THE
C H R O N I C L E S O F C R I M E.

THE
CHRONICLES OF CRIME;
OR,
The New Newgate Calendar.
BEING
A SERIES OF MEMOIRS AND ANECDOTES
OF
NOTORIOUS CHARACTERS
WHO HAVE OUTRAGED THE LAWS OF GREAT BRITAIN FROM THE EARLIEST
PERIOD TO 1841.

COMPRISING

INCLUDING
A NUMBER OF CURIOUS CASES NEVER BEFORE PUBLISHED.
EMBELLISHED WITH FIFTY-TWO ENGRAVINGS,
FROM ORIGINAL DRAWINGS BY “PHIZ.”
BY CAMDEN PELHAM, ESQ.,
OF THE INNER TEMPLE, BARRISTER-AT-LAW.
VOL. II
LONDON:
T. MILES & CO., 95, UPPER STREET.
1891.

CONTENTS.

Note.—The offence mentioned opposite to each name is that alleged against the person charged.

T H E
C H R O N I C L E S O F C R I M E,
OR,
THE NEW NEWGATE CALENDAR.

THOMAS BROCK, JOHN PELHAM, AND MICHAEL POWER,
CONVICTED OF COINING.

IN the year 1816, when Sir Matthew Wood was lord mayor of London, several conspiracies of a most diabolical nature were detected, and some of the conspirators punished. The conduct of the chief magistrate was such as to do honour not only to his understanding and ability, but to his disinterestedness and humanity.

The legislature, with the intention of stimulating the exertions of police-officers, and inducing others to give information, had awarded certain rewards to the parties who should contribute to the conviction of offenders against the laws. The object was laudable, but it was capable of great perversion, and was liable to many objections; it gave the prosecutor an interest in the conviction of the accused, and on that account tended to impress the public with the belief that the condemnation, and not the acquittal of the prisoner, was the object of our criminal laws. It was too true that “blood money,” as this species of remuneration was emphatically denominated, did contribute in reality to the evil we allude to. But had not a development of unparalleled villany put scepticism to flight, we could not have brought ourselves to believe that those who were paid to detect crime should be found the most active in seducing innocence and youth to its commission. Yet it is an indubitable fact that, for ten years preceding 1816, victims were brought up, session after session, to be convicted of crimes to which they were seduced by the very men who gave evidence against them, that they might revel on the “blood money,” or make use of it to provide other victims for the law. Several of those connected with the police-offices, particularly the patroles, were detected in this traffic of blood;[A] but only one officer of any note, named Vaughan, was convicted of this most atrocious crime.

[A] The following were the parliamentary rewards for the conviction of felons:—

1. By 4 W. & Mary, cap. 8, forty pounds on the conviction of every highwayman.

2. By 6 & 7 Wm. III. cap. 17, forty pounds upon the conviction of every person who had counterfeited the coin, or clipped &c. the same, or had brought into the kingdom clipped coin, &c.

3. By 5 Anne, cap. 31, forty pounds on conviction of every burglar or housebreaker.

4. By 14 Geo. II. cap. 6, ten pounds on the conviction of every sheep-stealer, &c.

5. By 15 Geo. II. cap 28, forty pounds for conviction of any person of treason or felony relating to the coin, upon this Act; and ten pounds on conviction of counterfeiting copper money.

6. By 16 Geo. II. cap. 15, twenty pounds upon conviction of a person returning from transportation before the expiration of his term.

The discovery of this diabolical system took place in the course of the trial of three men named Quin, Riorton, and Connolly; it appears that these unfortunate beings were detected in fabricating base shillings and bank tokens, and being brought to trial, they were convicted. During the examination of the witnesses for the prosecution, however, whose names appear at the head of this article, some circumstances came out, which induced a suspicion in the mind of the lord mayor that the prosecutors were in some way mixed up with the guilt of the prisoners. An investigation in consequence took place; but the convicts, on being confronted with their accusers, refused to say anything against them, saying that they were “under an oath.” They were Irishmen and Catholics, and the rigid observance which they pay to an oath is well known; but a priest having at length persuaded them that they were not bound by such an oath administered unlawfully, they disclosed the whole particulars of the plot, and their accusers were in consequence secured.

The three new prisoners were then indicted for their participation in the crime of their dupes, which amounted to high treason; and at the session held on the 25th of September 1816, were brought to trial at the Old Bailey.

A man named Barry then swore that Pelham had applied to him to get some men to make bad shillings, which Power, it was said, could colour. Barry said they must go to the market for them, which was in Cheapside, at the corner of King-street, where poor Irishmen were waiting for employment. Some days after he went with Brock and Power to the market, when Quin and Riorton were engaged by them. Being told they could not be employed unless they would be sworn to secrecy, they took an oath on a piece of paper. A room was hired, and tools procured by the prisoners, and the poor Irishmen were set to work to cut brass into the form of shillings, &c. under the superintendence of Power. Connolly was sent for to assist. He said to Barry, in Irish, “We are doing a job that will hang us all,” to which he replied that if he thought so he would not work another day at it. The Irishmen were then employed in colouring the metal, and everything being in readiness, notice was given, the officers entered, and the Irishmen were seized, tried, and found guilty.

Pelham’s landlady proved that the scissars used by the Irishmen in cutting through brass had been procured by her at Pelham’s request; another woman also swore that the hammer and files taken in the coining room had been sold by her to Brock and Pelham.

Brock, in his defence, declared his innocence. Power denied either going to the market or the room; and Pelham said the Barrys were noted perjurers, and the women were false witnesses.

The jury, without hesitation, however, brought in a verdict of Guilty, and the prisoners were transported.

The three Irishmen were then pardoned; and the lord mayor having interested himself in their behalf, a subscription was opened, and they were enabled to return to their own country, and there to purchase small farms.

GEORGE VAUGHAN, ROBERT MACKEY, AND GEORGE BROWN.
CONVICTED OF A CONSPIRACY.

WHILE the lord mayor was detecting the “men of blood” in the city, the magistrates at Bow-street were not less meritoriously employed in tracing similar crimes to a police-officer, named Vaughan, and several others not immediately employed by the magistrates, but who were well known as loungers about the different offices. Several of these atrocious wretches were apprehended, and many revolting circumstances disclosed.

George Vaughan, Robert Mackey, and George Brown, were tried at the Middlesex sessions, on the 21st of September 1816, on a charge of conspiring to induce William Hurley, Michael Hurley, William Sanderson, William Wood, aged thirteen, and Dennis Hurley, to commit a burglary in the house of Mrs. M‘Donald, at Hoxton; and, by having them convicted of the fact, thereby procure for themselves the rewards given by parliament for the conviction of housebreakers.

The case was clearly proved against the prisoners; and it appeared that through the instrumentality of one Drake, who had been an acting lieutenant in the navy, the dupes were employed to commit the burglary, and that on their proceeding to Mrs. M‘Donald’s house, the three prisoners came up and took them into custody.

The prisoners being found guilty were sentenced to five years’ imprisonment in the house of correction, and ordered at the conclusion of that time to find security for their future good behaviour. Vaughan was tried on a subsequent day for a robbery in the house of one James Poole, on the 16th of December 1815, and being found guilty was sentenced to be transported.

JOHN CASHMAN
EXECUTED FOR A FELONY COMMITTED AT THE SPAFIELDS’ RIOTS.

ON the cessation of the protracted war which consigned Buonaparte to St. Helena, Great Britain found herself subject to those temporary domestic difficulties which always succeed a sudden return from hostility to peace. The revulsion was felt by nearly every individual in the kingdom; agriculture, trade, and commerce became, for the instant, almost torpid, and thousands of the labouring classes were thrown out of employment.

In this moment of paramount distress, the evil-minded and the designing, taking advantage of the disposition of the people, and urged by personal considerations, continued those attacks upon the ministry of the country which they had hitherto made without that success which they required, and the people, whose attention was now withdrawn from the object which had hitherto served to keep their minds occupied, were easily led away and persuaded that the dangers and difficulties which appeared to exist were the result of bad management only, and were of a nature likely to be permanent, and most injurious to their well-being. The existence of the evil was attributed to some defects which were pointed out in the representative system; and as this was considered to be the root of the evil, the name of radical (from radix, the Latin word for a root) was given to the persons who espoused these new opinions. The party in itself, both as regarded reputation and numbers, was contemptible to a degree, and the names of a few only who were its leaders will be handed to posterity. Thistlewood, Watson, and Hunt, were the most notorious of these agitators, who, as it will hereafter appear, met with very different fates. Thistlewood was hanged; Watson escaped to America; Hunt, by a most extraordinary circumstance, eventually became a member of parliament.

Englishmen have an undoubted privilege of assembling for the purpose of declaring their grievances and soliciting redress, whether from the sovereign or the parliament, and this liberty afforded the demagogues a good opportunity for inflaming the passions of the deluded, and disseminating their own pernicious opinions. Meetings were held in various parts of the kingdom for the ostensible purpose of petitioning for parliamentary reform, and the metropolis followed the example. When we come to the case of Watson and Thistlewood, we shall enter fully into the atrocious scheme of those who devised many of these meetings, but at present it is necessary to confine ourselves to a detail of facts, which will serve as an illustration of what is to follow.

The first meeting, which may be called the preliminary to the riot, took place November the 15th, 1816, in the Spafields, then a wild uninclosed space. A flag was unfurled bearing the following words:—“Nature to feed the hungry—truth to protect the oppressed—justice to punish offenders.” Hunt attended in consequence of an invitation, and some violent speeches having been made, he was deputed to carry a petition to the Prince Regent. This meeting dissolved, after having passed a resolution to meet at the same place on the 2nd of December, to receive the answer to the petition; but the circulation of some addresses proved that the object of the meeting was not of that peaceful nature which its promoters pretended to ascribe to it. On the day appointed, soon after twelve o’clock, the assemblage of the mob commenced, and in less than half-an-hour about 5000 persons had collected round a party supporting tri-coloured flags, and a banner bearing the inscription—“The brave soldiers are our brothers; treat them kindly,” who had placed themselves within about thirty yards of the field next to Coldbath-fields’ Prison. A cart was found to have been placed on this spot, and in a short time Dr. Watson, his son, and a Mr. Hooper, all carrying tri-coloured cockades in their hats, ascended this rostrum, and were hailed with loud cheers. The doctor and his son then addressed the meeting in most inflammatory speeches; and the latter having wound himself up to a pitch of the most ungovernable fury, called upon the people to follow him, and jumping from his elevated position, he rushed, pistol in hand, at the head of the mob, towards Clerkenwell. The people were under the impression that he was going to lead them to the Mansion-house; but a cry of “Arms” being set up in Smithfield, they rushed down Snow Hill to the shop of Mr. Beckwith, a gun-maker. Young Watson, with five of his followers, immediately entered the shop, the former exclaiming, “Arms, arms, I want arms!” and a Mr. Platt, who was at the door, attempting to arrest his progress, he deliberately shot at him, and wounded him, and then endeavoured to knock him down with the but-end of his weapon. A struggle took place, in which the pistol fell to the ground, and Watson being pushed into the counting-house, and charged by Mr. Platt with having shot him, he cried out, apparently in much alarm, “I am a misled young man—I have been at Spafields—send for a surgeon,—I am a surgeon myself,” and immediately set about dressing the wound in a manner which exhibited his ability to afford the aid which he proffered. A surgeon was, however, procured, and during a quarter of an hour, for which he remained in the counting-house, he repeatedly cried out that he was a misled young man. The mob at first had been under the impression that their leader was killed, and on the report of the pistol, many of them fled, but having caught sight of him in the shop they demanded that he should be restored to liberty. Measures were now taken to secure his person, but the mob being infuriated at his long detention, they burst into the house, and having compelled its inmates to fly for safety, and set their leader at liberty, they proceeded to ransack the premises for arms. Having procured all that the establishment contained, they marched under the guidance of their leader to the Tower, and then while young Watson endeavoured to win the soldiers from their allegiance, by assuring them of the good feeling which prevailed towards them on the part of the people, and that they should receive 100 guineas per man if they would join them, the mob continued to scour the neighbourhood in search of arms. While, however, the great body of the rioters had thus followed in the steps of their leader, others pursued a different direction, and taking St. Giles, St. Clement’s, and the Strand, in their march, despoiled every shop which they approached of such articles as they deemed might be useful to them. The irruption was so sudden, that the means of opposing the proceedings of the rioters could not speedily be obtained. The lord mayor, Sir Matthew Wood, showed great determination; and notwithstanding the most violent proceedings on the part of these fellows, he and Sir James Shaw, the chamberlain, succeeded in securing three of the insurgents, who had entered the Royal Exchange and who were armed with guns.

The military at length appeared, and many of the rioters were secured, while the others, having thrown away their arms, quickly disappeared. Young Watson, however, was nowhere to be found; and it appears that immediately after he quitted the Tower, being alarmed at his position, he hastily returned to his lodgings, and possessing himself of some papers and other articles he went to a public-house in Fetter-lane, where he found his father and Thistlewood. The trio considered themselves as being likely to be taken into custody, and they in consequence quitted London for Northampton immediately. On their arriving at Highgate, however, they were seized on suspicion of being footpads, but a scuffle taking place, the elder Watson alone remained in the hands of their assailants, while his companions effected their escape. Young Watson had the good fortune to reach London again in safety, and his friends having provided him with the means, he sailed directly for America.

Several of the rioters were brought to trial, but John Cashman, a sailor, alone was capitally convicted and punished. There can be no doubt as to the justice of the sentence and punishment inflicted on this man; but it is also equally clear that while he was indubitably guilty of a most gross offence, others were even more culpable, inasmuch as they were actuated by deliberate motives of mischief, while he was goaded on by hunger and misery; and besides, as many believed, was occasionally in some degree affected by symptoms of insanity. It appears that Cashman was one of the most active of the rioters who attacked and demolished Mr. Beckwith’s shop in Skinner-street. Several persons deposed that he frequently brought out bundles of fire-arms and distributed them among the mob in the street, and he was actually apprehended with one of Mr. Beckwith’s guns in his hand, at the Royal Exchange, being one of those seized by the lord-mayor.

For this offence Cashman, with four others, was brought to trial at the Old Bailey, January 20th 1817. The indictment did not charge them with any species of treason, being confined to capital felony only, for stealing the fire-arms, &c., stated to be considerably above the value of two hundred and fifty pounds. The names of the four others were,—John Hooper, R. Gamble, William Gunnell, and John Carpenter. Two of these were apprehended at the same time as Cashman, and under similar circumstances, and the evidence against them all went to implicate them in the crime of felony; but the jury, to the apparent astonishment of the court, acquitted all but Cashman, who was found guilty and sentenced to death.

When asked what he had to say why sentence of death should not be passed on him, he addressed the court as follows:—

“My lord—I hope you will excuse a poor friendless sailor for occupying your time. Had I died fighting the battles of my country, I should have gloried in it; but I confess that it grieves me to think of suffering like a robber, when I call God to witness that I have passed days together without a bit of bread rather than violate the laws. I have served my king for many years, and often fought for my country; I have received nine wounds in the service, and have never before been charged with any offence. I have been at sea all my life, and my father was killed on board the Diana frigate. I came to London, my lord, to endeavour to recover my pay and prize-money, but being unsuccessful I was reduced to the greatest distress; and being poor and penniless, I have not been able to bring witnesses to prove my innocence, or to acquaint my brave officers, or I am sure they would all have come forward on my behalf. The gentlemen who have sworn against me must have mistaken me for some other person, there being many sailors in the mob; but I freely forgive them, and I hope God will also forgive them, for I solemnly declare that I committed no act of violence.”

Wednesday morning, March the 12th 1817, was the time appointed for the execution of this unfortunate man, and to make the dreadful ceremony as awfully impressive as possible, it was ordered that he should suffer in front of Mr. Beckwith’s shop, where the crime for which his life was forfeited had been committed.

After conviction, the unhappy man stated that on the day of the riots he had been to the Admiralty to endeavour to procure the payment of 200l., to which he was entitled for prize-money, and that on his way home he was persuaded by a brother sailor to go to Spafields. On their way they drank a great deal of liquor, and having had but little food during the two preceding days, it had a great effect upon him. He expressed a desire that his prize-money should be given to his brother and mother.

On the morning of the execution great precautions were taken to prevent any disturbance, and troops and constables were placed throughout London to quell any appearance of riot. At eight o’clock Cashman was brought from his cell, and he appeared perfectly composed, but exhibited a great deal of levity. As he passed through the Press Yard, he exclaimed with an oath, that he wished a forty-four pounder would come and cut him in two, rather than he should go into Jack Ketch’s hands.

On his leaving the prison, he bid every one good-bye whom he met, and exhibited great want of feeling. When he arrived at the scaffold the mob expressed great indignation by groans, and hisses, in which he joined; and the executioner having at length completed his preparations, the drop fell in the midst of his abusive exclamations.

JAMES WATSON THE ELDER, JAMES WATSON THE YOUNGER, ARTHUR THISTLEWOOD,
THOMAS PRESTON, AND JOHN HOOPER.
INDICTED FOR HIGH TREASON.

AFTER the military had dispersed the rioters on the 2nd of December 1816, Dr. Watson, his son, and Thistlewood, quitted London in haste, and were pursuing their journey into the country when the patrole stopped them at Highgate on suspicion of their being highwaymen; what helped to confirm this opinion was, the circumstance of a pistol protruding itself from Dr. Watson’s breast, in consequence of which he made him prisoner, but with considerable difficulty; and in the squabble which ensued, the younger Watson and Thistlewood made their escape. Some people coming out of a public-house at this instant, the doctor was given in charge to them, while the patrole went in pursuit of the fugitives. During his absence the doctor made an unsuccessful effort to regain his freedom, and in the struggle stabbed one of his detainers with a cane-sword.

For this offence or accident, Dr. Watson was indicted at the Old Bailey on Tuesday, January the 21st 1817, charged under the cutting and maiming act; but the counsel for the prosecution having stated the case, the judge who presided suggested the necessity of stopping it, as the indictment could not be supported.

