This unfortunate man, whose fate made a great noise in the town at the
time it happened, was born of parents neither mean in family nor
fortune, in the county of Norfolk, where he received his education, on
which no little pains and expense were bestowed. As to the particular
circumstances of his life in his most early years, as no exact accounts
have come to my hands, so I do not think myself obliged to frame any
adventures for the entertainment of my readers, a practice very common,
yet I think unjustifiable in itself. All that I can is that it appears
he lived at Oxford and Bicester before he came to Wendover, at which
place he had a house and family at the time of his death.
He was not, as far as I am able to learn, bred up to any particular
profession whatever, his parents leaving him in circumstances capable of
supporting himself. However, whether he arrived at it after some
misfortunes, or had it discovered to him before, certain it is that he
gained some knowledge in the act of curing smoking chimneys, by which
he got very considerably, and from whence be derived the name of the
Smoky Chimney Doctor, by which he was commonly known in the county of
Bucks.
Some few years before his death, he married a widow gentlewoman at
Oxford, of a considerable fortune. The world (though something too
largely) reported that she had fifteen hundred pounds. However it were,
he still addicted himself to women, and in all probability made her but
an indifferent husband, since she took so little care about him, when in
the midst of so great calamities. However it were, he maintained a
tolerable character in the neighbourhood, and his credit had not been
impeached in any degree when he committed the fact I am going to relate.
On the twenty-fifth of September, 1726, he attacked the Bicester wagon
as it was coming from London, and committed the following robberies
therein, viz., he took from Thomas Eldridge, fifteen moidores, two
hundred and ten guineas, eighty half-guineas, and the goods and money of
Mr. Burrows. He was likewise indicted and found guilty for assaulting
Sarah, the wife of Robert King, on the highway, and robbing her of two
shillings and sixpence. As likewise on a third indictment, for
assaulting the aforesaid Thomas Eldridge, and taking from him a calico
gown and petticoat, value twenty shillings, the goods of Giles Betts.
There was a fourth indictment against him for assaulting Mary, the wife
of Joseph Page, and taking from her two shillings and sixpence, but the
three former being all capital, the court did not think proper to try
him upon this.
While he lay under sentence of death he did not discover any signs of
excessive fear, but appeared rather perplexed and confused than
dispirited or dejected. He entertained at first great hopes of a
reprieve, at least in order to be transported, and for obtaining it he
spent a great deal of time writing to several friends who he thought
might be instrumental in procuring it. However, he was far from
neglecting the concerns of his soul, but read daily with much seeming
diligence several little books proper for a man in his condition, and
whenever he attended at chapel behaved with the utmost gravity, praying,
if we may guess from exterior signs, with much fervour and devotion. He
was a man very well acquainted with the principles of the Christian
religion, and was in all appearance better persuaded of the merit and
efficacy of his Saviour's passion than people often are in his
condition.
As to his capacity, it appeared to have been very tolerable in itself,
and to have received many advantages from education. How he acquired
the art of curing smoky chimneys is not very well known, he having been
bred up to no trade whatsoever, but coming into the world with a little
fortune left him by his parents, he lived thereupon with a tolerable
reputation, until the time of his marriage.
When he was first under sentence he was very desirous of having his wife
come to town, and for that purpose wrote her several pressing letters,
to which he received no answer. This gave him great disturbance. He
thereupon wrote to a friend in the country, who lived near her, on whom
also he had a strong dependance, entreating him to go to his wife and
solicit her not absolutely to desert him in his extreme calamity, but to
come up to town with him, in order to make their last efforts for his
preservation. This epistle, however, proved in the main as unsuccessful
as the rest, though it procured him an answer, wherein the person he
wrote to informed him that his wife was extremely lame, insomuch that
she could not put on her own clothes; that her servant was gone; that
she had no money wherewith to defray the expenses of a journey to town,
much less to assist him in his distress. As for himself, his friend
excused his coming by reason of a great cold which he had caught in
London when he came up before to attend Mr. Drury's affairs.
Hereupon the unfortunate criminal bethought himself of another
expedient, which he imagined would not fail of engaging Mrs. Drury to
come to London. He informed her by letter, that in the beginning of his
troubles he had pawned some silver plate in town for four-and-twenty
pounds, that it was more than double the value, and might probably be
lost on his death. To this his friend wrote him back that if anybody
would take the plate out, and give advice thereof to Mrs. Drury, she
would repay them, and gratify them also for their trouble. When this
letter came to the poor man's hand he said he was satisfied that his
wife did not desire he should live, however he heartily forgave her.
