without money, without friends, and without character, he could think
of no better method of supplying his wants, and freeing himself from
a servile dependency, than by turning Collector on the Highway. This
he imagined would not only take off that badge of slavery, the livery
he had always worn with regret, but would set him on a level with
gentlemen, a figure he was ever ambitious of making."
His first steps were attended with some difficulty, for he laboured
under the disadvantage, at the moment of coming to this decision, of
having no money in his pockets; and to commence highwayman, as to begin
any other business or profession, it was necessary to have a small
capital, for preliminary expenses. But a little ingenuity showed him
the way. Pistols and a horse were the tools of his trade, and pistols,
of course, first. A servant of his acquaintance knew a person who had
a brace of pistols to sell, and Page took them, "to show a friend on
approval." He then hired a horse for deferred payment, and with the
pistols went out and immediately and successfully robbed the Highgate
coach. Thus, with the £4 he in this manner obtained, he paid for the
pistols and settled with the livery-stable keeper for his horse-hire.
In another day or two he had touched the wayfaring public for a sum
sufficient to purchase a horse of his own; and thus commenced his
twelve-years' spell of highway adventure, in which, although he had
many exciting experiences, he was arrested only once before the final
escapade that brought him to the gallows.
An early freak of his was the robbing of his former master, Captain
Jasper, on Hounslow Heath. The Captain was crossing the ill-omened
place with a lady in a post-chaise, when Page rode up, bade the
postilion stop, and ordered the Captain to deliver.
"That may be, sir," retorted the Captain angrily, "but not yet," and,
pulling out a pistol, fired at him. His aim was not good, but he hit
somebody: none other, indeed, than his own postilion, who was struck in
the back, "and wounded very much."
Then said Page, "Consider, sir, what a rash action you have been guilty
of. You have killed this poor fellow, which I would not have done for
the world. And now, sir, I repeat my orders, and if you refuse any
longer to comply, I will actually fire upon you."
[Illustration: WILLIAM PAGE.]
The Captain then snapped his second pistol at him, but it missed fire.
Page then swore he would shoot the lady; intending to do nothing of the
kind, but only to alarm the Captain the more. But in Captain Jasper
our highwayman had met sterner stuff than common, and the gallant
soldier, the better to protect her, forthwith sat himself in her lap.
On Page continuing to declare he would shoot him, the Captain leapt out
of the chaise at him, and at that moment Page fired, but with intention
to miss, and the shot passed harmlessly by. Again the Captain pulled
the trigger of his pistol, and again it missed fire.
Then Page declared his ultimatum: "You must now surrender, or I
absolutely will shoot you." Whereupon the Captain, having done all he
possibly could, delivered up his gold watch and ten or eleven guineas.
Page then demanded his sword, but he quite rightly, as a soldier,
demurred to such a humiliation.
"You may see by my cockade I am an officer, and I would sooner part
with my life and soul than with my sword," he bravely declared.
Page generously acknowledged his spirit. "I think myself," he said,
"thou art the bravest fellow that ever crossed these plains, but thou
art an obstinate fellow; and so, go about your business."
He introduced some interesting novelties into the well-worn business.
The chief of these was the distinctly bright idea of driving from
London in a phaeton with a pair of horses and at some lonely spot
disguising himself with a wig and another suit of clothes. Then,
saddling one of the horses and leaving the phaeton, he would carefully
emerge upon the high road and hold up coaches, post-chaises, or
solitary equestrians. This accomplished, he returned to his phaeton,
harnessed the horse again, resumed his former attire, and drove back to
town, like the gentleman of fashion and leisure he pretended to be. One
day, pursuing this highly successful programme, he was nearly undone by
the action of some countryfolk who, finding an abandoned phaeton and
one horse strangely left in a coppice, went off with it. The simple
people, making along the road with this singular treasure-trove, were
themselves followed by some unlucky travellers whom Page had just
robbed, and violently denounced as confederates. Page was fully equal
to the occasion. Nearly stripping himself, and casting his clothes down
a convenient well, he returned to London in that plight and declared
himself to have been treated like the man in the Scriptures, who
"fell among thieves"; although it does not appear that the traveller
in question had a carriage. His phaeton had been stolen, and himself
robbed and left almost naked.