The doctor was acquitted, but not liberated, for a charge of great magnitude was suspended over his head, which, at length, descended in the form of an accusation for high-treason.

The government had received information of a formidable and dangerous conspiracy, in which Dr. Watson and others were stated to be deeply implicated, and the parties were in consequence apprehended, and with the doctor were committed to the Tower.

A bill being found by the grand jury, Watson, Thistlewood, Preston, and Hooper, were brought up from the Tower to the court of King’s Bench, on the 17th May 1817. They severally pleaded not guilty, and were then taken back to the Tower, from which they were again brought up on the 9th June.

Dr. Watson was first arraigned, and John Castles was the witness called to prove the most material facts against him. He said that he knew the prisoner, and had not had any promise of pardon for giving evidence. He became acquainted with the prisoner about a month before the Spafields meeting, and saw him at the Cock in Grafton-street, where he went to meet a society called the Spenceans. On the following night he met Watson and Preston by appointment at the Mulberry Arms, Moorfields, at a society of the same description; and he there saw present young Watson, Hooper, Thistlewood, the two Evanses, father and son, and one John Harrison. After the meeting broke up, he walked away with the elder Watson, who observed, that it was a very easy matter to upset government, provided a few good fellows would act together. He then said, that he had drawn out a plan that would debar the cavalry from acting, by interrupting the horses, and that he had got several people who had solicited at different houses, and that they had formed a committee which was sitting, to devise the best modes and plans. He inquired where the witness lived, and promised to call the next morning, and show him the plan.

In pursuance of this appointment he called at the lodging of Castles on the following Sunday morning, and produced several papers, one of which was a plan of the Tower, and another a plan of the machine, which he had described on the Thursday before, for obstructing the cavalry. It was to run upon four wheels, with sharp knives, which were to be on each side, and spikes in the middle. The knives were to be something like scythes, and placed horizontally. There were also several other drawings of the Tower-bridge, and different places and entrances about the Tower. “He then,” continued Castles, “asked me how many men I could bring; and how many I knew. I told him I knew a great many, but I did not know whether they would act when put to the test; he begged I would exert myself as much as I could. I told him that I was a smith, and that I had nothing but my little business to live on; but he said never mind that, they would find something better for me than that; they had plenty of money for everything. We then made another appointment, and I met him at one Newton’s. Similar conversation took place there, and he said they had got a committee consisting of five; namely Harrison, Preston, Thistlewood, and his son, and himself; and that I should be made one of the generals, and head a party of pikemen and other men, and that I should hear further in a few days, and might consider myself as one of the committee from that time; that I should make the sixth, and they would not have any more.

“Shortly afterwards I met the elder Watson, and we went to King Street barracks, and across the Park to a small magazine in Hyde Park, where the powder is kept, to examine the whole of the avenues, and determine which was the best place for setting fire to the barracks. There was also one Skinner with us, but he left us in the Park, and Watson said he thought that Skinner had been a cleverer man than he was; that he intended to have made an officer of him, but he found him not at all calculated, as he had not any cultivated idea whatever.

“About this time I was introduced to Thistlewood by one John Harrison. Thistlewood asked me how much money it would take to make a few hundred pikes, and how long it would take me. I told him it would entirely depend on their size, and the steel or iron they should be made of. He said they should be about nine or ten inches long, and I told him that they would come to about fourpence or fourpence-halfpenny a pound. He wished me to make one for a pattern, and I told him I would; but that I had no place to make them in, and Harrison replied that he knew a person who would lend me the use of his forge. Hooper and Harrison went with me to a little shop in a cellar, kept by a man of the name of Bentley, in Hart-street. I asked him to allow me to make use of his forge to make a pike, to put round a rabbit-warren, or fish-pond. He told me that if I would look out a piece of iron, he would make it himself, and, when done, it was given to me, and I took it away. I afterwards carried it to one Randall’s, where I met the two Watsons, and Thistlewood, Harrison, and Hooper; and Watson said that it was a famous instrument. Watson then wrote down the name of the house where the committee sat, No. 9, Greystoke-place, on a paper for me. On the night before, I had been to Paddington with Thistlewood among the bargemen to seek to make converts, and we found a great number of them out of employ, and treated them with some beer. We sounded them, and they said that they wanted a good row, for that they would rather be killed than be as they were. We told them that we wanted them for a job, and asked how many they could collect together, and they said that they could get five or six hundred any morning, as there were so many out of employment. We afterwards went to two public-houses in Long Acre and in Vinegar Yard, which are used by the soldiers who attend the theatres, and we treated them with beer. We asked them how they were treated by their officers, and what was their pay, and one of them, a Yorkshireman, spoke violently against the government. The conversation was about their pay, and as to their being discharged without pensions. We also went to the Fox-under-the-Hill, in the Adelphi, where we found a great number of coalheavers, and having entered into conversation with some of them, they said that they could get fifty or sixty of their fellows, who were out of employment, to join us any day. I subsequently went about alone with the same object, and if I found any man more violent than the rest, I took down his name and communicated it to Thistlewood. A day or two afterwards the committee met in Greystoke-place, to deliberate upon the best plan to set fire to the barracks, and to get all the men we could together. A pike was produced, and Thistlewood directed that Bentley should make 250 of them immediately. Dr. Watson and I reported that we had examined the barracks at Portman-street, and King-street, and had ascertained the number of their avenues; one object being to see how many entrances there were in order to guide us in ascertaining how much combustibles would be necessary to set the whole on fire, so that the soldiers should not escape. A general meeting was appointed at Greystoke-place, to arrange the whole of the business, and how it was to be conducted in each way, and we met on Sunday, previous to which I paid part of the money to Bentley for the 250 pikes, and ordered them to be made off-hand as soon as possible. When we met, Thistlewood produced a map of London. It was marked out which were the best roads to take; and we arranged the number of men who were to be collected together at the different barracks and places to be attacked. The whole of the committee were to act as generals; to have their several stations; and were to attack the separate barracks at one given time and moment. Watson proposed Thistlewood as the head general. Thistlewood and young Watson were to take the guns and two field-pieces that were in the artillery-ground in Gray’s Inn-lane; Preston was to attack the Tower; Harrison the artillery-barracks near the Regent’s Park; and I was to set fire to the King-street barracks, and either to take the men prisoners, or kill those that might attempt to escape; the elder Watson was to set fire to the Portland-street barracks. We were to attack the whole of those places at a given hour, and set them on fire at one in the morning; we were to take any person we met, and make them join us—such as gentlemen’s servants; and coachmen were to be taken from their carriages, and those who could ride were to have the horses, which were to form a cavalry, and the coaches and carriages were to be used to barricade the entrances. After I had set fire to the King-street barracks, and after we had seen that all were in flames, and that none had made their escape, I was to meet the elder Watson at the top of Oxford-street. Harrison was to join us with the artillery, which he was to bring from the barracks by the Regent’s Park, and as soon as that was done, there was to be a volley fired, to let the remainder know we had got possession of the artillery. Piccadilly gate was to be fastened and chained, and a party stationed there to fire upon the horse if they attempted to come from the barracks, and then others were to proceed towards Charing Cross and Westminster Bridge, and barricade there all the avenues upon that side, to prevent them coming round by Chelsea and that way, and then young Watson and Thistlewood, after getting possession of the guns, were to break open all the oil-shops and gunsmiths’-shops, in which they could find either combustibles or arms. They were then to blockade Chancery-lane, and Gray’s Inn-lane to St. Giles’s, where Thistlewood was to make his grand stand. One gun was to be pointed up Tottenham Court-road, and the other up Oxford-street.

“Preston, if he had not succeeded in taking the Tower, was to barricade London Bridge, to prevent the artillery coming from Woolwich. He was then to barricade Whitechapel, to prevent any troops coming from the country that way; and then when he had a body sufficient, the main body was to have met at the Bank.

“After this arrangement had been made, Watson calculated how much combustibles it would take for every avenue, such as sulphur and spirits of wine, and how much they would cost. He said they would come to one hundred pounds. Thistlewood said, ‘Let us not spare a hundred pounds; let us roast them well.’ Watson replied, that it would burn so rapidly, and the stench would be so strong, that it would stifle them in a few minutes. Young Watson and I were appointed to look after a house between the King-street and the Portman-street barracks to lodge the arms and combustibles in. We were to take it as an oil and colour shop, so that no suspicion should be excited as to our receiving the combustibles. The attack upon the barracks was to have been made on the Saturday night or the Sunday morning, between the 9th and 10th of the month, as it was supposed that at that time there would be a great number of persons about drunk, and the greater confusion would be produced. It was then arranged that we should have a committee of Common Safety, to be called together, if we got the better of the soldiers. If the soldiers joined us, we were to be called together, and to form a new parliament; the greatest part of the names of the members were mentioned by Watson and Thistlewood. These were, Sir Francis Burdett, the Lord Mayor, Lord Cochrane, Mr. Hunt, Major Cartwright, Gale Jones, Roger O’Connor, Fawkes of Bainbridge, a person named Brookes, Thompson, of Holborn Hill, the two Evanses, Watson the elder, and Thistlewood. A proclamation was to be issued immediately we had got the better, announcing that the new government would be formed immediately, and offering a bounty of 100l. to the soldiers if they would join us, or double pay for life, at their option. Things being thus far settled, and several meetings having been held at public-houses in Spitalfields, and other places, it was at length finally determined to call a public meeting to see how many people could be collected together. The place talked of was Spafields, and young Watson and some others left the committee sitting, to go and inspect the ground. They returned saying that it was a famous place, being so near the Tower and the Bank that they could get into the town and take them by surprise. A placard was to be posted through the town and hand-bills were to be distributed, and the bill having been drawn up, it was read and agreed to, and it was determined that it should be published in the “Statesman” newspaper immediately, as the meeting was to be called on the 15th of November. Thistlewood then produced a 10l. note to pay for the printing of the bill, and to pay for the remainder of the pikes, and I undertook to get a waggon to speak from. We were to have a flag of three colours, green, red, and white, with the motto, “Nature, truth, and justice,” and I undertook to carry it. I also went to Paddington to get some navigators to carry about some placards, and on the following morning I met young Watson at a coffee-shop in Kingsgate-street, Holborn, to receive the money to fetch away the pikes, and to buy two mail-bags to put them in. When we went to the printer, he said that he was afraid of publishing them, for that he feared he might get into trouble, and that he would destroy 200 of them which he had finished. His wife and several of us, and a gentleman who was with him, and another who came in afterwards, all wanted to persuade him to let us have them, and promised that we should cut his name off so that he should not get into any harm. He said “No,” he would have nothing to do with them, and that he should destroy them. It was then resolved that Watson the elder should go to one Seale, a printer in Tottenham Court-road, to see if he would print the bills, and he returned, and reported that there would be two hundred and fifty copies ready by eight o’clock on Wednesday morning. Letters were then written to Sir Francis Burdett and Mr. Hunt, to invite them to attend the meeting.

“By this time we found it necessary to give up our plan of burning the barracks in consequence of our having met with more difficulty than was anticipated in getting possession of the house intended for the depository of the combustibles, but having obtained a promise from Mr. Hunt that he would preside at the ensuing meeting, it was settled that we (the committee) should be on the spot previous to his arrival, and that the two Watsons and Preston should address the mob, and if we saw the spirit of the people was ready to act, we were to jump down, and head them into the town. There were six cockades, and some flags prepared, and those cockades were to be placed in our hats or bosoms, and if the mob called out for weapons, we were to tell them that we should soon find them weapons: for, at that time, there was scarcely a gunsmith’s shop in London which had not been inspected, to see what number of guns it contained. We were to proceed to the Bank, and take it by surprise, and to place men upon the roof to destroy the soldiers if they should attempt to retake it: they were not only to get to the top of the Bank, but also upon the tops of the surrounding houses, and to get glass bottles, and everything that would kill or hurt; the whole of the Bank books were to be brought out, and burnt, in order to do away with the national debt.

“On the morning of Friday, the 15th of November, which was the day of the first Spafields’ meeting, I went to Thistlewood’s lodgings, in Southampton Buildings, and received the colours and six cockades from Thistlewood, in the presence of Mrs. Thistlewood and her son, and I went off to the meeting, carrying the colours in my bosom, and the staff to fix them on in my hand. When the business of the meeting had commenced, and Hunt had got on the top of a coach to address the mob, Thistlewood desired me to hoist the colours; I took them out of my bosom, and tied them on to the staff, as I stood upon the box of the carriage. A motion was afterwards made for us to remove to the house, and I then handed them to some person in the one pair of stairs room. Several speeches having been addressed to the populace, the meeting was adjourned to the Monday fortnight; and we got into a hackney-coach to return. I showed the colours out of the window, and the horses were taken out by the populace, and we were drawn along, but had not proceeded many yards, when by some means or other we were run against a wall, and we all got out.

“Preparations were now made for the second meeting, fixed for the 2nd of December, and young Watson and I were sent out to collect subscriptions for defraying the expenses, and also for the purpose of inspecting gunsmiths’ shops, and to see where the arms and ammunition were situated about the Tower, and amongst the various wharfs and gun wharfs, and the establishments of those gentlemen who served the ships, such as ship chandlers, and ship brokers, to ascertain where balls, canister, and grapeshot might be found, and what quantity there was. We also examined the oil-shops where there were any combustibles, such as oil, turpentine, and such things, and regularly reported to the committee every night what was done.

“Among other things, it was proposed at one of the meetings of the committee, that we should get a couple of hundred young women together, and dress them in white, who were to walk first, in order to take off the attention of the soldiers. We were all actively employed in distributing bills announcing the meeting for the 2nd December, and in going from one public-house to another to secure the co-operation of the soldiers and labourers; and I hired a waggon to be taken to Spafields to be used as a stage for the speakers: young Watson and I were also employed in purchasing fire-arms for our own party. Flags and cockades were then prepared and delivered into my custody. On the morning of the day of meeting, we assembled at the Black Dog in Drury-lane, and it was agreed that the colours should be affixed to the staff, and that in the event of any of the civil authorities interfering they were to be shot, or run through. Some bullets and slugs were put into an old stocking, and tied in an old dirty white handkerchief, in order to be carried to the waggon. I afterwards found Keens preparing the banner, bearing the inscription “The brave Soldiers are our Friends, treat them kindly,” and I then went to the place whither I was ordered, namely London Bridge, to meet the smiths, but I found everything quite quiet, and saw no one I knew. I next proceeded to Tower Hill, and I found the gates shut, and an extra sentry on duty, and on inquiring I found that the gates were closed on account of the meeting. I afterwards went to the Bank, which was also closed, and then to Little Britain, and there I met a great mob headed by Dr. Watson, with his dirk-stick drawn, and Thistlewood. I inquired where young Watson was, and his father answered ‘To the Tower, first to the Tower! or we shall be too late.’ They passed on, and I lost sight of them, and afterwards on my seeing Keens, he told me what had occurred at Spafields, that he had been in the waggon, that he was afraid that he had left the balls and bullets behind him.

"We afterwards overtook Mr. Hunt going towards Spafields; he was in a landau; and I stopped him and asked him why he was so late; he inquired what was the matter; I answered, that Dr. Watson had gone to attack the Tower. Keens and I then went towards the Tower, and stepped into a gunsmith’s shop, and stopped some time. After that, I saw young Watson close by the Bank, at the back of the Exchange; he had in his hand a drawn sword, and was encouraging the mob to follow him. A great many were firing in the air: there were about two hundred men and boys.

“I then left young Watson, and went to Tower Hill, where I saw old Watson and Thistlewood; they went up close to the Tower rails, and seemed to be addressing themselves to the soldiers across the walls of the Tower, but I was not near enough to hear what was said. They turned up the Minories to go to Spafields, to get a greater force, as the soldiers did not seem to take any notice of them; but when near the top, thirty or forty soldiers met them, and the mob threw down their arms and ran away. I walked forward with the soldiers as if I had nothing to do with it, till the soldiers had passed me, and then turned back again, and went down towards Tower Hill. At the corner of Mark-lane, I went into a little public-house, and stopped until nearly dark, when I went to No. 1, Dean-street, where I arrived about six or half-past six o’clock. I found there the two Watsons, Preston, and Thistlewood. The elder Watson and Thistlewood began to pack up their linen, as if going away. I inquired where they were going to, and Thistlewood said, they were going a little way in the country, and we should hear from him in the course of a day or two. I inquired what had become of Hooper, and he said, Hooper was taken with the colours, and some of us must expect to be taken. I inquired if young Watson had shot anybody, and he said he did not know, but that he was perfectly well satisfied that the people were not ripe enough to act. We parted a little after; he and the two Watsons went away together about seven o’clock, but I stopped at the public-house until near dark.”

On his cross-examination it appeared that this witness was a government spy, and that his morals admirably fitted him for such an employment. There were few crimes, short of murder, with which he was not made to charge himself.

On the close of the case for the prosecution Mr. Wetherell proceeded to comment on the evidence which had been given, in a strain of argumentative eloquence which evinced at once the deep lawyer and brilliant advocate.

On the 6th day of the trial Mr. Hunt and several other witnesses were called whose testimony went to impeach the credit of Castles and others for the prosecution, after which counsel was heard for the prisoner, and the attorney-general spoke in reply.

Watson having declined to make any defence after the ability displayed by his counsel, Lord Ellenborough proceeded to charge the jury, who returned a verdict of acquittal, founded apparently upon the incredibility of the testimony of the witness Castles.

The subsequent proceedings against Thistlewood and his companions, which terminated more unfavourably for the safety of the former, will be given hereafter.

PATRICK DEVANN.
EXECUTED FOR THE MURDER OF THE LYNCH FAMILY.

