I have more than once remarked in the course of these memoirs that of
all crimes, cruelty makes men the most generally hated, and that from
this reasonable cause, that they seem to have taken up an aversion to
their own kind. This was remarkably the case of the unhappy man of whom
we are now speaking.
He was, it seems, the son of very honest and industrious parents, his
father being a gardener at Kensington. From him he received as good an
education as it was in his power to give him, and was treated with all
the indulgence that could be expected from a tender parent; and it seems
that after five years' stay at school, he was qualified for any business
whatsoever. So after consulting his own inclinations he was put out
apprentice to a coach-maker in Long Acre, where he stayed not long; but
finding all work disagreeable to him, he therefore resolved to be gone,
let the consequence be what it would. When this resolve was once taken,
it was but a very short time before it was put into execution. Living
now at large, and not knowing how to gain money enough to support
himself, and therefore being in very great straits, he complied with the
solicitations of some hackney-coachmen, who advised him to learn their
trade. They took some pains to instruct him, employed him often, and in
about six months time he became perfect master of his business, and
drove for Mr. Blunt, in Piccadilly. His behaviour here was so honest
that Mr. Blunt gave him a good character, and he thereby obtained the
place of a gentleman's coachmen. In a short time he saved money and
began to have some relish for an honest life; and continuing
industriously to hoard up what he received either in wages or vales
[tips] at last by these methods he drew together a very considerable sum
of money.
And then it came into his head to settle himself in an honest way of
life, in which design his father gave him all the encouragement that was
in his power, telling him in order to do it, he should marry an honest,
virtuous woman. Whereupon, with the advice and consent of his parents,
he married a young woman of a reputable family from Kentish Town, who,
as to fortune, brought him a pretty little addition to his own savings,
so that altogether he had, according to his own account, a very pretty
competency wherewith to begin the world.
For some time after his marriage he indulged himself in living without
employment, but finding such a course wasted his little stock very fast,
he began to apply his thoughts to the consideration of what course was
the most likely to get his bread in. After beating his brains for some
little time on this subject he at last resolved on keeping a
public-house; which agreeing very well with his father's and relations'
notions, he thereupon immediately took the King's Arms, in Red Lion
Street, where for some time he continued to have very good business. In
all, he remained there about five years, and might in that time have got
a very pretty sum of money if he had not been so unhappy as to grow
proud, as soon as he had anything in his pocket. It was not long,
therefore, before he gave way to his own roving disposition, going over
to Ireland, where he remained for a considerable space, living by his
wits as he expresses it, or, in the language of honest people, by
defrauding others.
But Ireland is a country where such sort of people are not likely to
support themselves long; money is far from being plentiful, and though
the common people are credulous in their nature, yet tradesmen and the
folks of middling ranks are as suspicious as any nation in the world.
The county of West Meath was the place where he had fixed his residence
for the greatest part of the time he continued in the island, but at
last it grew too hot for him. The inhabitants became sensible of his way
of living, and gave him such disturbance that he found himself under an
indispensable necessity of quitting that place as soon as possibly he
could; and so having picked up as much money as would pay for his
passage, he came over again into England, out of humour with rambling
while he felt the uneasiness it had brought upon him, but ready to take
it up again as soon as ever his circumstances were made a little easy,
which in his present condition was not likely to happen in haste.
His friends received him very coldly, his parents had it not in their
power to do more for him. In a word, the countenance of the world
frowned upon him, and everybody treated him with that disdain and
contempt which his foolish behaviour deserved. However, instead of
reclaiming him, this forced him upon worse courses. His wife, it seems,
either died in his absence, or was dead before he went abroad, and soon
after his return he contracted an acquaintance with a woman, who was at
that time cook in the family of a certain bishop; her he courted and a
short time after, married. She brought him not only some ready money,
but also goods to a pretty large value. Young being not a bit mended by
his misfortunes, squandered away the first in a very short time, and
turned the last into ready money. However, these supplies were of not
very long continuance, and with much importunity his friends, in order,
if it were possible, to keep him honest, got him in a small place in
the Revenue, and he was put in as one of the officers to survey
candles. In this post he continued for about a twelvemonth, and then
relapsing into his former idle and profligate courses, he was quickly
suspected and thereby put to his shifts again, though his wife at that
time was in place, and helped him very frequently with money.
