“To the words of dying men regard has always been paid. I am brought hither to suffer death for an act of fraud, of which I confess myself guilty with shame, such as my former state of life naturally produces, and I hope with such sorrow as He, to whom the heart is known, will not disregard. I repent that I have violated the laws by which peace and confidence are established among men; I repent that I have attempted to injure my fellow-creatures; and I repent that I have brought disgrace upon my order, and discredit upon religion: but my offences against God are without number, and can admit only of general confession and general repentance. Grant, Almighty God, for the sake of Jesus Christ, that my repentance, however late, however imperfect, may not be in vain!
“The little good that now remains in my power is to warn others against those temptations by which I have been seduced. I have always sinned against conviction; my principles have never been shaken; I have always considered the Christian religion as a revelation from God, and its divine Author as the Saviour of the world; but the laws of God, though never disowned by me, have often been forgotten. I was led astray from religious strictness by the delusion of show and the delights of voluptuousness. I never knew or attended to the calls of frugality, or the needful minuteness of painful economy. Vanity and pleasure, into which I plunged, required expense disproportionate to my income; expense brought distress upon me; and distress, importunate distress, urged me to temporary fraud.
“For this fraud I am to die; and I die declaring, in the most solemn manner, that, however I have deviated from my own precepts, I have taught others, to the best of my knowledge, and with all sincerity, the true way to eternal happiness. My life, for some few unhappy years past, has been dreadfully erroneous; but my ministry has been always sincere. I have constantly believed; and I now leave the world solemnly avowing my conviction, that there is no other name under Heaven by which we can be saved but only the name of the Lord Jesus; and I entreat all who are here to join with me in my last petition, that, for the sake of that Lord Jesus Christ, my sins may be forgiven, and my soul received into his everlasting kingdom.
“June 27, 1777.”
“William Dodd.”
The body of the Doctor was on the Monday following carried to Cowley, in Buckinghamshire, and deposited in the church there.
During the doctor’s confinement in Newgate (a period of several months) he chiefly employed himself in writing various pieces, which show at once his piety and talent. The principal of these were his “Thoughts in Prison,” in five parts, from which we cannot doubt but that our readers, in finishing our life of so eminent, yet unfortunate, a man, will be gratified by the insertion of a few short extracts. “I began these Thoughts,” says the unhappy man, writing in Newgate, under date of the 23d of April, 1777, after his condemnation, “merely from the impression in my mind, without plan, purpose, or motive, more than the situation of my soul.
“I continued thence on a thoughtful and regular plan; and I have been enabled wonderfully, in a state which in better days I should have supposed would have destroyed all power of reflection, to bring them nearly to a conclusion. I dedicate them to God, and the reflecting serious among my fellow-creatures; and I bless the Almighty for the ability to go through them amidst the terrors of this dire place (Newgate), and the bitter anguish of my disconsolate mind! The thinking will easily pardon all inaccuracies, as I am neither able nor willing to read over these melancholy lines with a curious or critical eye. They are imperfect, but in the language of the heart; and, had I time and inclination, might, and should be, improved.—But——
(Signed)
“W. D.”
The unfortunate author’s Thoughts on his Imprisonment are thus introduced:—
Grates the dread door: the massy bolts respond
Tremendous to the surly keeper’s touch:
The dire keys clang, with movement dull and slow,
While their behest the ponderous locks perform:
And, fasten’d firm, the object of their care
Is left to solitude—to sorrow left.
Than bolts, or locks, or doors of molten brass,
To solitude and sorrow could consign
His anguish’d soul, and prison him, though free!
For whither should he fly, or where produce
In open day, and to the golden sun,
His hapless head! whence every laurel torn,
On his bald brow sits grinning infamy:
And all in sportive triumph twines around
The keen, the stinging arrows of disgrace.”
After dwelling on the miseries of that dreary confinement, at sight of which he formerly started back with horror, he adds,
A Christian visitor, to pour the balm
Of Christian comfort in some wretch’s ear—
I am that wretch myself! and want, much want,
That Christian consolation I bestow’d;
So cheerfully bestow’d! Want, want, my God,
From thee the mercy, which, thou know’st my gladsome soul
Ever sprang forth with transport to impart.
With such unfeeling ardour? Why pursued
To death’s dread bourn, by men to me unknown!
Why—stop the deep question; it o’erwhelms my soul;
It reels, it staggers! Earth turns round! My brain
Whirls in confusion! My impetuous heart
Throbs with pulsation not to be restrain’d;
Why?—Where?—O Chesterfield, my son, my son!”
The unfortunate divine afterwards thus proceeds:—
In older time, that my weak heart was soft,
And pity’s self might break it. I had thought
That marble-eyed Severity would crack
The slender nerves which guide my reins of sense,
And give me up to madness! ’Tis not so;
My heart is callous, and my nerves are tough;
It will not break; they will not crack; or else
What more, just heaven! was wanting to the deed,
Than to behold—Oh! that eternal night
Had in that moment screened from myself!
My Stanhope to behold! Ah! piercing sight!
Forget it; ’tis distraction: speak who can!
But I am lost! a criminal adjudged!”
It is not a little singular that Dr. Dodd, a few years before his death, published a Sermon, intitled, “The frequency of capital punishments inconsistent with justice, sound policy, and religion.” This, he says, was intended to have been preached at the Chapel-royal, at St. James’s; but omitted on account of the absence of the court, during the author’s month of waiting.
The following extract will show the unfortunate man’s opinion on this subject, although there is no reason to suppose that he then contemplated the commission of the crime for which he suffered. He says,
“It would be easy to show the injustice of those laws which demand blood for the slightest offences; the superior justice and propriety of inflicting perpetual and laborious servitude; the greater utility hereof to the sufferer, as well as to the state, especially wherein we have a variety of necessary occupations, peculiarly noxious and prejudicial to the lives of the honest and industrious, and in which they might be employed, who had forfeited their lives and their liberties to society.”
THOMAS HORNER AND JAMES FRYER,
EXECUTED FOR BURGLARY.