IN the county of Louth in Ireland, and at the distance of about nine miles from the town of Dundalk, stood some years ago a house called Wild-Goose Lodge—a name conferred upon it from its whimsically chosen situation on a small peninsula jutting into a marsh meadow, which was occasionally transformed into a lake by the winter floods of the Louth. In summer, the residence was reached from the meadow without difficulty; but during winter, the case was very different, it being then approachable only by a narrow neck of land hemmed in by the surrounding waters. At a period to which we refer, Wild-Goose Lodge was tenanted by an industrious man, name Lynch, and his family. Lynch had been successful in improving a few fields attached to his dwelling, and somewhat elevated above the yearly inundations; he was in the habit also of raising a considerable quantity of flax, which he manufactured into cloth, and carried to the adjoining markets of Dundalk or Newry, where it was readily sold to advantage. By these means he rose in respectability among his neighbours, and comfort and contentment smiled around his dwelling. But an evil hour came, and he himself was unhappily in some measure instrumental in bringing it on.

An illegal association, bound by secret oaths, sprung up among the Roman Catholics living around Wild-Goose Lodge. Lynch, though a moderate man, believed that such a combination, on the part of those who held the same opinions with himself, was necessary to counteract similar demonstrations on the opposite or Protestant side, and he therefore joined the association. A very short time sufficed to show him the imprudence of his conduct. Wild-Goose Lodge was a central point in a remote and secluded district; and the members of the association, not without the countenance at first of the occupier, began to make the house their usual point of assemblage. Their numbers, however, speedily increased so much as to submit the family to great inconvenience; and their views, besides, so far exceeded Lynch’s own in violence, as to place him under just apprehensions lest he should be held as the leading promoter of all that might be said or done by those who made his dwelling their nightly haunt. Forced to act, in this dilemma, for the sake of himself and his family, he came to the resolution of desiring his neighbours to assemble no more under his roof. This interdict excited a strong feeling of ill-will against him among the leaders of the combination, and they afterwards habitually gave him every annoyance they could think of, with the view of ejecting him from the place.

Once liberated, in some degree, from the consequences of his imprudence, Lynch persisted in the line of conduct he had entered upon. The result was, that one night a party of men, disguised, entered his house, stripped him in presence of his family, and after flogging him, destroyed his furniture, insulted his wife, and cut the web in the loom from the one selvage thread to the other down to the beam on which it rested. These wanton injuries to an honest, industrious, and (leaving aside his junction of an illegal union) well-conducted man, were galling and hard to bear. Lynch was the husband of an amiable, affectionate wife, and the father of a young family, depending on him for subsistence. If he did bear it in silence, further injuries might follow, and himself, with the wife of his bosom and his helpless babes, be deprived of their all, and thrown upon the world to beg for subsistence. Again, to denounce those with whom he had joined in an oath, was a proceeding not only full of danger, but to which Lynch could with difficulty bring his mind. Anxious and irresolute, he appealed to the minister of his religion for protection, but it was of no avail. His midnight persecutors continued to harass him; and at last, seeing the ruin of his family inevitable, unless he bestirred himself, and being able to point out and identify those who had injured him, Lynch determined to brave the anger of his assailants, and appeal to the laws of his country. Having formed this resolution, he held to it, in spite of the most awful and ominous endeavours to intimidate him; and two of the party, who had attacked his house, were prosecuted, convicted, and suffered death.

Terrible was the wrath of the secret associates, among whom it chanced there were some men of such characters as are happily rarely to be met with in the world. One of the oaths taken by this body was, that no one member should bring another before the bar of justice. Certainly this oath, bad as it was in every sense, never contemplated that one member was not to resent the gross injuries done to him by another. But, as might have been anticipated from the previous exhibition of feeling, Lynch was held, in the strongest sense of the word, to have violated the oaths he had taken.

Not far from Wild-Goose Lodge stood a chapel, where the association met after the ejection of its members from the house of Lynch. The leading man of the body, Patrick or Paddy Devann, was clerk to the priest of the district, and had the charge of the chapel. Within this building, consecrated for widely different purposes, the midnight band assembled on a night destined by the leaders of the party for the destruction of the unfortunate Lynch. Devann, the principal agent in the scene, in order to make a deeper impression on the minds of the crowds present in the chapel, assembled them around the altar, and after administering an oath of secrecy to them, descanted on the falling off of Lynch, and the necessity of suppressing all defections among themselves. He then darkly hinted the object of the meeting to be Lynch’s punishment, and hoped that it would serve as a warning to them all to be firm to the obligations on which they had entered, and true to the interest of the body. Having finished his address, Devann then lifted from before the altar a potsherd containing a piece of burning turf, and, moving from the chapel, desired them to follow him.

Some scores of the band were on horseback, having come from distant places at the imperative summons sent to them. Many more were on foot; and all these moved stealthily onwards, Devann preceding them, towards the devoted victim. To the credit of human nature it must be stated, that few of this numerous party had the slightest idea of what was intended by the originators of the movement. As the men went along, they were inquiring among themselves in whispers, what was to be done; even those who had heard Devann’s threats did not believe that they would be enforced, or that any further injury would be done than had been inflicted before.

Silence reigned along the party’s route, as they approached the abode of the unoffending, unsuspecting, and sleeping family.

While the majority of the persons present still remained ignorant of what was to be accomplished, but obeyed their leaders passively, an extensive circle of men was formed by Devann’s directions around the devoted dwelling. Then those few who were aware of all the enormity of the project, crept forward along the ground towards the house, the pike in one hand and the lighted turf in the other. Well did the wretches know that there was no chance of escape for those within, for the house was filled with the flax by which poor Lynch made his bread; and as soon as it was caught by the flame, extinction was a thing next to impossible. The turfs were applied, and in a few minutes the house was on fire—with a family of thirteen souls beneath its blazing roof! The flames rose towards the sky, and illuminated the adjacent scene. Speedily were heard from within the supplicating cries of the miserable victims, “Mercy! for God’s sake, mercy!” But the cry was vain. So far from evincing any feelings of compunction while the work of destruction was going on, the wretches who had caused it stood ready with their pikes to thrust back those who might attempt to escape. One attempt was made to move their pity; and had the men hearts, they must have been moved. The wife of Lynch, while her own body was already enveloped in flames, had endeavoured to preserve the infant at her breast, and she appeared at the windows, content to die herself, but holding out her child for mercy and protection. Frantically she threw it from her. And how was it received? On the points of pikes, and instantly tossed back into the burning ruins, into which at the same time sunk its hapless mother. One other only of those within, and this was a man, one of Lynch’s assistants, appeared on the walls, beseeching for mercy; but he likewise received none. The veins of his face were visible, swollen like cords, and horror was painted on his whole aspect. He, and all who were within, perished. Lynch himself, either cut off early, or resigned to his fate, never appeared, either to denounce the act of his persecutors, or to supplicate their pity.

It is impossible to say with what feelings the main party encircling the house at a little distance beheld the consummation of the purposes of the night. The majority of them certainly felt horror, while others, in whose mind a blind hatred of Lynch was predominant, felt mingled sensations of horror and exultation; and the conjoined feelings expended themselves in cries, that were re-echoed by the groans of the victims. The terrified peasantry of the neighbourhood who had not joined the associated throng, started from their pillows, and gazed towards the ascending flames of Wild-Goose Lodge with fear and shrinking; for they too well

knew the feelings of the district to regard it as a common accident, which it would have been their duty and their pleasure to have aided in suppressing and relieving. Until all sounds of life, therefore, were extinct within the burning house, the authors of the deed looked on undisturbed. When all was over, they skulked away, each to his own home.

The winds of autumn and the storms of winter had swept the ashes of Wild-Goose Lodge over the fields which Lynch had cultivated, ere any one of the actors in this atrocious crime was brought to justice. But the presence of some of the less guilty of them having been discovered, and brought home beyond a doubt, these, in order to save themselves, made a revelation of all they knew and had seen. Anticipating this, the ringleaders fled to various parts of the country; but the arm of the offended law overtook them. Devann was found in the situation of a labourer in the dockyards of Dublin, and others were taken at different times and places. Eleven were executed; and to mark the atrocity of their crime, their bodies were hung in chains at Louth and other spots in the neighbourhood of Wild-Goose Lodge. Devann was executed within the roofless walls of the house in which his victims were immolated, and his body was afterwards suspended beside those of his associates.

The date of his trial was the 19th of July 1817, and he was executed immediately afterwards.

JEREMIAH BRANDRETH, WILLIAM TURNER, AND ISAAC LUDLAM.
EXECUTED FOR HIGH TREASON.

IN an introductory paragraph to our account of the Spafields’ riot we took occasion to mention the most prominent causes of public discontent; and though these had partially disappeared in 1817, still the impulse given to disaffection continued to operate for a considerable time, being protracted by the injudicious resort of Government to the system of spies and informers, who no doubt fanned that flame of disloyalty which had nearly caused a traitorous explosion in the county of Derby, more formidable and appalling than that for which Brandreth and his ill-fated companions suffered.

The agent for Government in the northern districts was a wretch named Oliver, and it is imagined by some that the miserable individuals whose names head this article were his victims.

The scene of this outbreak was Pentridge, Southwingfield, and Wingfield Park, in Derbyshire, a neighbourhood hitherto peaceable, and in which few would have looked for an insurrection of this kind.

Jeremiah Brandreth, better known by the name of the “Nottingham Captain,” was one of those original characters for which nature had done much, and education nothing. Of his parents or early habits we know nothing; for on these subjects he maintained a studied silence, and all that was ascertained in reference to his life previously to his execution was that he had been in the army, and that he had a wife and three children, for whose support he was occasionally compelled to apply to the parish-officers for relief. His age was about twenty-six, and he is described as having presented a most striking appearance, from the exceedingly bold and resolute expression of his face.

Turner and Ludlam were both men of good character up to the time of their becoming parties to the transactions which cost them their lives. The latter had a wife and twelve children, and, being a regular attendant at a Methodist meeting-house, in the absence of the preacher conducted the prayers of the people.

These unfortunate men acted under a complete illusion. Formal statements of the number of the disaffected were given them, as well as the quantity of arms and ammunition collected, &c., accompanied with flattering pictures of the liberty, happiness, and wealth which were to wait upon success.

On the 5th of June, Brandreth came from Nottingham to the neighbourhood of Pentridge, to take command of the rebel forces; and on the 9th, they proceeded on their march for Nottingham, where it was reported, several thousands anxiously waited their coming, that they might unite in forwarding a revolution. Their numbers were truly contemptible, not exceeding forty or fifty; yet, small as they were, they committed several excesses, and Brandreth shot one harmless man. It was during the night that they commenced operations; and next morning, on the approach of a score of cavalry, they precipitately fled, leaving their arms scattered behind them. Several were then apprehended, and many more on the two or three ensuing days, and Brandreth was among their number.

To try these rebels, a special commission was issued, which was opened at Derby on the 15th of October 1817. Brandreth was the first put on his trial; and as the evidence against him was conclusive, he was found guilty. Turner and Ludlam were also convicted, as well as a young man named Weightman, whose sentence was afterwards commuted to transportation. Justice being now satisfied, twelve men pleaded guilty, and the remainder were discharged. Those who pleaded guilty received sentence of death, but were afterwards respited.

The unfortunate Brandreth, on being removed to prison, after his conviction, although he exhibited a manly firmness, was nevertheless much affected. The other prisoners thronged around him in anxious suspense to hear his fate; he uttered the single and appalling word—Guilty; and, in a moment, a perfect change was visible in the countenances of those whose lot was undecided.

Brandreth throughout his confinement seemed to have entertained a confident expectation of acquittal; and this hope appears to have rested solely on the supposed impossibility of identifying him, as he was a total stranger in that part of the country where the outbreak had occurred, and had, from the time of his committal, allowed his beard to grow, which completely shaded his whole face. The singular cast of his features, however, aided by the peculiar and determined expression of his eye, rendered his identity unquestionable; and almost every one of the witnesses swore to the person of the “Nottingham Captain.” This wretched man, both before and after his conviction, evinced the utmost propriety of conduct. He appeared calm and happy, and exhibited great firmness in the contemplation of his unhappy fate.

His companions in misfortune, however, evinced much less fortitude for each appeared the very picture of despair. They attributed their melancholy fate to Brandreth and a fellow named Bacon, who, however, evaded the punishment due to his crime.

The execution of the convicts was fixed to take place on the 7th of November 1817, and at a quarter past twelve o’clock at mid-day they were carried to the scaffold on a hurdle.

The demeanour of Brandreth was calm in the extreme, and just before the drop fell he cried out to the people assembled, “God bless you all, and Lord Castlereagh.” He died without a struggle; and when he had hung the usual half-hour, his head was removed and exhibited at the four corners of the scaffold, the executioner exclaiming, “Behold the head of a traitor!” From the manner of this functionary the mob were apprehensive that the head was to be flung in the midst of them, and they rushed back in great precipitation. They were, however, soon undeceived, and upon the same course being pursued with regard to Turner and Ludlam, they had regained their confidence.

ABRAHAM THORNTON.
TRIED FOR MURDER.

THIS case is remarkable, not only for the lamentable atrocity of the offence imputed to the unfortunate prisoner, but from the fact also of the brother of the deceased person having lodged an appeal, upon which the prisoner demanded “wager of battle,” the consequence of which was the repeal of the old law, by which the wager was allowed in former ages, and which had already grown into disuse, although it still remained in existence.

Thornton was a well-made young man, the son of a respectable builder, and was by trade a bricklayer. He was indicted at the Warwick assizes in August 1817, for the murder of Mary Ashford, a lovely and interesting girl, whose character was perfectly unsullied up to the time at which she was most barbarously ravished and murdered by the prisoner.

From the evidence adduced, it appeared that the poor girl went to a dance at Tyburn, a few miles from Birmingham, on the evening of the 26th of May 1817, where she met the prisoner, who professed to admire her figure and general appearance, and who was heard to say, “I have been intimate, and I will have connexion with her, though it cost me my life.” He danced with her, and accompanied her from the room, at about three o’clock in the morning. At four o’clock she called at a friend’s at a place called Erdington, and the offence alleged against the prisoner was committed immediately afterwards. The circumstances proved in evidence, were that the footsteps of a man and woman were traced from the path through a harrowed field, through which her way lay home to Langley. The marks were at first regular, but afterwards exhibited proofs of the persons whose footfalls they represented, running and struggling; and at length they led to a spot where a distinct impression of a human figure and a large quantity of coagulated blood were discovered, and on this spot the marks of a man’s knees and toes were also distinguishable. From thence the man’s footfalls only were seen, and accompanying it blood marks were distinctly traced for a considerable space towards a pit; and it appeared plainly as if a man had walked along the footway carrying a body, from which the blood dropped. At the edge of the pit, the shoes, bonnet, and bundle of the deceased were found; but only one footstep could be seen there, and that was a man’s. It was deeply impressed, and seemed to be that of a man who thrust one foot forward to heave something into the pit; and the body of the deceased was discovered lying at the bottom. There were marks of laceration upon the body; and both her arms had the marks of hands, as if they had pressed them with violence to the ground.

By his own admission Thornton was with her at four o’clock, and the marks of the man’s shoes in the running corresponded exactly to his. By his own admission, also, he was intimate with her; and this admission was made not before the magistrate, nor till the evident proofs were discovered on his clothes: her clothes, too, afforded most powerful evidence. At four in the morning she called at a friend’s, Hannah Cox, and changed her dancing-dress for that in which she had gone from Birmingham.

The clothes she put on there, and which she had on at the time of her death, were all over blood and dirt.

The case, therefore, appeared to be, that Thornton had paid attention to her during the night; shown, perhaps, those attentions which she might naturally have been pleased with; and afterwards waited for her on her return from Erdington, and after forcibly violating her, threw her body into the pit.

The prisoner declined saying anything in his defence, stating that he would leave everything to his counsel, who called several witnesses to the fact of his having returned home at an hour which rendered it very improbable, if not impossible, that he could have committed the murder, and have traversed the distance from the fatal spot to the places in which he was seen, in the very short time that appeared to have elapsed: but it was acknowledged that there was considerable variation in the different village-clocks; and the case was involved in so much difficulty, from the nature of the defence, although the case for the prosecution appeared unanswerable, that the judge’s charge to the jury occupied no less than two hours. “It were better,” he said in conclusion, “that the murderer, with all the weight of his crime upon his head, should escape punishment, than that another person should suffer death without being guilty;” and this consideration weighed so powerfully with the jury, that, to the surprise of all who had taken an interest in this awful case, they returned a verdict of Not Guilty, which the prisoner received with a smile of silent approbation, and an unsuccessful attempt at concealment of the violent apprehensions as to his fate by which he had been inwardly agitated.

He was then arraigned pro forma, for the rape; but the counsel for the prosecution declined offering evidence on this indictment, and he was accordingly discharged.

Thus ended, for the present, the proceedings on this most brutal and ferocious violation and murder; but the public at large, and more particularly the inhabitants of the neighbourhood in which it had been committed, were far from considering Thornton innocent, and subscriptions to defray the expense of a new prosecution were entered into.

The circumstances of the case having been investigated by the secretary of state, he granted his warrant to the sheriff of Warwick to take the defendant into custody on an appeal of murder, to be prosecuted by William Ashford, the brother and heir-at-law of the deceased. He was in consequence lodged in Warwick jail, and from thence he was subsequently removed by a writ of habeas corpus to London, the proceedings on the appeal being had in the Court of King’s Bench, in Westminster Hall. On the 6th of November, the appellant, attended by four counsel, appeared in court, when the proceedings were adjourned to the 17th, by the desire of the prisoner’s counsel; and on that day the prisoner demanded trial by wager of battle. The revival of this obsolete law gave rise to much argument on both sides; and it was not until the 16th of April 1818, that the decision of the Court was given upon the question. The learned judges gave their opinions seriatim, and the substance of the judgment was, that the law must be administered as it stood, and that therefore the prisoner was entitled to claim trial by battle; but the Court added that the trial should be granted only “in case the appellant should show cause why the defendant should not depart without day.” On the 20th the arguments were resumed by the appellant’s counsel; but the defendant was ordered to “be discharged from the appeal, and to be allowed to go forth without bail.”

