and, being informed how they had cheated the countryman, was resolved
to exert his ingenuity at their expense. Meanwhile, several associates
of Rumbold, who had been respectively employed in similar adventures,
entered the room, joined in their conversation, and participated
in their wine. The landlord was at last requested to bring supper,
which was done with great alacrity. The bottle continuing to move
with considerable rapidity, the company were in general intoxicated
before they sat down to supper. When it was brought in, however, they
commenced with great avidity, and soon despatched a shoulder of mutton
and two capons; and, under the influence of wine, all fell asleep with
the dishes before them.
The landlord embraced this favorable moment of silence to collect all
the bones and remnants of the whole day’s provisions, and divided them
upon the plates which were upon the table. In a short time, one of them
losing his balance, embraced the floor, and, by the noise of the fall,
awoke the rest of the drowsy company, who all renewed their attacks
upon the victuals. “How came these bones here?” cried one of them; “I
do not remember that I ate any such victuals.” “Nor I,” said another;
upon which the landlord was called and interrogated. “Why, surely,
gentlemen, you have forgot yourselves,” said he; “you have slept sound
and fair indeed! I believe you will forget the collar of brawn you had
too, that cost me six shillings out of my pocket.” “How, brawn!” said
one. “Ay, brawn,” answered the landlord; “you had it, and shall pay for
it: you’ll remember nothing presently. This is a fine drunken bout,
indeed!” “So it is,” said one of the company; “surely, we have been in
a dream: but it signifies nothing, my landlord, you must and shall be
paid. Give us another dozen bottles, and bring us the bill, that we may
pay the reckoning we have run up.” This order was obeyed, and a bill
presented, amounting to seven pounds, and every man was called upon
to pay his share. The countryman shrunk back, wishing to escape; but
one of them pulled him forward, saying, “Come, let us tell noses, and
every man pay alike.” The countryman desired to be excused, and said
his money was all exhausted; they therefore agreed that he should be
exempted.
In the morning, the countryman, in order to procure money to carry him
home, resolved to sell the chain in his possession: he accordingly went
to a goldsmith, but, to his additional mortification, was informed that
instead of gold, it was nothing but brass gilded over. He acquainted
the goldsmith with the whole matter, who went along with him to a
justice to obtain a warrant for the apprehension of Rumbold and his
associates; but before their arrival, the worthy knights of the pistol
had prudently decamped with their spoils.
Rumbold after this adventure had several narrow escapes; but,
continuing his nefarious courses, he was at length detected, tried,
condemned, and executed at Tyburn in the year 1689.
FOOTNOTES:
[2] Guineas.
WHITNEY.
This notorious malefactor was born at Stevenage in Hertfordshire, and
served an apprenticeship to a butcher. He often mentioned that he was
happily disappointed in his first attempt to steal.
He and his master went to Romford to purchase calves, and there was an
excellent one that they would fain have had in their possession, but
the owner and they could not agree about the price. As the owner of
the calf kept an alehouse, they went in to taste his ale. While they
were enjoying themselves, but lamenting the loss of the calf, Whitney
whispered to his master, that it would be foolish in them to give money
for the calf, when they might have it for nothing. The good butcher
understood his meaning and entered into his plan. In the mean while
they sat still drinking, waiting their opportunity.
[Illustration: _Whitney and the Bear._ P. 134.]
Unfortunately for their scheme, a fellow who travelled the country
with a she-bear, had put up at the house where the butchers were
drinking. The landlord had no place to put up this bear without
removing the calf to another house, which was accordingly done. The
butchers continued carousing until it was dark, then having cheerfully
paid their reckoning, in the hope that the calf would reimburse them,
they left the house, and lurked about the fields until all was quiet.
