Walker; there was another, also, whose name we have not learned. These
made an appointment to rob a gentleman’s house at Croydon, and for that
purpose agreed to meet at the Half-Moon tavern, which they accordingly
did, about six o’clock in the evening. Walker, having some knowledge
of the house, went at the head of his companions into the yard, and
found the coachman dressing the horses; him they bound, and going from
thence met Mr. Sheldon, the master, whom they seized and compelled to
show them the way to the house. As soon as they entered, they tied Mr.
Sheldon’s hands behind him with cords, and having served the rest of
the family after the same fashion, fell to plundering the house. Eleven
guineas, and several pieces of plate, jewels, and other things of
value, was the result of this adventure; but before they left the place
they returned two guineas, thanked Mr. Sheldon for the very courteous
manner with which they had been received, and bade him good night.
Their next design was upon the house of Mr. Lawrence, at Edgeware-bury
near Stanmore. About five o’clock they went from the Queen’s Head at
Stanmore, and proceeded to the destined spot. On their arrival, they
left their horses at the outer gate, and climbing over the hatch into
the sheep-yard, met with a boy just putting up some sheep. They seized
him, and presenting a pistol, told him they would shoot him if he
offered to cry out, but if he would inform them truly what servants Mr.
Lawrence kept, and who was in the house, they would give him money. The
boy, terrified at their threats, told instantly what they desired, and
one of them thereupon knocked at the door. When it was opened they all
rushed in with pistols in their hands, and seizing Mr. Lawrence, rifled
his pockets, out of which they took one guinea, a Portugal piece of
thirty-six shillings, about fifteen shillings in silver, and his keys.
Dissatisfied with so small a booty, they then drove him up-stairs,
and breaking open a closet, plundered it of money, silver cups and
spoons, gold rings, and many other things of value. A bottle of elder
wine which they found they divided amongst the servants, lifting it to
their mouths, as their hands were pinioned behind them. A maid-servant
who was churning in an outhouse, hearing a noise, suspected there were
thieves in the house, and put out the candle to secrete herself. One of
them, however, discovered her, and dragging her from her hiding-place,
menaced her with the most horrid threats if she raised an alarm. All
of them, indeed, disappointed and enraged at their ill success, (for
they had calculated upon a rich return for their trouble and hazard,)
practised on this occasion the most savage cruelties. Having stripped
the house of every thing of worth, even to the sheets from the beds,
they dragged Mr. Lawrence down stairs again, and declared, with the
most dreadful oaths, that they would cut his throat if he hesitated to
confess what money was in the house; and being answered that there was
none excepting that which they had taken, they beat him barbarously
with the butt-ends of their whips, and inflicted a terrific cut upon
his head with a pistol. One of them took a chopping-bill and swore he
would cleave his legs off; another a kettle of water from the fire, and
flung upon him, which happening, however, to have been recently filled,
did no serious injury. In their search, besides the beforementioned
particulars, they met with a chest belonging to one of Mr. Lawrence’s
sons, which they broke open, taking therefrom twenty pounds, and all
his linen. Some of these things were afterwards traced to a place
called Duck-lane, where two of these fellows were apprehended.
Although in this robbery they got about twenty-six pounds in money in
the whole, yet they made no fair distribution of it amongst themselves.
The honor mentioned as existing among thieves was, in this instance,
at any rate, something of that character which distinguishes their
dealings with others not of their profession; for it appeared upon
evidence, that those who were most fortunate in the plunder, on the
division of the spoil, could bring their minds to produce no more than
three pounds nine shillings and sixpence.
These frequent and daring burglaries induced his majesty to offer a
pardon to any one of the criminals who had been concerned in entering
the house of Mr. Lawrence, and committing such atrocities on the
evening of the 4th of February; and further, a reward of fifty pounds
to every person who should be instrumental in the discovery of any of
the offenders.