This precious story was fully believed, and the country people
themselves stood in some considerable danger. They were flung into
prison and would no doubt have been convicted had Page appeared against
them. This he, for obvious reasons, refused to do, and they found
themselves at liberty once more, resolved to leave any other derelict
carriages they might chance to see severely alone.
Page, in course of time, married a girl of his native town. She could
not long remain ignorant of his means of livelihood, and earnestly
begged him to leave the road and take to honest work. Few, however,
quitted the highway except for the "three-legged mare" at Tyburn, and
the one- or two-legged mares of other places; and he held on his way.
Now and again he would disappear for a time, after some particularly
audacious exploit, to reappear when the excitement it had caused was
over. On one of these occasions he shipped to Barbados and Antigua,
stayed there for seven or eight months, and then returned to England,
desperately in want of money. The line of least resistance indicated
the road once more.
His first exploit after this reappearance was the robbing of one Mr.
Cuffe, north of Barnet. The traveller, being driven along the road
alone and unarmed in a post-chaise, had no choice but to surrender his
purse, and held it out from the window at arm's length. But Page's
horse, not being used to this kind of business, shied violently, and
Page thereupon ordered the postilion to dismount and hand it him, which
he did, and he then gracefully and at leisure retired.
On his return to town, leading this high-mettled horse down Highgate
Hill, Page was followed by three men on horseback, who, having heard
of this robbery down the road, suspected he might be the man. They
immediately planned how they were to take him, and then, one of them
riding quietly up, said, "Sir, I have often walked my horse up Highgate
Hill, but never down; but since you do, I will also, and bear you
company."
Page readily agreed, without the least suspicion of any design against
him, and so they entered into a very friendly conversation. After
walking in this manner some little distance, the gentleman finding a
fit opportunity, keeping a little behind, suddenly laid hold of his
arms and pinioned them so tightly behind him that he was not able to
stir; seeing which, the other two, then on the opposite side of the
road, crossed over and secured him beyond any possibility of escape.
They found in his pockets four loaded pistols, a powder-horn, and some
bullets, a crape mask, and a curious and ingenious map himself had
drawn, showing all the main roads and cross roads for twenty miles
round London.
They then took him before a Justice of the Peace at Highgate, who
put many searching questions, without gaining any information. He
was, however, committed to Clerkenwell Bridewell, and was afterwards
examined by none other than Henry Fielding, magistrate and novelist.
Sent from the Old Bailey to stand his trial at Hertford Assizes, he
was acquitted for lack of exact evidence, although every one was fully
satisfied of his guilt, for, however strange the times, they were not
so strange that honest gentlemen carried such a compromising collection
of things about with them on the roads.
His narrow escape did not disturb him, and he was soon again on his
lawless prowls. On Hounslow Heath he robbed a Captain of one of the
Guards regiments, and was pursued into Hounslow town by that officer,
shouting "Highwayman!" after him. No one took any notice. Page got
clear away, and afterwards boasted of having, the following night at a
theatre in London, sat next the officer, who did not recognise him.
An interlude followed in the activities of our high-spirited
highwayman. He and an old acquaintance struck up a more intimate
friendship over the tables of billiard-rooms in London, and there they
entered into an alliance, with the object of rooking frequenters of
those places. But their returns were small and precarious, and did not
even remotely compare with the rich harvest to be gathered on the road,
to which he accordingly returned.
It was Page's ill-fortune to meet with several plucky travellers, who,
like Captain Jasper, would not tamely submit to be robbed, and resisted
by force of arms. Among them was Lord Downe, whose post-chaise he,
with a companion, one day stopped at Barnet. Presenting his pistol, he
issued the customary orders, but, to his surprise, Lord Downe himself
drew a pistol, and discharged it with such excellent aim, that Page
was shot in the body, and bled very copiously. His companion's horse,
alarmed at the shot, grew restive, and thus his friend was for a while
unable to come to his aid. Page, however, again advanced to the attack;
but my lord was ready with another pistol, and so the highwaymen
thought it best to make off. They hurried to London, and Page sought
a doctor, who found the wound so dangerous, that he refused to treat
him without consultation. The other doctor, immediately on arriving,
recognised Page, and asked him how he came by the wound; to which Page
replied, that he had received it in a duel he had just fought.