Approaching the place where they had seen the calf put up, Whitney was
sent in to fetch it out. The bear was resting her wearied limbs when
Whitney took hold of them, and was astonished to find the hair of the
calf had suddenly grown to such a length. Bruin arose upon all-fours,
opining, we suppose, that it was her master about to show her in his
usual manner. But she no sooner discovered that it was a stranger who
thus rudely assailed her, than she seized him with her two fore-paws
and hugged him most lovingly to her bosom. The master, surprised that
he was so long in bringing out the calf, began to chide him for his
delay. Whitney cried out, that he could not get away himself, and
he believed that the devil had hold of him. “If it is the old boy,”
replied the master, “bring him out, as I should like to see what kind
of an animal he is.” His importunities at length brought the butcher to
his assistance, when they discovered their mistake, and with no small
difficulty disentangled Whitney from the fraternal hug of honest bruin;
which having done, they proceeded home without their prey, determined
to attempt stealing calves no more.
Our young adventurer now abandoned the business of buying and slaying
animals, and took the George inn at Cheshunt. In order to make the
most of it, he entertained all sorts of people, whether good or bad.
Disappointment attended him in this as well as his former employment,
and he was constrained to shut up his doors.
He now went up to London, the common haunt of all profligates, where
he lived in the most irregular manner, giving himself wholly up to
villany. After practising the tricks of sharpers for a time, he at
length commenced business upon the highway. He was one day standing
at the door of a mercer’s shop, when two young ladies, apparently of
fashion, passed by, elegantly dressed, one of whom inquired if he had
any silks of the newest patterns. Whitney replied, that he had none
at present, but should soon have some home from the weaver. He then
requested their address, that the goods, when they came to hand, might
be sent to them. They were rather at a loss; one of them, however,
answered, that they were only lately come to town, and did not remember
the name of their street. They added, that, as it was not far off, if
he would accompany them, they would show him their habitation.
This was just what he wanted; therefore, going into the shop, as if to
leave orders, he hastened along with the ladies--they supposing he was
the silk-mercer, and he that they were actually ladies of fortune, whom
he might have an opportunity of robbing, either presently or at some
future period. Upon their arrival he was introduced into an elegant
parlor, and a collation placed upon the table, with some excellent
wine, of which he was requested to partake. He was soon left alone with
one of the ladies, and discovering his mistake, was resolved to have
some more sport at the expense of a silk-mercer, since he had been
taken for one.
Whitney went to a mercer, and mentioning the name of a lady of quality
in the neighborhood, said he had been sent by her to request that
the mercer would send one of his men with several pieces of his best
silks, as the lady was to purchase a gown and petticoat. The shopkeeper
readily consented, and one of the apprentices was despatched along
with him. To deceive the young man, and render it impossible for him
to discover the place where he should stop, he conducted him through
various streets and lanes, until he at last halted at a house which had
an entry into another street; here he took the parcel, and desired the
lad to stand at the door while he went in to show the ladies the silks.
Taking the parcel, he went in, and inquired for some person who he was
certain was not there. He then requested liberty to pass through to the
next street, which would shorten his way. This being granted, he left
the mercer’s man to wait for his return.
Having thus fortunately succeeded, and been able to fulfil his
promise of giving one of the above-mentioned ladies a silk dress, he
hastened to their dwelling, where they divided the spoil. For some
days he remained there, indulging in all manner of riot and excess,
until, satiated, he returned to his labor of seeking new adventures.
Determined, however, that no other person but himself should reap the
fruits of his ingenuity, he wrote a letter to the mercer, informing him
where he would find his silks. Accordingly, having obtained a warrant,
the house of the two damsels was searched, the pieces found, and both
the ladies were sentenced to Bridewell to undergo whipping, and to
submit to hard labor.
When Whitney was confirmed in his business, he met a gentleman on
Bagshot heath, whom he commanded to stand and deliver: on which the
other remarked, “It is well you spoke first, sir, for I was just going
to make a similar demand.” “Why, then, you are a gentleman-thief?”
Whitney cried. “Yes,” said the stranger, “but I have had very bad
success to-day, for I have been riding up and down all this morning
without meeting with any prize.” Whitney upon this wished him better
luck, and took his leave.
At night Whitney and the above gentleman put up at the same inn, when
the latter related to some other travellers by what stratagem he had
evaded being robbed on the road. Whitney having changed his dress, the
gentleman did not recognise him. Whitney also heard him whisper to one
of the company, that by this contrivance he had saved a hundred pounds.