He constantly denied that he had ever been concerned in any act of a
like kind with that for which he died. He acknowledged that with what
his wife had, and the business he followed, he might have lived very
genteelly in the country; that he had not indeed, been very prudent in
the management of his affairs; however, it was no necessity that forced
him on the base and wicked act for which he died, the sole cause of his
committing which was, as he solemnly protested, the repeated
solicitations of King, the wagoner, who for a considerable time before
represented the attempt to him as a thing no way dangerous in itself,
and which would bring him a very large sum of ready money. As soon as
King perceived that his insinuations begun to make some impression, he
opened himself more fully as to the facility of robbing the Bicester
wagon, _Wherein_, says he, _you will find generally a pretty handsome
sum of money; and as to opposition, depend on it you shall meet with
none._ At last these speeches prevailed on him, and it was agreed that
the wagoner should have half the booty for his advice and assistance;
and the better to conceal it, Drury, was directed to rob King's wife of
about four pounds, which was all she had about her.
A minister of the Church of England, who was either acquainted with Mr.
Drury, or out of charitable intention, attended him at the request of
his friends, took abundance of pains to give him just notions of his
duty in that unfortunate slate into which his folly had brought him; he
repeated to him the reasons which render a public confession necessary
from those who die by judgment of the Law; he exhorted him not to
equivocate, or even extenuate in his declarations concerning his
offence. Mr. Drury heard him with great patience, seemed to be much
affected with the remonstrances which were made to him, and finally
promised that he would act sincerely in the confessions he made to the
public; adding that he had none in whom to trust but God alone, and
therefore he would not offend him. The reverend divine to whom he spoke
approved his resolution, and promised to afford him all the assistance
in his power till death.
As soon as the criminal was satisfied that all applications that had
been made for mercy were ineffectual, and that there was not the least
probability of a pardon, he immediately sent for the clergyman
before-mentioned, and desired to receive the Sacrament at his hands, to
which the gentleman readily assented, uttering only a short previous
exhortation unto a true repentance, open and genuine confession, and
full and free forgiveness unto all who had ever injured him, or unto
whom he bore any ill will. Mr. Drury, therefore, before he received the
Elements, owned in express terms his being guilty of the fact for which
he died, affirmed the truth of what he had formerly said concerning the
wagoner, declared that he forgave both him and his own wife sincerely,
and that having now in some measure eased his mind, he was no longer
afraid of death.
Mr. Drury, even after receiving sentence, was indulged by the keepers of
Newgate in having a room to himself in the Press Yard, which afforded
him leisure and privacy for his devotions; and he seemed, especially for
the last days of his life, to make proper use of those conveniences by
excluding himself from all company and applying earnestly to God in
prayer for the forgiveness of his sins. During the two or three days
succeeding that whereon he received sentence, a gentlewoman attended
pretty constantly upon him. Who she was we can neither say, nor is it
very material; but Mr. Drury appealing to her in the presence of some
persons, as to the truth of what he alleged concerning King, the
wagoner, she desired to relate what she knew as to that point. The
account she gave was to this purpose. _Mr. Drury carried me out of town
with him in a chaise to Wendover. On the road we were met by the wagoner
he speaks on, who desired Mr. Drury to step out, for he wanted to speak
with him. Thereupon he complying with the wagoner's request, they walked
together to a considerable distance, and there stopping talked to each
other very earnestly for some time._ As to the subject of their
discourse she declared she could say nothing, but as they came back to
the chaise, the wagoner said, _You need not be afraid, you will be sure
to get what you want._ To say truth, it was very odd for a single man to
rob a wagon to which so many people belonged, in company with several
other wagons, without any opposition, though it be likewise true that he
did not attempt any of the rest.
Some persons of quality were prevailed on by his earnest solicitations
and the circumstances we have before mentioned to endeavour the
procuring him a pardon, but it was in vain; and it would have certainly
have been much better for the man if he never had any hopes given him,
for though he did not depend as much on promises as men in his miserable
condition frequently do, yet the desire of life, sometimes excited the
hopes of it, and thereby took off his thoughts from more weighty
concerns, or at least made him more languid and confused than otherways
he would have been, for the very day before his death he still
entertained some expectations of mercy.
The evening before he suffered a woman knocked at his chamber door, and
earnestly desired to speak a few words to him. He accordingly came
towards the door and asked her what it was she would have to say to him.
The woman, after expressing much sorrow for his misfortunes, told him
she was desired by a person to whom she had been servant, if the thing
were possible, to learn from his own mouth what he had to say against
the wagoner. Mr. Drury replied that he had never had any thought of
robbing wagons, or any such thing, if the wagoner had not advised and
pressed him to it; so that his blood, the loss of his life, and all he
had in the world lay upon that man. Then shutting the door he returned
to his devotions, and continued to them all the evening and until the
night was considerably spent.