THE offence of these prisoners was attended by circumstances of great daring. From the evidence adduced at their trial, which took place at the Old Bailey Sessions in the month of April, 1778, it appeared that on the evening of the 1st of March, the prisoners, with three other men, were seen at Finchley together, and that while drinking in a public-house they made many inquiries of the persons present with regard to the house and family of a Mr. Clewen, a gentleman of respectability who resided in the neighbourhood. On the same night, between twelve and one o’clock, Mr. Clewen’s house was entered by five persons, whose faces were disguised, and the noise created by their rushing up stairs being heard by Miss Clewen and her servant, they immediately ran out of their bed-chambers to see what was the matter. They were forced to return, however, and three of the men having entered their room, compelled them to cover their heads with the bed-clothes, uttering loud threats in case of their offering any resistance. The men-servants, who slept at the top of the house, being now alarmed, the thieves proceeded to their apartment, and one of them named Quick having got up, he received a severe blow with an iron bar, and, like his mistress, was compelled, with his fellows, to cover himself up with the bed-clothes. Two fellows then remained to watch them, while the rest went to Mr. Clewen’s room, and treated him in the same manner, and then they proceeded to the bed-chamber of his son, whom they forced to go to his father’s bed, holding his hands before his eyes, so that he should not distinguish who were his assailants. They then ransacked the house, and in about half-an-hour returned, saying that if young Clewen would tell them where the money was, they would give him his watch, which they had taken from under his pillow, but this being refused, they went away, saying that they were only going for some victuals, and would return. The house was then immediately examined by Mr. Clewen; and it was found that the thieves had effected an entrance by means of the back-door, and that they had fastened up that as well as the front entrance by nailing staples over the locks. It was afterwards discovered that they had carried off twenty-two guineas, fifty pounds in bank notes, a quantity of plate, several gold rings, a silver watch, and other property to a considerable amount. Information of the robbery was immediately conveyed to Sir John Fielding, whose officers, recognising the offenders from the description given of their persons, succeeded in securing the prisoners: Fryer at a small house which he occupied in the City Road, where there were found a number of picklock keys, and a hanger; and Horner at his lodgings in Perkins’ Rents, Westminster, a cutlass being concealed under his bed. Two supposed accomplices, named Condon and Jordan, were also apprehended, but nothing distinct being proved against them they escaped: Jordan, however, being afterwards convicted for a second burglary in Copenhagen House, for which he received sentence of death.
Conviction having followed the production of this evidence, sentence of death was passed. Upon the sacrament being administered to Horner and Fryer, they admitted their guilt, and were executed at Tyburn on the 24th of June, 1778. The other offenders were subsequently also apprehended and executed.
THE REV. JAMES HACKMAN.
EXECUTED FOR MURDER.
THE case of this unfortunate gentleman was long the topic of general conversation. Pamphlets and poems were written on the subject; and the fate of Mr. Hackman was generally pitied, as it was conceived that he was the victim of an insane love—a conclusion which will now be the more readily arrived at when the circumstances under which the murder, of which he was found guilty, was committed are considered.
It appears that Mr. Hackman was born at Gosport in Hampshire, and was originally designed for trade, in which his father was engaged. It was found, however, that his disposition was of too volatile a nature to admit of his success in any business; and his parents, willing to promote his interests to the extent of their power, purchased for him a commission as ensign in the 68th regiment of foot. He had not been long in the service before he was entrusted with the command of a recruiting party, and going to Huntingdon, in pursuance of his instructions, he there became known to the Earl of Sandwich, who had a seat in the neighbourhood, and by whom he was frequently invited to dinner. It appears that he now first became acquainted with the object of his passion, and the victim of his crime.
Miss Reay was the daughter of a staymaker in Covent Garden, and served her apprenticeship to a mantuamaker, in George’s-court, St. John’s lane, Clerkenwell. She was bound when only thirteen; and during her apprenticeship was taken notice of by the nobleman above mentioned, who took her under his protection, and treated her with every mark of tenderness. At the time of her being introduced to Mr. Hackman, she had lived with her noble protector during a period of nineteen years, and in the course of that time had borne him nine children; but although she was nearly twice the age of Mr. Hackman, no sooner had he seen her than he became violently enamoured of her.
It was while he was tormented by this unhappy and ungovernable passion that he found that any hopes which he might entertain of preferment in the army were not likely to be realised, and he determined to turn his thoughts to the church. In pursuance of this design he took orders, and he obtained the living of Wiverton, in Norfolk, only about Christmas preceding the shocking deed which cost him his life.
How long he had been in London previous to this affair is not certainly known; but at the time of its occurrence he lodged in Duke’s-court, St. Martin’s-lane. On the morning of the 7th of April, 1779, he sat for a considerable time in his closet, reading “Blair’s Sermons:” but in the evening he took a walk to the Admiralty, where he saw Miss Reay go into the coach along with Signora Galli, who attended her. The coach drove to Covent Garden Theatre, where the ladies stayed to see the performance of “Love in a Village,” and Mr. Hackman went into the theatre at the same time; but not being able to contain the violence of his passion, he returned, and again went to his lodgings, and having loaded two pistols went to the playhouse, where he waited till the play was over. Seeing Miss Reay ready to step into the coach, he took a pistol in each hand, one of which he discharged against her, which killed her on the spot, and the other at himself, which, however, did not take effect. He then beat himself with the butt-end, on his head, in order to destroy himself, so fully was he bent on the destruction of both; but after a struggle he was secured, his wounds dressed, and then he was carried before Sir John Fielding, who committed him to Tothillfields’ Bridewell, and next to Newgate, where a person was appointed to attend him, lest he should lay violent hands on himself. In Newgate, as he knew he had no favour to expect, he prepared himself for the awful change which was about to take place. He had dined with his sister on the day on which the murder was committed, and in the afternoon he wrote a letter to her husband, Mr. Booth, an eminent attorney, informing him of his intention to destroy himself, and desiring him to sell what effects he had, in order to pay a small debt which he owed; but it appears that the letter was not despatched, as it was found in his pocket.
The prisoner was indicted at the ensuing Old Bailey sessions, and it was proved by Mr. MacNamara, that on Wednesday, the 7th of April, he was quitting the theatre, when seeing Miss Reay, with whom he was slightly acquainted, he offered her his assistance in reaching her carriage. She accepted his preferred arm, and just as they were in the piazza he heard the report of a pistol, when he directly felt his arm compressed by the lady’s hand, and she then immediately fell to the ground. He thought at first that the lady had fallen from fright only, but on stooping to raise her up, he found that his hand was bloody, and he then saw that she was wounded. He immediately conveyed her into the Shakspeare Tavern, whither the prisoner soon after followed in custody. He asked him some questions about his reason for shooting Miss Reay, but the only answer which he gave was, that that was not the place to satisfy him. The prisoner afterwards said that his name was Hackman; and he sent for Mr. Booth, who lived in Craven-street. Other evidence was also adduced, from which it appeared that the prisoner followed Miss Reay out of the theatre, and having tapped her on the shoulder to attract her attention, he suddenly drew two pistols from his pocket, one of which he discharged at her and the other at himself. They both fell feet to feet, and the prisoner then beat himself about the head, and called out for some one to kill him. He was secured by a Mr. McMahon, who dressed his wounds, and conveyed him to the Shakspeare Tavern, where Miss Reay almost immediately afterwards died.
On his being called upon for his defence, the prisoner addressed the Court in the following terms:—“I should not have troubled the Court with the examination of witnesses to support the charge against me, had I not thought that the pleading guilty to the indictment gave an indication of contemning death not suitable to my present condition, and was, in some measure, being accessory to a second peril of my life: and I therefore thought that the justice of my country ought to be satisfied by suffering my offence to be proved, and the fact established by evidence.
“I stand here this day the most wretched of human beings, and confess myself criminal in a high degree; yet while I acknowledge, with shame and repentance, that my determination against my own life was formal and complete, I protest, with that regard to truth which becomes my situation, that the will to destroy her, who was ever dearer to me than life, was never mine till a momentary frenzy overcame me, and induced me to commit the deed I now deplore. The letter which I meant for my brother-in-law after my decease will have its due weight as to this point with good men.
