[81] An eminent Whig doctor who was later appointed physician
to George II. He was created a baronet in 1739.
The Lives of PETER LEVEE, JOHN FEATHERBY, STEPHEN BURNET, _alias_
BARNET, _alias_ BARNHAM, and THOMAS VAUX, Street-Robbers, Footpads,
Thieves, etc.
In the course of these memoirs I have more than once remarked that a
ridiculous spirit of vainglory is often the source of those prodigious
mischiefs which are committed by those abandoned persons, who addict
themselves to open robberies, and the carrying on, as it were, a
declared war against mankind. Theft and rapine may to some appear odd
subjects for acquiring glory, and yet it is certain that many,
especially of the younger criminals, have been chiefly instigated in
their most daring attempts from a vain inclination to be much talked of,
in order to which this seemed to them the shortest course. But these
observations that I have made will be better illustrated from the
following lives, than they could have been any other way.
Peter Levee was descended from honest and reputable parents, who gave
him a very good education, and afterwards bound him out apprentice to a
silk weaver; but such as the perverse disposition of this unfortunate
Lad, such his love of gaming, and such his continual inclination to
debauched company, that nothing better could be expected from him than
what afterwards befell him. Yet his understanding was very tolerable, he
did not want a sufficient share of wit, and in a word his capacity
altogether might have enabled him to have lived very well, if his
prodigious vices had not prevented it by hurrying him into misfortunes.
It was remarkable in this criminal that his long habit of carrying in
the detestable trade of stealing, to which he had incurred himself in
every shape as much as possible, had given so odd a cast to his visage
that it was impossible for a man to look him in the face without
immediately guessing him to be a rogue.
While yet a boy, he had been so accustomed to confinement in the
Compter, especially in Wood Street, that he had contracted a friendship
with all the under-officers in that prison, who treated him with great
leniency as often as he came there. Picking pockets, sneaking goods out
of shops, snatching them through windows, and such other petty facts,
were the employments of his junior years. As he grew bigger, he grew
riper in all sorts of villainy, though never a fellow had worse luck in
dishonest attempts, for he was always detected, and very frequently had
gone through the lesser punishments of the Law, such as whipping and
hard labour. At one time he lay four years in Newgate for a fine, and
this finished the course of his villainous education, for from the time
he got out, he never ceased to practice robbing in the streets, and on
the roads to the villages near London, until he and his companions fell
into the hands of Justice, and went altogether to their last adventure
at Tyburn.
John Featherby, the second of these criminals, had received a greater
share of education than any of the rest. His father had been a man of
tolerable circumstances, and with great care provided that this young
fellow should not be ignorant of anything that might be necessary or
convenient for him to know in that business for which he designed him,
viz., a coach-painter. But he did not live to see him put apprentice to
it, which his mother afterwards took care to do, and consequently he had
not the misfortune of seeing him live so scandalous a life, and die so
shameful a death.
His understanding was tolerable, but his behaviour so rude, boisterous
and shocking that he left no room even for that compassion to which all
men are naturally prone when they see persons under sentence of death.
The desire of appearing brave and making the figure of a hero in low
life was in all probability the occasion of his acting so odd a part,
and as he was generally looked upon as their chief by those unfortunate
creatures who were of his gang, possibly he put on this ferocity in his
manner in order to support his authority, and preserve that respect and
superiority of which these wretches are observed to be inexpressibly
fond.
Stephen Burnet, _alias_ Barnet, _alias_ Barnham, which was his true
name, was a child when he died, and a thief almost from his cradle. His
parents, who were people of worth, sent him to school with a design,
doubtless, that he should have acquired some good there; but Stephen
made use of that time to visit a master of his own choosing, the
celebrated Mr. Jonathan Wild, at whose levy he was a pretty constant
attendant and while an infant he was a most assiduous companion and
assistant to the famous Blueskin.