Though the rigid application of the letter of the law thus, a second time, saved this unfortunate man from punishment, nothing could remove the conviction of his guilt from the public mind. Shunned by all who knew him, his very name became an object of terror, and he soon afterwards attempted to proceed to America; but the sailors of the vessel in which he was about to embark refused to go to sea with a character on board who, according to their fancy, was likely to produce so much ill-luck to the voyage; and he was compelled to conceal himself until another opportunity was afforded him to make good his escape.

The “trial by battle,” which in this case was so remarkably claimed, may be thus described:—

When the privilege of trial by battle was claimed by the appellee, the judges had to consider whether, under the circumstances, he was entitled to the exercise of such privilege; and his claim thereto having been admitted, they fixed a day and place for the combat, which was conducted with the following solemnities:—

A piece of ground was set out, of sixty feet square, enclosed with lists, and on one side was a court erected for the judges of the Court of Common Pleas, who attended there in their scarlet robes; and also a bar for the learned serjeants at law. When the court was assembled, proclamation was made for the parties, who were accordingly introduced in the area by the proper officers, each armed with a baton, or staff of an ell long, tipped with horn, and bearing a four-cornered leather target for defence. The combatants were bare-headed and bare-footed, the appellee with his head shaved, the appellant as usual, but both dressed alike. The appellee pleaded Not Guilty, and threw down his glove, and declared he would defend the same by his body; the appellant took up the glove, and replied that he was ready to make good the appeal body for body. And thereupon the appellee, taking the Bible in his right hand, and in his left the right hand of his antagonist, swore to this effect:—

“Hear this, O man, whom I hold by the hand, who callest thyself [John], by the name of baptism, that I, who call myself [Thomas], by the name of baptism, did not feloniously murder thy father [William], by name, nor am anyway guilty of the said felony. So help me God, and the saints; and this I will defend against thee by my body, as this court shall award.”

To which the appellant replied, holding the Bible and his antagonist’s hand, in the same manner as the other:—

“Hear this, O man, whom I hold by the hand, who callest thyself [Thomas], by the name of baptism, that thou art perjured, because that thou feloniously didst murder my father [William], by name. So help me God, and the saints; and this I will prove against thee by my body, as this Court shall award.”

Next, an oath against sorcery and enchantment was taken by both the combatants in this or a similar form. “Hear this, ye justices, that I have this day neither ate, drank, nor have upon me either bone, stone, or grass; nor any enchantment, sorcery, or witchcraft, whereby the law of God may be abased, or the law of the devil exalted. So help me God and his saints.”

The battle was thus begun, and the combatants were bound to fight till the stars appeared in the evening.

If the appellee were so far vanquished that he could not or would not fight any longer, he was adjudged to be hanged immediately: and then, as well as if he were killed in battle, Providence was deemed to have determined in favour of the truth, and his blood was declared attainted. But if he killed the appellant, or could maintain the fight from sun-rising till the stars appeared in the evening, he was acquitted. So also, if the appellant became recreant, and pronounced the word craven, he lost his liberam legem, and became infamous; and the appellee recovered his damages and was for ever quit, not only of the appeal, but of all indictments likewise of the same offence. There were cases where the appellant might counterplead, and oust the appellee from his trial by battle: these were vehement presumption or sufficient proof that the appeal was true: or where the appellant was under fourteen, or above sixty years of age, or was a woman or a priest, or a peer, or, lastly, a citizen of London, because the peaceful habits of the citizens were supposed to unfit them for battle.

It is almost needless to add, that this remnant of barbarity has now ceased to exist, an act of parliament, the introduction of which was attributable to the above case, having removed it from the pages of the lawbooks by which our courts are governed.

CHARLES HUSSEY.
EXECUTED FOR MURDER.

THE murders of the Marrs and the Williamsons were not yet forgotten, when others of a nature equally atrocious and mysterious were committed upon the persons of Mr. Bird, a retired tallow-chandler, who lived at Greenwich, and who was eighty-three years of age, and his housekeeper Mary Simmons, aged forty-four, on the 8th February 1818.

Mr. Bird, it appears, had amassed a considerable fortune by his exertions in trade, and had retired to live on the competency which he had secured for himself at a house at Greenwich, where, his wife having died about two years before, a poor woman named Simmons lived with him in the capacity of housekeeper. The fact of the murder was discovered under circumstances of a curious nature. Mr. Bird and his housekeeper, it appears, had been in the habit of attending Greenwich church regularly, always making it a point to be in their pew before the commencement of the service. On Sunday morning the 9th February, it was remarked that they were not in the church as usual; and at the conclusion of the service, the alarm which had been by this time excited was increased by the discovery of the fact that the house in which they lived had not yet been opened. The beadle of the parish, in consequence, conceived that he was bound to make some inquiries; and having knocked at the door without receiving any answer, he forced an entrance at the back of the premises. On his entering the house, a most shocking spectacle presented itself to his eyes. The body of the housekeeper was found lying in the passage, presenting a most fearful appearance, the skull being frightfully fractured, apparently with a blunt instrument. In a parlour adjoining the passage was found the body of the unfortunate Mr. Bird, lying on the ground, with his arms stretched out, and his skull also fractured in the same manner as that of his housekeeper, and with the same weapon. On the other rooms of the house being examined, it became obvious that plunder was the object of the murderer; and it was found that the pockets of the deceased had been rifled of the keys of the various drawers and boxes, which were found above-stairs marked with blood. Some silver spoons, &c. had been stolen, for it was known that such articles were in the possession of the deceased, but it was unknown what other property had been carried off; although the only money found in the house was 3l., which were in a secret drawer, and which had apparently escaped the attention of the murderer. On more minute inquiry being made into the probabilities of the case, it was ascertained that Mr. Bird and his housekeeper were in the habit of retiring to rest at about ten o’clock on every night; but from both of them being dressed, it was obvious that the murders had been effected before that time. Mr. Bird, it appeared, had been reading, as a book was found open on the table, and a pair of spectacles was clenched in his hand as he lay. The murderer, it was supposed, must have obtained admission by the backdoor, as it was known that the front-door was always kept chained, and was found to be still in the same condition.

The horrid discovery created a very great degree of alarm; and Mr. Bicknell, a respectable solicitor of the place, having despatched messengers to Bow-street to communicate the dreadful intelligence, some officers were immediately sent down to the spot to make the necessary inquiries. An inquest was held upon the bodies in the course of the week, but no circumstances were elicited which could lead to the discovery of the perpetrators of the deed; and on the following Sunday the remains of the unfortunate deceased were interred in Greenwich churchyard, in the presence of an immense concourse of spectators.

During the three succeeding weeks several persons were apprehended on suspicion, but nothing material could be alleged against them; but at length a complete discovery took place, and the murderer was pointed out by his own sister. This woman was married to a man named Godwin, and resided with her husband at Peckham. About a week after the murders had been committed, her brother, Charles Hussey, came to her house, and said he was going to see his brother, who resided at Basingstoke. He went to a box of his under a bed and took something out; she supposed it was money, for he had sixty-seven pounds left him four days after the murders were committed, by a sister, who cut her throat, in Queen-street, Cheapside, where she had lived. Hussey told his sister he should return in a week, but he did not do so for nearly a fortnight. She then said to him, “Oh, Charles! I have been so uneasy during your absence! I have had such frightful dreams, and could not think what detained you.” He replied, “Why, what could cause you to dream?” and appeared greatly agitated. After he had gone away, Mrs. Godwin said to her husband, “I think there is something in Charles’s box there should not be;” his behaviour caused her to say so; and with one of her own keys she opened the box, when the first things that met her eye were a pair of watches, which she and her husband suspected to have belonged to the late Mr. Bird. Their suspicion was confirmed by Hussey not returning according to promise, and, with a detestation of so black a crime which did them infinite honour, they repaired to Greenwich and gave information of the circumstance.

Another box of Hussey’s was brought, soon after the murders, to a Mrs. Goddard, who resided at Deptford; and as this woman’s suspicions were excited by some inquiries made after Hussey, she opened the box, and found in it property she supposed to have belonged to the late Mr. Bird. Officers were sent for, and on searching the trunk, they found a silver wine-strainer, a soup-spoon, two shirts, three pair of sheets; a white jean jacket, stained with blood in several places, especially about the right-hand pocket; a pair of gaiters made of drab cloth, with blood upon the buttons of them; a piece of new shirting, which was very bloody, and a glazed hat. In the same trunk were found several articles of silver plate, which proved to have been Mr. Bird’s property. It was remarkable that this trunk was only corded, not locked, and that Hussey never called to inquire after it from the time it had been deposited with Mrs. Goddard.

From Deptford the officers proceeded to Mrs. Godwin’s house, at Peckham, where, in addition to the watches, they found in the box five one-pound Bank of England notes, and two two-pound notes, all marked with Mr. Bird’s initials. In the same box they found Hussey’s discharge from the East India Company’s Service, which contained a description of his person.

In consequence of these discoveries, no doubt remained but that Hussey had been the principal, if not the only, perpetrator of the foul murders. Diligent inquiry was accordingly made after him; but it was found that he had absconded. More than twenty of the most active metropolitan officers were despatched in every direction to look for him, and large rewards were offered for his apprehension; but it was not until after a considerable time had elapsed that he was taken into custody at Deddington, in Oxfordshire, by a publican named Poulton, who had read the advertisement, and on seeing him recognised him as resembling the person described as the murderer. It appears that Poulton had read the advertisement, and his attention was arrested by his seeing the prisoner walk past his house one evening at about nine o’clock, and suspecting that he was the murderer, he called a neighbour, and they followed him. Having walked after him for some distance, they became assured of the truth of their suspicions, and Poulton went up to him, and said he must go with him, as he had strong suspicion he was the man advertised. The prisoner after some hesitation, confessed his name was Charles Hussey; and on his being searched, a watch and a pocket-book, with a ring in it, part of the property stolen from the late Mr. Bird’s house, were found. The prisoner denied any knowledge of the murders or robbery, but admitted that the articles found belonged to him.

The magistrate told the prisoner it would be necessary for him to account for being possessed of the things which had been stolen; and the prisoner said, that between four and five o’clock on the Sunday afternoon after the murders, he saw a man get over a wall into Mr. Smith’s grounds, at Greenwich, and run. He followed him, and saw him put down a bundle against a large tree, and leave it there, and then run again. Curiosity induced him to go to the spot, and on his opening the bundle he saw two watches, and a silver soup-ladle. He, however, left the bundle and walked away, but on the following Saturday, happening to go past the same spot, he found the bundle in the same position, and then on examining its contents, he found them to consist of three watches, a silver soup-ladle, a wine-strainer, four sheets, six or eight shirts, six rings, some old coins, two two-pound bank-notes, and three one-pound notes. He took them away with him, and he subsequently absconded because he was ashamed of coming forward, having such things in his possession. He declined saying any thing in reference to the specific charges made against him, and he was committed to Maidstone jail to await his trial.

On the 31st of July 1818, Hussey was indicted at the Maidstone assizes for the wilful murder of Mr. Bird and his housekeeper. The dreadful deed was fully brought home by evidence the most satisfactory and conclusive. It was proved that the hammer with which the murders were committed had been taken from a cooper several days before, and that it was afterwards found in a pond, into which the assassin had thrown it. With this cooper Hussey had been intimate, and was almost daily at the house, where he kept his trunk until subsequent to the murders, when he had it removed to his cousin’s, Mrs. Goddard, at Deptford. It was also proved that Hussey belonged to a “Society of Odd Fellows,” and that he did not join them on the night of the murders until near ten o’clock. The proprietor of the house where the Odd Fellows met, being asked whether Hussey appeared any way agitated when he saw him, replied, “He might, but I did not observe him, for he is the last man in the world, from his general character and habits, whom I should suspect of either dishonesty or murder.”

It was further proved that the prisoner had been originally a sailor in the East India Company’s service, from which he was discharged, and that he then became a servant, and lived in that capacity with a Mr. Stevens at Greenwich, not far from the house of Mr. Bird. Previous, however, to the murders, he had been discharged, and he was, at that time, out of place. The remainder of the evidence only confirmed the facts we have already narrated, and the case for the prosecution having closed, Hussey was called on for his defence.

He declared his innocence, and gave a confused account of the manner in which he was employed on the night of the murder; but his criminality was too plain to be doubted, and he was found guilty.

He suffered August 3, 1818, on Pennenden Heath, near Maidstone, the usual place of execution for the county of Kent. He made no confession except that when asked by the Rev. Mr. Argles if he knew who did the deed, he replied with eagerness, “I do, I do.”

In person, the unfortunate prisoner was tall, his hands and feet remarkably large, and his countenance pallid, mild, and humane. His appearance was apparently that of a person above his rank in life.

SAMUEL DICK.
CONVICTED OF ABDUCTION AND RAPE.

THIS was a case of revolting indelicacy and deep-laid villany. We shall give it in the words of the counsel retained to prosecute the accused at the Carrickfergus assizes, March the 21st, 1818.

“The prisoner, Samuel Dick (said he) stands indicted for the forcible abduction and subsequent defilement of Elizabeth Crockatt, the prosecutrix. She is a young woman of respectable family in Derry; and upon the death of her father she became possessed of about two thousand six hundred pounds: this property, her youth, being scarcely seventeen, and her personal attractions, have been the causes of two different atrocious outrages, for the purpose of obtaining possession of them. In August last, upon the Sabbath day, while returning from the meeting, she was forcibly carried off, and taken to Ballymena, where she was rescued by her brother and her uncle. On their return home, her mother, alarmed for her safety, sent her for some time to reside within a few miles of Stewartstown, with a Mr. Matthew Fairservice. On the night of the 3rd of November, Mr. Fairservice’s family were invited to spend the evening at Mr. Henry’s, where the prosecutrix met Miss Jane Dick, sister to the prisoner, and who is related to the prosecutrix. The prosecutrix, with Mr. Robert Fairservice, his sister, and Miss Dick, then went from Mr. Henry’s upon the car to a ball at a Mr. Park’s, where she danced the greater part of the night. While at Mr. Park’s, Miss Dick invited prosecutrix to Stewartstown, which she declined. When they had got on the car, Robert Fairservice drove rapidly towards Stewartstown, without paying any attention to the remonstrances of the prosecutrix; when in Stewartstown they drove to the prisoner’s house, where she saw the prisoner: after breakfast Miss Dick asked Miss Fairservice and the prosecutrix to go to Dungannon with her, as she wished to make some purchases. She was prevailed upon, and did go into Dungannon; remained shopping there until the evening; returned to Stewartstown, dined in the prisoner’s house; and about nine or ten o’clock the prosecutrix was asked by Miss Dick to go out to the next door to assist her in purchasing some thread; and the distance being so trifling, she did not think even of putting on her bonnet. When out of the halldoor, she was forcibly seized by some person, and put into a chaise in which was the prisoner, who caught her by the arm; when in the carriage she found her cloak and bonnet had been previously placed there, which was sufficient proof of the pre-concerted plan. The prosecutrix, the prisoner, with Miss Dick, and the other person, were driven to Lurgan, a distance of twenty miles, before day-light in the morning, the prisoner Dick guarding the prosecutrix with a pistol! After some time she was again put into the chaise, and driven to the house of a person named Swayne, where, after having wept and fasted the whole day, she was prevailed upon to go to bed with Miss Dick. From the fatigue she had suffered the two preceding nights, joined to the anxiety of mind she had undergone, she fell asleep; and found on awaking, that in place of Miss Dick being her bedfellow, the prisoner at the bar was. The next morning the prisoner attempted to soothe the prosecutrix by promises of marriage, and went to Dr. Cupples, of Lisburn, to procure a licence, leaving his sister and the other person to watch over her till his return; in spite of them, she contrived to escape to the house of a Mr. English, where she was protected until delivered into the hands of her uncle.”

This statement being supported by the evidence, the jury without hesitation found the prisoner Guilty—and he was sentenced to death.

ROBERT JOHNSTON.
EXECUTED FOR ROBBERY.

THE extraordinary circumstances attending the execution of this unfortunate man give his case a melancholy interest. Our readers, doubtless, recollect the singular conduct of the Edinburgh mob, at the execution of Porteous. A scene, if possible more disgraceful, occurred on the present occasion.

Robert Johnston was a native of Edinburgh, where he spent the first part of his life without reproach. His parents were poor, and Robert was employed as a carter. In his twenty-fourth year he got into bad company, and was engaged in the robbery of a chandler in Edinburgh, and being apprehended he was brought to trial with two others, and found guilty. His companions had their sentence commuted to transportation for life, but on Johnston the law was ordered to be put in force.

The execution was directed to take place on the 30th December 1818, and on that day, the judgment of the law was carried out, but under circumstances of a most extraordinary nature. A platform was erected in the customary manner with a drop in the Lawnmarket, and an immense crowd having assembled, the unfortunate culprit was brought from the lock-up house at about twenty minutes before three o’clock, attended by two of the magistrates, the Reverend Mr. Tait, and the usual other functionaries. The customary devotions took place, and the unhappy wretch, with an air of the most undaunted boldness, gave the necessary signal. Nearly a minute elapsed, however, before the drop could be forced down, and then it was found that the toes of the wretched culprit were still touching the surface, so that he remained half suspended, and struggling in the most frightful manner. It is impossible to find words to express the horror which pervaded the crowd, while one or two persons were at work with axes beneath the scaffold, in the vain attempt to hew down a part of it beneath the feet of the criminal. The cries of horror from the populace continued to increase with indescribable vehemence; and it is hard to say how long this horrible scene might have lasted, had not a person near the scaffold, who was struck by a policeman, while pressing onward, cried out ‘Murder!’ Those who were not aware of the real cause of the cry imagined that it came from the convict, and a shower of stones, gathered from the loose pavement of the street, compelled the magistrates and police immediately to retire. A cry of “Cut him down—he is alive,” then instantly burst from the crowd, and a person of genteel exterior jumped upon the scaffold, cut the rope, and the culprit fell down in a reclining position, after having hung during about five minutes only. A number of the mob now gained the scaffold, and taking the ropes from the neck and arms of the prisoner, they removed the cap from his head and loosening his clothes, carried him, still alive, towards High Street; while another party tore the coffin prepared to receive his body into fragments, and endeavoured unsuccessfully to demolish the fatal gallows. Many of the police were beaten in this riot; and the executioner, who was for some time in the hands of the mob, was severely injured. In the meantime the police-officers rallied in augmented force, and re-took the criminal from the mob, at the head of the Advocates’ Close. The unhappy man, half alive, stripped of part of his clothes, and with his shirt turned up, so that the whole of his naked back and the upper part of his body were exhibited, lay extended on the ground in the middle of the street, in front of the police-office. At last, after a considerable interval, some of the police-officers laying hold of him, dragged him trailing along the ground, for about twenty paces, into the office, where he remained upwards of half an hour, while he was attended by a surgeon, bled in both arms, and in the temporal vein, by which suspended animation was restored; but the unfortunate man did not utter a word. In the meantime a military force arrived from the Castle under the direction of a magistrate, and the soldiers were drawn up in the street surrounding the police-office and place of execution.