“Before this dreadful act I trust nothing will be found in the tenor of my life which the common charity of mankind will not excuse. I have no wish to avoid the punishment which the laws of my country appoint for my crime; but being already too unhappy to feel a punishment in death or a satisfaction in life, I submit myself with penitence and patience to the disposal and judgment of Almighty God, and to the consequences of this inquiry into my conduct and intention.”
The following letter was then read:—
“My dear Frederic,—When this reaches you I shall be no more; but do not let my unhappy fate distress you too much: I have strove against it as long as possible, but it now overpowers me. You well know where my affections were placed: my having by some means or other lost hers (an idea which I could not support) has driven me to madness. The world will condemn me, but your good heart will pity me. God bless you, my dear Frederic! Would I had a sum to leave you to convince you of my great regard! You was my only friend. I have hid one circumstance from you which gives me great pain. I owe Mr. Knight of Gosport one hundred pounds, for which he has the writings of my houses; but I hope in God, when they are sold and all other matters collected, there will be nearly enough to settle our account. May Almighty God bless you and yours with comfort and happiness; and may you ever be a stranger to the pangs I now feel! May Heaven protect my beloved woman, and forgive this act, which alone could relieve me from a world of misery I have long endured! Oh! if it should ever be in your power to do her an act of friendship, remember your faithful friend,
“J. Hackman.”
The jury immediately returned their fatal verdict. The unhappy man heard the sentence pronounced against him with calm resignation to his fate, and employed the very short time allowed murderers after conviction in repentance and prayer.
During the procession to the fatal tree at Tyburn he seemed much affected, and said but little; and when he arrived at Tyburn, and got out of the coach and mounted the cart, he took leave of Dr. Porter and the Ordinary in the most affectionate manner.
After some time spent in prayer, he was turned off, on April the 19th 1779; and having hung the usual time, his body was carried to Surgeons Hall for dissection.
JAMES DONALLY.
EXECUTED FOR ROBBERY.
THIS offender was one of a class of the most mischievous and most daring robbers; and the case which we have to relate, is one of a most atrocious nature,—the extortion of money by means of threats to charge the person imposed upon with a detestable crime, an offence which, we regret to say, has been but too prevalent in later years.
In the month of February, 1779, James, alias Patrick Donally, was indicted at the sessions held at the Old Bailey, for “that he, on the king’s highway, in and upon the Honourable Charles Fielding, did make an assault, putting him in corporeal fear and danger of his life, and did steal from his person, and against his will, half-a-guinea, on the 18th of January:” and there was also a second count, which imputed to him a similar offence on the 20th of the same month, in robbing the prosecutor of a guinea.
From the evidence adduced, it appeared that the prosecutor was the second son of the Earl of Denbigh. Between six and seven o’clock on the evening of the 18th of January, he was going from the house of a lady, with whom he had dined, to Covent Garden Theatre, when, on passing through Soho-square, the prisoner came up to him and demanded some money. Mr. Fielding was surprised at this address, and requested to know upon what ground he applied to him; upon which the prisoner immediately said, that if he did not comply, he would take him before a magistrate, and impute to him the commission of a foul crime. Terrified by the insinuation, he handed half-a-guinea to him, which was all the money then in his possession, and returning to the house which he had just quitted, he borrowed half-a-guinea of the servant, in order that he might pursue his original intention of going to the theatre. On the 20th of the same month he was in Oxford-road, when the prisoner again accosted him, and saying that he could not have forgotten what passed the other night in Soho-square, declared that he must have money, or else, that he would follow up the intention which he had before expressed, and added that he knew it would go hard with him, unless he could prove an alibi. Mr. Fielding at this time was without money, but going to Mr. Waters, a grocer in Bond-street, he borrowed a guinea from him, which, under the influence of fear, he handed to the prisoner. On the 12th February, a third attempt at extortion was made by the prisoner; but in this instance, owing to the great resemblance between Mr. Fielding and his brother Lord Fielding, he mistook the latter for the former; Lord Fielding was on Hay-hill, when the prisoner accosted him in terms implying that he had seen him before. His lordship, however, expressed himself at a loss to know what he meant, when he asked him if he did not remember giving him a half-guinea in Soho-square, and a guinea at the grocer’s in Bond-street? Lord Fielding utterly denied all recollection of either affair, and said that the prisoner should go before a magistrate to explain his meaning. The prisoner assented, and they proceeded together in the direction of Bow-street; but they had not gone many paces before the prisoner held back, and said that he would go no further. Lord Fielding became rather alarmed, and, being terrified by the prisoner’s threats, he allowed him to escape. On the Tuesday following, however, as he was passing near the same spot, a voice, which he recognised as that of the prisoner, called out, “My Lord, I have met you again,” and the prisoner at the same time coming from behind him, his Lordship seized him by the collar; the prisoner declared that he had been used ill when he last saw his Lordship, upon which the latter declared that he had used him too well, and would take care now that he should not get away again.
Donally now desired to be treated like a gentleman, saying he would not be dragged, but would go quietly, and Lord Fielding, not seeing any person who was likely to assist him, and apprehending a rescue, told him that, if he would walk along quietly to the next coffee-house, he would not drag him. They walked down Dover-street together; but the prisoner increasing his pace, Lord Fielding followed, and seized him. He fell down twice, but was again seized as soon as he arose.
By this time a crowd was assembled; Major Hartly, and two other gentlemen, happened to come by, and with their aid, the prisoner was secured, and conveyed to Bow-street, where the magistrates, on hearing the evidence, thought that the crime amounted to a highway robbery, and committed him for trial accordingly.
Donally in his defence, acknowledged that he had met Lord Fielding twice; that he had addressed him with decency, and desired him to hear something respecting his brother; and that Sir John Fielding had made the Honourable Charles Fielding carry on the prosecution. He did not deny the receipt of the guinea at the grocer’s in Bond-Street; but averred that he did not deserve death on account of the charge against him.
The jury, having considered the whole evidence, brought in a verdict of “Guilty;” but Mr. Justice Buller, before whom the offender was tried, reserved the case for the opinion of the judges on a point of law.
On the 29th of April, 1779, the judges met, and gave their opinion on this case, pronouncing it a new species of robbery to evade the law, but which was not to be evaded; and the prisoner therefore underwent its sentence, which he had, with most abominable wickedness, brought upon his own head.
Another diabolical villain of this description, named John Staples, was, on the 6th of December, 1779, hanged at Tyburn, for extorting money from Thomas Harris Crosby, Esq. by charging him with an abominable crime.
MORGAN PHILLIPS.
EXECUTED FOR MURDER AND ARSON.
THE case of this malefactor so strongly resembles that of a person named Edward Morgan, an account of whose crime we have already given, that we are induced to hope, for the sake of humanity, that some mistake has arisen in describing them as separate offences.
The crime for which the person whose case we are now considering, most justly suffered, was attended with extraordinary acts of cruelty.
The inhabitants of Narbeth, a small village in the county of Pembroke, were, in the middle of one night in the month of March, 1779, alarmed with the appearance of fire bursting from a farm-house near the turnpike. Before they could render assistance the house was nearly razed to the ground, and the family were missing. On examining the ruins the remains of the owner, Mr. Thomas, an old and respectable farmer, were found on a bench in a leaning posture, but so much burnt that it was impossible to determine whether he had been first murdered, or had perished by the flames.