Notwithstanding which, on the 7th of February the party again met by
appointment, having fixed upon the White Hart in Drury-lane, as the
best place whereat to concert future depredations. Accordingly, they
agreed upon making an attempt to rob Mr. Francis, a large farmer near
Mary-le-bone, at whose house they arrived shortly after seven. The
details of this outrage are much the same as the previous robberies
in which they were engaged. They succeeded in obtaining thirty-seven
guineas and ten pounds in silver, a quantity of jewels and linen, and
the unfortunate Mr. Francis’ wig, all of which they carried off; not
forgetting the latter, the value of which, excepting to the owner, we
are quite at a loss to conceive.
They also formed a design to rob the house of a country justice, and
with that intention met at a public house near Leigh. Not rightly
knowing, however, the way into the jolly justice’s domicile, they
concealed themselves under some furze bushes; but while they were thus
lying perdue there, they heard several persons riding along together,
who happened to be some of the neighboring farmers returning from the
table of the rustic Rhadamanthus in a state of noisy mirth, induced,
doubtless, by the genial fumes of the justice’s wines; and by their
conversation it was plain that there were others still remaining there,
who, dreading neither riotous spouses nor the midnight bottle, might
probably have determined with wine and song to “out-watch the bear;”
they, therefore, deemed it advisable not to attempt it that night,
and adjourned accordingly their attack to some more promising period,
which so far proved of advantage to them, that it thereby prevented
their being taken, as otherwise they unavoidably would have been; for
they had been observed by some of the neighborhood, and being suspected
as smugglers, information was given to the custom-house, and a party
of dragoons sent out after them, whom they met; when after a strict
search, nothing having been found upon them, they were suffered to
pass. Thus the jolly justice escaped.
The daring robberies of these men at length roused the country, and one
of the king’s keepers waited on the duke of Newcastle, and obtained his
majesty’s promise of a reward of one hundred pounds to him who should
be fortunate enough to apprehend any of them. This made them lie a
little more concealed; but some of the keepers and others receiving
intelligence that they were regaling themselves at an alehouse in
Westminster, they pursued them there, and bursting open the door,
took three, after a stout resistance; two of whom, the third turning
evidence against them, were hanged in chains accordingly. Turpin,
however, made his escape by leaping from a window.
The gang thus broke up, and Turpin, quite left to himself, made a
determination never to command another, but to go altogether upon his
own bottom; and with this view he set out for Cambridge, as he was not
known in that county.
Notwithstanding this resolve, the following strange encounter provided
him with his best companion (as he would call him) before he reached
his journey’s end. King, the highwayman, who had been towards Cambridge
on professional business, was returning to town. Turpin seeing him well
mounted, and bearing the appearance of a gentleman, thought it was an
excellent opportunity to recruit his pockets, and accordingly, with a
loud voice, commanded King to stand. King, enjoying the joke, though
at the ugly prospect of a bullet through his head if he carried the
jest too far, assumed all the conduct of a person so unceremoniously
addressed. “Deliver!” shouted Turpin, “or by ---- I’ll let daylight
through you.” “What,” said King, laughing heartily, “what! dog eat
dog! Come, come! brother Turpin, if you don’t know me, I know you, and
should be glad of your company.” After mutual assurances of fidelity to
one another, and that nothing should part them till death, they agreed
to go together upon some exploit, and met with a small booty that very
day; after which they continued together, committing divers robberies,
for nearly three years, when King was accidentally shot.
King being very well known about the country, as likewise was Turpin,
insomuch that no house would entertain them, they formed the idea of
dwelling in a cave, and to that end pitched upon a place enclosed
with a large thicket, between Loughton Road and King’s-Oak-Road; here
they made a place large enough to receive them and two horses, and
while they lay concealed there, they could see, through several holes
purposely made, what passengers went by on either road, and as they
thought proper sallied out and robbed them. This they did in such a
daring manner and so frequently, that it was not safe for any person
to travel that way, and the very higglers were obliged to go armed. In
this cave they drank and lay; Turpin’s wife supplied them with food,
and frequently remained in the place all night with them.
From the forest, King and Turpin once took a ride to Bungay in Suffolk,
where the latter had seen two young market-women receive thirteen or
fourteen pounds, and was determined to rob them of it. King attempted
to dissuade him from it, saying, they were pretty girls, and he would
never be engaged in an attempt to deprive two hard-working women
of their little gains. Turpin, however, persisted, and coming up
with them, relieved them of the burden of their coin, which exploit
occasioned a dispute between them.