Johnston was then carried again to the scaffold. His clothes were thrown about him in such a way, that he seemed half naked, and while a number of men were about him, holding him up on the table, and fastening the rope again about his neck, his clothes fell down in a manner shocking to decency. While they were adjusting his clothes, the unhappy man was left vibrating, upheld partly by the rope about his neck, and partly by his feet on the table. At last the table was removed from beneath him, when, to the indescribable horror of every spectator, he was seen suspended, with his face uncovered, and one of his hands broke loose from the cords with which it should have been tied, and with his fingers convulsively twisting in the noose. Dreadful cries were now heard from every quarter. A chair was brought, and the executioner having mounted upon it, disengaged by force the hand of the dying man from the rope. He then descended, leaving the man’s face still uncovered, and exhibiting a dreadful spectacle. At length a napkin was thrown over his face amidst shouts of “Murder,” and “Shame, shame,” from the crowd. The unhappy wretch was observed to struggle very much, but his sufferings were at an end in a few minutes. The soldiers remained on the spot till the body was cut down; and, as it was then near dusk, the crowd gradually dispersed.

The following is a remarkable instance of a similar scene which occurred in France in the year 1828.

Peter Hebard, who had been confined in the prison at Abbey, in France, for five months, expecting the final order for his punishment, having been convicted of a murder, committed under aggravated circumstances, and who had been allowed to indulge in hopes of a reprieve, was told to prepare for death in the afternoon. For nearly five years an execution had not taken place at Abbey, and the consequence was that an immense crowd assembled, which could with difficulty be kept in proper order by a large body of gendarmes. The prisoner was bound to the board laid across the scaffold; and upon the usual signal, his head was placed between the lunette in the guillotine. The knife fell with a trembling motion, but did not touch the criminal. A cry of horror arose from the crowd. The knife was again lifted—it fell a second time, but without reaching the criminal’s neck. A volley of stones was discharged at the executioner and his two assistants. For the third time the instrument was let down, but it only inflicted a slight wound. The executioners then quitted the scaffold for fear of the stones, and the criminal’s head continued for some minutes bound to the block. The chief executioner again mounted the scaffold, and the knife fell twice more without success. The excitement in the crowd became indescribable. The executioner fled, the criminal lifted his head up, and was greeted with cries of “Bravo!” but he could not get away from the cords. One of the executioners then got on the scaffold, told the unhappy man to turn his head, and at the same time seized him by the neck, and gave him several wounds with a shoemaker’s knife. Hebard’s head, nearly half off, hung on his shoulder; the spectacle was so horrible, and the spectators so enraged at the executioner, that he was obliged to make his escape amongst the gendarmes. Hebard, who was found standing up to the block, still breathed, and remained for two hours in that situation, during which time he frequently opened his mouth. It appears that the scaffold had been intentionally damaged by a person who acted as assistant to the executioner on account of a grudge. A question might arise, whether the executioner’s assistant had a right to stab the criminal, and so alter his punishment, which was to die by the guillotine.

HENRY HUNT.
IMPRISONED FOR A MISDEMEANOR.

THE name of Mr. Hunt is too well known to require it to be introduced to our readers with any long explanation of the particular character which he filled up to the time at which he underwent an imprisonment for a misdemeanor against the government. He was probably the most popular demagogue of the day, with the exception of Wilkes; and, like his prototype, he appears to have been totally undeserving the confidence or the applause of the people. Like Wilkes, too, he was the occasion of several deluded people losing their lives, while he himself escaped with a comparatively trifling punishment.

Hunt was born at Widdington, in the parish of Upavon, near Salisbury Plain, on the 6th November 1773. His father was a respectable farmer and our hero, when young, being designed for the church, obtained the rudiments of a classical education. At sixteen years of age, however, he altered his mind and joined his father, and having attained great proficiency in his new business, he was treated with great confidence by his father, from whom, at this early age, he imbibed principles diametrically opposed to those which he afterwards espoused. At the time of the threatened invasion in the year 1795, Hunt joined the Evelyn corps of militia; but his commanders having refused to permit their men to quit the county in which they were enrolled, our hero, indignant at the supposed cowardice of his fellows, after having delivered himself of his maiden oration, urging them to volunteer in a new corps, threw his sword at his commander’s feet, and immediately afterwards joined a corps established under the patronage of Lord Bruce. It appears, however, that although his lordship’s loyalty was greater than that of the officers of the Evelyn militia, his attachment to his manorial rights was so strong, as to occasion a serious quarrel with his followers; for some of them having exercised their powers of sharp-shooting against his lordship’s pheasants, they immediately obtained their dismissal from his troop. Hunt was enraged at this supposed affront, and riding to the parade, he publicly challenged his late noble commander to fight a duel. Lord Bruce had not expected to meet with so violent a reception, and fairly fled; but in a few days afterwards he obtained a criminal information against his challenger, in the Court of King’s Bench, who was in consequence fined 100l., and sentenced to six weeks’ imprisonment. Old Hunt by this time had discharged the debt of nature, and the penalty was soon paid; but the six weeks during which our hero was detained in the Queen’s Bench prison served to banish all those feelings of loyalty with which he had before been inspired; and having associated himself with some persons, who were professed democrats, he soon joined them in their political creed. At about this time he was married to the daughter of a respectable inn-keeper, for whom he is said to have formed a most romantic attachment. The heat of his passion appears to have worn off very soon; and ere five years had elapsed he seduced another man’s wife, who eloped with him from Brighton. The conduct of Hunt in reference to this person appears to be of a most extraordinary character; for in his Memoirs, he speaks of the unalterable attachment which he bore her, and with the most fulsome declarations of his love for her, dwells on the happiness which he had experienced in her society up to the time of the publication of his work, when she was still living with him (1824). His indignant and injured wife, it appears, received an annuity of 300l. from him, with which she continued to maintain her two daughters, while her son remained under the care of his father, and his mistress.

Mr. Hunt, at this time, appears to have been living in a style of considerable pretension. The high prices of farm produce enabled him to maintain a large establishment, and he followed the sports of the field with great avidity, while he resided in Bath during the months which constituted the “season” of that then gay city.

We do not profess to give any lengthened history of his remarkable career, because to do so would be to exceed the limits and intention of a work of the character of the present; but the following, we believe, will be found to be a faithful, though necessarily short, narrative of the chief circumstances of his life.

While in Bath Mr. Hunt formed an acquaintance with the son of a brewer, who deluded him into a partnership; and it appears that he absolutely lost eight thousand pounds in a brewing concern at Bristol, which was the first occasion of his becoming acquainted with the people of that city.

In 1804 he first attended a public meeting, which was held at Devizes, respecting the conduct of Lord Melville; and, in the next year, he first affixed his name to a public address, calling on the inhabitants of Wiltshire to oppose the corn laws. Having once embarked in politics, he was ever restless, and on every possible occasion he forced himself upon public notice with officious zeal; and in 1807 he came forward at Bristol, to propose Sir John Jarvis, as a fit representative for that city.

His noisy interference on all public questions at this time, drew upon him a host of enemies, particularly among his own neighbours, who forbade him to sport upon their grounds; and, as no gentleman would hunt with him, he was obliged to dispose of his stud of horses. On one occasion he committed a trifling trespass, on which an action was brought against him, when he effectually pleaded his own cause, and, encouraged by success, he determined, from that day forward, to dispense with the assistance of counsel in any legal proceedings in which he might be engaged.

In 1809 he held the first meeting for reform, for by this time he had become a disciple of Cobbett. In 1811 he took a large farm in Sussex, called Rowfant, where he continued to reside for one year, at the expiration of which he sold it, and went to live at Middleton cottage, which is situated on the western road, three miles from Andover.

In 1812 he stood twice candidate for Bristol, but was defeated by a large majority on the opposition of the venerated Sir Samuel Romilly. This year he also became a liveryman of London, and from that time Guildhall was often favoured with his presence. He now attended almost every public meeting throughout the country, and gradually became the idol of the mob, to whose comprehension his speeches were admirably adapted. His patriotism, however, proved injurious to his private affairs, for we find, that in 1815, he had overdrawn his account with his bankers, who refused to advance him any more money.

In 1816 he attended the notorious meeting in Spa-fields, where he acted as chairman; but it is only justice to say, that he had held no previous communication with Thistlewood and his colleagues, except for the purpose of striking out some portion of their resolutions, which he considered as offensive. In the year 1818, he appears to have become so flattered by the success which his previous exertions as a popular speaker had gained for him, that he resolved to stand for Westminster, in opposition to Sir Francis Burdett; but whatever may have been his popularity among his own peculiar party, the experiment was unsuccessful, and at the close of the poll it was found that his friends had given only forty-one votes for him; and he had also to regret his rashness in thus publicly thrusting himself forward, as, while upon the hustings, he was soundly horsewhipped by a gentleman, upon whom he had previously inflicted a cowardly and an unmerited injury.

In the year 1819 the principles of radicalism appear to have reached a point of almost ungovernable fury, and Hunt secured to himself the character of the best and firmest champion of the party, by his conduct at a public meeting, which took place at Smithfield at this period, and at which, in truth, it appears that he acted in a manner without reproach.

An event, however, soon afterwards occurred which procured for him still greater notoriety. The Manchester reformers, who had posted up notices of a meeting to be holden on the 9th of August in this year, for the purpose of proceeding to the election of a representative, as at Birmingham, where the people had, some time before, elected Sir Charles Wolseley as their legislatorial attorney or representative, was informed by the magistrates that as the object of the proposed assemblage was unquestionably illegal, it would not be permitted to take place. In consequence of this expressed determination on the part of the authorities, the meeting was abandoned, but fresh notices were issued for a new assemblage on the 16th of the same month, with the avowed legal object of petitioning for a reform in parliament. An open space in the town, called St. Peter’s Field, was selected as the place of meeting, and never upon any former occasion of a similar nature was so great a number of persons known to have met together. For some hours before the proceedings were appointed to commence, large bodies of people continued marching into Manchester from the neighbouring villages and towns, formed in ranks five deep, and many of them armed with stout staves, while the whole body stepped together as if trained for military purposes. Each party bore its own banners, and among others two clubs of female reformers made their appearance, bearing flags of white silk. By mid-day it was calculated that 60,000 persons had assembled. The magistrates, it appears, were anxious that the peace should be preserved, and a number of special constables were sworn in, who formed themselves in a line, from the house in which the justices were sitting, to the stage or waggon fixed as a platform for the speakers. Soon after the business of the meeting had commenced, a body of yeomanry cavalry entered the ground, and advanced with drawn swords towards the stage, when their commanding-officer called to Mr. Hunt, who was addressing the meeting, and informed him that he was his prisoner. Mr. Hunt endeavoured to procure tranquillity among the people, and offered to surrender himself to any civil officer who should present himself, and should exhibit his warrant; and a constable immediately advanced and took him into custody, with some other persons who were similarly engaged. Some uneasiness being now exhibited among the mob, the yeomanry cried out to seize their flags. The men stationed near the waggon, in consequence began to strike down the banners, which were attached to the platform, and a similar course being pursued with respect to those which were raised in other parts of the field, a scene of the most indescribable confusion ensued. The immense number of persons on the field, rendered it almost impossible for the military to move without trampling down some of them under foot; and some resistance being offered, many persons, including females, were cut down with sabres, and while some were killed, the number of wounded amounted to between three and four hundred. In a short time, however, the ground was cleared of its original occupants, and as they fled in all directions, military patroles were immediately placed in the streets, to preserve tranquillity.

It would be almost impossible to give any lengthened or minute description of this riot, or “massacre,” as it has always been called by the radical opponents of government, without in some degree entering into the very strong feeling of party prejudice, which has been universally excited upon the subject. The real circumstances of the case may be said to be unsettled even to this day; and while the magistrates and their friends declare that, the Riot Act having been read, the subsequent proceedings on the part of the soldiery were both justified and necessary, the friends of the people as invariably deny the allegation of the reading of the Riot Act, and therefore contend, that the introduction of a military force was harsh and unconstitutional. The whole transaction does not appear to have occupied more than ten minutes, in the course of which time the field seems to have been cleared of its recent occupiers, and filled with different corps of infantry and cavalry. Hunt and his colleagues were, after a short examination before the magistrates, conducted to solitary cells, on a charge of high-treason, and on the following day notices were issued by the magistrates, by which the practice of military training, alleged to have been carried on in secret, by large bodies of men, for treasonable purposes, was declared to be illegal. Public thanks were, by the same authority, returned to the officers and men of the respective corps engaged in the attack; and, on the arrival in London of a despatch from the local authorities, a cabinet council was held, the result of which was, the return of official letters of thanks to the magistrates, for their prompt, decisive, and efficient measures for the preservation of the public tranquillity; and to all the military engaged, for the support and assistance afforded by them to the civil power.

The circumstances of the Manchester case eventually turned out to be such, that government, by the advice of the law officers of the crown, found it expedient to abandon the threatened prosecution of Mr. Hunt and his colleagues for high-treason. Those persons were accordingly informed that they would be proceeded against for a conspiracy only, which might be bailed; but Mr. Hunt refused to give bail, even, as he said, to the amount of a single farthing: but some of his friends liberated him. On his return from Lancaster, where he had been confined, to Manchester, Hunt was drawn about two miles by women, and ten miles by men. In fact, his return was one long triumphal procession, waited upon by thousands, on horse, on foot, and in carriages, who hailed him with continued shouts of applause.

The sensation produced throughout the country by this fatal business was intense. Hunt’s conduct was universally applauded, and he received the thanks of nearly every county in England, and those even who opposed him on principle now forgot their enmity, and hailed him as the uncompromising champion of liberty. His entry into London was public, and some of the first characters of the day honoured him with their presence, whilst hundreds of thousands welcomed him with deafening applause.

The agitation had hardly subsided when true bills were found against Hunt and his companions, and their trials came on at York, and continued, without intermission, for fourteen days, during which time Hunt displayed powers of intellect, and acuteness of perception, of which even his friends did not suppose him to be possessed. He was found guilty, however, and ordered to be brought up to the Court of King’s Bench for sentence, but he afterwards moved, in person, for a new trial. Although he argued with all the tact and ability of the most experienced lawyer, his motion was refused, and he was sentenced to two years and a half imprisonment in Ilchester jail.

He had not been long incarcerated when he brought to light a system of the most infamous cruelty which had been practised on the unfortunate inmates of that prison by the barbarous jailor. Mr. Hunt himself, being treated with great cruelty, addressed a letter to Mr. Justice Bayley, detailing cases of atrocious cruelty; and the question being at length brought before the House of Commons, an inquiry followed. Hunt substantiated all his charges, and the inhuman jailor was dismissed and punished, while the country rang with the praises of his accuser.

The period of his imprisonment having expired, he again made a public entry into London; but he found that the times had changed, even during that short time. The public prosperity had banished discontent, and with it that wild enthusiasm, which had before been exhibited in his favour, and he was greeted with none of those demonstrations of delight which had been before exhibited. He made several attempts to arouse the lethargy of his former admirers, but in vain; and he at length betook himself to repair his broken fortunes by the manufacture of English coffee, with roasted corn, and subsequently in 1824 he added that of blacking; and so successful was he in this enterprise, that “Hunt’s matchless” became almost as celebrated as the polish of Messrs. Day and Martin.

Mr. Hunt was subsequently returned as member for Preston in Lancashire, and he died while yet representing that place in parliament.

ARTHUR THLSTLEWOOD, RICHARD TIDD, JAMES INGS, WILLIAM DAVIDSON, AND JOHN THOMAS BRUNT.
EXECUTED FOR HIGH TREASON.

OUR readers will be somewhat prepared for the case of these notorious criminals by the perusal of the proceedings of those persons, whose discontent had already brought them within the lash of the law; as well as by the repetition of the name of Thistlewood, whose acquaintance and connection with Dr. Watson and the other Radical leaders of the day had rendered him a person whom the officers of justice deemed it wise to keep under their surveillance. The plot to which he was a party in the year 1820, and his engagement in which cost him his life, had for its object neither more nor less than the assassination of the whole of his majesty’s ministers, and the consequent overthrow of the government.

It was not until the 24th February 1820, that the public were made aware of the existence of the infernal machinations of this band of desperadoes, and then only did they learn it through the medium of the public press, which at once announced its existence and its frustration. Ere the morning had passed, however, a proclamation was plentifully distributed throughout the leading thoroughfares of the metropolis, offering a reward of 1000l. for the apprehension of the notorious Arthur Thistlewood, on a charge, of high treason and murder; and denouncing the heaviest penalties against all who should harbour or conceal him from justice.