"I will extract the ball," replied the doctor; "but," he added
significantly, "I do not wish to see your face again, for I believe you
fought that duel near Barnet."
Shortly after his recovery from this untoward incident, he and one
ally, Darwell, by name, an old schoolfellow, waiting upon chance
on Shooter's Hill, met two post-chaises, in one of which was a
"supercargo" belonging to the East India Company, and in the other a
person, who is simply described as a "gentleman."
Page's accomplice opened the encounter by firing a pistol, to which
the supercargo replied in like manner; but with a better aim, for the
bullet tore away a portion of his coat, under the armpit. A second
shot from the highwayman was also ineffective. Then Page rode up and
attacked the other chaise. A desperate fusillade followed; but the only
damage done was that Page's horse was slightly wounded. At last, the
post-chaise travellers having expended all their ammunition, the two
highwaymen compelled them to alight, and the postilions to dismount;
and then, having bound the hands of all of them with rope, they ordered
these unfortunate persons, on peril of their lives, to remain on
that spot for one hour. They then returned to the chaises, removed
the travelling trunks, and, carrying them off on horseback, hid them
securely.
Then they hastened back to London. The next morning, in two chaises,
they returned to the spot, and in security brought back the trunks,
which contained, not only a large amount of money, but a mass of
important documents belonging to the East India Company.
A reward of forty guineas was offered, by advertisement in the
newspapers of the time, for the return of the documents, "and no
questions asked." The advertisers themselves, by so doing, risked a
fine of £50 for compounding a felony; but, in any case, the reward was
never claimed, although Page carefully returned the papers anonymously.
The fact which at last cut the knot of William Page's existence was
the robbing of Captain Farrington in 1757, on Blackheath. Among other
things the Captain was compelled to render to this Cæsar of the roads
was a gold repeater watch. Hotly pursued, Page gave the hue-and-cry a
long chase for it, and finally, arriving at Richmond, had himself and
his exhausted horse ferried across to Twickenham.
Soon after, finding the south of England ringing uncomfortably with
the fame of his doings, he took ship for Scotland, but landed at
Scarborough, where, at the fashionable spa, he gambled heavily and
strutted awhile as a man of considerable fortune. But he must have
been at last really alarmed and prepared to consider turning over
a new leaf, for he went north to see his former master, the Earl
of Glencairn, who, he thought, would be able to recommend him to
employment in the plantations. The Earl, however, received him coldly,
and he came south again, to resume his chosen profession, in company
with Darwell, whom he had by constant alternate threats and persuasions
seduced from the reformed life he was leading and the respectable
situation he held, to take up again this hazardous calling.
Together they scoured the road to Tonbridge, Darwell forming, as it
were, a rearguard. Page was pursued beyond Sevenoaks by five mounted
men armed with pistols, and a blunderbuss, who dashed past Darwell,
and after a struggle seized his leader, who presently escaped again.
In their return, disappointed, they made a prisoner of Darwell, who,
suspecting something of the kind would happen, had already thrown
away his pistols. In spite of his indignant protestations that he was
a private gentleman, and would not endure such an outrage, he was
searched and a part of Captain Farrington's watch was found upon him,
with the maker's name and most of the distinguishing marks more or less
carefully obliterated. Questioned closely, he declared he had picked
it up upon the road. As for the highwayman they had just now nearly
captured, he knew nothing of him: had never set eyes on him before.
But, in spite of these denials, Darwell was taken off in custody and
examined before a magistrate, who so plied him with questions, threats
of what would happen to him if he continued obstinate, and promises of
clemency if he would make discovery of his companion, that he at last
turned King's evidence. During the interval, he was lodged in Maidstone
gaol.