As they were returning they robbed a gentleman, who was taking an
airing in his chariot, with his two children. King first attacked him,
but found him so powerful and determined a person, returning such sound
replies in the shape of blows to poor King’s civilities, that he was
fain to call upon his companion for assistance. Their united strength
at last overcame him, and they took from him all the money he had about
him, and then demanded his watch, which he declined on any account to
part with; but one of the children became frightened, and persuaded its
father to let them have it. They then insisted upon taking a mourning
ring which they observed he wore, and an objection was raised on his
part, even to that proposition. Finding, however, it was useless to
oppose them, he at length resigned it, telling them it was not worth
eighteen pence, but that he much valued it: upon which information they
returned it to him, saying they were too much of gentlemen to take any
thing which another valued so much.
About this time the reward offered for the apprehension of Turpin had
induced several poor, but resolute men, to make an attempt to get
him into their power. Among the rest a man, groom to a Mr. Thompson,
tempted by the placard setting forth the golden return in the event
of success, connected himself with a higgler to ward off suspicion,
and commenced his search. Turpin one day standing by himself in the
neighborhood of his cave, observed some one who, he supposed, was
poaching for hares, and saluted him with, “No hares near this thicket;
it’s of no use seeking, you’ll not find any.”--“Perhaps I shall a
_Turpin_, though,” replied the fellow, and levelled his piece at him.
Seeing his danger, Turpin commenced a parley, retreating at the same
time by degrees towards his cave, the groom following him with his gun
presented. “I surrender,” said Turpin, when he reached the mouth of the
cavern, and the man dropping the point of his piece, the former seized
his carbine, and shot him dead on the spot. Turpin instantly made off
to another part of the country, in search of King, and sent his wife
a letter to meet him at a certain public house, at which, in a few
days, inquiring for her under a feigned name, he found she was awaiting
his appearance. The kitchen where she was happened to be at the back
through a public room, where some farmers and others were regaling
themselves. On passing through, a butcher, to whom he owed five pounds,
recognised him, and taking him aside, said, “I know you have money now,
Dick; if you’d pay me, it would be of great service.”--“My wife has
certainly money to some amount,” replied Turpin, with a most unmoved
countenance; “she is in the next place; I’ll get it of her, and pay
you presently.” When Turpin was gone, the butcher apprized the company
who he was, and added, “I’ll just get my five pounds of him, and then
we’ll take him.” Turpin, however, was not to be so caught, and instead
of going to his wife, leaped out of the next window, took horse, and
was off in an instant, much to the discomfiture of the knight of the
cleaver and the assembled company, who doubtless had calculated most
correctly the proportion of the reward that would be due to each by
virtue of the king’s signet.
Having discovered King, and one of his associates whose name was
Potter, they determined to set out at once for London; and coming over
the forest about three hundred yards from the Green Man, Turpin found
that his horse, having undergone great fatigue, began to tire. On
such an occasion it was no question with Turpin how he should provide
himself with another, for, overtaking a gentleman, the owner of
several race-horses, he at once appropriated his steed and a handsome
whip to his own peculiar use, and recommending his own broken-down jade
to the kind consideration of the party, speaking highly of his points,
left him to mount the sorry courser, and urge the wretched quadruped
forward in the best way he could.
This robbery was committed on a Saturday night, and on the Monday
following the gentleman received intelligence, that such a horse
as he had lost and described was left at an inn in Whitechapel; he
accordingly went there, and found it to be the same. Nobody came for
it at the time appointed, but about eleven o’clock at night, King’s
brother called for the horse, and was seized immediately. The whip he
carried in his hand the gentleman instantly identified as that stolen
from him, although the button upon which his name had been engraved was
half broken off; the latter letters of his name, however, were plainly
distinguishable upon the remaining part. They charged a constable
with him, but he becoming frightened, and on the assurance that if
he spoke the truth he should be released, confessed that there was a
lusty man in a white duffel coat waiting for it in a street adjoining.