Proceeding in the search, the next unhappy victim found was his niece, a fine young woman of about thirty years of age, whose body lay across the feet of a half burnt bedstead, with a thigh broken, and an arm missing. Among the ruins of another room was discovered the body of a labouring man, much burnt, but with a large wound on the back of his head, from which much blood had issued; and Mrs. Thomas’ servant-woman, who was exceedingly robust, was also found dead at the entrance of one of the rooms, with several deep wounds in her head, and her hair clotted with blood. Her body was not so much burned as the others; and near her was discovered a large kitchen spit, half bent, with which it was conjectured she had opposed the murderers, for there could now be no doubt that the horrid scene which presented itself was the work of some person who, for the sake of plundering the house, had massacred its inhabitants and had then fired the premises, in order to conceal his bloody crimes. So horrible a deed excited universal attention, and every means was taken to secure its author.
A man named John Morris, a lazy, worthless character, who had been already in custody upon other charges, was apprehended on suspicion of being concerned in the affair; but he effectually put an end to all hopes of eliciting any information from him by throwing himself into a coal-pit, in spite of the efforts of the constables, in whose care he was, to restrain him, where his mangled remains were afterwards found. At length suspicion fell on Morgan Philips, and he, finding the general belief to be that he was guilty of this most horrible crime, at length confessed that he and Morris had been its perpetrators; that they had broken into the house of the farmer, and having murdered the family, from whom they met with considerable resistance, they had carried off all the valuable property which they could find, and had then set fire to the farm to prevent discovery.
The prisoner being put upon his trial at Haverfordwest, his confession was read to him, and assented to as being true; and its leading points being corroborated by other witnesses, he was found guilty, and suffered death at the same place on 5th April, 1779.
JAMES MATHISON.
EXECUTED FOR FORGERY.
THIS offender was tried on Thursday, the 20th of May, 1779. There perhaps never appeared in any court of justice so ingenious a man in his style as this person. His practice for some time past had been to go to the Bank, and take out a note; this he counterfeited, passed the copy, and, after some time, returned the original. His frequent applications at length exciting suspicions, which were increased by his appearance in life, and other circumstances, he was taken up. When brought before Justice Fielding, he was there known to be the person charged with forgeries upon the bank at Darlington. The particular forgery now charged on him was for making and uttering a note for payment of twenty pounds, with intent to defraud Mr. Mann, of Coventry, and the Bank of England. The note was produced in court, and the witnesses were brought to prove its having been negotiated by him.
This fact being established, the next circumstance in consideration was to prove that the note was absolutely a counterfeit one. This his prosecutors were totally unable to do by any testimony they could adduce, so minutely and so dexterously had he feigned all the different marks. The note itself was not only so made as to render it altogether impossible for any human eyes to perceive a difference; but the very hands of the cashier and the entering clerk were also so counterfeited as entirely to preclude a positive discrimination even by those persons themselves. The water mark in the paper, too, namely, “Bank of England,” which the bankers had considered as an infallible criterion of fair notes, a mark which could not be resembled by any possible means, was also hit off by this man, so as to put it out of the power of the most exact observer to perceive a difference. Several paper-makers were of opinion that this mark must have been put on in the making of the paper; but Mathison declared that he put it on afterwards by a peculiar method, known only to himself. The extreme similitude of the fair and false notes had such an effect upon the judge and jury that the prisoner would certainly have been discharged, for want of evidence to prove the counterfeit, if his own information, taken at Fielding’s, had not been produced against him, which immediately turned the scale, and he was found guilty.
He was executed at Tyburn, pursuant to his sentence, on July 28th 1779. At the place of execution he made a speech which took up some minutes; wherein he acknowledged his guilt, and hoped for forgiveness from the Almighty. He also warned others to avoid the crime for which he suffered, and forgave his prosecutors.
THE RIOTS OF LONDON.
BEGINNING ON THE 2ND JUNE, 1780, WITH THE EXECUTION OF THE RIOTERS.
THE history of London, from its earliest epoch, exhibits the occurrence of no event of a more calamitous nature, or more pregnant with mischief, than the riots of 1780. A commotion so rapid, and so daring in its progress, was perhaps never known. The sovereignty of the King, and the safety of the property of the subject, rested on laws which were unsupported; the magistrates were confessedly intimidated; and all good and loyal citizens were seized with a terror and panic, which were alone dispelled by the restoration of tranquillity through the instrumentality of the military force.
The origin of the riot is ascribed to the passing of an act of Parliament, about two years previously, for “relieving his majesty’s subjects, of the Catholic Religion, from certain penalties and disabilities imposed upon them during the reign of William III.” A petition to Parliament was framed for its repeal, and a general meeting of a body of people, forming the Protestant Association, headed by Lord George Gordon, was held on the 29th May, at the Coachmakers’ Hall, Noble-street, Aldersgate-street. At this meeting the noble lord moved the following resolutions.
“Whereas no hall in London can contain forty thousand persons,
“Resolved,—That this association do meet on Friday next in St. George’s-fields, at ten o’clock in the morning, to consider the most prudent and respectful manner of attending their petition, which will be presented the same day to the House of Commons.
“Resolved,—For the sake of good order and regularity, that this association, in coming to the ground, do separate themselves into four divisions, viz.—the London division, the Westminster division, the Southwark division, and the Scotch division.
“Resolved,—That the London division do take place of the ground towards Southwark; the Westminster division second; the Southwark division third; and the Scotch division upon the left, all wearing blue cockades, to distinguish themselves from the papists, and those who approve of the late act in favour of popery.
“Resolved,—That the magistrates of London, Westminster, and Southwark, are requested to attend; that their presence may overawe and control any riotous or evil-minded persons who may wish to disturb the legal and peaceable deportment of his majesty’s subjects.”
His lordship having intimated that he would not present the petition unless twenty thousand persons attended the meeting, and the resolutions having been published and placarded through the streets, on the day appointed a vast concourse of people from all parts of the City and its environs assembled in St. George’s-fields. The main body took their route over London-bridge, marching in order, six or eight in a rank, through the City towards Westminster, accompanied by flags bearing the words “No Popery.” At Charing-Cross, the mob was increased by additional numbers on foot, on horseback, and in various vehicles, so that by the time the different parties met together, all the avenues to both houses of Parliament were entirely filled with the crowd. The rabble now took possession of all the passages leading to the House of Commons, from the outer doors to the very entrance for the members; which latter they twice attempted to force open; and a like attempt was made at the House of Lords, but without success in either instance. In the meantime, Lord George Gordon came into the House of Commons with an unembarrassed countenance, and a blue cockade in his hat, after “riding in the whirlwind and directing the storm;” but finding it gave offence he took it out and put it in his pocket; not however before Captain Herbert, of the navy, one of the members, threatened to pull it out; while Colonel Murray, another member, declared that, if the mob broke into the house, he (looking at Lord George) should instantly be the victim.