My readers may be perhaps inquisitive how an infant of eight years old
could in any way assist a person of Blueskin's profession. For their
information, then, perhaps for their security, I must inform them that
while Blueskin and one of his companions bought a pair of stockings, or
two or three pairs of gloves in a large Shop, Stephen used to creep on
all fours under the counter, and march off with goods perhaps to the
value of ten, twelve, or twenty pounds. But, alas, he was not the
youngest of Mr. Wild's scholars. I myself have seen a boy of six years
old tried at the Old Bailey for stealing the rings of an oyster women's
fingers as she sat asleep by her tub, and after his being acquitted by
the compassion of the jury, Jonathan took him from the bar, and carrying
him back upon the leads, lifted him up in his arms, and turning to the
spectators, said, _Here's a cock of the game for you, of my own breeding
up._
But to return to Barnham. His friends no sooner found out the villainy
of his inclinations, but they took all methods imaginable to wean him
from his vices. They corrected him severely; they offered him any
encouragements on his showing the least visible sign of amendment, they
put him to seven several trades upon liking. But all this was to no
purpose, nothing could persuade him to forsake his old trade, which
following with indefatigable industry, he made a shift to reach the
gallows of an old offender, at almost nineteen years of age.
After he, Featherby, Vaux and Levee became acquainted, they suffered no
time to be lost in perpetrating such facts as were most likely to supply
them with money, roving abroad almost every night, in quest of
adventures and returning very seldom without some considerable prey.
Perhaps my readers may be inquisitive as to what became of all this
money. Why, really, it was spent in drink, gaming and in whores, three
articles which ran so high amongst these knight-errants in low life that
Barnham and two more found a way to lavish an hundred and twenty pounds
on them in three weeks.
On one of his nocturnal expeditions, in company with Levee and
Featherby, they robbed one Mr. Brown, in Dean's Court by St. Paul's
Churchyard, of a gold watch and thirteen guineas; upon which the
gentleman thought fit, it seems, to offer in the newspapers a reward of
five guineas for restoring the watch. Not many days after, he received a
penny-post epistle from Mr. Barnham, in which he was told that if he
came to a field near Sadler's Wells, and brought the promised reward of
five guineas along with him, he should there meet a single person at
half an hour after six precisely, who would restore him his watch
without doing him any injury whatsoever. At the time appointed the
gentleman went thither, found Barnham walking alone, well dressed with a
laced hat on, who immediately came up to him, and receiving the five
guineas presented him with his watch.
Mr. Brown having no more to do with him, immediately turned round about
to go back, upon which Barnham produced a pistol ready cocked from under
his coat. _You see_, says he, _it is in my power to rob you again; but I
scorn to break my word of honour._ Levee and Featherby, it seems, were
posted pretty near and, as they all declared, intended to have shot the
gentleman if he had brought anybody with him, or had made the least
opposition or noise.
At Kingston assizes he was tried for a robbery committed in Surrey, but
for want of sufficient evidence was acquitted, upon which he returned
immediately to his old trade. About three months before he was
apprehended for the last time, he came into Little Britain (the place
where he was born), produced a silver spoon and fifteen shillings in
money, declared it to be the effects of that day's exploits, and then
climbing up a lamp-post, thrust his head through the iron circle in
which in winter time the lamp is placed, declaring to the neighbours who
called him and advised him to reform, that within three months he would
do something that should bring him to be hanged in the same place. As to
the time he was not mistaken, though he was a little out as to the
manner and place of his execution, and we mention this fact only to show
the amazing wickedness of so young a man, of which we shall hereafter
have occasion to say a great deal more.
Thomas Vaux was a fellow of no education at all. Whether he had been
bred to any employment or not I am not able to say, but that which he
followed was sweeping of chimneys, the profits of which he eked out with
thefts, in which he continued undiscovered for a long space of time. In
himself he was a fellow void of almost every good quality, disliked even
by his own companions for his brutal behaviour which he still kept up
even under his misfortunes, and ceased not to behave with an obstinate
perverseness even to the last moment of his life.
The fact for which all this gang suffered was for robbing one Mr. Clark,
at the corner of Water Lane, in Fleet Street,[82] which at their trial,
was proved upon them by witnesses in the following manner:
Mr. Clark, the prosecutor, deposed that going in a coach from St. Paul's
to the Inner Temple, he saw three or four persons dogging it from a
toy-shop at the corner of St. Paul's Churchyard; that he scarce lost
sight of them until he came to the end of Water Lane, where Barnham and
Vaux stopped the coach; he then looked out and saw them very plainly.