A fortnight later, Page was arrested in one of their old haunts in
London, the "Golden Lion," near Grosvenor Square. He was at first taken
to Newgate, but afterwards remitted to Maidstone, and tried there for
the robbery of Captain Farrington. Convicted and sentenced to death, he
was hanged on Penenden Heath, April 6th, 1758.
ISAAC DARKIN, _ALIAS_ DUMAS
Isaac Darkin was the son of a cork-cutter in Eastcheap, and was born
about 1740; too late to appear in the stirring pages of Alexander
Smith or Charles Johnson, in which he would have made, we may be sure,
an admired figure. All those who knew him, on the road or in the
domestic circle, agreed that he was a handsome fellow; and travellers,
in particular, noticed his taking ways. These were first displayed
in 1758, when he robbed Captain Cockburn near Chelmsford. No less
taking, in their own especial way, were the police of the neighbourhood
in that time, for they speedily apprehended Isaac, and lodged him
in Springfield gaol. He was duly arraigned at the next assizes, and
no fewer than eight indictments were then preferred against him. He
pleaded guilty to the robbing of Captain Cockburn, but not guilty on
the other counts; and was, after a patient trial, found guilty on the
first and acquitted on the others. He was then sentenced to death, but
was eventually respited on account of his youth, and finally pardoned
on condition that he enlisted in the 48th Regiment of foot, then
serving in the West Indies, at Antigua. Drafted with others aboard a
ship lying in the lower reaches of the Thames, presently to set sail
for that distant shore, he effected his escape, almost at the moment
of up-anchor, by dint of bribing the captain of a merchant vessel
lying alongside, to whom he promised so much as a hundred pounds to
help him out. He was smuggled aboard the merchantman, and so cunningly
disguised that when a search-party, suspecting his whereabouts, boarded
the ship, and searched it, even to the hold, they did not recognise
him in a particularly rough and dirty sailor who was swearing nautical
oaths among the ship's company on deck. So the transport-vessel sailed
without him, and he, assuming the name of Dumas, rioted all through
the West of England, robbing wealthy travellers and gaily spending his
takings on what he loved best: fine clothes and fine ladies. He was so
attentive to business that he speedily made a name for himself, the
name of a daring votary of the high toby. This reputation rendered
it politic on his part to enlist in the Navy, so that in case of
being arrested for highway robbery, he could prove himself to have a
respectable occupation, that would help to discredit the charge of
being a highwayman.
He soon became a valued recruit, and was promoted to midshipman; and
it is quite likely that if he had been sent on active service he would
have distinguished himself in a more reputable career than that in
which he was so soon to die. But his duties kept him for considerable
periods in port, and he seems to have had ample leave from them; for
we find him hovering near Bath and gaily robbing the wealthy real or
imagined invalids going to, or returning from, the waters.
On the evening of June 22nd, 1760, he fell in with Lord Percival,
travelling by post-chaise over Clarken Down, near Bath, and robbed him
of twelve, thirteen, or fourteen guineas—my lord could not positively
swear to the exact amount. He then made off in the gathering twilight,
and galloped across country, to Salisbury Plain and the little village
of Upavon, where he was arrested in a rustic alehouse, and sent
thence to Salisbury gaol. At his trial he indignantly denied being a
highwayman, or that he was an Englishman. He declared his name was
Dumas, that he had lately come from Guadaloupe, where he had taken
a part in the late military operations; and said that the so-styled
"suspicious behaviour" and damaging admissions he was charged with,
when arrested at the inn, were merely the perplexities of a foreigner,
when suddenly confronted by hostile strangers.
This special pleading did not greatly deceive judge or jury, but
the prosecution broke down upon a technical detail, and Darkin was
acquitted; not, however, without an affecting address to the prisoner
from the judge, Mr. Justice Willmott, who urged him to amend his ways,
while there was yet time.
It is thus quite sufficiently evident that, although the Court was
bound to acquit the prisoner, no one had the least doubt of his
guilt. His narrow escape does not appear to have impressed Darkin,
or "Dumas"; but he was anxious enough to be off, as we learn from a
contemporary account of the proceedings, in which it is quaintly said:
"He discovered great Impatience 'till he had got off his Fetters and
was discharged, which was about five o'clock in the evening, when he
immediately set out for London in a post-chaise."