The petition having been presented, the populace separated into parties, and proceeded to demolish the Catholic chapels, in Duke-street, Lincoln’s Inn Fields, and Warwick-street, Golden-square; and all the furniture, ornaments, and altars of both chapels were committed to the flames. After various other outrages, the prison of Newgate was attacked. They demanded from the keeper, Mr. Ackerman, the release of their confined associates: he refused to comply; yet, dreading the consequence, he went to the sheriff’s to know their pleasure. On his return he found his house in flames; and the jail itself was soon in a similar situation. The doors and entrances were broken open with crowbars and sledge-hammers; and it is scarcely to be credited with what rapidity this strong prison was destroyed. The public office in Bow-street, and Sir John Fielding’s house, adjoining were presently destroyed, and all their furniture and effects, books, papers, &c. committed to the flames. Justice Coxe’s house in Great Queen-street, Lincoln’s Inn Fields, was similarly treated; and the two prisons at Clerkenwell set open, and the prisoners liberated. The King’s Bench Prison, with some houses adjoining, a tavern, and the New Bridewell, were also set on fire, and almost entirely consumed.
The mob now appeared to consider themselves as superior to all authority; they declared their resolution to burn all the remaining public prisons; and demolish the Bank, the Temple, Gray’s Inn, Lincoln’s Inn, the Mansion House, the royal palaces, and the arsenal at Woolwich. The attempt upon the Bank of England was actually made twice in the course of one day; but both attacks were but feebly conducted, and the rioters easily repulsed, several of them falling by the fire of the military, and many others being severely wounded.
To form an adequate idea of the distress of the inhabitants in every part of the city would be impossible. Six-and-thirty fires were to be seen blazing in the metropolis during the night.
At length the continued arrival of fresh troops, from all parts of the country, within fifty or sixty miles of the metropolis, intimidated the rabble; and soon after the disturbances were quelled.
The Royal Exchange, the public buildings, the squares, and the principal streets, were all occupied by troops; the shops were closed; while immense volumes of dense smoke were still rising from the ruins of consumed edifices.
During the riots, many persons, terrified by the alarming outrages of the mob, fled from London, and took refuge at places at a considerable distance from town. The following account was written by Dr. Johnson to Mrs. Thrale, who had gone into the country for safety; and may not prove uninteresting. The doctor was an eye-witness to many of the scenes which he depicts:—
“On Friday, the 2d of June, the good Protestants met in St. George’s Fields, at the summons of Lord George Gordon, and, marching to Westminster, insulted the Lords and Commons, who all bore it with great tameness. At night the outrages began by the demolishing the Mass-house near Lincoln’s Inn.
“On Monday, Mr. Strahan, who had been insulted, spoke to Lord Mansfield, who had been insulted too, of the licentiousness of the populace; and his lordship treated it as a very slight irregularity.
“On Tuesday night they pulled down Fielding’s house (the public office in Bow-street), and burnt his goods in the street. They had gutted, on Monday, Sir George Saville’s house; but the building was saved. On Tuesday evening, leaving Fielding’s ruins, they went to Newgate, to demand their companions, who had been seized for demolishing the chapel. The keeper could not release them but by the mayor’s permission, which he went to ask. At his return he found all the prisoners released, and Newgate in a blaze. They then went to Bloomsbury, and fixed upon Lord Mansfield’s house, which they partly pulled down; and, as for his goods, they totally burnt them. They went to Caen Wood (his lordship’s country-seat); but a guard was there before them. They plundered several Papists, and burned a Mass-house, and some dwelling-houses in Moorfields, the same night.
“On Wednesday I walked with Dr. Scott, to look at Newgate, and found it in ruins, with the fire yet glowing. As I went by, the Protestants were plundering the Sessions House at the Old Bailey. There was not, I believe, a hundred; but they did their work at leisure, in full security, without sentinels, and without trepidation, as men lawfully employed in full day. Such is the cowardice of a commercial place!
“On Wednesday they broke open the Fleet Prison, the King’s Bench and Marshalsea Prisons, Wood-street Compter, and Clerkenwell Bridewell. At night they set fire to the Fleet and the King’s Bench, and I know not how many other places; and one might see the glare of conflagration fill the sky from many parts.—The sight was dreadful. Some people were threatened: Mr. Strahan advised me to take care of myself. Such a time of terror you would have been happy in not seeing.
“The king said in council ‘That the magistrates had not done their duty, but that he would do his own;’ and a proclamation was published, directing us to keep our servants within doors, as the peace was now to be preserved by force.
“The soldiers were sent out to different parts, and the town is now quiet. They are stationed so as to be everywhere within call; there is no longer any body of rioters, and the individuals are hunted to their holes, and led to prison: Lord George Gordon was last night sent to the Tower.
“Mr. John Wilkes was this day in my neighbourhood, to seize the publishers of a seditious pamphlet.
“Several chapels have been destroyed, and several inoffensive Papists have been plundered: but the high sport was to burn the gaols. This was a good rabble trick. The debtors and the criminals were set at liberty; but of the criminals, as has always happened, many are already retaken; and two pirates have surrendered themselves, and it is expected they will be pardoned.
“Government now acts with its proper force; and we are all now again under the protection of the king and the law. I thought it would be agreeable to you to have my testimony to the public security; and that you would sleep more quietly when I told you that you were safe.
“There has been, indeed, an universal panic, from which the king was the first that recovered. Without the concurrence or assistance of his ministers, or even the assistance of the civil magistrates, he put the soldiers in motion, and saved the town from calamities such as a rabble’s government must naturally produce.
“The public has escaped a very heavy calamity. The rioters attempted the Bank on Wednesday night, but in no great numbers; Jack Wilkes headed the party that drove them away. It is agreed, that if they had seized the Bank, on Tuesday, at the height of the pause, when no resistance had been prepared, they might have carried away whatever they had found.”
The number of persons killed in this dreadful riot is variously stated. Many persons, strangers to the attempt, were destroyed by the necessarily indiscriminate fire of the soldiers and militia; and although it is impossible to calculate the precise number who lost their lives, from the circumstance of many being carried off by their friends, it is believed to be about 500.
Lord George Gordon, the leader and instigator of these riots, was subsequently tried in the Court of King’s Bench, and by some good fortune escaped conviction. There was little doubt that he was occasionally subject to aberrations of intellect. His death took place some years afterwards in the King’s Bench Prison. He had been indicted for a libel on Marie Antoinette, the late unfortunate French queen, and the Count d’Ademar, one of the ministers of state, and having been convicted, fled from punishment; and was afterwards apprehended in Birmingham, attired in the garb of a Jew, with a long beard, &c., where he had undergone circumcision, and had embraced the religion of the unbelievers. He died professing the same faith.
Many of the rioters were apprehended, and having been recognised, were convicted, and suffered death in most instances opposite to the places in which the scenes were enacted, in which they were proved to have taken a part. Among them were many women and boys but there was not one individual of respectability or character. They were all of the lowest class, whose only object was plunder.