One Mr. Bayes immediately went out, and finding the man as directed,
perceived it was King. Coming round upon him, Mr. Bayes (the then
active landlord of the Green Man, to whom the gentleman at the time had
related the robbery,) attacked him. King immediately drew a pistol,
which he pointed to Mr. Bayes’ breast, but it luckily flashed in the
pan. A struggle then ensued, for King was a powerful man, and Turpin
hearing the skirmish, came up, when King cried out, “Dick, shoot him,
or we are taken, by ----!” at which instant Turpin fired his pistol,
but it missed Mr. Bayes, and shot King in two places. “Dick, you have
killed me, make off,” were King’s words as he fell, and Turpin, seeing
what he had done, clapped spurs to his horse, and made his escape.
King lived for a week afterwards, and gave Turpin the character of a
coward; telling Mr. Bayes that if he pleased to take him, he was to
be found at a certain house near Hackney Marsh, and that when he rode
away, he had three brace of pistols about him, and a carbine slung.
Upon inquiry, it was found that Turpin had actually been at the house
which King mentioned, and made use of something like the following
expressions to the man. “What shall I do? where shall I go? Dick Bayes,
I’ll be the death of you; for I have lost the best fellowman I ever had
in my life; I shot poor King in endeavoring to kill that dog.” The same
resolution of revenge he retained to the last, though without the power
of effecting it.
After this, he still kept about the forest, till he was harassed almost
to death; for he had lost his place of safety, the cave, which was
discovered upon his shooting Mr. Thompson’s groom. When they found the
cave, there were in it two shirts in a bag, two pair of stockings, part
of a bottle of wine, and some ham. Turpin was very nearly taken while
hiding in these woods by a Mr. Ives, the king’s huntsman, who, thinking
he was secreted there, took out two dry-footed hounds; but Turpin
perceiving them coming, climbed up a tree, and saw them stop beneath it
several times, as though they scented him, which so terrified Turpin,
that as soon as they were gone, he made a resolution of retiring that
instant to Yorkshire.
Soon after this, a person came out of Lincolnshire to Brough, near
Market-Cave, in Yorkshire, and stayed for some time at the Ferry-house.
He said his name was John Palmer; and he went from thence sometimes to
live at North Cave, and sometimes at Welton, continuing in these places
about fifteen or sixteen months, except such part of the time as he
went to Lincolnshire to see his friends, which he frequently did, and
as often brought three or four horses back with him, which he used to
sell or exchange in Yorkshire. While he so lived at Brough, Cave, and
Welton, he very often went out hunting and shooting with the gentlemen
in the neighborhood. As he was returning one day from shooting, he saw
one of his landlord’s cocks in the street, and raising his gun shot
it dead. A man, his neighbor, witnessing so wanton an act, complained
of such conduct, asking him by what authority he shot another man’s
property. “Wait one moment,” said Mr. Palmer, “just stay till I have
charged my piece, and I’ll shoot you too.” The landlord being informed
of the loss he had sustained by the death of his favorite bird, and the
man who saw the act being enraged at the threat Palmer had used towards
him, they both obtained a warrant against him, and he was brought
up at the general quarter sessions, where he was examined. Sureties
for his good behavior in future were the penalty alone exacted from
him, which, however, refusing to find, he was committed to the house
of correction. His conduct thus excited great suspicion; for it was
strange that a man who was in the habit of bringing from his friends
in Lincolnshire half-a-dozen horses at a time, and plenty of money,
should be so forsaken as not to be able to provide sureties; and still
stranger, that on so trivial an occasion as the present, if he could
find them at all, he did not produce them. A man’s pride under other
circumstances might be concerned, or a consciousness of innocence
that excluded the possibility, or the benefit of release, under other
conditions than free acquittal; but on a charge of this nature, which
might have been made up even by the purchase of the fowl, or a simple
excuse, his refusal was very suspicious. Inquiries were set on foot in
all quarters; and the magistrate, not contented with the accounts he
gave of himself of having been a grazier in Lincolnshire, despatched
officers to learn how far that statement was consistent with truth. The
result was a confirmation of Palmer’s account, so far as the fact of
his having lived in Lincolnshire, and having been a grazier there; that
is, that there he had something to do with sheep, confined principally,
however, to the expert practice of stealing them. Mr. Palmer, upon the
receipt of this information, was removed from the Beverly house of
correction to York castle, and accommodated on the way with the use
of handcuffs, and a guard of honor. When he arrived at his new abode,
two persons from Lincolnshire challenged a mare and a foal which he
had sold to a gentleman, and also the horse on which he rode when he
came to Beverly, to be stolen from them off the fens in Lincolnshire.