Levee stepped into the coach, put his hand into his pocket, and tore
his breeches down in taking out the things; Featherby all the while
holding a pistol to his breast The things they took from him were a
silver watch, value four pounds, a diamond ring, three pounds eleven
shillings in silver and fourteen guineas.
Then the confessions of Levee and Barnham before Sir William Billers,
Knight and Alderman, were read, in which they owned that they committed
the robbery on Mr. Clark, and that Featherby and Vaux assisted therein.
Sir William also attested that they made the said confession freely and
without any promises made, or being threatened in case of refusal.
Thomas Wood swore that going to apprehend Featherby and one Cable, in a
house in Blue Boar's Head Alley, in Barbican, they both snapped their
pistols at him, but that neither of them went off.
Mary Vaux, wife of the prisoner Thomas Vaux, having first excused
herself from giving any testimony against her husband, deposed that she
saw the rest of the prisoners commit the robbery at the end of Water
Lane, and that Levee got into the coach. Upon which evidence taken
altogether the jury found them guilty without going out of the Court.
When they received sentence of death, they all behaved themselves very
audaciously, except Levee who appeared penitent, and excused himself of
the misbehaviour he had been guilty of at his trial. During the time
they remained under sentence of death in Newgate, this last mentioned
criminal, Levee, appeared truly sensible of that miserable state in
which he was. He attended the public devotion at Chapel with great
seriousness, except when his audacious companions pulled him and
disturbed him, when he would sometimes smile. As he had passed through
the former part of his life without thought or reflection, so he seemed
now awakened all at once to a just sense of his sins. In a word, he did
every thing which so short a space could admit of, to convince those who
saw him that he minded only the great business he had to do, viz., the
making of his peace with that God who he had so much offended.
Featherby, as has been said, persisted in that brutal behaviour for
which he had been remarkable amongst his gang. At chapel he disturbed
the congregation by throwing sticks at a gentleman, laughing and talking
to his companions, sometimes insulting and beating those who were near
him, and in fine encouraged the rest of his companions to behave in such
a manner that the keepers were reduced to the necessity of causing them
all four to be chained and nailed down in the old condemned hold, for
fear of their committing some murder or other before they died, which
they often threatened they would do. There they continued for three or
four days, until upon the promise of amendment and behaving better for
the future, they were released, brought back again to their respective
cells, and at times of public devotion up to chapel.
When the death warrant came down, Featherby pretended to be much more
moved than could be expected, seemed in dreadful agonies at the
remembrance of his former wicked and impudent behaviour, prayed with
great fervency, and said he hoped that God would yet have mercy on him.
Barnham continued unmoved to the last. He did, indeed, abstain from
ill-language and disturbing people at chapel, but employed his time in
his cell, in composing a song to celebrate the glorious actions of
himself and his companions. This was work he very much valued himself
upon, and sending for the person who usually prints the dying speeches,
he desired it might be inserted, but it containing incitements to their
companions to go on in the same trade, in the strongest terms he was
capable of framing them in, his design was frustrated, and they were not
published.
Vaux behaved a little more civilly after their being stapled down in the
condemned hold, but throughout the time of his confinement appeared to
be a very obstinate and incorrigible fellow. Levee was twenty-four years
old; Featherby about the same age; Barnham near nineteen; and Vaux
twenty-three, at the time they suffered, being on the 11th of November,
1728, in company with nine other malefactors.
A Paper written by Featherby's own hand, which he delivered to the
Ordinary of Newgate in the Chapel immediately before they went to be
executed.
As it is my sad misfortune to come to this untimely end, I think it
my duty to acknowledge the justice of Almighty God, and that of my
country, and I humbly implore pardon of the Divine Goodness, and
forgiveness of all that I have injured, or any ways offended. It is
a sad reflection upon my spirit that I have had the blessing and
advantage of honest and pious parents, whose tender care provided
for my education, so that I might have lived to God's glory, their
comfort and my own lasting felicity. But I take shame to myself, and
humbly acknowledge that by the evil ways I of late followed I
neglected my duty to my great Creator, and brought grief to my dear
and tender mother. And having thus far, and much more, effended
against God and man, I hope and earnestly desire, that no prudent
nor charitable person will reflect upon my good mother, or any other
friend or relation for my shameful end.