It would appear that it had been long known to the members of the government, that a plan was in meditation by which they would all be murdered, and that Thistlewood was one of the originators of and prime movers in the horrid design; but in accordance with the system which then existed, of waiting until the crime should be all but matured, in order to secure a conviction of the offenders, they determined to make no effort to crush the scheme until a period should have arrived, when their own safety rendered it necessary. The conspirators meanwhile having weighed various plans and projects for the accomplishment of their object, eventually determined to select the evening of Wednesday the 23rd February as that on which they would carry out their plot, and it was deemed advisable that this night should be fixed upon, because it became known to them by an announcement in the newspapers, that a cabinet dinner would then be held at the house of Lord Harrowby in Grosvenor-square. Contemptible as the means possessed by the conspirators were to carry their design fully into execution, it is certain, from the confession of one of them, that the first part of their project was planned with so much circumstantial exactness, that the assassination of all the ministers would have been secured. It would appear that it was arranged, that one of the party should proceed to Lord Harrowby’s house with a parcel addressed to his lordship, and that when the door opened, his companions should rush in, bind, or, in case of resistance, kill the servants, and occupy all the avenues of the house, while a select band proceeded to the chamber where the ministers were at dinner, and massacred the whole of them indiscriminately. To increase the confusion hand-grenades were prepared, which it was intended should be thrown lighted into the several rooms; and one of the party engaged to bring away the heads of lords Castlereagh and Sidmouth in a bag which he had provided for that purpose.

Thus far the conspirators might probably have carried their plans into effect; but of the scheme for a general revolution, which these men, whose number never exceeded thirty, appear to have considered themselves capable of accomplishing, we cannot seriously speak. Among other arrangements the Mansion House, selected we suppose for its proximity to the Bank, was fixed upon for the “palace of the provisional government.”

The place chosen for the final organization of their proceedings, and for collecting their force previous to immediate action, was a half-dilapidated tenement in an obscure street called Cato-street, near the Edgeware-road. The premises were composed of a stable, with a loft above, and had been for some time unoccupied. The people in the neighbourhood were ignorant that the stable was let, till the day fixed upon for the perpetration of their atrocious purpose, when several persons, some of whom carried sacks and other packages, were seen to go in and out, and carefully to lock the door after them.

The information upon which ministers proceeded, in frustrating the schemes of the conspirators, was derived from a man named Edwards, who pretended to enter into their views, for the purpose of betraying them.

Thus accurately informed of the intentions of the gang, measures were taken for their apprehension. A strong body of constables and police-officers, supported by a detachment of the guards, was ordered to proceed to Cato-street, under the direction of Mr. (afterwards Sir Richard) Birnie, the magistrate. On arriving at the spot they found that the conspirators had taken the precaution to place a sentinel below, and that the only approach to the loft was by passing up a ladder, and through a trap-door so narrow as not to admit more than one at a time. Ruthven led the way, followed by Ellis, Smithers, and others of the Bow-street patrole, and on the door being opened they discovered the whole gang, in number between twenty and thirty, hastily arming themselves. There was a carpenter’s bench in the room, on which lay a number of cutlasses, bayonets, pistols, sword-belts, and a considerable quantity of ammunition. Ruthven, upon bursting into the loft, announced himself as a peace-officer, and called upon them to lay down their arms. Thistlewood stood near the door with a drawn sword, and Smithers advanced upon him, when the former made a lunge, and the unfortunate officer received the blade in his breast, and almost immediately expired.

About this time the guards, who had been delayed in consequence of their having entered the street at the wrong end, arrived under the command of Captain (Lord Adolphus) Fitzclarence, and mounted the ladder; but as the conspirators had extinguished the lights, fourteen or fifteen of them succeeded in making their escape, and Thistlewood, the chief of the gang, was among the number. A desperate conflict now took place, and at length nine persons were made prisoners; namely Ings, Wilson, Bradburn, Gilchrist, Cooper, Tidd, Monument, Shaw, and Davidson. The whole of them were immediately conveyed to Bow-street, together with a large quantity of arms, consisting of pistols, guns, swords and pikes, and a large sack full of hand-grenades, besides other ammunition, which had been found in the loft. The same means, by which the conspiracy had been discovered, were now adopted in order to procure the discovery of the hiding-place of Thistlewood, and it was found that instead of his returning to his own lodgings in Stanhope-street, Clare Market, on the apprehension of his fellows, he had gone to an obscure house, No. 8 White-street, Moorfields. On the morning of the 24th February, at nine o’clock, Lavender and others of the Bow-street patrol were despatched to secure his apprehension; and after planting a guard round the house, so as to prevent the possibility of his escaping, they entered a room on the ground-floor, where they found the object of their inquiry in bed, with his stockings and breeches on. In his pockets were found some ball-cartridges and flints, a black girdle or belt, which he was seen to wear at Cato-street, and a military sash.

He was first conveyed to Bow-street, and there shortly examined by Sir R. Birnie, by whom he was subsequently conducted to Whitehall, where he was introduced to the presence of the Privy Council. He was still handcuffed, but he mounted the stairs leading to the council-chamber with great alacrity. On his being informed of the nature of the charges made against him, by the lord chancellor, he declined saying anything and was remanded to prison. In the course of the week several other persons were apprehended as being accessories to the plot; and on the 3rd March, Thistlewood, Monument, Brunt, Ings, Wilson, Harrison, Tidd, and Davidson, were committed to the Tower as state prisoners, the rest of the persons charged being again sent to Coldbath-fields prison, where they had been previously confined.

The case of the parties to this most diabolical conspiracy immediately received the attention of the law officers of the crown; and on the 15th April 1820, a special commission having issued, the prisoners were arraigned at the bar of the Old Bailey on the charge of high treason, and also of murder, in having caused the death of the unfortunate Smithers. There were eleven prisoners, Arthur Thistlewood, William Davidson (a man of colour), James Ings, John Thomas Brunt, Richard Tidd, James Wilson, John Harrison, Richard Bradburn, John Shaw Strange, James Gilchrist, and Charles Cooper, and they all pleaded Not guilty to the charges preferred against them.

Counsel having been assigned to the prisoners, and the necessary forms having been gone through, Thistlewood received an intimation that his case would be taken on Monday morning the 17th of the same month, and the prisoners were remanded to that day.

At the appointed time, accordingly, Arthur Thistlewood was placed at the bar. He looked pale, but evinced his usual firmness. The jury having been sworn, and the indictment read, the attorney-general stated the case at great length, and twenty-five witnesses were examined in support of the prosecution, among whom were several accomplices, whose testimony was satisfactorily corroborated. Some of those who appeared to give evidence had been apprehended on the fatal night in Cato-street, but were now admitted witnesses for the crown. After a trial which occupied the court four days, Thistlewood was found Guilty of high treason. He heard the verdict with his wonted composure, seeming to have anticipated it; for when it was pronounced he appeared quite indifferent to what so fatally concerned him.

The evidence against Tidd, Ings, Davidson, and Brunt, whose trials came on next in succession, differed little from that upon which Thistlewood was convicted, and they were also found Guilty. Their trials being separate, occupied the court six days. On the evening of the tenth day the six remaining prisoners, at the suggestion of their counsel, pleaded Guilty, having been permitted to withdraw their former plea, by which they eventually escaped capital punishment.

On Friday, April the 28th, the eleven prisoners were brought up to receive sentence. When the usual question was put to Thistlewood by the clerk of arraigns, why he should not receive sentence to die, he pulled a paper from his pocket, and read as follows:—

“I am asked, my lord, what I have to say that judgment of death should not be passed upon me according to law. This to me is mockery—for were the reasons I could offer incontrovertible, and were they enforced even by the eloquence of a Cicero, still would the vengeance of my Lords Castlereagh and Sidmouth be satiated only in the purple stream which circulates through a heart more enthusiastically vibrating to every impulse of patriotism and honour, than that of any of those privileged traitors to their country, who lord it over the lives and property of the sovereign people with barefaced impunity. The reasons which I have, however, I will now state—not that I entertain the slightest hope from your sense of justice or from your pity.—The former is swallowed up in your ambition, or rather by the servility you descend to, to obtain the object of that ambition—the latter I despise; justice I demand; if I am denied it, your pity is no equivalent. In the first place, I protest against the proceedings upon my trial, which I conceive to be grossly partial, and contrary to the very spirit of justice; but, alas! the judges, who have heretofore been considered the counsel of the accused, are now, without exception, in all cases between the crown and the people, the most implacable enemies of the latter.—In every instance, the judges charge the jury to find the subject guilty; nay, in one instance, the jury received a reprimand, and that not in the genteelest terms, for not strictly obeying the imperious mandate from the bench.

“The court decided upon my trial to commit murder rather than depart in the slightest degree from its usual forms; nay, it is with me a question if the form is usual, which precluded me from examining witnesses to prove the infamy of Adams, of Hieden, and of Dwyer. Ere the solicitor-general replied to the address of my counsel, I applied to the court to hear my witnesses: the court inhumanly refused, and I am in consequence to be consigned to the scaffold. Numerous have been the instances in which this rule of court has been infringed; but to have infringed it in my case would have been to incur the displeasure of the crown, and to forfeit every aspiring hope of promotion. A few hours hence I shall be no more, but the nightly breeze which shall whistle over the silent grave that shall protect me from its keenness, will bear to your restless pillow the memory of one, who lived but for his country, and died when liberty and justice had been driven from its confines, by a set of villains, whose thirst for blood is only to be equalled by their activity in plunder. For life, as it respects myself, I care not—but while yet I may, I would rescue my memory from the calumny, which I doubt not will be industriously heaped upon it, when it will be no longer in my power to protect it. I would explain the motives which induced me to conspire against the ministers of his majesty, and I would contrast them with those which those very ministers have acted upon in leading me to my ruin. To do this, it will be necessary to take a short review of my life for a few months prior to my arrest for the offence for which I am to be executed, without a trial, or at least without an impartial one, by a jury of my peers. ’Tis true the form, the etiquette of a trial, has been gone through; but I challenge any of the judges on the bench to tell me, to tell my country, that justice was not denied me in the very place where justice only should be administered. I challenge them to say that I was fairly tried; I challenge them to say if I am not murdered, according to the etiquette of a court, falsely called of justice? I had witnesses in court to prove that Dwyer was a villain beyond all example of atrocity. I had witnesses in court to prove that Adams was a notorious swindler, and that Hieden was no better; these were the three witnesses—indeed almost the only ones against me—but the form and rules of court must not be infringed upon to save an unfortunate individual from the scaffold. I called those witnesses at the close of Mr. Adolphus’ address to the jury, and before the solicitor-general commenced his reply, but the court decided that they could not be heard. Some good men have thought, and I have thought so too, that before the jury retired all evidence was in time for either the prosecutor or the accused, and more particularly for the latter; nay, even before the verdict was given, that evidence could not be considered too late. Alas! such people drew their conclusion from principles of justice only; they never canvassed the rules of court, which have finally sealed my unhappy doom.

“Many people, who are acquainted with the barefaced manner in which I was plundered by my Lord Sidmouth, will, perhaps, imagine that personal motives instigated me to the deed, but I disclaim them. My every principle was for the prosperity of my country; my every feeling, the height of my ambition, was the securing the welfare of my starving brother Englishmen. I keenly felt for their miseries; but when their miseries were laughed at, and when because they dared to express those miseries, they were cut down by hundreds, inhumanly massacred and trampled upon, when infant babes were sabred in their mothers’ arms, nay, when the breast from whence they drew the tide of life was severed from the body which supplied that life, my feelings became too intense, too excessive for endurance, and I resolved on vengeance—I resolved that the lives of the instigators should be the requiem to the souls of the murdered innocents.

“In this mood I met with George Edwards, and if any doubt should remain upon the minds of the public whether the deed I meditated was virtuous or contrary, the tale I will now relate will convince them, that in attempting to exercise a power which the law had ceased to have, I was only wreaking national vengeance on a set of wretches unworthy of the name or character of men.

“This Edwards, poor and penniless, lived near Pickett-street in the Strand, some time ago, without a bed to lie upon, or a chair to sit in. Straw was his resting place; his only covering a blanket. Owing to his bad character, and his swindling conduct, he was driven from thence by his landlord. It is not my intention to trace him through his immorality: suffice it to say, that he was in every sense of the word a villain of the deepest atrocity. His landlord refused to give him a character. Some short time after this, he called upon his landlord again; but mark the change in his appearance; dressed like a lord, in all the folly of the reigning fashion. He now described himself as the right heir to a German baron, who had been some time dead, that Lords Castlereagh and Sidmouth had acknowledged his claims to the title and property; had interfered in his behalf with the German government, and supplied him with money to support his rank in society. From this period I date his career as a government spy.

“He got himself an introduction to the Spenceans, by what means I am not aware of; and thus he became acquainted with the reformers in general. When I met with Edwards, after the massacre at Manchester, he described himself as very poor; and after several interviews, he proposed a plan for blowing up the House of Commons. This was not my view. I wished to punish the guilty only, and therefore I declined it. He next proposed that we should attack the ministers at the fête given by the Spanish ambassador. This I resolutely opposed: because the innocent would perish with the guilty: besides, there were ladies invited to the entertainment, and I, who am shortly to ascend the scaffold, shuddered with horror at the idea of that, a sample of which had previously been given by the agents of government at Manchester, and which the ministers of his majesty applauded. Edwards was ever ready at invention; and at length he proposed attacking them at a cabinet dinner. I asked where were the means to carry his project into effect? He replied, if I would accede, we should not want for means. He was as good as his word: from him, notwithstanding his apparent penury, the money was provided for purchasing the stores which your lordships have seen produced in court upon my trial. He who was never possessed of money to pay for a pint of beer, had always plenty to purchase arms or ammunition. Amongst the conspirators, he was ever the most active; ever inducing people to join him, up to the last hour ere the undertaking was discovered.

“I had witnesses in court, who could prove they went to Cato-street by appointment with Edwards, with no other knowledge or motive than that of passing an evening amongst his friends. I could also have proved, that subsequent to the fatal transaction, when we met in Holborn, he endeavoured to induce two or three of my companions to set fire to houses and buildings in various parts of the metropolis. I could prove that, subsequent to that again, he endeavoured to induce men to throw hand-grenades into the carriages of the ministers, as they passed through the streets; and yet this man, the contriver, the instigator, the entrapper, is secured from justice, and from exposure, by those very men, who seek vengeance against the victims of his and their villany. To the attorney and solicitor generals I cannot impute the clearest motives: their object seems to me to have been rather to secure a verdict against me, than to obtain a full and fair exposition of the whole affair, since its commencement. If their object was justice alone, why not bring Edwards as a witness, if not as an accomplice? but no, they knew that by keeping him in the back-ground, my proofs, ay my incontrovertible proofs, of his being a hired spy, the suggester and promoter, must, according to the rules of court, also be excluded. Edwards and his accomplices arranged matters in such a manner, as that his services might be dispensed with on the trial, and thus were the jury cut off from every chance of ascertaining the real truth. Adams, Hieden, and Dwyer, were the agents of Edwards, and truly he made a most admirable choice, for their invention seems to be inexhaustible.

“With respect to the immorality of our project, I will just observe, that the assassination of a tyrant has always been deemed a meritorious action. Brutus and Cassius were lauded to the very skies for slaying Cæsar; indeed, when any man, or any set of men, place themselves above the laws of their country, there is no other means of bringing them to justice, than through the arm of a private individual. If the laws are not strong enough to prevent them from murdering the community, it becomes the duty of every member of that community to rid the country of its oppressors. High treason was committed against the people at Manchester, but justice was closed against the mutilated, the maimed, and the friends of those, who were upon that occasion indiscriminately massacred. The Prince, by the advice of his ministers, thanked the murderers, still reeking in the gore of their hapless victims. If one spark of honour, if one spark of independence still glimmered in the breasts of Englishmen, they would have risen to a man. Insurrection then became a public duty; and the blood of the victims should have been the watchword to vengeance on their murderers. The banner of independence should have floated in the gale, that brought their wrongs and their sufferings to the metropolis. Such, however, was not the case; Albion is still in the chains of slavery. I quit it without regret,—I shall soon be consigned to the grave,—my body will be immured beneath the soil whereon I first drew breath,—my only sorrow is, that that soil should be a theatre for slaves, for cowards, for despots. My motives, I doubt not, will hereafter be justly appreciated. I will now conclude, therefore, by stating that I shall consider myself as murdered, if I am to be executed on the verdict obtained against me, by the refusal of the court to hear my evidence.

“I could have proved Dwyer to be a villain of the blackest dye, for since my trial, an accomplice of his, named Arnold, has been capitally convicted at this very bar, for obtaining money under circumstances of an infamous nature. I seek not pity; I demand but justice. I have not had a fair trial, and upon that ground I protest that judgment ought not to be passed against me.”

The Lord Chief Justice, during the reading of this address, more than once interposed, to prevent the prisoner from either seeking to justify assassination, or slandering the characters of witnesses who had appeared to give evidence in that court. The prisoner, however, proceeded to read till he had finished what had been written on the paper in his hand. His manner was rapid and confused; and the mode in which he pronounced several words, gave abundant evidence that this paper was not his own composition.

