Croydon church. They arrived at about seven o'clock in the evening,
and, finding the coachman in the stable, immediately gagged and bound
him. Then, leaving the stable, they encountered Mr. Sheldon himself,
in the yard, come to hear what the unaccustomed sounds of scuffling
and struggling in the stable could mean. The unfortunate Mr. Sheldon
was then compelled to act as guide over his own house, and to show the
gang where all his valuables resided. Jewels, plate, and other valuable
articles were removed, together with a sum of eleven guineas; but at
the last moment, they returned two guineas, and apologised more or less
handsomely for their conduct. They then had the effrontery to repair
to the "Half Moon" tavern, close at hand, and to each take a glass
of spirits there, and to change one of the guineas of which they had
robbed Mr. Sheldon.
The manners of the gang would thus appear to be mending, but their
unwonted politeness did not last long, as we shall presently see.
In giving some account of the doings of Turpin, either singly or in
association with others, it is desirable, as far as possible, to
tell his story largely by the aid, and in the exact words, of the
newspapers of the time. Only in this manner is it likely that a charge
of exaggeration can be avoided. Where all have boldly enlarged upon
the popular theme and have as richly brocaded it as their imaginations
permit, to revert to plain facts becomes a healthy exercise.
The _London Evening Post_ of February 6th, 1735, is the original
authority for the next two incidents; two of the foremost in all
popular accounts of Turpin's life. So much extravagant nonsense has
been written, and is still being written, and will yet continue to be
written about Dick Turpin, that any original documents about him are
particularly valuable. They help to show us what we must discredit and
what we may safely retain. Indeed, without such newspaper paragraphs,
the conscientious writer, faced with the flood of indubitably spurious
Turpin "literature," might in his impatience with its extravagance,
refuse to credit any portion of it. But the newspapers of that day
serve amply to show that in this case, truth is equally as strange
as fiction. Not stranger, as the proverb would have us believe, but
certainly as strange.
Thus we read in the _London Evening Post_: "On Saturday Night last,
about Seven o'Clock, five Rogues enter'd the House of the Widow
Shelley, at Loughton in Essex, having Pistols etc., and threaten'd to
murder the old Lady, if she did not tell them where her Money lay,
which she obstinately refusing for some Time, they threaten'd to lay
her across the Fire if she did not instantly tell them, which she would
not do; but her Son being in the Room, and threaten'd to be murder'd,
cry'd out, he would tell them if they would not murder his Mother,
and did; whereupon they went up Stairs and took near £100, a Silver
Tankard, and other Plate, and all Manner of Household Goods; they
afterwards went into the Cellar, and drank several Bottles of Ale and
Wine, and broil'd some Meat, eat the Relicts of a Fillet of Veal, etc.
While they were doing this, two of their Gang went into Mr. Turkle's,
a Farmer's, who rents one End of the Widow's House, and robb'd him of
above £20 and then they all went off, taking two of the Farmer's Horses
to carry off their Luggage; the Horses were found on Sunday Morning in
Old Street; they staid (the Rogues, not the horses) about three Hours
in the House."
[Illustration: TURPIN HOLDS THE LANDLADY OVER THE FIRE.]
This house, still in existence, although part of it has been rebuilt,
is identified with a place now styled "Priors," but at that time known
as "Traps Hill Farm." The heavy outer door, plentifully studded with
nail-heads, is said to have been added after this visit.
This incident is probably the original of the story told of Turpin
holding the landlady of the "Bull" inn, Shooter's Hill, over the fire;
although it is inherently possible that he and his scoundrelly crew,
having certainly threatened to do as much at Loughton, and having done
the like to a farmer at Edgeware, actually perpetrated the atrocity.
