Robert Wilkinson, like abundance of other unhappy young men, contracted
in his youth a liking to idleness, and an aversion to all sorts of work
and labour, and applied himself for a livelihood hardly to anything that
was honest. The only employment he ever pretended to was that of a prize
fighter or boxer at Hockley-in-the-Hole,[20] where, as a fellow of
prodigious dexterity, though low in stature, and very small limbed, he
was much taken notice of. And as is usual for persons who have long
addicted themselves to such a way of living, he had contracted an
inhumanity of temper which made him little concerned at the greatest
miseries be saw others suffer, and even regardless of what might happen
to himself. The set of villains into whose society he had joined
himself, viz., Carrick who was executed, Carrol who made his escape into
Ireland, Lincoln of whom we shall speak afterwards, Shaw and Burridge
before mentioned, and William Lock, perpetrated together a prodigious
number of villainies often attended with cruel and bloody acts.
Some of these fellows, it seems, valued themselves much on the ferocity
they exerted in the war they carried on against the rest of mankind,
amongst which Wilkinson might be justly reckoned, being ever ready to
second any bloody proposal, and as unwilling to comply with any
good-natured one. An instance of this happened in the case of two
gentlemen whom Shaw, he and Burridge attacked near Highgate. Not
contented with robbing them of about forty shillings, their watches and
whatever else about 'em was valuable, Wilkinson, after they were
dismounted, knocked one of them into a ditch, where he would have
strangled him with his hand if one of his comrades had not hindered him.
The man pleaded all the while the other held him, that he was without
arms, incapable of making any resistance, and that it was equally base
and barbarous to injure him, who neither could, nor would attempt to
pursue him. Though this fact was very fully proved, yet Wilkinson
strongly denied it, as indeed he did almost everything, though nothing
was more notorious than that he had lived by these wicked courses for a
very considerable time.
Having had occasion to mention this gang with whom Wilkinson was
concerned, it may not be improper to acquaint my readers with an
adventure of one Calhagan and Disney, two Irish robbers of the same
crew. One of them had persuaded a gentleman's housekeeper, of about
thirty-five, that he was extremely in love with her, passing at the same
time for a gentleman of fortune in the kingdom of Ireland, the brogue
being too strong upon his tongue for him to deny his country. He met her
frequently, and made her not a few visits, even at her master's house,
taking care all the while to keep up the greatest form of ceremony, as
though to a person whom he designed to make his wife. His companion
attended on him with great respect as his tutor or gentleman, appearing
at first very much dissatisfied with his making his addresses to a woman
so much beneath him, but as the affair went on pretending to be so much
taken with her wit, prudence and genteel behaviour, that he said his
master had made an excellent choice, and advised him to delay his
marriage no longer than till he had settled his affairs with his
guardian, naming as such a certain noble lord of unquestioned character
and honour. These pretences prevailing on the credulity of an old maid,
who like most of her species was fond of the company of young fellows,
and in raptures at the thoughts of a lover, she thought it a prodigious
long while till these accounts were made up, enquiring wherever she
went, when such a lord would come to town. She heard, at last, with
great satisfaction, that he would certainly come over from Ireland that
summer.
The family in which she lived, going out of town as usual, left her in
charge of the house; as there was nobody but herself and an under maid,
her lover often visited her, and at last told her that on such a day my
Lord had appointed to settle his affairs and to deliver up all his
trust. The evening of this day, the gentleman and his tutor came and
brought with them a bundle of papers and parchments, which they
pretended were the instruments which had been signed on this occasion.
After making merry with the housekeeper and the maid on a supper which
they had sent from the tavern, the elder of them at last pulls out his
watch, and said, _Come, 'tis time to do business, 'tis almost one
o'clock._ Upon which the other arose, seized the housekeeper, to whom he
had so long paid his addresses, and clapped an ivory gag into her mouth,
while his companion did the same thing by the other. Then putting out
all the candles, having first put one into a dark lanthorn they had
brought on purpose, they next led the poor creatures up and down the
house, till they had shown them the several places where the plate,
linen, jewels and other valuable things belonging to the family were
laid. After having bundled up these they threw them down upon the floor,
tied their ankles to one another, and left them hanging, one on one
side, and the other on the other side of the parlour door; in which
posture they were found the next day at noon, at the very point of
expiring, their blood having stagnated about their necks, which put them
into the greatest danger.
But to return to Wilkinson. One night, he with his companions Lincoln
and William Lock came up with one Peter Martin, a poor pensioner of
Chelsea College, whom they stopped. Wilkinson held him down and Lincoln
knocked him down on his crying out for help; afterwards taking him up,
he would have led him along, and Wilkinson pricked him with his sword in
the shoulders and buttocks for some time, to make him advance, till
William Lock cried out to them, _How should ye expect the man to go
forward when he is dead._
For this murder and for a robbery committed by them with Carrick and
Carrol they were both capitally convicted. Wilkinson behaved himself to
the time of his execution very morosely, and when pressed, at the place
of execution, to unburden his conscience as to the crime for which he
died, he answered peremptorily that he knew nothing of the murder, nor
of Lincoln who died with him, until they were apprehended; adding, that
as to hanging in chains he did not value it, but he had no business to
tell lies, to make himself guilty of things he never did. Three days and
three nights before the time of his death, he abstained totally from
meat and drink, which rendered him so faint that he had scarce strength
enough to speak at the tree.
James Lincoln, who died with him for the aforesaid cruel murder, was a
fellow of a more docile and gentle temper than Wilkinson, owned
abundance of the offences he had been guilty of, and had designed, as he
himself owned, to have robbed the Duke of Newcastle of his gaiter
ornaments, as he returned from the instalment. Notwithstanding these
confessions, he persisted, as well as Wilkinson, in utterly denying that
he knew anything of the murder of the pensioner, and saying that he
forgave William Lock who had sworn himself and them into it. Wilkinson
was at the time of his execution about thirty-five years old, and James
Lincoln somewhat under. They died at the same time with the
afore-mentioned malefactor, Wilson, at Tyburn.