This, it seems, was too servile a course for a man of Mr. Young's spirit
to take, so that he picked up as much as bought him a pair of pistols,
and then went upon the highway, to which it seems the foolish pride of
not being dependant upon his wife did at that time not a little
contribute. In his first adventure in this new employment, he got
fifteen guineas, but being in a very great apprehension of a pursuit,
his fears engaged him to fly down to Bristol, in order, if it were
possible, to avoid them. After staying there some considerable time, he
began at last to take heart, and to fancy he might be forgotten. Upon
these hopes he resolved with himself to come up towards London again;
and taking advantage of a person travelling with him to Uxbridge, he
made use of every method in his power to insinuate himself into his
fellow traveller's good graces. This he effected, insomuch that at High
Wycombe, in Buckinghamshire, as Young himself told the story, he
prevailed on him to lend him three half-crowns to defray his expenses,
pretending that he had some friend or relation hard by who would repay
him. But unfortunately for the man, he had talked too freely of a sum of
money which he pretended to have about him. It thereupon raised an
inclination in Young to strip him and rob him of this supposed great
prize; for which purpose he attacked him in a lone place, and not only
threatened him with shooting him, but as he pretended, by his hand
shaking, was as good as his word, and actually wounded him in such a
manner as he in all probability at that time took to be mortal; but
taking advantage of the condition in which the poor man was, he made the
best of his way off, and was so lucky as to escape for the present,
although that crime brought him afterwards to his execution.
When he had considered a little the nature of the fact which he had
committed, it appeared even to himself of so black and barbarous a
nature that he resolved to fly to the West of England, in order to
remain there for some time. But from this he was deterred by looking
into a newspaper and finding himself advertised there; the man whom he
had shot being also said to be dead, this put him into such a
consternation that he returned directly to London, and going to a place
hard by where his wife lived, he sent for her, and told her that he was
threatened with an unfortunate affair which might be of the greatest
ill-consequence to him if he should be discovered. She seemed to be
extremely moved at his misfortunes, and gave him what money she could
spare, which was not a little, insomuch that Young at last began to
suspect she made bold now and then to borrow of her mistress; but if she
did, that was a practice he could forgive her. At last he proposed
taking a lodging for himself at Horsely Down,[101] as a place the
likeliest for him to be concealed in. There his wife continued to supply
him, until one Sunday morning she came in a great hurry and brought with
her a pretty handsome parcel of guineas. Young could not help suspecting
she did not come very honestly by them. However, if he had the money he
troubled not his head much which way he came by it, and he had so good a
knack of wheedling her that he got twenty pounds out of her that Sunday.
A very few days after, intelligence was got of his retreat, and the man
whom he had robbed and shot made so indefatigable a search after him,
that he was taken up and committed to the New Gaol, and his wife, a very
little time after, was committed to Newgate for breaking open her lady's
escrutoire, and robbing her of a hundred guineas. This was what Young
said himself and I repeat it because I have his memoirs before me. Yet
in respect to truth, I shall be obliged to say something of another
nature in its due place; but to go on with our narration according to
the time in which facts happened.
A _Habeas Corpus_ was directed to the sheriff of Surrey, whereupon Young
was brought to Newgate, and at the next sessions of the Old Bailey was
indicted for the aforesaid robbery, which was committed in the county of
Middlesex. The charge against him was for assaulting Thomas Stinton, in
a field or open place near the Highway, and taking from him a mare of
the value of seven pounds, a bridle value one shilling and sixpence, a
saddle value twelve shillings, three broad-pieces of gold and nine
shillings in silver, at the same time putting the said Thomas Stinton in
fear of his life.
Upon this indictment the prosecutor deposed that meeting with the
prisoner about seven miles on this side of Bristol, and being glad of
each other's company, they continued and lodged together till they came
to Oxford; where the prisoner complaining that he was short of money,
the prosecutor lent him a crown out of his pocket, and at Loudwater, the
place where they lodged next night, he lent him half a crown more. The
next morning they came for London, and being a little on this side of
Uxbridge, Young said he had a friend in Hounslow who would advance him
the money which he had borrowed from the prosecutor, and thereupon
desired Mr. Stinton to go with him thither, to which he agreed; and
Young thereupon persuaded him to go by a nearer way, and under that
pretence after making him leap hedges and ditches, at last brought him
to a place by the river side, where on a sudden he knocked him off his
horse, and that with such force that he made the blood gush out of his
nose and mouth.
As soon as Young perceived that the prosecutor had recovered his senses
a little, he demanded his money, to which Mr. Stinton replied, _Is this
the manner in which you treat your friend? You see, I have not strength
to give you anything._ Whereupon Young took from him his pocket-book and
money. And Mr. Stinton earnestly entreating that he would give him
somewhat to bear his expenses home, in answer thereto Young said, _Ay,
I'll give you what shall carry you home straight_, and then shot him in
the neck, and pushing him down into the ditch, said, _Lie there._ Some
time after with much ado, Mr. Stinton crawled out and got to a house,
but saw no more of the prisoner, or of either of their mares.