The fair ladies of Salisbury sorrowed when he was gone. They had
been constant in visiting him in prison, and had regarded him as a
hero, and Lord Percival as a disagreeable hunks. The hero-worship he
received is properly noted in the account of his life, trial, and
execution, issued in haste from an Oxford press in 1761, shortly after
the final scene had been enacted. In those pages we read: "During
Mr. Dumas' imprisonment at Salisbury, we find his sufferings made a
deep impression upon the tender Hearts of the Ladies, some of whom,
having visited him in his Confinement, his obliging Manner, genteel
Address, lively Disposition, and whole Deportment so struck them that
his Fame soon became the Discourse of the Tea Table; and at the happy
Termination of His Affair with my Lord Percival, produced between them
the following Copy of Verses:
Joy to thee, lovely Thief! that thou
Hast 'scaped the fatal string,
Let Gallows groan with ugly Rogues,
_Dumas_ must never swing.
Dost thou seek Money?—To thy Wants
Our Purses we'll resign;
Could we our Hearts to guineas coin
Those guineas all were thine.
To Bath in safety let my lord
His loaded Pockets carry;
Thou ne'er again shall tempt the Road,
Sweet youth! if thou wilt marry.
No more shall niggard travellers
Avoid thee—We'll ensure them:
To us thou shalt consign thy Balls
And Pistol; we'll secure 'em.
Yet think not, when the Chains are off,
Which now thy Legs bedeck,
To fly: in Fetters softer far
We'll chain thee by the Neck."
But in the short space of six weeks from his acquittal at Salisbury and
his triumphal exit in a post-chaise for London, he was again arrested
on a charge of highway robbery, this time for robbing a Mr. Gammon at
Nettlebed, on the road to Oxford. Committed to trial at Newgate, he was
transferred to Oxford gaol, and tried there on March 6th. He had up
to now been phenomenally fortunate, but things at this crisis looked
a great deal more serious. He acknowledged "he had experienced many
narrow scrapes, but never such a d—d one as this," and he was presently
found guilty and condemned to death, this time without any extenuating
circumstances being found.
Isaac Darkin was what in our times would be called a "superior person."
Slang he disdained to use, bad language was anathema to him; and if
he did, indeed, condescend to describe a person of mean understanding
as "a cake," or "a flat," that was the most he permitted himself. His
delicacy was so great that he never mentioned a "robbery," a "robber,"
or a "highwayman," but spoke instead of persons who had been "injured,"
or of "the injured parties." And as he was so nice in his language, so
he was particular in his dress and deportment. As an eulogist of him
said, not without a little criticism: "He was possessed of too great
a share of pride for his circumstances in life, and retained more of
it to the last than was becoming in a person in his unhappy situation.
He had a taste for elegance in every respect; was remarkably fond of
silk stockings, and neat in his linen; had his hair dressed in the most
fashionable manner every morning; his polished fetters were supported
round his waist by a sword-belt, and tied up at his knees with ribbon."
Although but the son of a cork-cutter, he had lived, in the estimation
of his contemporaries, like a gentleman. Like a gentleman he spent
his last days, and if he did indeed seem to boast a little when, a
few days before his execution, he declared he had been nine times in
gaol, and seven times tried on a capital charge, that was merely a
pardonable professional exaggeration. His claim to have gleaned over
six hundred guineas from the road has, on the other hand, the look of
an under-estimate. The rumbustious fellows of a hundred years earlier
would have thought that very bad business; they often took much more
in a single haul. But times were changing, and not for the better, from
the highwaymen's point of view.
Isaac Darkin died like a gentleman, without apparent fear, and without
bravado, at Oxford, on March 23rd, 1761, and was at that time, as
himself remarked, without apparent pathos or truckling to weak
sentiment, "not twenty-one."
JAMES MACLAINE, THE "GENTLEMAN" HIGHWAYMAN