Whether there be really any gradation in crimes, or whether we do not
mistake in supposing the transgression of one Law of God more heinous
than that of another, would be a point too difficult and too abstract
for us to enter into, but as human nature is more shocked at the
shedding of blood than at any other offence, we may be allowed to treat
those who are guilty of it as bloody and unnatural men, who besides
their losing all respect towards the laws of God, show also a want of
that compassion and tenderness which seems incident to the human
species.
The unhappy person of whom we are now to speak, was by birth an
Irishman, and his true name Mackhuen, but upon his coming over into
England he thought fit to change it for Owen, thereby inclining to avoid
being taken for any other person than an Englishman. His parents were,
it seems, persons so low in the world that they could not afford him any
education, so that he was unable either to write or read at the time of
his death. However, they put him out apprentice to a weaver, with whom
having served his time, he came over to England, and worked for a little
time at his trade. But growing idle, and being always inclined to
sotting, he chose rather to go errands, or to do anything rather than
work any longer.
It seems he played with great dexterity upon two jews' harps at a time,
and this serving to entertain people of as loose and idle a disposition
as himself, he thereby got a good deal of money, or least drink (which
was to him all one, for without it he could not live), and his delight
in an alehouse was so great that he seldom cared to be out of it. People
in such houses finding they got money by his playing upon the jews'
harp, and thereby keeping people longer at the pot than otherwise they
were inclined to stay, used to encourage Peter by helping him to
errands; but amongst all the persons who were so kind as to supply his
necessities, there was one Nisbet, an old joiner in the neighbourhood,
who was never weary of doing him kindnesses. Having repeated these often
and for a long time together, Kelley at last began to call the old man
father, and there seemed to be an inviolable friendship between them,
Peter always preserving some respect towards him, though he seemed to
have lost it towards everybody else.
One night, however, or rather morning, for it was near two o'clock,
Kelley came with many signs of terror and confusion to the watch-house,
and there told the constable and attendants that old Nisbet was
murdered and lay weltering in his bed and a razor by him. The watch,
knowing Peter to be a wild, half-witted drunken fellow, gave little heed
to his discourse, and so far they were from crediting it that they
turned him out of the watch-house, and bid him get about his business.
In the morning old Nisbet's lodgers not hearing him stir at his usual
hour, went to the door, and there made a noise in order to awake him.
Having no answer upon that, they sent for a proper officer and broke the
door open, where they found the old man with his throat cut in a most
barbarous fashion, overflowed with the torrent of his own blood, which
was yet warm. No sooner did the particulars of this horrid murder begin
to make a noise, but the watch calling to mind what Kelley had told
them, immediately suspected him for the murder, and caused him quickly
to be apprehended and committed to Newgate.
On the trial the strongest circumstances imaginable appeared against
him, so much that the jury, without much hesitation, found him guilty,
and he, after a pathetic speech from the Bench, of the nature and
circumstances of his bloody crime, received sentence of death with the
rest. Under conviction he appeared a very stupid creature, though as far
as his capacity would give him leave he showed all imaginable signs of
penitence and sorrow, and attended with great gravity and devotion at
the public service in the chapel, notwithstanding he professed himself
to be in the communion of the Church of Rome. He acknowledged the
deceased Mr. Nisbet to have been extraordinarily kind and charitable to
him, even to as great a degree as if he had been his own child, but as
to the murder, he flatly denied his committing it, or his having any
knowledge of its being committed; and though he was strongly pressed as
to the nature of those circumstances on which the jury had found him
guilty, and which were so strong as to persuade all mankind that their
verdict was just, yet he continued still in the same mind, protesting
his own clearness from that bloody and detestable crime. In this
disposition of mind he suffered at Tyburn, being at that time about
forty years of age or somewhat under.