That person informed him, that he had a considerable sum upon him, and
that, if agreeable, he would travel next day with him. Our adventurer
overheard the conversation, and resolved, without being solicited,
to make one of the party. In the morning they commenced their
journey, and Whitney followed about a quarter of an hour after. Their
conversation turned upon the best means to deceive the highwaymen; and
our adventurer’s meditations were, how he should be revenged upon his
quondam friend for the cheat he had received the day before.
Whitney soon overtook them, and riding before, turned suddenly about,
presented his pistols, and commanded them to stand and deliver. “We
were going to say the same to you, sir!” “Were you so?” replied our
hero, “and are you then of my profession?” “Yes,” said they both.
“If you are, I suppose you remember the old proverb, that two of a
profession cannot agree together, so that you must not expect any
favor on that score. But to be plain with you, gentlemen, I know
you very well, and must have your hundred pounds, sir,--and your
considerable sum, sir,”--turning first to the one, and then to the
other,--“otherwise I shall be bold to send a brace of bullets through
each of your heads. You, Messieurs Highwaymen, should have kept
your secret a little longer, and not have boasted so soon of having
outwitted a thief. There is now nothing for you but to deliver or die!”
These words put them in a sad consternation: they were very unwilling
to lose their money, but more unwilling to lose their lives; of two
evils, therefore, they preferred choosing the least. The one produced
his hundred pounds first, and the other gentleman his considerable sum,
which was a good deal more.
At another time, our adventurer met with an old miser named Hull, on
Hounslow Heath. The word of command being given, he trembled in every
joint, and using the most piteous tones and humiliating complaints,
said that he was a very poor man and had a large family, and he would
be hard-hearted indeed who would take his money. He added, besides, a
great deal more concerning the illegality of such an action, and how
dangerous it was to engage in evil courses. Whitney, who knew him well,
cried out in a violent passion, “Sirrah, you pretend to preach morality
to an honester man than yourself. Is it not more generous to take a
man’s money from him bravely, than to grind him to death by exacting
eight or ten per cent. under cover of serving him? You make a prey
of all mankind, and necessity in an honest man is often the means of
his falling into your hands, who are sure to be the means of undoing
him. I am a man of more honor than to show any compassion to one whom
I esteem an enemy to the whole species. For once, at least, I shall
oblige you to lend me what you have, without interest or bond, so make
no words!” Old Hull, upon this, reluctantly pulled out eighteen pounds,
telling him at the same time that he would see him some time ride up
Holborn hill backwards. Whitney was retiring until he heard these
words, when, returning, he drew Hull off his horse, and putting him on
again with his face towards the tail, and tying his legs, “Now,” said
he, “you old rogue, let me see what a figure a man makes when he rides
backwards, and let me have the pleasure at least of seeing you first in
that posture:” so giving the horse a whip, the animal proceeded at a
desperate pace until it came to Hounslow Town, where the people untied
him, after they had enjoyed themselves at his expense.
In the course of Whitney’s rambles, he one day put up at an inn in
Doncaster, and lived in a dashing style, as he had then plenty of
money. He was informed that the landlord was a complete miser and
sharper, and that he would not spare the smallest sum to a poor
relation of his, who lived in the neighborhood. Accordingly, Whitney
resolved to exert his ingenuity upon his landlord; and gave out that
he had a good estate, and travelled merely for his own amusement. He
continued to pay his bills regularly, until he supposed that his credit
would be sufficiently established. Then he one day mentioned to his
landlord, that as his money was run short, he would be obliged to him
for credit until he received remittances. “Oh, dear sir, you need not
give yourself any uneasiness about such a thing as this; every thing
in my house is at your service; and I shall think myself honored if
you use me as your friend.” With abundance of eloquence, our adventurer
returned the compliment. He continued to live at his table,--his horse
was well fed with corn and hay, while Whitney, almost every day, took
a ride to some neighboring village along with the landlord and some
others, who were all proud of the honor he had done them.