As death drew near it seemed not to affect him so much as might be
expected. On the morning of his execution he appeared not only easy, but
cheerful, attended at the prayers at chapel with much composure, and
went out of Newgate without any sign of fright or disturbance of mind.
On the road to Tyburn he appeared serious but melancholy, spoke a good
deal concerning the errors of his former life, said he had never bees
addicted to drinking, but had conversed too much with bad women, which
had made his wife jealous, and caused home to be very uneasy. He seemed
truly penitent for these offences, as he confessed them without any
questions being asked by those about him.
At the place of execution his courage did not forsake him. He still
preserved a great deal of serenity in his countenance, and when he was
desired to acquaint the people with anything he had to say concerning
the crime for which he died, he spoke with a strong voice, and repeated
what he had formerly alleged about King, the wagoner, adding that he
advised him also to rob the Banbury wagon; and that notwithstanding he
talked of his wife's having four pounds about her, yet he took but three
shillings, whereon the third indictment was founded, on which he was
convicted. He then complained of his wife's unkindness, and both prayed
for the spectators, and desired their prayers for him. As he was leaning
on the side of the cart, the Ordinary told him that a man had charged
him the day before with having married a man's daughter at Norwich, who
is still living. Mr. Drury answered, he was reproached by many people,
and he forgave them all, he then called to a gentleman who was near the
gallows and spoke to him about his estate, which he had before settled.
Afterwards he exhorted the people to live virtuously, and be warned by
his example, and then submitted patiently to his fate, on Thursday, the
third of November, 1726, being at that time of his decease about
twenty-eight years of age.
The Life of WILLIAM MILLER, a Highwayman, etc.
As necessary correction is often a method by which, when young people
begin to stray into the paths of vice, they are deterred and brought
back again into the road of virtue; yet when this is incautiously
inflicted or done in a violent manner, it frequently excites worse
thoughts than would otherwise probably have entered the breasts of young
people thus punished; and instead of hindering them from committing
trivial offences, puts them on doing the worst things imaginable in
order to deliver them from a state more hateful to them than death
itself.
This criminal William Miller, was the son of very honest parents who
lived at Newcastle-upon-Tyne, who took care to give him a good
education, and what was much more commendable, a good example. They put
him out apprentice to a tradesman at Alnwick, with whom he might have
lived tolerably well had it not been for the churlishness of his
master's temper, who was continually picking quarrels with him, and
thereupon beating him inhumanly. At last an accident happened which
supplied a continual fund of anger and resentment and this was on
account of William's losing a horse, which, though his friends paid for,
yet every time it came into his masters head there was a battle between
them; for Miller being now grown pretty big made resistance when he
struck him, and not seldom got the better of him, and beat him in his
turn. This occasioned such disturbances and falling out between them
that at last Miller took a resolution for leaving him for good and all,
and determined to live as he could, up and down the country.
At first he was so lucky as to meet with a man who employed him readily,
treated him with kindness, and gave him good advice, without
accompanying his reproofs with blows; but upon discovering that his man
William had not served out his time, but had only five years and a half
with his master, he absolutely refused to suffer him to work any longer.
It was with great reluctancy that Miller parted with this master, and he
became every day after more and more uneasy, because he found no other
master would let him work with them, upon the same account; so that by
degrees he was reduced to the great necessity in the country, and though
he was willing to work, yet could not tell which way to turn his hand.
In the midst of these perplexities, he bethought himself of coming up to
London, which he put in execution. On his arrival there he listed
himself as a soldier in one of the regiments of Guards, and as it is no
very hard matter in this town, got abundance of amorous affairs upon his
hands. With one woman he lived a short time after his coming up to
London, but her he soon turned off for the sake of another, who was a
blacksmith's wife, and whom he married, notwithstanding her first
husband was then to his acknowledge alive. This was, indeed, the source
of a great part of his misfortunes, since what between the woman's
drinking and the money which the husband got out of him for permitting
him to live quietly with her, he was (notwithstanding he had learnt a
new employment, viz., that of a basket maker) miserably poor; and the
woman having brought him a child to increase his expenses, he was at
last forced, whether he would or no, to leave her and it both. After
this he associated with another woman, and at length married her also,
with whom he lived quietly enough until the time of his death. These
numerous intrigues drew him in consequence into a multitude of other
vices, which both lost him his reputation, and damaged his
understanding, especially when he came to drink hard, which he at last
did to such a degree that he was seldom or never sober, or if he were,
the reflecting on his misfortunes pushed him on getting drunk as fast as
he could--a case but too common amongst the meaner sort of people, who
as they have no philosophy of learning to support them, endeavour to
drown all care by sotting.