Among the rioters, to sum up the account of their infamy and wretchedness, was Jack Ketch himself. This miscreant, whose real name was Edward Dennis, was convicted of pulling down the house of Mr. Boggis, of New Turnstile. The keeper of Tothill-fields’ Bridewell would not suffer Jack Ketch to go among the other prisoners, lest they should tear him to pieces. In order that he might hang up his brother rioters, he was granted a pardon!
The following is an extract from the king’s speech to both houses of parliament, the 18th of June, soon after the riots were ended:—
“My Lords and Gentlemen,—The outrages committed by bands of lawless and desperate men, in various parts of this metropolis, broke forth with such violence into acts of felony and treason, had so far overborne all civil authority, and threatened directly the immediate subversion of all legal power, the destruction of all property, and the confusion of every order of the state, that I found myself obliged, by every tie of duty and affection to my people, to suppress, in every part, those rebellious insurrections, and to provide for the public safety by the most effectual and immediate application of the force entrusted to me by parliament. I have directed copies of the proclamations issued upon that occasion to be laid before you.
“Proper orders have been given for bringing the authors and abettors of these insurrections, and the perpetrators of such criminal acts, to speedy trial, and to such condign punishment as the laws of their country prescribe, and the vindication of public justice demands.
“Though I trust it is not necessary, yet I think it right, at this time, to renew to you my solemn assurances that I have no other object but to make the laws of the realm, and the principles of our excellent constitution in Church and State, the rule and measure of my conduct; and that I shall ever consider it as the first duty of my station, and the chief glory of my reign, to maintain and preserve the established religion of my kingdoms, and, as far as in me lies, to secure and to perpetuate the rights and liberties of my people.”
ABRAHAM DURNFORD AND WILLIAM NEWTON.
EXECUTED FOR ROBBERY.
IN the case of these men we present a species of robbery different in the plan of its commission from every one yet described.
It was proved, on their trial at the Old Bailey, that they hired an empty house, No. 21, Water-lane, Fleet-street; and, having a bill of exchange lying at the bank of Smith, Wright, and Gray, they directed it for payment at this house. They made preparation for cleaning, in order, as they pretended, to furnish it with despatch; but the landlord, not liking this extraordinary haste, or his new tenants, desired Mrs. Boucher, the mistress of a public-house opposite, to have an eye on their proceedings.
Accordingly, on the day the bill became due, being the 5th of August, 1780, she observed the new tenants, Durnford and Newton, then prisoners at the bar, enter the house, and open the parlour windows. Soon after she saw a third man knock at the door, which was open, and he entered. Watching the event, she heard an uncommon noise, and, stepping over the way to listen, heard the cry of “Murder!” as from a hoarse faint voice, succeeded by a kind of groaning, which very much alarmed her; and, looking through the key-hole, she saw two men dragging a third down the cellar stairs; on which she cried out loudly “They’re murdering a man!” She knocked hard at the door, and begged the people in the street to break it open; but none would interfere. Being enraged at their not assisting her, she burst open the window, and was entering the house, when Newton jumped out of the one pair of stairs’ window, and was running off; but, on the cry of “Stop thief!” he was instantly taken; Mrs. Boucher seized the other by the throat herself, and dragged him to her own house.
The house was then immediately searched, and in a back cellar was found a man, bound, and nearly choked to prevent his calling out. He proved to be a collecting clerk for Smith, Wright, and Gray, named James Watts. They had robbed him of his pocket-book, and would have murdered him had not the woman saved his life.
Mr. Watts, a young Quaker, aged eighteen, the party robbed and alluded to, would not, according to the doctrines of the particular sect to which he belonged, be sworn, which is required by the law in all cases, so that their conviction rested chiefly on the evidence of Mrs. Boucher; but not a shadow of a doubt existed of their guilt, and they were convicted and executed on the 22nd of November, 1780.
The story of Mr. Watts was that on his knocking at the door, he was admitted immediately, and having entered the house he was collared and seized by two men, whom he afterwards knew to be the prisoners, who attempted to gag him, and forced him down stairs. Fearing that their intention was to murder him, he succeeded in getting from them by an extraordinary effort, and ran to the street-door; but finding it locked he was unable to offer any further opposition to their violence. His screams providentially alarmed Mrs. Boucher, but not until his book, containing upwards of 4000l. had been taken from him. It is rather singular that Mr. Watts was himself convicted of robbing his employers in the year 1781, and subjected to two years’ imprisonment.
FRANCIS HENRY DE LA MOTTE.
EXECUTED FOR HIGH TREASON.
THE offence of this man was one of the most despicable character. A native of France, and in the service of the French king, he lived long in London, employing himself as a spy upon the proceedings of the English government. He occupied elegant lodgings in Bond-street, dressed like a gentleman, kept the best company, and passed for a foreigner of fortune. At length, however, suspicions arose of his real character, and a watch being set upon his motions, they were found to be fully justified, and he was apprehended and committed to the Tower.
On his trial various acts of treason were proved against him, and he was found guilty.
Sentence was immediately pronounced upon him, “that he should be hanged by the neck, but not until he was dead; that he should then be cut down, and his bowels taken out and burnt before his face; and that his head should be taken off, his body cut into four quarters, and be placed at his majesty’s disposal.”
He was remanded to the Tower, and at the expiration of a fortnight a warrant was issued from the office of the secretary of state for his execution.
The sheriffs demanded his body, on the 27th of July, 1781, of the lieutenant of the Tower, and carried him to Newgate, from thence in about a quarter of an hour they set out with him to Tyburn.
La Motte was dressed in a suit of black. His deportment was manly and serious: he seemed to be totally abstracted from the surrounding multitude, as he scarcely ever took his eyes from a devotional book which he held in his hand.
Upon his arrival at the fatal tree he was immediately removed from the sledge in which he had been conveyed. He then employed some minutes in earnest devotion; after which he twice bowed respectfully to the sheriffs, and turned to the executioner, desiring him immediately to perform his office.
After hanging fifty-seven minutes the body was cut down and laid on a block, when (a fire having been previously kindled) the executioner severed the head from the trunk, and making an incision from his breast, ripped out the heart, which, after being exposed to the surrounding spectators, was thrown into the flames.
The body was then scorched, together with the head, and put into a very handsome coffin, which was delivered to an undertaker for interment.
Amongst other effects of the handiwork of La Motte in favour of his own country, it is said that the attack of a French fleet under the command of Commodore Suffrein upon the British fleet under Commodore Johnstone, in the neutral harbour of Port Praya Road, on its way to the East Indies, whither it was convoying a number of merchantmen, was attributable to him. The English fleet was taken in an unexpected manner. As many as one thousand five hundred of its men are related to have been on shore at the time of the attack; some of whom were employed in collecting water, and others in obtaining exercise, when the Frenchmen hove in sight; and before the necessary arrangements could be made to receive them, forced their way in line into the very midst of the British vessels. Commodore Johnstone, however, with the bravery of a British sailor, succeeded in compelling them to sheer off; but not until he had sustained a loss of upwards of two hundred men. The movements and strength of the English fleets were at that time made no secrets; and La Motte, having obtained the necessary information in the instance in question, conveyed it to his own country through the medium of one Luttorlok, a Dutchman, who succeeded in effecting his escape, while his companion in iniquity suffered an ignominious death.