It happened that there was an annual fair in that place, and in the
morning a box came directed to him; opening it, he took out a letter,
and, having read it, locked the box, and delivered it to the landlady,
saying, that it would be safer in her custody than in his own. Having
gone to see the fair, he returned in great haste in the afternoon,
desiring his horse to be instantly dressed, as he had seen a horse in
the fair for which he was desirous to exchange his own, adding, that he
was determined to have the animal. He then requested the landlady to
give him his box; but he was informed that she was gone to the fair.
Hereupon he affected to burst out into a violent passion, saying, that
he supposed she had locked up what he committed to her keeping:--“If
she has,” said he, “I had rather have given ten guineas, for I have
no money but what is in her possession.” Inquiry was made, and it was
found to be as he had said, which put him into a still greater rage.
This was, however, what he both wished and expected,--the whole being
of his own invention. The landlord was informed of his rage, and the
cause of it, and entreated that he would be easy, as he would lend
him the sum he wanted until his wife came home. Our hero was greatly
distressed that he should have to borrow money when he had so much
of his own; but as there was no other method of obtaining cash to
purchase his favorite horse, he accepted of the proffered loan: with an
imperious and haughty air, demanding that his bill might be prepared
for payment forthwith.
With forty guineas he rode to the fair; but instead of inquiring for
any other horse, he spurred his own through the crowd, and hastened to
London. The people of the inn waited long for his return that evening;
but, as he had frequently stayed two or three days at once in his
rambles through the country, they suspected no fraud. After waiting
with no small impatience for a whole week, the landlord resolved
to break open the box, and went to the magistrates of the place,
accompanied by witnesses. It is needless to record his chagrin and
mortification, when he found the box filled with sand and stones.
In London, Whitney was apprehended upon the information of one of those
abandoned females who live by betraying the simple ones of their own,
and by robbing and plundering the profligate of the other sex. He was
committed, tried, and condemned at the following sessions. The judge,
before passing sentence, made an excellent speech to him and the other
malefactors, in strong terms exhibiting the nature of their several
crimes; and in particular addressed himself to Whitney, exhorting him
to a sincere repentance, as there could be no hope of a pardon to him
after a course of so many villanies.
At the place of execution, Whitney addressed the multitude in nearly
the following terms:--“I have been a great offender, both against God
and my country, by transgressing all laws, both human and divine. I
believe there is not one here present but has often heard my name
before my confinement, and seen the long catalogue of my crimes, which
have since been made public. Why then should I pretend to vindicate a
life stained with so many enormous deeds? The sentence passed upon me
is just, and I can see the footsteps of a Providence, which, before, I
had profanely laughed at, in my apprehension and conviction. I hope the
sense which I have of these things has enabled me to make my peace with
Heaven, the only thing which is now of any concern to me. Join in your
prayers with me, my dear countrymen, that God would not forsake me in
my last moments.” Having spent a few minutes in prayer, he suffered, in
the thirty-fourth year of his age, on the 19th of December 1694.
TIM BUCKELEY.
Tim was reared to the useful occupation of a shoemaker, but leaving his
master, he came to London, and soon found out companions suited to his
disposition. He and his associates frequented an alehouse at Wapping;
and one day being run short of cash, Tim asked the landlord for ten
shillings, which he refused. Tim was so exasperated, that, along
with some of his associates, he broke into his house, and bound him,
his wife, and maid. When Tim was about this operation, the landlord
conjured him to be favorable. “No, no, you must not expect any favor
from my hands, whose prodigality makes you lord it over the people here
like a boatswain over a ship’s crew; but I shall go to another part of
the town, where I will be more civilly used, and spend a little of your
money there.” Accordingly, Tim and his companions robbed the house of
forty pounds, three silver tankards, a silver watch, and three gold
rings.
Upon another day Tim was airing in Hyde-park-corner, and met with Dr.
Cateby, the famous mountebank. At the words “Stand and deliver!” the
doctor went into a long harangue about the honesty of his calling,
and of the great difficulty with which he made a living. Tim laughed
heartily, saying, “Quacks pretend to honesty! there is not such a pack
of cheating knaves in the nation. Their impudence is intolerable for
deceiving honest simple people, and pretending that more men were not
slain at the battle of the Boyne, than they have recovered from death,
or beckoned their souls back when they have been many leagues from
their bodies: therefore, deliver! or this pistol shall put a stop to
your further ramblings and deception.” The doctor preferring his life
to his gold, presented Tim with six guineas, and a watch, to show him
how to keep time while spending the money.