The startling paragraph already quoted is followed immediately by
another report, a good deal more startling: "On Tuesday Night," it
says, very circumstantially, "about Eight o'Clock, five Villains"—it
will be noticed that by this time the "Rogues" of the earlier narration
have become "Villains," and their conduct, by natural consequence,
infinitely more heinous—"came to the House of Mr. Lawrence, a Farmer
at Edgewarebury, near Edgeware, in Middlesex, but the Door being
bolted, they could not get in, so they went to the Boy who was in the
Sheep-house, and compell'd him to call the Maid, who open'd the Door;
upon which they rush'd in, bound the Master, Maid, and one Man-Servant,
and swore they would murder all the Family, if they did not discover
their Money, etc.; they trod the bedding under foot, in case there
should be money hidden in it, and took about £10 in Money, Linnen etc.,
all they could lay their Hands on, broke the old Man's Head, dragg'd
him about the House, emptied a kettle of water from the fire over
him, which had fortunately only just been placed on it, and ravish'd
the Maid, Dorothy Street, using her in a most barbarous Manner, and
then went off, leaving the Family bound, lock'd the Door, and took
the key away with them: The Son, who came Home soon after they were
gone, call'd the Boy to take his Horse, but could make nobody hear,
but at last the old Man call'd out, and told him Rogues had been
there" (surely, he meant "Villains"), "as they were all bound, and
that the Rogues said they would go rob his Brother; whereupon he rode
and alarm'd the Town, went to his Brother's, but they had not been
there; they pursued them to the Turnpike, and found they had been gone
through for London about an Hour. They were all arm'd with Pistols, and
one had a Handkerchief all over his Face."
Neither of these accounts mentions the name of Turpin, but these
outrages were immediately ascribed to a gang of which he was a member.
The same evening journal of February 11th has a later account: "Mr.
Lawrence, the Farmer at Edgeware-Bury, who was robb'd last Week (as
we mention'd) lies so ill, of the Bruises etc., he receiv'd, that its
question'd whether he'll recover: the Rogues, after he had told them
where his Money was, not finding so much as they expected, let his
Breeches down, and set him bare—on the Fire, several times; which burnt
him prodigiously."
There seems, by this account, to have been much in common between this
gang and those "chauffeurs" described by Vidocq in his _Memoirs_; bands
of robbers who pervaded the country districts of France, and adopted
the like methods of persuasion with people who could not otherwise be
made to disclose the whereabouts of their hoards.
This ferocious attack upon the farm at Edgewarebury was the first of
a series in which the gang appeared on horseback. They had already
done so well that they felt they could no longer deny themselves the
luxury of being fully-furnished highwaymen. But they did not purchase;
they merely hired; and imagination pictures some of them as very
insufficient cavaliers, holding on by their horses' necks. For it
is not given to a footpad, graduating in the higher branch of his
profession, instantly to command an easy seat in the saddle; and the
scene at the "Old Leaping Bar" inn, High Holborn, whence they set out
to ride to the "Ninepin and Bowl" at Edgeware, must have been amusing
in the extreme.
Six of Turpin's gang assembled next on the 7th of February at the
"White Bear" inn, Drury Lane, and planned to rob the house of a Mr.
Francis, a farmer in the then rural fields of Marylebone. Arriving at
the farm about dusk, they first saw a man in a cowshed and seized and
bound him, declaring they would shoot him if he should dare to make any
attempt to break loose, or to cry out. In the stable they found another
man, whom they served in the like manner. Scarcely had they done this
when they met Mr. Francis at his own garden gate, returning home. Three
of the gang laid their hands upon his shoulders and stopped him; and
the farmer, thinking it to be a freak of some silly young fellows,
out for the evening, was not at all alarmed. "Methinks you are mighty
funny, gentlemen," he said good-humouredly; upon which, showing him
their pistols in a threatening manner, he saw his mistake.
No harm, they said, should come to him if he would but give his
daughter a note by one of them, authorising her to pay bearer a hundred
pounds in cash.
Mr. Francis declared he could not do so; he had not anything like that
amount in the house; upon which they ran him violently into the stable
and tied him up also. Then, knocking at the door of the house, and Miss
Francis opening it, they pushed into the passage and secured her as
well. The foremost men were particularly rude and violent, but Turpin,
who came in at the rear, appears to have remonstrated with them about
this gross usage, and to have stopped it: only assuring her that it
would be best she remained quiet, and that if she made any resistance
she would be treated even worse.
A maid-servant, hearing this, cried out, "Lord, Mrs. Sarah! what have
you done?"
One of the gang then struck the maid, and another hit Miss Francis, and
swore they would be murdered if they did not hold their peace.
Mrs. Francis, hearing the disturbance from an inner room, called out,
"What's the matter?" on which Fielder ran forward, and crying "D——n
you, I'll stop your mouth presently!" broke her head with the handle of
a whip he carried, and then tied her to a chair.
Miss Francis and the maid were tied to the kitchen-dresser, and Gregory
was deputed to watch them, with a pistol in his hand, lest they should
cry out for assistance or try to struggle free while the others were
raiding the house.
