and Bradford; the origin of this was as follows:--After one of his long
trances, he began to walk about, and was asked by acquaintances
concerning his health and appetite, and "What could he eat or fancy?"
His invariable answer was, "Nowt but pudding."
The boys used to shout after him--"Pudding Wroe," or "Nowt but pudding,"
and this highly incensed the Prophet. One day, after he had had this cry
ringing in his ears, he came home, and, standing in the door, saw the
table laid for dinner, and his wife and children ready in their places.
"What is for dinner to-day?" asked Wroe.
"Nowt but pudding!" shouted the incautious children. Wroe flew into a
passion, and said to his wife, "I'll tell thee what, lass, I wi'nt have
yon stuff called pudding ony more."
"Why, lad!" said Mrs. Wroe, "what are t' bairns to call it, then?"
"They mun call it _soft meat_," answered John.
Wroe purchased a handsome mule with a long flowing tail, and a basket
carriage. The harness was of the best kind, with silver buckles, &c. One
day when Wroe drove to Sandal, and left his mule and carriage outside
the house where he had business, some evil-disposed persons shaved the
mule's tail. Wroe raved and threatened, but could not find the guilty
parties. He never went near Sandal afterwards.
The following is Wroe's receipt for curing a cold:--Put two gallons of
boiling water in a large bottle, and place a funnel on the neck; put
your face in the mouth of the funnel, and throw a blanket over your
head; thus you inhale the steam, and are thrown into a perspiration.
Wroe would put a pillow in the oven, lay his head on it, and let the
oven be heated as hot as he could bear it, to drive away a head cold.
In his last voyage to Australia, in 1862, he fell upon the deck of the
ship when it was rolling, and dislocated his shoulder. The doctor set
it, but it soon fell out of place again, and never was right after.
On the day of his death, which occurred at Fitzroy, in Australia, he had
been out walking as usual, and seemed in his wonted health. On his
return from a walk he seated himself in his chair, and suddenly fell
forward on the floor, and was taken up a corpse. He had been collecting
money in Australia; and directly it was rumoured that Wroe was dead, all
the members in Melbourne demanded back their money, and threatened to
roughly handle Benjamin Eddow, Wroe's companion and secretary, unless he
restored the subscriptions. He was obliged to surrender some of the
cash, and to conceal himself. He got away the following day, and
remained hidden in a blacksmith's shop till he could find a ship on
which to get back to England. He brought with him between six and seven
hundred pounds. The Melbourne Society complained that Wroe had not kept
faith with them, for he had promised them he would never die!
FOOTNOTES:
[1] This he mentions in his tract, "A Vision of an Angel," Bradford,
Inkersley, 1820.
[2] My informant, who knew Wroe well, says: "J. Holt, the young man who
saw this, told it me. He is now living at Bradford."
[3] Is it more than a coincidence that the Southcottites should
reproduce the forms and terminology of a heresy of the fourteenth
century? The Abbot Joachim was the prophet then, and his "Eternal
Gospel" proclaimed precisely the same doctrines as the "Eternal Gospel"
of Joanna. This heresy invaded the ranks of the Franciscans, and
produced a tremendous schism, which ended in the prescription of the
Fraticelli. For an account of the Abbot Joachim and the Eternal Gospel
see Hahn, "Ketzer Geschichte," ii. and iii.; and Dean Milman's "Latin
Christianity."
[4] The members were obliged to keep books of their earnings, and
exhibit them, to prove that they paid 10 per cent. to Wroe.
[5] This information comes from some of those who were thus victimised.
Some members turned total abstainers, others vegetarians, to economise
money in order to pay their subscriptions.
BISHOP-DYKE POND.[6]
On the Monday following Palm Sunday, being the 14th of April, 1690,
William Barwick, a man living in Cawood, a village a few miles south of
York, on the Ouse, below its junction with the Wharfe, took his wife a
stroll along a pleasant lane leading to Bishop Wood, then an extensive
tract of forest trees, and even now one of the wildest and most
picturesque spots in the neighbourhood of Selby.
Mary Barwick was expecting her confinement at no great distance of time.