JOHN DONELLAN, ESQ.
EXECUTED FOR THE MURDER OF SIR THEODOSIUS BOUGHTON, BART., HIS BROTHER-IN-LAW.
THE case of Mr. Donellan is one of a very remarkable nature, and from the character of the testimony produced has been the subject of much conversation and remark amongst persons connected with the professions of medicine and chemistry.
The accused, Mr. Donellan, had been a captain in the army, and was the son of Colonel Donellan. At the age of twelve years he entered into the Royal Regiment of Artillery, with part of which he went to the East Indies in 1754. On his arrival there he changed his service into the 39th foot; but on that regiment being ordered home, he, with many other of his officers, had his majesty’s leave to remain in the service of the East India Company, without prejudice to their rank in the army. He then obtained a company, and certainly distinguished himself as a good soldier, not only having been much wounded in the service, but, if his own account may be credited, being singularly instrumental to the taking of Mazulapatam. Being appointed, however, one of the four agents for prize-money, he condescended to receive presents from some black merchants, to whom part of their effects had been ordered to be restored, for which he was tried by a court-martial, and cashiered. He subsequently purchased a share in the Pantheon, where he figured for some time as master of the ceremonies; and after a variety of applications he at length obtained a certificate from the War-office, that he had behaved in the East Indies “like a gallant officer;” in consequence of which he was put upon half-pay in the 39th regiment. But notwithstanding the most strenuous memorials and petitions representing his great services, and insisting that the offence for which he was broke was of a civil nature only, and not cognizable by a court-martial, he never could obtain a restoration into the Company’s service. In June, 1777, he married Miss Boughton; and on Friday, March 30th, 1781, he was tried at the assizes at Warwick for the wilful murder of Sir Theodosius Edward Allesley Boughton, Bart., his brother-in-law. The evidence was of such a nature that the fairest mode of stating it will be by repeating it as it appeared on the trial.
Mr. Powell, apothecary of Rugby, deposed that he had attended Sir Theodosius Boughton for two months before his death, on account of a slight complaint of a certain description.
On Wednesday morning, the 27th of February, he was sent for to Lawton Hall, and on his arrival there at a little before nine o’clock, Capt. Donellan conducted him to the apartment of Sir Theodosius. On his entering, he perceived that the baronet was dead, and on his examining the body he concluded that it was about an hour since life had fled. He had some conversation with Captain Donellan with regard to the deceased, and he was told by him that, he had “died in convulsions.” He could not recollect the precise nature of the conversation, but the general effect of what Captain Donellan said was, that the deceased gentleman had taken cold.
Lady Boughton, the mother of the deceased, deposed that Sir Theodosius was twenty years old on the 3rd of August last. On his coming of age, he would have been entitled to above 2000l. a year; and in the event of his dying a minor, the greater part of his fortune was to descend to his sister, the wife of Mr. Donellan. It was known in the family on the evening of Tuesday, the 26th, that Sir Theodosius was to take his physic the next morning. He used to put his physic in the dressing-room. He happened once to omit to take it; upon which Mr. Donellan said, “Why don’t you set it in your outer room? then you would not so soon forget it.” After this he several times put the medicines upon his shelf over the chimney-piece in his outer room. On the evening of Tuesday, the 26th, about six o’clock, Sir Theodosius went out fishing, attended only by one servant, Samuel Frost. Witness and Mrs. Donellan took a walk in the garden, and were there above an hour. To the best of her recollection she had seen nothing of Mr. Donellan after dinner till about seven o’clock, when he came out of the house-door in the garden, and told them that “he had been to see them fishing, and that he would have persuaded Sir Theodosius to come in, lest he should take cold, but he could not.” Sir Theodosius came home a little after nine, apparently very well; and he went up into his own room soon after, and went to bed. He requested her to call him the next morning and give him his physic.
She accordingly went into his room about seven in the morning, when he appeared to be very well. She asked him “Where the bottle was?” and he said “It stands there upon the shelf.” He desired her to read the label, which she accordingly did, and found there was written upon it “Purging draught for Sir Theodosius Boughton.” As he was taking it, he observed, “it smelled and tasted very nauseous;” upon which she said “I think it smells very strongly like bitter almonds.” He then remarked that “he thought he should not be able to keep the medicine upon his stomach.”
Here a bottle was delivered to Lady Boughton, containing the genuine draught, which she was desired to smell at, and inform the Court whether it smelt like the medicine Sir Theodosius took. She answered in the negative. She was then desired to smell at another, containing the draught with the addition of laurel-water, which she said had a smell very much like that of the medicine she gave to Sir Theodosius. Lady Boughton then proceeded with her evidence. In two minutes after Sir Theodosius had taken the draught, he struggled very much. It appeared to her as if it was to keep the draught down. He made a prodigious rattling in his stomach, and guggling; and these symptoms continued about ten minutes. He then seemed as if he was going to sleep, or inclined to dose; and perceiving him a little composed, she went out of the room. She returned in about five minutes after, and to her great surprise found him with his eyes fixed upwards, his teeth clenched, and foam running out of his mouth. She instantly desired a servant to take the first horse he could get and go for Mr. Powell. She saw Mr. Donellan in less than five minutes after. He came into the room where Sir Theodosius lay, and said to her, “What do you want?” She answered that she wanted to inform him what a terrible thing had happened; that it was an unaccountable thing in the doctor to send such a medicine, for if it had been taken by a dog it would have killed him; and she did not think her son would live. He inquired in what way Sir Theodosius then was; and on being told, he asked her where the physic bottle was; on which she showed him the two draughts; when he took up one of the bottles, and said, “Is this it?” She answered “Yes.” He then, after rinsing it, emptied it in some dirty water that was in a wash-hand basin; and on his doing so she said, “What are you at? you should not meddle with the bottles.” Upon that he snatched up the other bottle and rinsed it, and then he put his finger to it and tasted it. She repeated that he ought not to meddle with the bottles; upon which he replied, that “he did it to taste it.” Two servants, named Sarah Blundell and Catherine Amos, afterwards came into the room, and he desired the former to take away the basin and the bottles, and he put the bottles into her hands. The witness, however, took the bottles from her, and set them down, bidding her not to touch them; and the prisoner then desired that the room might be cleaned, and the dirty clothes thrown into the inner room. This being done, the witness turned her back for a moment, on which the prisoner again handed the servant the bottles, and bid her take them away, and she accordingly removed them. Witness soon afterwards went into the parlour, where she found Mr. and Mrs. Donellan; and the former told his wife “that her mother had been pleased to take notice of his washing the bottles, and that he did not know what he should have done, if he had not thought of saying that he put the water into them to put his finger to it to taste.” The witness made an answer to this observation, and the prisoner directed his wife to ring the bell in order to call up the servant. When the servant came, he ordered him to send in the coachman; and when he came, the prisoner said, “Will, don’t you remember that I set out of these iron gates at seven o’clock this morning?” “Yes, sir,” said he. “And that was the first time of my going out; I have never been on the other side of the house this morning: you remember that I set out there this morning at seven o’clock, and asked for a horse to go to the wells?” “Yes, sir.” Mr. Donellan said, “then you are my evidence.” The servant answered, “Yes, sir.” She did not recollect that the prisoner made any observation. The witness further said that Mr. Donellan received a letter from Sir William Wheeler, desiring the body might be opened, and that he showed her his answer to this letter. She told him he had better let it alone, and not to send such a letter as that; but she did not tell him the reason of her disliking it. He replied, that “it was necessary to send an answer, and he would send that.” She afterwards attended before the coroner and the jury in order to be examined, when Mr. Donellan also was present; and she mentioned to the jury the circumstance of the prisoner’s rinsing the bottles. Being returned to Lawford Hall, the prisoner said to his wife before the witness, that she had no occasion to have told the circumstance of his washing the bottles: she was only to answer such questions as were put to her; and that question had not been asked her. Being asked whether Mr. Donellan did not endeavour to account to her for her son’s death, she answered, that when the things were removed in order to be put in the inner room, he said to the maid, “Here, take his stockings; they have been wet; he has catched cold, to be sure: and that might occasion his death.” On that she examined the stockings, and there was no mark or appearance of their having been wet. In answer to some further questions, she denied that she or any of the family had ever declined eating of the same dishes that Sir Theodosius did. Mr. Donellan, indeed, had recommended to her not to drink out of the same cup, because he was affected with a certain disorder; nor to touch the bread he did, because there might be arsenic about his fingers, as he used that poison when he was fishing.