Tim was once apprehended by a baker, in the character of a constable,
and sent to Flanders as a soldier. He deserted, and returning to
London, one day met with the baker’s wife. He presented a pistol, and
demanded her money; she exclaimed, “Is this justice or conscience,
sir?” “Don’t tell me of justice, for I hate her as much as your husband
can, because her scales are even! And as for conscience, I have as
little of that as any baker in England, who cheats other people’s
bellies to fill his own!--Nay, a baker is a worse rogue than a tailor;
for, whereas the latter commonly pinches his cabbage from the rich, the
former, by making his bread too light, robs all without distinction,
but chiefly the poor, for which he deserves hanging more than I, or any
of my honest fraternity.” Then, taking from her eleven shillings and
two gold rings, he sent her home to relate her adventure to her husband.
Tim next stealing a good horse, commenced upon the highway, and meeting
with a pawnbroker by whom he had lost some articles, he commanded him
to stand and deliver. The pawnbroker entreated for favor, saying “that
it was a very hard thing that honest people could not go about their
lawful business without being robbed.” “You talk of honesty, who live
by fraud and oppression!--your shop, like the gates of hell, is always
open, in which you sit at the receipt of custom, and having got the
spoils of the needy, you hang them up in rank and file, like so many
trophies of victory. To your shop all sorts of garments resort, as on
a pilgrimage. Thou art the treasurer of the thieves’ exchequer, for
which purpose you keep a private warehouse from whence you ship them
off wholesale, or retail, according to pleasure. Nay, the poor and the
oppressed have often to pay their own cloth, before they can receive
them back by your exorbitant exactions. Come, come, blood-sucker, open
your purse-strings, or this pistol shall send you where you are to go
sooner or later.” The poor pawnbroker did not, however, wish to visit
his old friend before his time; he therefore ransomed his life at the
expense of twenty-eight guineas, a gold watch, a silver box, and two
gold rings.
Upon another occasion, Tim fortunately met with a stock-jobber (who had
prosecuted him for felony,) and robbed him of forty-eight guineas. He
requested something to carry him home. Tim refused, saying, “I have no
charity for you stock-jobbers, who rise and fall like the ebbing and
flowing of the tide, and whose paths are as unfathomable as the ocean.
The grasshopper in the Royal Exchange is an emblem of your character.
What! give you something to carry you home out of the paltry sum of
forty-eight guineas! I won’t give you a farthing.” He then bade him
farewell until next meeting.
Though unexpected and unwished, it was not long before the stock-jobber
reconnoitred Tim, and caused him to be apprehended and committed to
Newgate. He was tried, and received sentence of death; but obtaining a
reprieve, and afterwards a pardon, he was determined to be revenged of
the man who would not give him rest to pursue his honest employment; he
therefore set fire to a country-house belonging to him. To his no small
chagrin, however, it was quenched before much harm was done.
Tim then went to Leicestershire, broke into a house, seized eighty
pounds, purchased a horse, and renewed his former mode of life. Thus
mounted, he attacked a coach in which were three gentlemen, and two
footmen attending. Tim’s horse being shot under him, he killed one of
the gentlemen and a footman, but being overpowered, was committed to
Nottingham gaol, and suffered the due reward of murder and robbery, at
the age of twenty-nine, and in the year 1701.
TOM JONES.
Tom was a native of Newcastle-upon-Tyne. His father was a clothier,
whose business he followed until he was two-and-twenty years of age.
In that period, however, the prominent dispositions of his mind were
displayed, by extravagance, and running into debt. In order, therefore,
to retrieve his circumstances, he went upon the highway.
Out of gratitude for his father’s kindness, he commenced by robbing him
of eighty pounds and a good horse. Unaccustomed to such work, he rode,
under the impression that he was pursued and in danger of being taken,
no less than forty miles. Arriving in Staffordshire, he attacked and
robbed the stage-coach of a considerable booty. During the scuffle,
several shots were fired at the passengers, but no injury was done.