William made her walk before him; they crossed the little bridge over
Bishop's Dyke, and entered a close or field where was a pond. It was
surrounded by thick rushes, and the willows were covered with their
silken tufts, unrifled by the children for "palms" on the preceding day.
William Barwick looked round. No one was in sight. He seized his wife,
threw her into the pond, and did not let go his hold till she was
drowned. When he was quite satisfied that life was extinct, he drew the
body out of the water, and concealed it among the rushes which lay
between the water and the quickwood hedge. He then returned home.
At dusk he revisited the spot, and taking a hay-spade from a rick that
stood in the field, he made a hole by the side of the pond, and there
buried the poor woman in her clothes. What was the motive which actuated
William Barwick does not transpire.
Next day Barwick visited his brother-in-law at Rufforth, three miles
east from York, a man named Thomas Lofthouse, who had married the sister
of poor Mary Barwick, and told him that his wife Mary had gone to his
uncle, Richard Harrison, in Selby, where she was likely to remain for
some time.
Lofthouse gave no thought to this announcement. Whether he supposed that
Barwick was in difficulties, and it was likely to prove advantageous to
his wife that she should be confined in Selby instead of at home, where
she could have more comforts; or whether he thought there had been a
quarrel, and the announcement of Barwick intimated a separation, I do
not know. At all events, the statement of Barwick caused no surprise to
his brother-in-law, nor did it arouse any suspicion of foul play in his
mind.
Exactly a week after that visit, on Tuesday in Easter week, about
half-past twelve o'clock in the afternoon, Thomas Lofthouse, having
occasion to water a quickset hedge not far from his house, brought water
for the purpose in a pail. As he was going for the second pailful, he
suddenly observed a woman, in shape like his sister-in-law, going before
him towards the pond. He was startled, but hardly thought at the moment
that he saw a ghost. The figure glided before him, and seated itself on
a rising green bank right over against the pond; he walked before her as
he went to the pond, and as he returned with the pail full of water he
looked sideways to see if the figure were still there. He saw the
face--it was that of Mary Barwick, but deadly pale; the lips bloodless,
the teeth showing, and the eyes fixed on something white, which he
thought was a bag at the time, but afterwards supposed to be a baby,
which she seemed to be dandling. As soon as he had emptied the pail, he
went into his yard, and stood still to see if the figure were still in
the same spot; but by this time it had vanished.
Lofthouse said nothing about what he had seen till evening. He was
saying family prayers that night before retiring to rest, when, in
praying for their friends and relations, he came to the name of his
sister-in-law. He faltered, trembled, his voice broke down, and he could
scarcely conclude his devotions.
When he went to bed he told his wife everything, and the poor woman was
dreadfully alarmed. She implored her husband next day to go to Selby and
see Richard Harrison, at whose house Barwick had said his wife was
staying. He promised to do so, and on the morning early saddled his
horse and rode to Selby. His nearest road was by York, Cawood, and
Wiston; but he had no mind to meet William Barwick, and he therefore
took the high road from York by Escrick, Riccal, and Barlby.
On reaching Selby he soon ascertained that poor Mary Barwick had never
been there. On his return he went to the Lord Mayor of York; and having
obtained a warrant, got Barwick apprehended and brought before the
Mayor. The wretched man then acknowledged what he had done, and his
confession was written down and signed in the presence of the Lord
Mayor. To this were annexed the depositions of Lofthouse, and Barwick
was consigned to York Castle.
These depositions are of sufficient interest to be here given
verbatim:--
"The Information of Thomas Lofthouse, of Rufforth, taken upon oath,
the twenty-fourth day of April, 1690; who sayeth and deposeth,--
"That one William Barwick, who lately married this informant's
wife's sister, came to this informant's house about the 14th
instant, and told this informant he had carried his wife to one
Richard Harrison's house in Selby, who was uncle to him, and would
take care of her; and this informant, hearing nothing of the said
Barwick's wife, his said sister-in-law, imagined he had done her
some mischief, did yesterday go to the said Harrison's house in
Selby, where he said he had carried her to; and the said Harrison
told this informant he knew nothing of the said Barwick or his
wife; and this informant doth verily believe the said Barwick to
have murdered her.