Mr. Shelton then put the same question to Davidson, who spoke with great vehemence, and much gesticulation, nearly as follows:—

“My lords, you ask me what I have to say why I should not receive judgment to die for what has been said against me. I answer, that I protest against the proceedings in this trial in toto. In the first place, I always thought that in a court of justice, the balance of justice was held with an even hand. But this has not been the case with me; I stand here helpless and friendless. I endeavoured to show that the evidence against me was contradictory and incredible, and I hoped I had made an impression on the gentlemen in the box; but the moment I was done, the attorney-general got up and told them, that the evidence was pure and uncontaminated, and to this I may add, that Baron Garrow almost insisted that they should pronounce me guilty. I would ask, has any person identified me but the officers? who, every one knows, have at all times been instrumental in the death of innocent persons. I do not now plead for my life; I know I must fall a victim to the vengeance of my enemies. But in what manner have I been guilty of high treason? It would seem I was a silent spectator; none of the witnesses impute to me a single observation. Now is this probable? I had always got a great deal to say for myself, consequently I was not the person who would stand by without uttering a word; and yet such has been the testimony of Adams. Then, with regard to the blunderbuss, I have already explained that this was not mine, and that I acted in that affair entirely as the agent of Edwards. I have also declared how I came by the sword, and I now declare upon my soul, which will shortly appear before its Maker, that I never made any blow at any man, or discharged any carbine. As for Munday, the man who swore that I had a long sword, with a pair of pistols in my girdle, who is he? He is a poor labouring man, who comes here for his day’s pay and his victuals, to swear away the life of a fellow-creature, and to support the unfounded charge against me that I meant to assassinate his Majesty’s ministers. I appeal to any man, whether it is upon such evidence that the life of an innocent man is to be sacrificed? But even supposing, for the sake of argument, that the lives of his Majesty’s ministers were threatened, it did not follow that this was to extend to the king himself. In a passage of Magna Charta, it was ordained that twenty-five barons should be nominated to see that the terms of the charter were not infringed; and if it was found his Majesty’s ministers were guilty of such infringement, then four barons were to call upon them for redress. If this were not granted, then the four barons were to return to their brethren, by whom the people were to be called together to take up arms, and assert their rights. Such an act was not considered, in old times, as an act of treason towards the king, however hostile it might be towards his ministers. But this does not apply to me. I had no intention of joining in any scheme whatever, either to put down my king, or to murder his ministers. I was entrapped by Goldsworthy and Edwards, in order, for some private purposes of their own, that they might have my life sworn away. I have no objection to tender my life in the service of my country; but let me at least, for the sake of my children, save my character from the disgrace of dying a traitor. For my children only do I feel, and when I think of them, I am deprived of utterance——. I can say no more.”

Ings, on being called upon, said, “I have very little to say, for my abilities will not allow me to speak. If Mr. Edwards had not got acquainted with me, I should not be here; he came to me, unfortunately, when I had no business, nor any means of getting a living for my family. I entered into the conspiracy only through him, and it was only necessity and the want of means to support my wife and family that brought me here. It is only through Edwards that I shall lose my life. I do not mind dying, if you will let that man come forward and die with me on the scaffold; for it was through him that I was going to do that which, I must allow, was of a most disgraceful and inhuman nature. On the other hand, his Majesty’s ministers conspire together, and impose laws to starve me and my family, and my fellow countrymen; and if I were going to assassinate these ministers, I do not see that it is so bad as starvation. There is another thing, a meeting was called at Manchester, under the protection of the law of England, for which our forefathers died, and which King John signed in the open air. This meeting was called under the protection of that law, for the people to petition parliament to give them their rights; but previous to the business of the meeting, the Manchester yeomanry rode in among them, and cut down men, women, and children, in a manner that was a disgrace to the very name of Englishmen. Those yeomen had their swords ground beforehand, and I had a sword ground also, but I do not see any harm in that. I shall suffer, no doubt; but I hope my children will live to see justice done to their bleeding country: I would rather die like a man, than live like a slave. I am sorry I have not power to say more; I shall therefore withdraw.”

John Thomas Brunt next addressed the court in the following terms:—“I am precluded from saying much: I had intended to have committed to writing my defence, but I have been denied pen, ink, and paper;—as such, what I have to state will be very short. In the first place, whatever impression I made on the jury yesterday, was knocked down by the Solicitor-General, who appears to me, by his sophistical eloquence, to be capable of making the worst of crimes appear a virtue. And next, with regard to Edwards, to whose machinations I have at last fallen a dupe: he once before nearly entrapped me, when a cabinet dinner was given, I believe, at the Earl of Westmoreland’s. He said he had part of the men mustered, but there was not sufficient. He had like to have hooked me in then, but I happened not to go to the house. No doubt that Hieden was in that plot for me; it was held at the Scotch Arms. Of all the infamous characters on earth, Edwards is the worst; and yet he has been kept altogether out of the view of the court. I protest against the verdict which has been pronounced against me. For my life, if it was sacrificed in the cause of liberty, I care not a farthing; but it is galling to have it sworn away by a set of villains who thirst after blood, merely for the sake of personal gain. Edwards is far more worthy of punishment than any of us. He it was that furnished the arms—and he it was that goaded us on to our own ruin. He always spoke well of me, and said, if he had a hundred such men as me, he would be satisfied. He knew I was not a shuttlecock, to be bandied about at pleasure. He knew he could put confidence in my word, and that I would perish before I shrunk from what I undertook.” (The prisoner then went on in a strain of strong invective against the witness Adams.) After which he referred to the two Monuments. These two persons had been described by the Solicitor-General, as having had no communication with each other, and yet having agreed in all respects in their testimony. Was this the fact? No, for three weeks previous to the trials, they met twice a day at the Tower, rehearsed their story, and thus were enabled to come forward quite perfect in their respective parts. He next adverted to the character of his apprentice Hale, and was casting strong reflections on his conduct—when

The chief justice said he could not suffer such observations to be made under such circumstances.

Brunt begged pardon, but said he stated nothing but facts. He next adverted to the conduct of Lords Castlereagh and Sidmouth; “They,” he said, “had been the cause of the death of millions, and although he admitted he had conspired to put such men out of the world, still he did not think that amounted to high treason. He was one of those who would have been satisfied with taking off the cabinet ministers; but the verdict against him, of intending to depose his majesty, he contended, was utterly at variance with truth and justice. He had never contemplated any such consequence. He was neither a traitor to his king nor to his country; nor would he suffer any man in his presence to speak irreverently of his sovereign. In undertaking to kill Lord Castlereagh, Lord Sidmouth, and their fellow ministers, he did not expect to save his life—he was determined to die a martyr in his country’s cause, and to avenge the innocent blood shed at Manchester.” In conclusion, he said he was willing to suffer for the acts which he had contemplated; but it grieved him to think that he was to suffer for a crime of which he was innocent, namely, High Treason. On these grounds, he protested against the verdict of the jury, as contrary to law and justice.

Richard Tidd was the next called upon. He spoke as follows:—

“My lords and gentlemen, being only found guilty so late last night, I have not had an opportunity to make up any defence. All I can say is, and I positively swear it, that the evidence that has come before you, with the exception of that of Captain Fitzclarence, is utterly false.”

James Wilson said, “I am not gifted with the power of talking much, but I mean to say, that I was certainly drawn into this by this Edwards.”

John Harrison, and John Shaw Strange, contented themselves with declaring that they had been brought into the matter by Edwards.

James Gilchrist addressed the court in the following terms. “What I shall say in the presence of my God and you is, that till the Wednesday evening at four o’clock, I knew nothing about this business. I was going to look for work, and I had neither money nor bread; so I went to what I was told was to be a supper of the radicals. At six o’clock I met Charles Cooper, who was the only man I knew, and I borrowed a halfpenny of him, which with another enabled me to get a pennyworth of bread, and this I eat very sweet. I wish I may never come out of this place if I tell false. We then went into the stable and up stairs, where there was some bread and cheese. I took an old sword and hewed down the loaf, of which others who were as hungry as me partook. I then asked what all these arms were about, and when I heard, I was so shocked that I determined to get away as fast as I could. Soon after the officers and soldiers came, and I thought it my duty to surrender. I now stand here convicted of high treason, after I served my king and country for twelve years, and this is the recompense. Oh, God!—I have nothing more to say.”

Charles Cooper said, he had much to say, but his friends thought it would be imprudent. He said, “he could only declare that he was not guilty of the crime imputed to him.”

The crier of the court now proclaimed silence in the usual manner, while sentence of death was passing upon the prisoners:—and the Lord Chief Justice then proceeded to address the prisoners severally by their respective names.

After a most admirable and affecting speech, he passed sentence in the usual form upon them, directing that after they should have been hanged, their heads should be severed from their bodies, and their bodies divided into four quarters, which should be at the disposal of his majesty.

The execution of Thistlewood, Ings, Brunt, Davidson, and Tidd, took place on the following Monday, at Newgate. Davidson was the only prisoner who did not reject religious consolation; and Thistlewood, when on the scaffold, turned away from the ordinary, with an expression of indifference and contempt.

Thistlewood having been first called upon to ascend the gallows, he did so with much alacrity, and he was immediately followed by Tidd, who shook hands with all his companions, except Davidson, who was standing apart from the rest. At the moment he was going out Ings seized him by the hand, exclaiming with a shout of laughter, “Come, give us your hand; good bye,” but the remark was coldly received by the unfortunate convict, who dropped a tear, at the same time making some observation with regard to his “wife and daughter.” Ings, however, with the most astonishing degree of levity, cried out “Come, my old cock-o’-wax, keep up your spirits, it will be all over soon,” and Tidd appeared to squeeze his hand, and then attempted to run up the steps to the scaffold. In his haste and agitation he stumbled, but he quickly recovered himself, and, with a species of hysterical action, jumped upon the stage, and there stamped his feet as if anxious for the executioner to perform his dreadful office. He was received by the gazing multitude with loud cheers, which he acknowledged by repeated bows. While the executioner was fixing the fatal noose he appeared to recognise a friend at an opposite window, and he nodded to him with much ease and familiarity of manner. He repeatedly turned round and surveyed the assembled mob; and catching sight of the coffins, which were ranged behind the gallows, he smiled upon them with affected indifference and contempt. While waiting for the completion of the preparations for the execution of those whom he had left behind him in the press-room, he, as well as Thistlewood, was observed repeatedly to refresh himself by sucking an orange; but upon Mr. Cotton’s approaching him, like that prisoner, he rejected his proffered services.

Ings was the next who was summoned, and while on the scaffold he exhibited the same indecent levity of manner which he had shown in the press-room. He laughed while he sucked an orange, and on his being called, he screamed with a sort of mad effort,

“Oh! give me Death or Liberty!”

to which Brunt, who stood near him, rejoined, “Ay, to be sure: it is better to die free than to live like slaves.”

On being earnestly and charitably desired to turn their attention to more serious subjects, and to recollect the existence of a God, into whose presence they would soon be ushered, Brunt said, “I know there is a God;” and Ings, agreeing to this, added “that he hoped he would be more merciful to them than they were then.”

Just as the hatch was opening to admit him to the steps of the scaffold, he turned round to Brunt, and smiling, shook him by the hand, and then with a loud voice, cried out, “Remember me to King George the Fourth; God bless him, and may he have a long reign!” Then recollecting that he had left off the suit of clothes in which he had been tried, but which after his conviction he had exchanged for his old slaughtering jacket, because, as he said, he was resolved that Jack Ketch should have no coat of his, he desired his wife might have what clothes he had thrown off. He then said to Mr. Davies, one of the turnkeys, “Well, Mr. Davies, I am going to find out this great secret.”

He was again proceeding to sing

“Oh! Give me Death or Liberty!”

when he was called to the platform, upon which he leaped and bounded in the most frantic manner. Then turning himself round towards Smithfield, and facing the very coffin that was soon to receive his mutilated body he raised his pinioned hands, as well as he could, and leaning forward with savage energy, roared out three distinct cheers to the people, in a voice of the most frightful and discordant hoarseness. But it was pleasing to remark, that these unnatural yells of desperation, which were evidently nothing more than the ravings of a disordered mind, or the ebullitions of an assumed courage, were not returned by the motley mass of people who heard them.

Turning his face towards Ludgate-hill, he bowed, and cried out, “Here’s the last remains of James Ings!” and again sung aloud, preserving the well-known tune of that song as much as possible,

“Oh! Give me Death or Liberty!
Oh! Give me Death or Liberty!”

Observing some persons near him, and amongst them one who was taking notes, he said, “Mind, I die an enemy to all tyrants. Mind, and put that down!” Upon viewing the coffins, he laughed, and said, “I will turn my back on death. Those coffins are for us I suppose.”

At this time Tidd, who had been just spoken to by Thistlewood, was heard to remonstrate with Ings, and to tell him not to make such a noise, adding, “We can die without making a noise;” upon which Ings for a moment was silent; but soon burst out afresh, asking the executioner not to cover his eyes, as he wished to see as long as he could. At another time he said, “Mind you do it well—pull it tight;” or, as some heard it, “Do it tidy.” He also requested to have a greater length of rope to fall; and that at last his eyes should be tightly bandaged round with a handkerchief, which he held in his hand.

Upon the approach of Mr. Cotton he rejected his pious services; but cried out, as if sarcastically, “I hope you’ll give me a good character, won’t you, Mr. Cotton?”

Davidson was the next summoned; and it is truly gratifying to state the difference that marked the character and conduct of him who had derived his fortitude to face death, and all its awful preparations, from other principles and sources than those from which the others appear to have borrowed their wild determination. He had paid earnest and devoted attention to the consolatory offices bestowed upon him by the ordinary of the jail; and when he was called upon to ascend the scaffold, he did so with a firm and steady step, but with that respectful humiliation which might well be derived from his firm reliance in his Creator’s goodness. His lips moved in prayer, and he gently bowed to the people before him; and he continued fervently praying with Mr. Cotton until the last duty of the executioner was performed.

The last summoned to the fatal platform was Brunt, whose conduct presented nothing particularly worthy of remark. The whole of the necessary arrangements were completed within a very few minutes after he had ascended the drop; and the fatal signal being given, the bolt was withdrawn, and the whole of the men almost instantly died. When their bodies had hung for half an hour, a new character entered upon the scaffold—the person who was to perform that part of the sentence which required the deceased men to be decapitated. He was masked; and from the ready and skilful manner in which he performed his office, it was supposed by many that he was a surgeon. The heads were exhibited successively at the corners of the stage; and the whole ceremony having now been completed, the bodies were carried into the interior of the jail in the coffins, which had been prepared for them.

It will be observed that there were six prisoners remaining, upon whom sentence was not executed. Of these, Gilchrist, who in reality turned out to be no party to the plot, received his majesty’s pardon, and the other five were transported for life.

Having thus detailed the circumstances of this most diabolical conspiracy, we shall now give a brief biography of its principal promoters.

Arthur Thistlewood was a native of Horncastle, in Lincolnshire, where he was born in the year 1770. His father was land-steward to a most respectable family in the neighbourhood, and maintained through life an unblemished reputation. The subject of this sketch was, early in life, put to school with a view to his being educated as a land-surveyor; but having exhibited a disinclination for business, at the age of twenty-one, through the instrumentality of his friends, he obtained a lieutenancy in the militia, which he subsequently exchanged for a like commission in a marching regiment. He shortly afterwards married a lady possessed, as he supposed, of a fortune of 10,000l.; but upon his proceeding to make inquiries he found that she was entitled only to a life interest in the money, and that on her decease it would revert to a distant relation. Sixteen months after this marriage, Mrs. Thistlewood died in childbed, and her husband was left without a shilling. He had, however, retained his commission, and at the commencement of the revolutionary war he accompanied his regiment to the West Indies, but he soon gave up his rank, and quitting the army, he proceeded to America. From thence he sailed to France, where he arrived soon after the fall of the tyrant Robespierre; and there he became fully initiated into all the feelings and doctrines of the revolutionists. He afterwards entered the French army, and was present at several battles; and although a person of moderate capacity, he obtained a considerable knowledge of military tactics. He was besides a good swordsman, and possessed undeniable courage. His habitual hatred of oppression, it appears, involved him in many disputes; and it is but justice to say that most of these redound to his credit. After the peace of Amiens, he returned to England, and found himself possessed of a considerable estate, which accrued to him on the death of a relative; but his evil genius still accompanied him. He sold his property to a person at Durham for ten thousand pounds, who becoming a bankrupt before the money was paid, Thistlewood found himself again reduced to comparative poverty.

His father and brother, both of whom resided in Lincolnshire, now took a farm and stocked it for him; but in consequence of the high rent and taxes he found himself an annual loser by the speculation, and, in consequence, abandoned agriculture. Previous to this, however, he had been married to his second wife, Miss Wilkinson of Horncastle, a woman who perfectly coincided in the political opinions of her husband. Driven from the country, he repaired to London with his wife, and contracted an acquaintance with the Spenceans. A propensity to gaming seems to have been the first step to his ruin. In early life he lost considerable sums at the hells of London, and this vicious habit did not abandon him in his later years, as it was well known that the gaming-table was his only resource against the pressing demands of his family, precarious as must have been the subsistence derived from such a pursuit.

In London, his constant companions were, the Watsons, Evans, and others of the same character: and the consequence of this connexion the reader may learn by a reference to the case of Dr. Watson, which we have already given. His imprisonment on that charge might have taught him prudence, but he was scarcely released from incarceration when he sent a challenge, to fight a duel, to Lord Sidmouth; the consequence of which was a motion in the Court of King’s Bench, and Thistlewood was sentenced to six months’ imprisonment in Horsham Jail.

Before this last confinement his dress was genteel, and his air that of a military man; but, after his release from Horsham Jail, his appearance indicated extreme poverty.

Oppressed by want, and instigated by revenge, he forgot the lessons misfortune should have taught him; and listening to the sanguinary suggestions of others, entered but too eagerly into the plot, for his connexion with which he was executed. The police watched his movements, and his every word and action were known to the secretary of state. Strange, indeed, was the infatuation he laboured under; and, if we look upon him as perfectly sane, his conduct must appear unaccountable. He had already been the dupe of a government spy. But the wretched man was occasionally supplied with money, and his case being desperate, danger, in his eyes, lost its forbidding aspect. The jaws of destruction were extended before him, and he rushed upon his fate with all its horrors staring him in the face.

In person Thistlewood was tall and thin; his countenance was dark, but by no means expressive. He had no family by either of his wives, but a natural son took leave of him on the day before his execution.

Richard Tidd, singularly enough, was born at Grantham, in the same county with the birth-place of his leader, in the year 1773, and he was brought up to the trade of a shoemaker. At the age of sixteen years he quitted his master, and went to Nottingham, and having lived there until he had reached the age of nineteen, he proceeded to London. Here he appears to have taken considerable interest in the politics of the day; but having, in the year 1803, committed perjury, in swearing himself a freeholder, in order to enable him to vote for Sir Francis Burdett, as member for Middlesex, he fled to Scotland, to avoid prosecution. Having resided there during five years, he then returned to England, and after a short stay at Rochester, he proceeded once again to the metropolis, where he became a party to the plot for which Colonel Despard and others were executed, but escaped their fate, by being temporarily absent from town. During the war he enlisted into more than half the regiments of the crown, but he had no sooner received the bounty, than he deserted; and it appears most extraordinary that he should have so frequently escaped. In 1818 he commenced his last residence in London, and he then exhibited violent political feelings. Having become acquainted with Brunt, he was introduced by him to Edwards, and the assumed violence of the latter suiting his feelings well, he eagerly closed with every proposition which he made, however desperate it might be. It is not a little remarkable that he had always an impression on his mind that he should be hanged, and he frequently declared his belief to this effect to his friends. He left a wife and daughter behind him to deplore the truth of his prediction.