George Hartwell deposed that he helped both the prisoner and the
prosecutor to the inn where they lay at Oxford. Sarah Howard deposed
that she kept the inn or house where they lodged at Loudwater the night
before the robbery was committed. And all the witnesses, as well as the
prosecutor being positive to the person of the prisoner, the charge
seemed to be as fully proved as it was possible for a thing of that
nature to admit.
The prisoner in his defence did not pretend to deny the fact, but as
much as he was able endeavoured to extenuate it. He said, that for his
part he did not know anything of the mare; that the going off the pistol
was merely accidental; that he did, indeed, take the money, and
therefore, did not expect any other than to suffer death, but that it
would be a great satisfaction to him, even in his last moments, that he
neither had or ever intended to commit any murder. But those words in
the prosecutor's evidence, _I'll give you something to carry you home_,
and _Lie there_ (that is in the ditch) being mentioned in summing up the
evidence to the jury, Young, with great warmth and many asseverations,
denied that he made use of them. The jury, after a very short
consideration, being full satisfied with the evidence which had been
offered, found him guilty.
The very same day his wife was indicted for the robbery of her mistress,
when the fact was charged upon her thus: that she on a Sunday, conveyed
Young secretly upstairs in her mistress's house, where she passed for a
single woman; that he took an opportunity to break open a closet and to
steal from thence ninety guineas, and ten pounds in silver; a satin
petticoat value thirty shillings, and an orange crepe petticoat were
also carried off; and she asking leave of her lady to go out in the
afternoon, took that opportunity to go quite away, not being heard of
for a long time. Upon her husband being apprehended for the fact for
which he died, somebody remembered her and the story of her robbing her
mistress, caused her thereupon to be apprehended. Not being able to
prove her marriage at the time of her trial, she was convicted, and
ordered for transportation. This was a very different story from that
which Young told in his relations of his wife's adventure, but when it
came to be mentioned to that unhappy man and pressed upon him, though he
could not be brought to acknowledge it, yet he never denied it; which
the Ordinary says, was a method of proceeding he took up, because
unwilling to confess the truth, and afraid when so near death to tell a
lie.
When under sentence of death, this unfortunate person began to have a
true sense of his own miserable condition; he was very far from denying
the crime for which he suffered, although he still continued to deny
some of the circumstances of it. The judgment which had been pronounced
upon him, he acknowledged to be very just and reasonable, and was so far
from being either angry or affrighted at the death he was to die that on
the contrary he said it was the only thing that gave his thoughts ease.
To say truth, the force of religion was never more visible in any man
than it was in this unfortunate malefactor. He was sensible of his
repentance being both forced and late, which made him attend to the
duties thereof with an extraordinary fervour and application. He said
that the thoughts of his dissolution had no other effect upon him than
to quicken his diligence in imploring God for pardon. To all those who
visited him either from their knowledge of him in former circumstances,
or, as too many do, from the curiosity of observing how he would behave
under those melancholy circumstances in which he then was, he discoursed
of nothing but death, eternity, and future judgment. The gravity of his
temper and the serious turn of his thoughts was never interrupted in any
respect throughout the whole space of time in which he lay under
condemnation; on the contrary, he every day appeared to have more and
more improved from his meditations and almost continual devotions,
appearing frequently when at chapel wrapped up as it were in ecstasy at
the thoughts of heaven and future felicity, humbling himself, however,
for the numberless sins he had committed, and omitting nothing which
could serve to show the greatness of his sorrow and the sincerity of his
contrition.
The day he was to die, the unfortunate old man his father, then upwards
of seventy years of age, came to visit him, and saw him haltered as he
went out to execution. Words are too feeble to express that impetuosity
of grief which overwhelmed both the miserable father and the dying son.
However, the old man, bedewing him with a flood of tears, exhorted him
not to let go on his hopes in Christ, even in that miserable
conjuncture; but that he should remember the mercy of God was over all
his works, and in an especial manner was promised to those who were
penitent for their sins, which Christ had especially confirmed in
sealing the pardon of the repenting thief, even upon the cross.
At the place of execution he appeared scarce without any appearance of
terror, much less of obstinacy or contempt of death. Being asked what he
did with the pocket-book which he took from Mr. Stinton, and which
contained in it things of very great use to him, Young replied
ingeniously that he had burnt it, for which he was heartily sorry, but
that he did not look into or make himself acquainted with its contents.
Just before the cart drew away, he arose and spoke to the people, and
said, _The love of idleness, being too much addicted to company, and a
too greedy love of strong liquors has brought me to this unhappy end.
The Law intends my death for an example unto others; let it be so, let
my follies prevent others from falling into the like, and let the shame
which you see me suffer, deter all of you from the commission of such
sins as may bring you to the like fatal end. My sentence is just, but
pray, ye good people, for my soul, that though I die ignominiously here,
I may not perish everlastingly._
He was executed the first of June, 1730, being at the time about
thirty-nine years of age.