"THOMAS LOFTHOUSE.
"Jurat die et anno super dicto coram me.
"S. DAWSON, Mayor."
"The examination of the said William Barwick, taken the day and
year abovesaid, who sayeth and confesseth,--
"That he, this examinant, on Monday was seventh night, about two
o'clock in the afternoon, this examinant was walking in a close
betwixt Cawood and Wiston; and he farther sayeth that he threw his
said wife into the pond, where she was drowned; and the day
following, towards evening, got a hay-spade at a hay-stake in the
said close, and made a grave beside the said pond, and buried her.
"WILLIAM BARWICK.
"Exam. capt. die et anno super dict. coram me.
"S. DAWSON, Mayor."
"The examination of William Barwick, taken the twenty-fifth day of
April, 1690, who sayeth and confesseth,--
"That he carried his wife over a certain wain-bridge, called
Bishop-Dyke Bridge, betwixt Cawood and Sherborne, and within a lane
about one hundred yards from the said bridge, and on the left hand
of the said bridge, he and his wife went over a stile, on the
left-hand side of a certain gate entering into a certain close, on
the left hand of the said lane; and in a pond in the said close,
adjoining to a quickwood hedge, did drown his wife, and upon the
bank of the said pond did bury her; and further, that he was within
sight of Cawood Castle, on the left hand; and that there was but
one hedge betwixt the said close where he drowned his said wife and
the Bishop-slates belonging to the said castle.
"WILLIAM BARWICK.
"Exam. capt. die et anno super dict. coram me.
"S. DAWSON, Mayor."
William Barwick was tried and convicted before Sir John Powell, Knight,
at the Summer Assizes held in York on the 18th of September, 1690.
"On Tuesday, September the seventeenth, 1690, at York Assizes,
Thomas Lofthouse, of Rufforth, within three miles of York city,
sayeth,--
"That on Easter Tuesday last, about half an hour after twelve of
the clock in the daytime, he was watering quickwood, and as he was
going for the second pail there appeared, walking before him, an
apparition in the shape of a woman. Soon after, she sat down over
against the pond, on a green hill; he walked by her as he went to
the pond, and as he came with the pail of water from the pond,
looking sideways to see if she sat in the same place, which he saw
she did; and had on her lap something like a white bag, a-dandling
of it (as he thought), which he did not observe before. After he
had emptied his pail of water, he stood in his yard to see if he
could see her again, but could not. He says her apparel was brown
cloathes, waistcoat and petticoat, a white hood, such as his wife's
sister usually wore, and her face looked extream pale, her teeth in
sight, no gums appearing, her visage being like his wife's sister,
and wife to William Barwick.
(Signed)
"THOMAS LOFTHOUSE."
When Barwick ascended the gallows to be hung, he told the hangman that
he hoped the rope was strong enough, as if it should break with his
weight he would fall to the ground and become a cripple for life. His
apprehensions, however, were soon quieted, for the hangman assured him
he might venture upon it with perfect confidence.
After he was dead the body was hung in chains by the pond where the
murder had been committed.
FOOTNOTE:
[6] J. Aubery, in his "Miscellanies upon Various Subjects," 1696, gives
the particulars of this curious story.
SNOWDEN DUNHILL,
THE CONVICT.
The following life of a thief and housebreaker, written by himself, is
curious and sad.[7] The talent it exhibits, and the real feeling which
peeps out here and there, show that the man, had he been better brought
up, and subjected in early youth to religious influences, might have
become something very superior to the ordinary agricultural labourer.
The man cannot have been difficient in his secular education. His style
is singularly good for one in his class, but of moral education he had
none. The only religion he knew of was that of his wife, Sally Dunhill,
a fanatic, who combined hysterical piety with gross dishonesty:--
"I was born at a small village on the Wolds in the East Riding of
Yorkshire. The earliest circumstance of which I have any remembrance is
that of following bare-headed and on foot, a waggon containing furniture
belonging to a farmer who was removing to the village of Spaldington,
near Howden. Of my parents I have but an indistinct remembrance, for I
never returned to them, but continued to reside in the village of my
adoption, and principally in the house of the family I had accompanied.