James Ings was the son of a respectable tradesman in Hampshire, and being possessed of a considerable property, when he came of age, he married a respectable young woman, and entered into business as a butcher, at Portsmouth.

Trade growing bad at the termination of the war, and his property having decreased, some of his tenements were sold, and he came up to London in 1818, with a little ready money, produced by the sale of a house, and opened a butcher’s shop at the west end of the town. He could, however, get no business, and in a few months gave up the shop; and, with a few pounds he had left, he opened a coffee-house in Whitechapel.

Here he became involved in great distress, and at last was compelled to pawn his watch, to enable him to send his wife and children down to Portsmouth, to her friends, to prevent their starving in London. At the coffee-house in Whitechapel he sold, besides coffee, political pamphlets; and having read the different Deistical publications, from being a churchman he became a confirmed Deist.

He was a most affectionate husband and father; and his desperate situation, no doubt, was a principal cause of his joining the Cato-street plot. Edwards, Adams, Thistlewood, and Brunt, had frequently visited him during the time he kept the coffee and pamphlet shop; and, when he was in more desperate circumstances, he became a fitter companion for persons engaged in such an atrocious crime as the one for which he suffered the sentence of the law.

For some weeks before the Cato-street discovery, Ings was in the utmost distress, quite penniless; and the means of subsistence were actually supplied to him by Edwards. At his instigation, also, he hired a room, in which he lodged, which was sufficiently capacious to contain a very considerable portion of the arms and ammunition of the gang.

This unfortunate man left a wife and four children to deplore his ignominious death.

William Davidson was born in the year 1786, at Kingston, in Jamaica, and was the second son of Mr. Attorney-General Davidson, a man of considerable legal knowledge and talent. He mother was a native of the West Indies, and a woman of colour. He was sent to England when very young, for the purpose of receiving an education suitable to the rank of his father, and his own prospects: and having obtained the first rudiments of knowledge, he was sent to an academy, where he studied mathematics. After some time he was apprenticed to a respectable attorney at Liverpool, at whose office he remained near three years, when he became tired of confinement, and ran away from his master. He now entered on board a merchantman, and on the first voyage was impressed. He arrived in England about six months afterwards, and wrote to his father’s friend a supplicatory letter, and then, at his own particular desire, he was apprenticed to a cabinet-maker in Liverpool.

Davidson, though a man of colour, had a prepossessing person, and was upon the point of marriage with the daughter of a respectable tradesman at Liverpool, when, however, the match was broken off by his friends. He then took a passage on board a West-India merchantman, intending to return to his father; but he was again impressed on the voyage. On his return to port, he took the first opportunity of running away, and having obtained some money from his friends, he got work as a journeyman, at Litchfield. He subsequently paid his addresses to a Miss Salt, who was possessed of about 7,000l. of her own money, but her friends disapproving of the match, he became unsettled in his mind, and indisposed for business; and although his mother supplied him with 1200l. to commence trade on his own account, at Birmingham, in the course of twelve months he spent the whole of that sum, and repaired to London. Here he again obtained work, and was eventually married to a Mrs. Lane, a widow, with four children, who lived at Walworth, with whose assistance he began trade on his own account. Success, however, did not attend him, and he was compelled to remove to London, and to take a lodging at Mary-le-bone. While here, he appears to have joined the conspirators, into whose plans he entered with great willingness. He left two children of his own, by his wife, both of whom were under four years of age.

John Thomas Brunt was born in Union-street, Oxford-street; where his father carried on business as a tailor. He was for some time employed in the shop of a shoemaker, and he subsequently became an excellent workman in that business, and up to the age of twenty-three was the chief supporter of his mother, his father having died while he was yet young. At that age he married a respectable young woman, named Welch. On the 1st of May 1806, she brought him a boy, who was fourteen years of age on the day his unfortunate father suffered the sentence of the law. Brunt was thirty-eight years of age.

The following particulars with regard to Edwards, whose name so frequently occurs during the preceding narrative, will enable the reader to form, a just estimate of his character.

It appears that he had been originally a modeller, and kept a little shop in Fleet-street, where he sold plaster-of-Paris images. His poverty had been always apparent until a few months previous to the Cato-street plot, when there is no doubt he accepted the wages of government, and became a spy. For this office he appears to have been admirably adapted, as he was shrewd, artful, and unprincipled. His former acquaintance with the Spenceans procured him the confidence of some of its deluded members; and through them he got acquainted with Thistlewood and the others.

There is little doubt that the Cato-street plot was “got up” by him, although he found the unfortunate men who were hanged willing instruments in his hands. He furnished the means of providing the destructive weapons which were found in their possession, and he actually made the grenades himself; and when Thistlewood had escaped from Cato-street, he conducted him to the lodgings where he was next day apprehended.

Immediately after the execution of the traitors, several persons made depositions before Alderman Wood, stating the numerous attempts of Edwards to seduce them from their allegiance, and the worthy alderman applied to the secretary of state to have the villain apprehended, but he refused to interfere. A motion was made in the House of Commons a few nights afterwards by the same alderman; but, although some debate took place upon the subject, no effect was produced other than the exposition of the system which had been resorted to. An indictment was next preferred before the grand jury of the county of Middlesex, upon which a true bill was found; but although a reward of 100l. was offered for the apprehension of Edwards, he was nowhere to be found; and it was eventually discovered that he had gone to New Brunswick, to avoid the unpleasant consequences to which his conduct might have subjected him.

JOHN SCANLAN, ESQ., AND STEPHEN SULLIVAN.
EXECUTED FOR THE MURDER OF MRS. SCANLAN.

THE case of these offenders exhibits the most reckless and horrible depravity.

Mr. Scanlan, it appears, was the son of a most respectable gentleman, resident in the county of Limerick, Ireland, and was allied to persons of the first distinction. His father died during his infancy; and having early become possessed of a handsome competency, he entered the army. He held the commission of a lieutenant, and Sullivan, his fellow murderer, was a soldier under his command. At the conclusion of the war, Mr. Scanlan was put upon half-pay, and Sullivan being also discharged with a pension, he accompanied his late commander home, in the capacity of his servant. He was also a native of Limerick, and though not more than thirty-two years of age, was much older than his master, who had not attained twenty-five years.

Young Scanlan, on his way to Limerick, where he proposed residing, stopped for some time in Dublin; and he there found an opportunity of ingratiating himself into the favour of a thoughtless but lovely girl of fifteen years of age, the niece of a Mr. Conery, a ropemaker. The gentlemanly appearance and polished address of Scanlan, aided by his protestations of love and tenderness, flattered the vanity of the poor girl; but she would not listen to him on any but honourable terms. She acknowledged her partiality for him, and charged him, if he was sincere, to make her his wife; and to this proposal he affected to consent, after a condition had been agreed on: which was, that she was to keep her marriage a secret from her uncle, lest his friends should hear of it—an event which he seemed to regard as pregnant with ruin to him.

The foolish girl consented to all he chose to enjoin, and in an evil hour quitted the roof of her kind uncle, carrying off with her one hundred pounds in notes, and twelve guineas in gold. Her lover pretended to act honourably, and carried her before an excommunicated priest, who joined their hands in wedlock. In resorting to what he conceived a means of escaping from the importunities of Miss Conery, as his wife, he was under the impression that the marriage would not be binding; but the knot had scarcely been tied, when he learned that the marriage was valid by the law of Ireland.

When the fugitive lovers quitted Dublin, they took up their abode in the romantic village of Glin, situated on the banks of the river Shannon, on the Limerick side. Scarcely, however, had the honeymoon passed over their heads, when Scanlan formed the dreadful resolution of getting rid of his wife. Her beauty, her love, her innocence, appealed to him in vain; he persisted in his resolution, and too fatally carried it into effect.

It appears that he was prompted to the dreadful deed by avarice and ambition: his sister, who had been married to a nobleman in the county of Limerick, apprized him of a match she was forming for him with an heiress of wealth and beauty, and requested his acquiescence. Knowing that he could not avail himself of the proposed advantage while his wife (for he knew that that was the real character of the woman he had seduced from her home) was alive, he determined that she should not long remain an obstacle to his advancement to rank and opulence. Sullivan was his confidant throughout the whole affair, and to him was intrusted the execution of his atrocious plan. Scanlan had purchased a pleasure-boat, in which they used to take excursions on the Shannon. Of this amusement his wife was very fond; and it was during one of these moments of recreation, while she should be impressed with the beauty of the scenery, that the monsters resolved to rob her of that life which bloomed so exquisitely on her youthful and animated cheek.

One evening, in the July of 1819. Scanlan affected to be called from home on business, but desired his wife to make Sullivan amuse her for an hour on the river in the boat. With this request she complied; and Sullivan, by his master’s directions, got ready to execute their horrid purpose. Having provided a club to knock out her brains, and a rope and stone to tie to the body to sink it, he proceeded down the river. This man was treated by his master and mistress with great familiarity, so that he was not obliged to keep that distance so necessary to good order, but used every freedom consistent with respect. When the boat had drifted to a secluded inlet, Sullivan prepared to execute his purpose; he raised the club in a menacing position, and was about to strike, when the lovely creature, thinking he only intended to frighten her, gave him a smile of such innocent sweetness and simplicity, that the assassin was disarmed. He dropped the instrument of destruction, conducted his mistress home, and told his unfeeling master that he had not strength to execute his commands.

The horrid resolution was postponed, but not abandoned. A few evenings after, Scanlan, accompanied by his wife and Sullivan, went out in the boat as usual; but the unfortunate woman was never seen alive after. Scanlan returned to his lodgings, and said that for misbehaving he had shipped Ellen (his wife’s name) on board some vessel, the captain of which had taken her under his protection. This story was disbelieved; and a few days discovered their guilt—the corpse of the murdered Ellen was washed ashore, mutilated in a most shocking manner. The legs were broken in several places, one arm had been knocked off entirely, and a rope was tied round her neck. Her skull was fractured in a thousand pieces, her eyes knocked out of her head, and nearly all her teeth forced from her mouth. Horrid and deformed as was her once lovely person, still it was instantly recognised, when the murderers endeavoured to fly from justice. Of their guilt there could be no doubt; they were seen together in the boat; Sullivan had sold the murdered girl’s clothes; and he and his master had quarrelled about some money, in the course of which quarrel Scanlan had been accused of the murder.

Sullivan escaped for twelve months the pursuit of justice; but Scanlan was almost immediately apprehended, though he had resolved never to be taken alive. The following August he was tried at the assizes; and being found guilty, Baron Smith ordered him for almost instant execution, lest the powerful interest of his family should procure a respite, if he left him even the period usually allowed to criminals convicted of murder. The time allotted Scanlan to live was too short to admit of a messenger going to Dublin and back again, and consequently he was executed, to the satisfaction of all lovers of justice.

Twelve months after, his guilty servant met a similar fate. Before his execution he made a full confession, from which the above particulars are partly taken. Such was the powerful influence of Scanlan’s family, that, though they could not avert his fate, they succeeded in keeping it a secret from a large portion of the community, for they had influence enough to prevent an insertion of his case in all the Limerick newspapers, and it long remained unknown, except in the immediate neighbourhood of the transaction.

The trial of Sullivan, however, revealed his own and his master’s guilt; and the whole circumstances of the frightful deed then came fully to light.

This story has supplied the author of “Tales of Irish Life” with the materials of a most interesting sketch called “The Poor Man’s Daughter.”

JAMES NESBETT.
EXECUTED FOR THE MURDER OF MR. PARKER AND HIS HOUSEKEEPER.

THE night of Friday the 3rd of March 1820, was marked by the perpetration of a murder, not exceeded in point of atrocity by any whose circumstances are detailed in our Calendar of Crimes. It bears a striking resemblance to that committed by Hussey; for the victims were an old gentleman and his housekeeper—a Mr. Thomas Parker, aged seventy, and Sarah Brown, about forty-five years old.

Mr. Parker had been a working jeweller in London, where he had made a fortune sufficient to enable him to retire to Woolwich, where he resided for twenty-three years. His house was situated in Mulgrave-place, Red Lion Street, at a short distance from the Artillery Barracks. He was an inoffensive, gentlemanly man, and was much respected by the whole neighbourhood.

At one o’clock on Saturday morning, the 4th of March, the sentinel on duty at the north arch of the Artillery Barracks observed a dense smoke rising from Mr. Parker’s house. He gave an alarm; and several of the artillerymen rushed forth, and found the flames bursting from the parlour window. The men rapped at the door with great violence, but no answer was returned. The cry of “Fire” spread; two engines arrived on the spot, and commenced playing into the window. The men then forced the street-door, and rushed into the passage; and from thence they went up stairs into the front room on the first floor. Here the ravages of the fire were perceptible; the furniture of a bed had been partly consumed; but in the bed itself there was no appearance of a human being. The men then ran into the bed-room on the second floor, which was found in flames; but having extinguished them, they continued their search for the inmates of the house; but neither Mr. Parker nor his servant could be found. It was now discovered that the flames were bursting forth with great violence from the parlour below, and that they were spreading rapidly to the upper floor; and every exertion became necessary to procure their suppression. A hole was cut in the floor of the bed-chamber, through which water was poured; and by this means, added to the incessant playing of the engines without, the danger was subdued. In a short time the parlour-door was thrown open, and a man belonging to the artillery having entered, he perceived a heap of something lying behind the door. He attempted to lift it up, when he found it to be the mutilated remains of a human body which was much burnt. A second body, which proved to be that of a female, was found stretched in the same place, although not so much disfigured. A further investigation of the premises now took place, when it was perceived that blankets had been nailed up against every window, as if to conceal the appearance of the flames within. Fire had been communicated in three different places—the parlour on the ground floor; the bed-chamber on the first floor; and the bed-chamber on the second floor. The drawers about the house were found standing open, and articles of apparel were lying about; and in the kitchen, some silver utensils were strewed on the floor. At break of day the bodies of Mr. Parker and his servant were examined, and it was found that the former was burnt nearly to a cinder; the left leg and foot, on which there was a black silk stocking and a shoe, only remained entire. The skull, however, although the flesh was burnt off, remained whole, and afforded convincing testimony of murder: on the left side, towards the back, there was a terrific fracture. The woman lay stretched upon her face; her apparel was partly consumed, and her hair, which was very long, was hanging around her in matted and dishevelled locks. A horrible wound, apparently inflicted with a blunt instrument, was discovered over her eye, and at the back of her head there were three distinct fractures. The fact that the whole circumstance was the effect of a diabolical plot to murder Mr. Parsons and Mrs. Brown, and to conceal the crime by firing the house, now became obvious; and the utmost exertions were made by the police to apprehend the perpetrators of the foul deed. Several persons, whose conduct was deemed suspicious, were taken into custody; but as the evidence against them was very trifling, they were discharged. At length, however, the real murderer was apprehended at Portsmouth, and several articles of Mr. Parker’s property were found in his possession, particularly two watches, some silver spoons, a silver ladle, &c.

This person went at Portsmouth by the name of James Watson, but his real name was James Nesbett. He had been in the artillery for twenty-three years, and after his discharge lived in Woolwich, where his wife kept a chandler’s shop. They had five children; the eldest aged eighteen years, and the youngest at this time only sixteen months old. Nesbett himself followed that vicious and dangerous occupation—smuggling; bringing lace, silk, &c. from France, and carrying back other contraband goods from this country. In pursuit of this traffic he stopped some time at Portsmouth, where he cohabited with a girl of the town, who was afterwards the principal witness against him.

While sleeping with this girl she observed him to be very much troubled in his mind, as he frequently started in his sleep, and sometimes terrified her; so much so, that she left him on that account only. He, however, allured her back by presents; and, to account for the unnatural agitation in his sleep, he told her that he had killed two men in a duel, and one woman with a blow; and also promised to communicate another important secret to her. From this he was prevented by his being taken into custody; but he had already told her enough to induce the strongest suspicions as to his guilt.

When brought to Woolwich the people received him with a shout of exultation—a circumstance which affected him so much, that he was obliged to be carried before the justices, who were then sitting. He denied the crime with which he was charged; but after his committal to Maidstone, he confessed that he had been privy to it, having stood sentinel at the door while the work of destruction was going on inside. His accomplices he stated to have been old soldiers, whom he did not know—a tale as improbable as untrue; for it was distinctly proved that he was himself the only person engaged.

Nesbett’s trial came on July the 28th 1820, when his guilt was established by a chain of circumstantial evidence so conclusive, that the jury did not hesitate many minutes about their verdict.

In addition to other facts proved against him, it appeared that when he first visited Portsmouth, he was remarked for possessing excellent sight, but that after the murder he wore, whenever he appeared abroad, spectacles—the identical pair he had taken from Mr. Parker. In addition to the spectacles, he wore different dresses to disguise himself; but, notwithstanding all his caution, he was known, and apprehended, not, however, without much difficulty, for he attempted to shoot the officers, having a case of pistols loaded to the muzzle. Fortunately he was prevented from firing, and thus was preserved from having an additional murder to answer for.

Nesbett’s countenance indicated great firmness of purpose, but nothing of atrocity. During his trial he showed great fortitude and self-possession, which was not disturbed by his hearing the awful sentence of the law, which consigned him to an ignominious death.

This wretched criminal was executed according to his sentence on Pennenden Heath, July the 31st 1820. It is gratifying to know that, in the interval which elapsed between his condemnation and execution, he acknowledged the justice of his sentence.