Catherine Amos corroborated the testimony of her mistress, and said, that she was called up stairs to the room where Sir Theodosius lay, at the time when the surgeons were engaged in opening the body, and she heard Mr. Donellan say “that there was nothing the matter; and that it was a blood-vessel which broke, which had occasioned the death of his brother-in-law.” About a fortnight afterwards Mr. Donellan brought her a still, which had been recently washed, and he desired her to put it into the oven to dry, in order that it might not rust.
Mr. Kerr, surgeon of Northampton, deposed, that he attended Sir Theodosius when he was at Mr. Jones’s. His disorder was so slight that he did not think it a subject of medicine at all. He ordered him some lotion to wash with, and dissuaded him from the use of medicine.
Dr. Rattray, of Coventry, deposed, that in consequence of an anonymous note which he received, and which desired him to bring Mr. Wilmer with him, in order to open the body of Sir Theodosius Boughton, they went together, and met Mr. Bucknell, Mr. Powell, and Mr. Snow, in Newbold churchyard. Mr. Bucknell opened the body. The witness then proceeded to describe the external appearances of the body, and its appearances in the dissecting. He was asked whether, as he had heard the evidence of Mr. Powell and Lady Boughton, he could, from that evidence, totally independent of the appearances he had described, form a judgment as to the cause of the death of Sir Theodosius. He answered, that, exclusive of these appearances, he was of opinion, from the symptoms that followed the taking of the draught, that it was poison, and the certain cause of his death. Being desired to smell at the bottle, and asked what was the noxious medicine in it, he said it was a distillation of laurel-leaves, called laurel-water. Here he entered into a detail of several experiments on animals, tending to show the instantaneous and mortal effects of the laurel-water. He knew nothing in medicine that corresponded in smell with that mixture, which was like that of bitter almonds. He further said that the quantity of laurel-water contained in the bottle shown to him was sufficient to be the death of any human creature; and that the appearances of the body confirmed him in his opinion that the deceased was poisoned, so far as, upon the viewing a body so long after the death of the subject, one could be allowed to form a judgment upon such appearances.
Mr. Wilmer and Dr. Parsons, professor of anatomy at Oxford, confirmed the evidence of Dr. Rattray.
Dr. Ashe, of Birmingham, was of opinion, from the symptoms described, that the deceased died by poison. If the laurel-water were distilled strong enough to collect the essential oil, a tea-spoonful of it would destroy animal life in a few seconds; and he believed as strong a poison might be made from bitter almonds.
Mary Lymnes deposed, that she had been servant to Lady Boughton. Mr. Donellan was in the habit of distilling roses occasionally, and he kept his still in an apartment which was called his room, and in which he slept when Mrs. Donellan lay in.
Francis Amos, gardener to Lady Boughton, deposed, that he was with Sir Theodosius the whole time he was fishing, the night before he died. Mr. Donellan was not there. Two or three days after Sir Theodosius died, he brought him a still to clean; it was full of wet lime. He said he used the lime to kill fleas. The witness used to gather lavender for him to distil. In the garden there were laurels, bays, and laurustinus.
William Crofts, one of the coroner’s jury, deposed, that on the examination of Lady Boughton, when she said that “Captain Donellan rinsed the bottle,” he saw the captain catch her by the gown, and give her a twitch.
John Darbyshire deposed, that he had been a prisoner in Warwick jail for debt; that Mr. Donellan and he had a bed in the same room for a month or five weeks. He remembered to have had a conversation with him about Sir Theodosius being poisoned. On his asking him whether the body was poisoned or not, he said, “There was no doubt of it.” The witness said, “For God’s sake, captain, who could do it?” He answered, “It was amongst themselves; he had no hand in it.” The witness asked, “Whom he meant by themselves?” He said, “Sir Theodosius himself, Lady Boughton, the footman, and the apothecary.” The witness replied, “Sure, Sir Theodosius could not do it himself!” He said he did not think he did—he could not believe he would. The witness answered, “the apothecary could hardly do it—he would lose a good patient; the footman could have no interest in it; and it was unnatural to suppose that Lady Boughton would do it.” He then said, “how covetous Lady Boughton was! she had received an anonymous letter the day after Sir Theodosius’s death, charging her plump with poisoning him; that she called him and read it to him, and she trembled; she desired he would not let his wife know of that letter, and asked him if he would give up his right to the personal estate, and to some estates of about two hundred pounds a year, belonging to the family.” The conversation was about a month after the captain came into the jail. At other times he said, “that it was impossible he could do a thing that never was in his power.”
This being the chief evidence, the prisoner in his defence pleaded a total ignorance of the fact, and several respectable characters bore testimony to his integrity. The jury, however, found him guilty, and he received sentence of death.
At seven o’clock on the next day, the 2nd of April, 1781, he was carried to the place of execution at Warwick, in a mourning-coach, followed by a hearse and the sheriff’s officers in deep mourning. As he went on he frequently put his head out of the coach, desiring the prayers of the people around him.
On his arrival at the fatal spot he alighted from the coach, and, ascending a few steps of the ladder, prayed for a considerable time, and then joined in the usual service with the greatest appearance of devotion: he next in an audible tone of voice addressed the spectators to this effect:—That, as he was then going to appear before God, to whom all deceit was known, he solemnly declared that he was innocent of the crime for which he was to suffer; that he had drawn up a vindication of himself, which he hoped the world would believe, for it was of more consequence to him to speak truth than falsehood, and he had no doubt but that time would reveal the many mysteries that had arisen in his trial.
After praying fervently some time he let his handkerchief fall—a signal agreed upon between him and the executioner—and was launched into eternity. When the body had hung the usual time it was put into a black coffin, and conveyed to the Town Hall to be dissected.