Whether Miller really intended to go a-robbing at the time he committed
the fact for which he died, or whether drunkenness and the sense, even
in that condition which he retained of his misfortune, on a sudden
suggested to him the stripping of the old man Nicholas Bourn under the
favour of the night, certain it is (though from motives we cannot
determine) that he attacked the man and took from him his coat and hat.
On the injured person's crying out a watchman ran immediately to his
assistance, and with his pole, notwithstanding Miller drew his bayonet,
knocked him down, and so seized him and delivered him up to Justice. At
the next sessions at the Old Bailey he was indicted for this fact, and
the same was very fully and clearly proved against him; yet though he
had no friends capable of procuring him either a reprieve or pardon, he
had the good luck to remain a considerable space under condemnation,
viz., from one sessions to another, before the report was made, and so
had the greater leisure left him for repentance.
During the space he lay in the condemned hold he expressed a very hearty
sorrow for all his offences and particularly regretted his having
addicted himself so much to the company of women, which, as it at first
led him into expenses, naturally brought him into narrow circumstances;
and his necessities unfortunately put him upon taking the fatal method
of supplying himself. Yet in the midst of these tokens of penitence and
contrition several women came still about him, so he resolved to send
the child he had by the second down to his friends in the country, not
doubting, as he said, but that they would take care of it. And for the
last of those who went for his wife, he really looked upon her as such,
and therefore treated her with more kindness and affection than he did
any of the rest. However, doubtless they were no great help to him in
his preparations for death. And amongst the other miseries produced, to
our view, this is not a small one, that they continue to pursue us even
to the last, and fasten so strongly about our thoughts and inclinations
that as at first, they defeated all consideration, so in the end they
are in danger of preventing a hearty and sincere repentance.
As to the particular fact for which he was to die, he acknowledged
himself guilty thereof, but for all that objected to the several
circumstances that were sworn against him at his trial; nor could all
the arguments that were used towards him persuade him that those
trifling variations (for as he himself represented them they were no
more) were not now at all material to him, but that as he justly
deserved to die according to his own confession, it signified little to
him whether the particular steps taken in his apprehension were exactly
stated by the Court or not. As the day of his execution drew near, he
receded a little from these objections, and began to set himself in
earnest to acquire that calmness with which every reasonable man would
desire to meet death. The women he forbid visiting him, refused to eat
or drink anything but what was absolutely necessary to support Nature,
plied himself regularly and constantly to his devotions, and seemed to
have nothing at heart but to reconcile himself to that Divine Being, who
by the multitude of his crimes he had so much offended. To say truth, it
was not a little wonderful that a person after continuing for such a
length of time in the practice of wickedness and debauchery, should at
last be capable of applying himself with such zeal and attention to the
duties of a dying man. He yielded up his life the 13th of February,
1727, at Tyburn, being then twenty-six years of age.
The Life of ROBERT HAYNES, a Murderer, etc.
As from a multitude of instances in the course of these memoirs it has
been shown how great a misfortune it is to be destitute of education, so
from the following life it will appear that an improper education is as
dangerous as none at all.
Robert Haynes, the criminal whose history we are to give at present, was
the son of persons in Ireland, of none of the best circumstances, who
yet afforded him a very good education, causing him to be instructed not
only in the Latin, but also in the Greek tongue, in both of which to the
day of his death he attained a tolerable knowledge. His father, it
seems, though he had done everything for his son in breeding him a
scholar, though when he grew up to man's estate he had nothing to give
him, and was forced to let him come over to England to list himself in
the Foot Guards. His officers gave him always the character of a quiet,
inoffensive lad, who injured nobody, nor was himself addicted to those
vices which are common to the men of his profession. On the contrary, he
retained yet strong notions of those religious principles in which he
had been educated. He addicted himself much to reading, and though his
spirit was not a little broken by the consideration of that low life by
which he was obliged to stoop, yet he preserved a becoming spirit and a
very gentleman-like behaviour upon all occasions; so that the officers
of his regiment very much regretted that misfortune which brought him to
an untimely end. Of the occasion of this we come next to speak, since
his youth and the regularity of his life prevented any other of his
adventures coming to our notice.