"Spaldington is a secluded and purely agricultural village. My earliest
recollections are connected with the old hall at that place, a fine
building, erected in the time of Queen Elizabeth. This house, with its
peaked roof ornamented with large round stones, its moats, its rookery,
and the reputation of being haunted by a fairy, is yet strongly
impressed upon my memory. But the old seat of the De la Hayes, the
Vescis, and the Vavasours totters to its fall.
"I well remember the tradition which prevailed in the village, that one
of the De Vescis was a competitor for the crown of Scotland, he having
married a daughter of the King of that country. The burthen of an old
song, which is supposed to relate to some eventful battle in which De
Vesci bore a conspicuous part, still clings to my memory, and now, with
a world between me and the spot, I often catch myself humming the
chorus--
"'And the drums they did beat, and the trumpets did sound,
And the cannons did roar fit to tear up the ground;
For its oh! brave, gallant, and brave,
For the honour of England's crown.'"
Snowden Dunhill's youth was spent much as that of other rural bumpkins;
he wrestled, played football, and was passionately fond of
cock-fighting.
One day, when only six years old, he saved the life of a little
companion with whom he was playing by the side of the moat round the Old
Hall at Spaldington. The child fell into the water, sank, and rose for
the last time, when little Snowden, with great pluck, jumped in after
his playmate, and caught him by the dress. The two children struggled in
the water, and the drowning boy nearly dragged little Snowden under. But
Snowden maintained his hold, and succeeded in dragging his comrade to
the bank.
At fourteen or fifteen Snowden Dunhill, being a strong lad, was taken
into a small farmhouse to work for his food and clothes.
His master died shortly after, but his widow carried on the farm. She
was very poor, the farm was small, and the widow took her meals with the
farm servants in the kitchen.
Dunhill was given no pocket-money, and, as he kept fighting-cocks and
liked occasionally to go to the public-house to have a game of balls, he
was driven to obtain money by theft.
"During this time I practised a variety of petty thefts without being
suspected. I took apples, eggs, or anything I could lay my hands on, and
the corn which ought to have been given to the horses found its way to
my game cocks, of which I had several. These acts, which are generally
practised by farmers' servants, were confirmed into a habit before I had
begun to think them wrong. The education of this class is so utterly
neglected, and their morals so little attended to, that I have long been
satisfied that the honesty of the rural districts is very much inferior
to that of the towns.
"My next step in life--the most important one to all--was marriage, and
mine assuredly deepened the darkest shades of my character. It was not a
connection of the heart, but one almost of fear, for the woman to whom I
paid my addresses was the being who ruled me from the first moment of
our acquaintance. Had it been my fortune to have met with an honest and
industrious woman, my destiny might have been different. But if, as the
proverb says, 'Marriages are made in heaven,' it does not become me to
complain.
"We lived a short time in the village of Spaldington, but one farmer
missed his corn, the wife of another her poultry, a third her apples,
and a fourth her bees; when the bees were missed I fancy they thought
nothing could escape us. They were easily moved and carried into our
cottage, but the buzzing, the stinging, and the bother of the business,
determined me never again to attempt a similar undertaking. The proverb
of running your head into a swarm of bees has ever since appeared to me
the most forcible in the English language.
"We were then put into a house in the lanes of Spaldington, in the road
between Howden and Market-Weighton, apart from any other residence, and
in the very best situation that could have been chosen if the farmers
had wished us to continue our system of plunder. I had never been
accustomed to work, and I had now very little wish to learn. The new
connexions which I speedily formed put me in the way of obtaining a
better though more precarious subsistence.
"I continued to live in the cottage above alluded to, and my family
increasing rapidly, rendered it necessary to extend my operations. The
farmers in the neighbourhood were at first the greatest sufferers, and
there was scarcely a barn or granary within several miles which I had
not the means of entering when I chose. Either from discarded servants,
or from labourers who were daily about the farm-houses, I got all the
information I wanted.