A not very considerable reward met their unhallowed industry; including
a silver tankard, a gold watch and chain, a silver medal of Charles
the First, a number of minor silver articles, and four or five gold
rings. A find of thirty-seven guineas was more to the point, and a
brace of pistols was not to be despised. They were even so particular
about details, in the hour-and-a-half search they made, that they took
away with them such inconsiderable items as a wig, six handkerchiefs,
four shirts, a velvet hat, and some pairs of stockings. A frugal and
meticulous gang, this!
As a result of these bold attacks in the suburbs of London, a great
feeling of indignation and insecurity arose, and a reward of £100
was at once offered for the apprehension of the gang, or of any
members of it. Information having come to some of the Westminster
peace-officers that these confederates were accustomed to meet in an
alehouse situated in a low alley in Westminster, the place was beset,
and Turpin, Fielder, Rose, and Wheeler were found there. After a short
fight with cutlasses, the last three were secured. No one appears to
have been seriously hurt in this affray, except the usual harmless,
innocent person, present by mere chance; in this case, a certain Bob
Berry, who received a dangerous cut on the arm, below the elbow. Turpin
dexterously escaped out of window, and, obtaining a horse (_not_ the
celebrated "Black Bess," who never existed outside the imagination of
Harrison Ainsworth and the pages of his _Rookwood_), rode away to fresh
fields and pastures new. Fielder and Rose were tried and found guilty,
chiefly on the testimony of Wheeler, who turned King's evidence. They
were hanged at Tyburn, and afterwards gibbeted.
The _Gentleman's Magazine_ refers shortly to the execution, and
includes a certain, or an altogether uncertain, Saunders: "Monday,
March 10th, the following malefactors, attended by a guard of fifty
soldiers, were executed at Tyburn, appearing bold and undaunted; viz.
Rose, Saunders, and Fielder, the Country Robbers." It is significant
of the horrors of that era that ten others were hanged in company with
them, for various crimes.
The gang was thus broken up, but rogues have, as it were, a magnetic
attraction for one another, and Turpin was not long alone. It must
have been a dull business waiting solitary on suitable, _i.e._ dark
or foggy, nights in lonely situations for unsuspecting wayfarers; an
experience calculated to get on the nerves, and so it is scarcely
remarkable that many highwaymen elected to hunt in couples; although
in the long run it was safer to work alone and unknown. No fear then
of treachery on the part of a trusted comrade, always ready to "make a
discovery," as the technical phrase ran, to save his own neck from the
rope, a little while longer.
But Turpin seems to have sought, and found, one companion for a
little while, for he duly appears in an account of how two gentlemen
were robbed about eight o'clock on the evening of July 10th, between
Wandsworth and Barnes commons, "by two Highwaymen, suppos'd to be
Turpin the Butcher, and Rowden the Pewterer, the remaining two of
Gregory's Gang, who robb'd them of their Money and dismounted them;
made them pull off their Horse's Bridles, then turning them loose, they
rode off towards Roehampton, where a Gentleman was robb'd (as suppos'd
by the same Highwaymen), of a Watch and £4 in Money."
Old maps of this district hint, not obscurely, that this was no mere
isolated, chance danger in the neighbourhood; for the eye, roaming
along those charts, towards Richmond, notes "Thieves' Corner" boldly
marked at what is now the junction of the Sheen Road and Queen's Road,
where the "Black Horse" of old, a very shy and questionable kind of
brick-built, white-washed alehouse, stood until it was pulled down
about the year 1902 and rebuilt in the flashy modern style. Adjoining,
was, and still is, for that matter, "Pest House Common": cheerful name!
while Rocque's map of 1745, not marking that inimical corner, transfers
the affected area to the stretch of highway between Marshgate and
Manor Road and Richmond Town, and styles it "Thieves' Harbour." On the
opposite side, in sharp contrast, is marked "Paradise Row." Rocque also
styles the common, "Pestilent Common." Altogether, in fact, a pestilent
neighbourhood.
How well-named was "Thieves' Corner" we may perhaps judge from a
brief and matter-of-fact account (as though it were but an ordinary
occurrence, demanding little notice) of a Reverend Mr. Amey, "a
country clergyman who lodges at the 'Star' inn, in the Strand," being
robbed two nights earlier than the foregoing robbery "two miles this
side of Richmond in Surrey, of his Silver Watch, four Guineas, and some
Silver, by two Highwaymen, well-mounted and well-dress'd. The Rogues
turn'd his Horse loose and went off towards Richmond."