It happened one Sunday evening, as he was walking along St. James's
Park, with two other soldiers, they met two men and two women. Haynes
unluckily kissed one of the women, upon which one of the men turned and
broke his head. As was insisted even to the time of the death of this
unfortunate person, the swords of both were drawn; however that were, he
gave his antagonist a wound in the breast of which he died. For this he
was apprehended and committed prisoner to Newgate. At the ensuing
sessions of the Old Bailey he was indicted for wilfully murdering Edward
Perry, by giving him a wound on the left part of the right breast near
the short ribs, of the depth of twelve inches, and of the length of one.
He was also indicted a second time on the Statute of Stabbing, and a
third time upon the coroner's inquest for wilful murder. On all three of
which, notwithstanding his defence, and the witnesses he called, he was
found guilty; and although some honourable persons took a great deal of
pains to procure a pardon or reprieve for him, yet it proved of no
purpose, but he and the afore-mentioned malefactor were put into the
death warrant and ordered for execution.
For himself he had little hopes from the endeavours of his friends and
therefore behaved himself as if he had had none, being not only constant
and devout at the public exercises in the chapel, but also ardent in his
devotions in private and by himself. As the youth wanted not good sense,
and had not forgot the education he had received in Ireland, so in every
respect while under sentence of death he performed what could be
expected from a man of courage, and a Christian, under his
circumstances. A minister, out of charity, visited him several times and
prayed with him, exhorting him always to make a dear and candid
confession of the fact, and, since there were no hopes, not to go to
death with a lie between his lips. Yet he persisted still in what he
had at first declared, and continued to assert the truth of that
declaration, until the gaol sickness brought him so low, that he was
scarce able to speak at all. In this low slate of health he continued
until within two or three days of his death, when he began to pick up
strength a little; and as soon as he was able to go up the stairs, he
attended as usual the devotions of the chapel. In this frame and
disposition of heart he remained until the day of his execution came,
upon which he appeared not only calm but cheerful, received the
Sacrament as is usual with malefactors at the day of their death, and
behaved at it in a very pious and religious manner.
When he came to Tyburn he stood up, and intended to have spoken to the
people, but finding himself too weak, he referred to a paper which he
delivered to Mr. Applebee, a printer, and which contained the substance
of what (if he had been able) he would have there spoken; and then,
after a few private ejaculations, he easily resigned up his breath at
the same time with the other malefactor, being then in the
one-and-twentieth year of his age. I thought proper to insert the copy
of that letter I have before spoken of, and it follows verbatim.
Good people,
I am to suffer by Law an ignominious death (God's will be done)
which untimely end I never expected. I am a youth and it's above
twelve months since I enlisted into his Majesty's Service. The
character of my behaviour in that time I will leave to my
acquaintance to declare; my character was sufficiently testified at
my trial, by gentlemen of worth and honour. I pray God bless them
for their Christian charity. I praise God my resolution to live
uprightly was no constraint; as for the cause I suffer, and the
horrid imputation I am charged with which is rendered murder (from
my soul I abhor) I now declare as I expect salvation, I am unjustly
accused, but I freely forgive my persecutors, as I hope to be
forgiven; for what I did was accidental, and in my own vindication.
The real truth is as follows:
The two soldiers that were my evidence desired my company to drink
with them. As we were returning home through the Park, passing by
two women, and being warm with liquor, I presumed to give one of
them a kiss; the other was a married woman, and resenting my
freedom, called out to her husband, Edward Perry deceased, and to
Toms that walked before, both entire strangers to me. They returned,
Toms advanced towards me speaking abruptly, and struck me over the
head and shoulders with a stick, which stunned me; likewise he urged
the deceased to quarrel with me. The deceitful Perry enraged, swore
he would see me out, and struck me with his sword in his scabbard
over the head. He drew his sword and made several passes at me, I
still retreated till provoked to draw my sword to preserve myself.
This affair was in the night. I received a wound in my right hand
thumb, and a thrust through my coat. This I declare to be the whole
truth, as I shall answer before my great God; though my persecutors,
Toms and the deceased man's wife, swore quite the reverse, which
took place to my ruin. I pray God forgive them their trespasses, as
I hope forgiveness for my own. I pray God bless my good colonel for
his care and endeavours for my safety; I pray God bless him with
length of days and prosperity in all his undertakings. I thank God,
I never wronged man, woman, or child, to my knowledge, nor was I
ever inclined to quarrel. I heartily beg of God pardon and
forgiveness for my sins, and I confide in the merits of my dear
Saviour, who died for the World. I was baptized and bred a member of
the Church of England (though an unworthy and unfortunate one) in
which Communion I hope for salvation through my blessed Redeemer.
Sunday, February the 12th, 1726.