"At this time I was master of two good horses, and I had a numerous
connexion among servants and labourers. But what I found most useful was
a secret understanding with two or three millers, by whose means I got
rid of all the corn which I stole. Millers are generally reputed to be
great rogues, but in their dealings with me I found them quite the
contrary. The most dishonest persons with whom I had dealings were the
attorneys, and they stripped me of the fruits of my toil with most
surprising expedition and facility. This, however, will be seen in the
sequel.
"About this time I was concerned in a robbery at Bubwith, by which I
obtained a considerable sum of money. After our arrangements were made,
a comrade entered the house through a back window, by taking an iron
bar out of the frame, the wood being quite rotten from age and damp. In
scrambling in he kicked from the shelf a large earthenware vessel, and
immediately after he himself tumbled head foremost into the pantry, a
depth of six or seven feet. The uproar occasioned by his fall caused us
to take to our heels and make to our horses, which were at no great
distance, in a large field behind the house. We laid down and listened
for a considerable time, and hearing nothing, we approached the house
again by degrees, and eventually got up to the very window. A low
whistle from me was instantly answered, which at once told us all went
well. We found the back door open for us, and our comrade, no way
alarmed, busy rummaging some drawers, and putting into a sack everything
he took a fancy to.
"As I had formerly lived in the service of a near relation of the old
lady to whom the house belonged (I had forgotten to say it was a widow
lady's house we took the liberty with), I found no difficulty in laying
my hands upon the tinder-box, candles, and everything else. It was an
exceedingly stormy night, or I think we must have been heard, for we
carried a chest of drawers out of the house and actually beat them to
pieces, not being able to open them. I knew that she had a considerable
sum of money, and I hoped we had found it, but it turned out to be a box
of farthings; and I was afterwards exceedingly provoked on learning that
we had missed three hundred guineas in gold which the old lady had in
her lodging room. I also learned that she had a presentiment that she
would be robbed, and made an observation to that effect the day
before--one of those curious anticipating feelings for which I know not
how to account, but which have in several instances happened to myself
when coming events, as it were, cast their shadows before.
"But to return to our adventure. After helping ourselves to such things
as we thought of most value, and such as could be most easily conveyed
away on our horses, and drinking the good old lady's health in some
excellent homemade wine, we mounted our horses, with four sacks filled
with many things of value. We took a route so as to avoid the toll-bars
and public roads, and reached my house just as the sun was beginning to
chase away the darkness which had proved so propitious to us. Having
instantly buried all the things, my companions departed, and all was
soon ready for the reception of any of those enemies of my profession,
the constables, should they pay us a visit. However, none came, and
though I was generally supposed to be the person who did the deed, no
steps were taken to make it out against me. This is one of the very few
exploits of the kind I was ever engaged in, and as to highway robberies,
I never dreamed of committing one.
"I had now accumulated a considerable sum of money, which I lent out on
note to several farmers in the neighbourhood, most of whom, from fear or
other considerations, were glad to be on good terms with me. Such
occurrences as the following frequently happened:--'Well, Snowden, how
do you do?' would Farmer ---- say, meeting me in the street towards dusk
on a market-day. 'Are you going home to-night?' 'Aye, my lad,' was my
general reply. 'I wanted to see you,' retorted the farmer; 'I have just
received fifty pounds for some oats; I wish you would take care of it
for me, and I will ask you for it again some day when I meet you.' I
took charge of the money, and was ever most punctual in returning it. I
could not help laughing, however, at the odd mixture of feelings that
must have dictated such a choice of a banker. I dare say some of these
very farmers have since met with bankers not quite so punctual in their
payments as I was in mine.
"I was once busily employed in coursing a hare when I was pounced upon
by a Mr. ----. He came suddenly upon me, with so many violent
denunciations that I was for a time really in a fright. However, I
eventually recovered my recollection, and had the good sense to leave
him without giving way to any abusive language in reply. I secretly,
however, resolved to have my revenge, and that in a way at once in
accordance with my profession and my own interest. I ordered two or
three of the persons I could place the most reliance in to be ready to
accompany me with their horses to Foggathorpe, the village in which I
think the gentleman resided. I had long had a key of his granary, in
which I knew he had recently stored a quantity of wheat of the finest
quality, and for which the soil of that village is much famed.