[Illustration: BOLD DICK TURPIN.
(_According to Skelt._)]
Again, this time in the _Grub Street Journal_ of July 24th, 1735, we
find a trace of the busy Dick, in the following: "Monday, Mr. Omar,
of Southwark, meeting between Barnes-Common and Wandsworth, Turpin
the butcher, with another person, clapt spurs to his horse, but they
coming up with him, oblig'd him to dismount, and Turpin suspecting that
he knew him, would have shot him, but was prevented by the other, who
pull'd the pistol out of his hand."
On Sunday, August 16th, Turpin and Rowden the Pewterer seem to have
been particularly busy and to have had a good day; for it is recorded
by the same authority that they robbed several gentlemen on horseback
and in coaches. The district they favoured on this occasion was the
Portsmouth Road between Putney and Kingston Hill.
In another fortnight's time or so, having made these parts of Surrey
too hot to hold them longer, and being apparently unwilling to transfer
their activities beyond ten or twelve miles' radius from London, they
opened a most aggressive campaign in suburban Kent. "We hear," says
the _Grub Street Journal_ of October 16th, "that for about six weeks
past, Blackheath has been so infested by two highwaymen (suppos'd to
be Rowden and Turpin) that 'tis dangerous for travellers to pass.
On Thursday Turpin and Rowden had the insolence to ride through the
City at noonday, and in Watling Street they were known by two or
three porters, who had not the courage to attack them; they were
indifferently mounted, and went towards the bridge; so 'tis thought are
gone the Tonbridge road."
It was while patrolling the road towards Cambridge (on Stamford Hill,
according to some historians) that Turpin first met Tom King.
Observing a well-dressed and well-mounted stranger riding slowly along,
Turpin spurred up to him, presented a pistol, and demanded his money.
The stranger merely laughed, which threw Turpin into a passion, and he
threatened him with instant death if he did not comply. King—for it was
he—laughed again, and said, "What! dog eat dog? Come, come, brother
Turpin; if you don't know me I know you, and shall be glad of your
company."
[Illustration: TURPIN MEETS TOM KING.]
This was the beginning of an alliance. These brethren in iniquity soon
struck up a bargain, and, immediately entering on business, committed
so large a number of robberies that no landlord of any wayside inn
of the least respectability cared to welcome them, for fear of being
indicted for harbouring such guests. Thus situated, they fixed on a
spot between the King's Oak and the Loughton road, in Epping Forest,
where they made a cave, "large enough to receive them and their
horses," says an old account. This was enclosed within a thicket of
bushes and brambles, through which they could look, without themselves
being observed. From this station they used to issue, and robbed such
numbers of persons that at length the very pedlars who travelled the
road carried firearms for their defence. At such times when they could
not safely stir from this hiding-place, Turpin's wife was accustomed to
secretly convey to them such articles of food and such other things as
might be necessary to their comfort. When, at a later period, Turpin's
cave was discovered, and he was reduced to skulking about the forest,
it was found to be by no means a despicable retreat. It was dry, and
carpeted with straw, hay, and dry leaves; and such articles as two
clean shirts, two pairs of stockings, a piece of ham, a bottle of wine,
and some feminine apparel, served to show that this was not altogether
an anchorite's cell. Some old accounts go so far as to say that Turpin
altogether occupied this cave for six years, but that is not credible.
One day, as Turpin and Tom King were spying up and down the road from
their cave, through the screen of furze and bramble that hid them from
passers-by, they saw a gentleman driving past whom King knew very well
as a rich City merchant, of Broad Street. He was on his way to his
country estate at Fairmead Bottom, in a carriage with his children.
King made after him, and on the Loughton road called upon the coachman
to stop. The merchant, however, was a man of spirit, and offered a
resistance, supposing there to be only one highwayman; upon which, King
called Turpin, by the name of "Jack," and bid him hold the horses'
heads. They then proceeded to take his money, which he parted with,
without any further trouble; but strongly demurred to parting with his
watch, which he said was a family heirloom, the gift of his father. The
altercation, although short, was accompanied by threats and menaces
and frightened the children, who persuaded their father to give up the
watch; and then an old mourning ring became an object of dispute. Its
value was very small, but King insisted upon having it, when Turpin
interposed and said they were not so ungentlemanly as to deprive a
traveller of such a relic, and bade King desist. This concession
prompted the merchant to ask whether they would not, as a favour,
permit him to repurchase his watch from them; upon which King said:
"Jack, he seems to be a good, honest fellow; shall we let him have the
watch?"