We need not add that Mr. Palmer was one and the same person with Dick
Turpin, the notorious highwayman.
Turpin at one time, with another fellow, laid a scheme for seizing the
government money, ordered to be paid to the ships at Portsmouth. Both
of them were to have attacked the guard in a narrow pass, with sword
and pistol in hand; but Turpin’s courage failed him, and the enterprise
dropped. Gordon, his accomplice in this design, was afterwards taken
on a charge in which he alone was concerned; and while in Newgate he
declared that “after that, Turpin would be guilty of any cowardly
action, and die like a dog.”
Turpin was tried and convicted of stealing the horse and the foal
and the mare from the fens, and was executed on Saturday, April 7th,
1739. He behaved himself with remarkable assurance, and bowed to the
spectators as he passed. It was observed that as he mounted the ladder
his right leg trembled, on which he stamped it down with violence,
and with undaunted fortitude looked around him. After speaking to the
executioner for nearly half an hour, he threw himself off the ladder,
and expired in about five minutes.
His corpse was brought back from the gallows and buried in a neat
coffin in St. George’s churchyard. The grave was dug deep, and the
persons he appointed to follow him (mourners we hesitate to call them,
for we cannot imagine anybody to mourn upon the death of such an
unprecedented ruffian,)--those persons, whoever they were, however,
took all possible care to secure the corpse: notwithstanding which,
some men were discovered to be moving off the body, which they had
taken up; and the mob having got information where it might be found,
went to a garden in which it was deposited, and brought it away in a
sort of triumph, and buried it in the same grave, having first filled
the coffin with slacked lime.
HENRY SIMMS, _alias_ YOUNG GENTLEMAN HARRY.
We prefer giving an abstract of the life and adventures of this
notorious criminal in his own words, since it will serve to show
far better than any moral reflections of our own, that when once
the principles become vitiated, whether by early abuse or habitual
moral recklessness, the very nature is changed, and the conscience
remains in a state of abeyance. There is an easy unconcern, a “young
gentleman” flippancy in the style in which our adventurer has chosen
to narrate his exploits, that indicates too plainly the utter want
of common or decent feeling in his nature, and leaves us to the
unavoidable conclusion, that under no possible circumstances, nor in
any conceivable condition, could “Young Gentleman Harry” have become or
have been made a respectable member of society. He begins his narrative
thus:--
“I am now thirty years of age, born in London, October 19,
1716, of honest industrious parents, in the parish of St.
Martin’s-in-the-Fields. Having the misfortune to lose both my father
and my mother when very young, I was left to the care of an indulgent
grandmother, who tenderly loved me, had me educated with maternal
fondness, and early began to instil into me sentiments of virtue,
honor and honesty, from which I too early swerved. My grandmother
having been many years in the service of a nobleman, was an old servant
much respected, and on that account not only indulged with having her
grandson with her, but was likewise indulged with my being permitted to
go to Eton school with two sons of the noble lord. I remained at Eton
school some time, and even there began to show an early inclination to
vice, without an opportunity of committing it. When I arrived at the
age of fourteen, my grandmother put me apprentice to a breeches-maker,
but a life of servitude ill suited my constitution. I stayed with
him no longer than a month, in which short time I procured to myself
several _choice_ acquaintances, particularly two (since hanged,) and
was easily persuaded to accompany them in many robberies, which we
committed in and about Mary-le-bone fields, and the money we got we
riotously spent among thieves and bullies, and when that was gone,
turned out (as we called it) for more.
“Thus some months passed on in a round of wickedness which not all the
counsel in the universe could restrain. My poor grandmother with tears
in her eyes entreated me to leave off my wicked course and to follow
her instructions. But I little regarded her advice, and still pursued
my own schemes.