aggravate the misfortunes of thy royal master, whom thy cursed
republican party unjustly murdered before the gate of his own palace?”
Here Hugh Peters began to extenuate that proceeding, and to allege
other parts of scripture in his own defence. “Pray, sir,” replied Hind,
“make no reflections against men of my profession, for Solomon plainly
said, ‘do not despise a thief.’ But it is to little purpose for us to
dispute; the substance of what I have to say is this, deliver thy money
presently, or else I shall send thee out of the world to thy master,
the devil, in an instant.” These terrible words of the captain’s so
terrified the old Presbyterian, that he forthwith gave him thirty broad
pieces of gold and then departed.
But Hind was not satisfied with allowing so bitter an enemy to the
royal cause to depart in such a manner. He accordingly rode after him
at full speed, and, overtaking him, addressed him in the following
language:--“Sir, now I think of it, I am convinced this misfortune has
happened to you because you did not obey the words of the scripture,
which expressly says, ‘provide neither gold, nor silver, nor brass,
in your purses, for your journey,’ whereas it is evident that you had
provided a pretty decent quantity of gold. However, as it is now in my
power to make you fulfil another commandment, I would by no means slip
the opportunity; therefore, pray give me your cloak.” Peters was so
surprised that he neither stood still to dispute nor to examine what
was the drift of Hind’s demand. But he soon made him understand his
meaning, when he added, “You know, sir, our Savior has commanded, that
if any man take away thy cloak, thou must not refuse thy coat also;
therefore, I cannot suppose that you will act in direct contradiction
to such an express command, especially as you cannot pretend you have
forgot it, seeing that I now remind you of that duty.” The old Puritan
shrugged his shoulders some time before he proceeded to uncase them;
but Hind told him that his delay would be of no service to him, for he
would be implicitly obeyed, because he was sure that what he requested
was entirely consonant with the scripture. He accordingly surrendered,
and Hind carried off the cloak.
The following sabbath, when Hugh ascended the pulpit, he was inclined
to pour forth an invective against stealing, and selected for his
subject these words: “I have put off my coat, how shall I put it on?”
An honest plain man, who was present, and knew how he had been treated
by the robber, promptly cried out, “Upon my word, sir, I believe there
is nobody here can tell you, unless captain Hind were here.” Which
ready answer to Hugh’s scriptural question put the congregation into
such an outrageous fit of laughter, that the parson was made to blush,
and descended from his pulpit, without prosecuting the subject farther.
The captain, as before mentioned, indulged a rooted hatred against
all those who were concerned in the murder of the late king; and
frequently these men fell in his way. He was one day riding on the
road, when president Bradshaw, who had sat as judge upon the king, and
passed the sentence of death upon him, met with the captain. The place
where they came into collision was on the road between Sherbourne and
Shaftesbury. Hind rode up to the coach, and demanded Bradshaw’s money,
who, supposing that his very name would convey terror along with it,
informed him who he was. “Marry,” cried Hind, “I neither fear you nor
any king-killing villain alive. I have now as much power over you, as
you lately had over the king, and I should do God and my country good
service, if I made the same use of it; but live, villain, to suffer the
pangs of thine own conscience, till justice shall lay her iron hand
upon thee, and require an answer for thy crimes, in a way more proper
for such a monster, who art unworthy to die by any hands but those of
the common hangman, or at any other place than Tyburn. Nevertheless,
though I spare thy life as a regicide, be assured, that unless thou
deliver up thy money immediately, thou shalt die for thy obstinacy.”
Bradshaw began to perceive that the case was not now with him as it
was when he sat at Westminster hall, supported by all the strength of
the rebellion. A horror took possession of his soul, and discovered
itself in his countenance. He put his trembling hand into his pocket,
and pulled out about forty shillings in silver, which he presented
to the captain, who swore he would that minute shoot him through the
heart, unless he found him coin of another species. To save his life,
the sergeant pulled out that which he valued next to it, and presented
the captain with a purse full of Jacobuses.
But though Hind had got possession of the cash, he was inclined to
detain the sergeant a little longer, and began the following eulogium
upon the value of money:--
“This, sir, is the metal that wins my heart forever! O precious gold!
I admire and adore thee as much as either Bradshaw, Prynne, or any
other villain of the same stamp, who, for the sake of thee, would sell
his Redeemer again, were he now upon earth. This is that incomparable
medicament, which the republican physicians call the wonder-working
plaster; it is truly catholic in operation, and somewhat of kin to the
Jesuit’s powder, but more effectual. The virtues of it are strange
and various; it maketh justice deaf as well as blind; and takes out
spots of the deepest treasons as easily as Castile soap does common
stains; it alters a man’s constitution in two or three days, more
than the virtuoso’s transfusion of blood can do in seven years. It is
a great alexipharmic, and helps poisonous principles of rebellion,
and those that use them; it miraculously exalts and purifies the
eye-sight, and makes traitors behold nothing but innocence in the
blackest malefactors: it is a mighty cordial for a declining cause; it
stifles faction and schism as certainly as rats are destroyed by common
arsenic: in a word, it makes fools wise men, and wise men fools, and
both of them knaves. The very color of this precious balm is bright
and dazzling. If it be properly applied to the fist, that is, in a
decent manner, and in a competent dose, it infallibly performs all
the above-mentioned cures, and many others too numerous to be here
mentioned.”
The captain, having finished his panegyric upon the virtues of the
glittering metal, pulled out his pistol, and again addressed the
serjeant, saying, “You and your infernal crew have a long while run on,
like Jehu, in a career of blood and impiety, falsely pretending that
zeal for the Lord of Hosts has been your only motive. How long you may
be suffered to continue in the same course, God only knows. I will,
however, for this time, stop your race in a literal sense of the word.”
And without farther delay, he shot all the six horses that were in the
carriage, and left Bradshaw to ponder upon the lesson he had received.