"Aye," said Turpin; "do as you will."
The merchant, then inquiring the price, King replied, "Six guineas,"
adding, "we never sell one for more, even though it be worth
six-and-thirty." Then the merchant promised not to discover them, and
said he would leave the money at the "Sword Blade" coffee-house in
Birchin Lane, and no questions asked.
The _Country Journal_ for April 23rd, 1737, says that on Saturday,
April 16th, as a gentleman of West Ham and others were travelling to
Epping, "the famous Turpin and a New Companion of his came up and
attack'd the Coach, in order to rob it; the Gentleman had a Carbine in
the Coach, loaded with Slugs, and seeing them coming, got it ready,
and presented it at Turpin, on stopping the Coach, but it flash'd in
the Pan; upon which says Turpin 'G—d D—— you, you have miss'd me, but
I won't you,' and shot into the Coach at him, but the Ball miss'd him,
passing between Him and a Lady in the Coach; and then they rode off
towards Ongar, and dined afterwards at Hare Street, and robbed in the
Evening several Passengers on the Forest between Loughton and Romford,
who knew him; he has not robb'd on that Road for some Time before."
It is possible that this adventure gave Turpin the idea of providing
himself with a carbine and slugs in addition to his pistols, for,
following the contemporary newspaper record of his movements, we
learn from several London papers, notably the _London Daily Post_ and
the _Daily Advertiser_, that when a servant of Thompson, one of the
under-keepers of Epping Forest, went in search of him and his retreat
in those leafy recesses, with a higgler on Wednesday, May 4th, Turpin
shot the man dead with a charge of slugs from a carbine. Detailed
accounts set forth how Mr. Thompson's servant, animated with hopes of a
hundred pounds reward, went out, armed with a gun, in company with the
higgler, in search for Turpin. When they came near his hiding-place,
the highwayman saw them, and, taking them for sportsmen, called out
that there were no hares near that thicket.
"No," replied Mr. Thompson's man, "but I have found a Turpin!" and,
presenting his gun, required him to surrender.
Turpin, replying to him in a friendly manner, and at the same time
gradually retreating into the cave, slyly seized his carbine, and shot
him in the stomach.
He then fled from the Forest, and was reported, by the _London Daily
Post_ of May 12th, to have been very nearly captured in the small
hours of the morning of the 11th by three peace-officers, who, late
the night before, received information that he proposed to sleep at a
certain house near Wellclose Square. Three men accordingly beset the
house, but they were observed by a woman on the look-out, and Turpin,
hurriedly aroused, fled through the roof, and over the chimneypots of
the adjoining houses.
It will be observed by these various newspaper paragraphs and scattered
notices, that Turpin was always changing his associates, and it is
obvious that the stories which would have us believe he and Tom King
set up an exclusive partnership, are not to be implicitly believed.
Turpin and the many of his kind, with whom he associated from time to
time, no doubt, worked together or apart, or in alliance with others,
just as changing circumstances from week to week dictated.
[Illustration: TOM KING.
(_From Skelt's Drama._)]
Tom King is usually said to have been killed under dramatic
circumstances in the yard of the "Red Lion" inn, at the corner of the
Whitechapel Road and Leman Street; but although we read much of him
in the picturesque romances of the highway, it is by no means easy to
trace Tom's movements, and he remains, whatever brave figure he may be
in fiction, a very shadowy figure as seen in recorded facts. He, it
appears, was one of three brothers. The other two were named Matthew
and Robert, and it was really Matthew King who was mortally wounded in
the yard of the "Red Lion" in 1737, in the affray with the Bow Street
runners. The newspapers of the time record how, a week later, he died
of his wounds in the New Prison, Clerkenwell, on May 24th.
The affair was the outcome of Turpin having stolen a fine horse
of considerable celebrity at that time, a racehorse named "White
Stockings," belonging to a Mr. Major, who, riding it, was overtaken one
evening by Turpin, Tom King, and a new ally of theirs, named Potter,
near the "Green Man," Epping. Turpin made him dismount and exchange
horses, and took away his riding-whip; and then the three confederates
went their way to London.